#Lucifer angst week | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kewpikayo · 6 days ago

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Lucifer Angst week 2025

Day 2: Outcast/ Failure:

Triggers: Lucifer's thoughts are dark, thoughts of worthlessness, being a failure. Slight suicidal ideation, but no attempt.

Chapters: 1 (here)

Melancholia: Day 2: Tuesday:

Why was just existing so troublesome?

Why did waking up, let alone breathing, have to take such enormous effort?

Lucifer’s lungs nearly collapsed in on themselves with the force of the exhale that left him. His body decompressed underneath his warm duvet. His joints screamed and ached with each stretch he attempted, mixing with the miserable song of his dirty sheets every moment he moved. He had laid dormant for longer than needed, for days on end, and now he was paying for it.

Everything hurt.

At least the ever elusive call of sleep finally decided to pay him a visit, sneaking into his previous tearful stupor to knock him out cold. When he awoke, everything in his body felt as if he had several elephants sleeping on top of him, the weight increasing with every stretch, every breath, every blink.

How long has he been out? He couldn’t tell. The curtains in front of his grand stained glass windows were drawn, covering his chambers in darkness. Dust lingered in the air to the point if he breathed in deeper than what he allowed, he would sneeze. He knew that with greater assurance his bones would plead with him to cease from moving with increased gusto.

A lazy snap of his fingers, once he was able to wrestle them from underneath the warmth of his body, was enough to summon a decent amount of light. Good. Step one of too many was complete.

With a groan that felt like the rest of his throat was being ripped out in its journey out of him, he pulled the sheets off of his person. Lucifer fought to sit up, his torso much too heavy for his usual posture. He needed the assistance of his pillow to support the added weight of his sadness.

Everything still hurt. But at least he was up.

Yes. So far, so good. He was breathing, however undesired. His head slumped over as he looked into his lap, his bones and muscles unable to cope nor were they willing to cooperate with him. He sighed before glancing at the duck alarm clock he never set anymore. The time read 3pm.

The majority of his day had been wasted; and the rest of it seemed too insurmountable to continue. Still… He had some energy, at least enough to sit up and breathe. That was a win, however small.

Still everything felt heavy. His mind was still swaddled with broken hopes, grief, and too grand of ideas his body would not perform. Perhaps he would just start simple. A three step process. His fatigued brain lazily conformed to the lingering creativeness that was left inside him. Inspiration was vacant, of course, but motivation was slightly on the incline.

Hopefully his plan would work.

Get out of bed.

Go to the workshop

Make a simple duck.

Ruminating his simple plan to himself, he felt the ground meet the underside of his hoofs. For once, the sensation wasn’t jarring, but resembled a towel after a needed shower. It was a welcome reminder that strength, however pitiful and sparse, still resided within him.

With hesitant encouragement, he lifted himself from his mattress and onto incredibly shaky legs. It was to be expected. He hadn’t gotten out of bed in five days. Shame had shackled him in place most days, the fear to venture into any other part of his palace too great. All he would receive would be reminders of who wasn’t with him anymore, every room a lingering regret.

No, he would stick with his tiny plan. Even if his stomach pleaded with him for sustenance; for something to ensure this rare energy of his was fully lived. He would stick with his original plan. He feared amending any part of it would confine him to his bed once again, daunted, shackled, by yet another thing expected of him.

For the time being, his brain was actually inhabitable. It was playing nice. He wouldn’t provoke needless cruelties today.

No. Today he was going to make a duck. Just one duck. Plain and simple.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything was ready.

Lucifer, once he was functioning enough to potentially be productive, had gathered the needed supplies. Scanning his desk, his mind went through its normal check list. The fog his brain was under was not helping things.

‘Paint…check…Glue? Do I have glue? Uhmmm…yesss. It's right in front of you. Duh. Yeah…check…Um let’s see…what else…’

Dazed, Lucifer brought a hand to his chin pensively. He ignored how his wedding ring was still tightly bound to his ring finger.

Instantly, with a snap, he perked up as much as was physically able for him in the moment.

“Paintbrushes! Ya can’t paint ducks without paintbrushes, ya silly goose…That’s…That’s just plain stupid..ha..haha…”

Lucifer shook his head until it proved too much for him. However dizzy, he surprisingly had enough energy to hum to himself as he rummaged through random drawers.

“Well..I mean I could always finger paint. Haven’t tried that in a while…”

Keeping his positive facade, he willed himself not to look at the family picture that hung directly overhead. The minute he looked at the all too familiar faces that were featured, he knew he would want to hide again. He couldn’t do that again. He had a purpose for himself that evening, after all. A goal. For once his brain was giving him the opportunity to orchestrate it with an abundance of grace. It was a rare chance he wouldn’t ruin.

A giggle left him as his hands continued their search. He sounded as if he was drunk with despair, or slightly confused. Dazed, even. He wasn’t quite there, not entirely.

“Nahh…Not…Not today.”

His words were much more dismal than he had planned. Fortunately, he was presented with a distraction as his claws located the object of his desire. They molded to the glass jar with great zeal, memorization of how the old paint mug felt in his hands pleasing to his senses. The cup felt like home held firmly in his hands, the gentle clank of his wedding band scraping against the cup. The brushes sang inside, much like an anticipated grand welcome as they glided against the ridge of the open lid. They bent to their master’s will, too eager to perform for him.

They were too eager. Too impatient.

Before he could think, the mug collapsed to the floor from Lucifer’s fingers. Stunned, not at all predicting a new mess would be made, a growl on the border of agitation ignited in his vocal cords. He didn’t have the energy for this today. Not today. Things were going so well. They were supposed to go well.

He would leave the mess, the chaos the floor created, for later. He wasn’t going to waste the single chance to create something that wasn’t planned.

“Nothin’...Nothin’s wrong with a little chaos… after all, the universe was made with just a spark. Relax. Just a mess…It’s just a mess…”

Smoothing a hand over his hair, he took a deep breath and waltzed over to his desk once the brushes were retrieved. He was mindful of the chips of glass that still remained. He would ignore it. Everything was fine. Everything. Was. Fine.

Another breath was feebly taken as he leaned over his desk and designated the perfect spot for all of his supplies. Order in the chaos. He needed some semblance of structure otherwise his world would collapse in on itself. He was still actively ignoring the mess he left behind.

Another breath was followed by an eye twitch. Lucifer could hear the air conditioner humming loudly in the opposite corner of the room. The lights above him were too bright. He had to close his eyes otherwise he swore he would see the sounds. Something was off…

Everything was supposed to be fine. How could one measly mistake set him off on the path to destruction? It wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let it. This was his house. He was in charge. His mind, nor its unsavory games, wouldn’t get in his way. Not again.

He couldn’t bear it again…

Choosing his favorite brush, a simple brush used for intricate details, he decided it would be best to finish an already premade design. That was more feasible than starting from scratch, at least. Even he couldn’t mess that up.

Yet, the seconds passed by, and the tremble in his fingertips sang the songs his mind had been screaming to him for centuries.

‘Nothing you make is worth it…’

Everything. Was. fine.

‘Everything you create is shit. Worthless. Pathetic!’

He wished his mind would shut up. He wanted to scratch the inside of his eyes, of his skull, if it meant that he wouldn’t have to suffer from the horrors his mind subjected him to every day. His brain was playing nice for once, but it was only deceit. What happened? Why couldn’t he be happy?

Why wasn’t he allowed to be happy?

‘Everything you do causes problems. Don’t you see, you’re pathetic. A stain on Father’s name…’

Determined to not give his dark ponderings the time of day, Lucifer stared down at the duck in the making in his hands, his thumb gently cradling the creature with professional effort. His other hand held the tool for its future, the weapon behind all the magnificent creations he had made before.

He couldn’t think of what to make. He didn’t have any inspiration. He didn’t have a clue. Not a single clue. There was not even a functional thought behind those red eyes other than what his brain relentlessly taunted. His hand shook with the efforts of keeping his composure. His lip trembled under his bite.

‘You should just give up. Give up. Your existence isn’t worth it, not if you continue to create mistakes others just have to clean up for you. You’re insufferable. You’ve damned everyone. Everyone you loved, everyone you know, and everyone you don’t. You are the reason everyone is here. You’re the reason they are all stuck down here….’

Lucifer gritted his teeth, his mental fortitude crumbling around him. The anguish and self hatred was unbearable.

“No…I…I can create something…better…Just…Just you wait and see-”

‘Why would anyone waste a single second more on you? You make a mess of things…’

“N-no…Thats not true…”

‘You’re lying to yourself. You are a failure. You ruin everything you touch!’

The tears flooded Lucifer’s workdesk one by one, his head lowering until his forehead met its supportive wooden surface.

“....Stop…”

‘Just give up. Just give it all up. It’ll be better for everyone that way…’

“Shut up….Shut. Up.”

‘You are a failure. You always have been, and you always will be. Once you admit it, you’ll feel better. Lying to yourself won’t help you. You are a failure, through and through-’

Mighty fists came down with the force of lightning onto lucifer’s work desk. Blind rage, Fury wrapped in a veil of pain, threatened to split his desk asunder.

“SHUT UP….SHUT THE FUCK UP….OKAY?! Gah, I...I CAN’T take this today…I can’t, I can’t….I just can’t….Please…Please just…Stop….”

Lucifer knew his mind told him the truth, but he just couldn’t take it anymore. He was having somewhat of a decent day and he did not need this… He knew he was a failure. He knew he had one specific job, one that was crafted to him when the birth of the universe came into being. It was a job he was specifically made for, and he couldn’t even do that right. His skills were forfeit for good as soon as he gifted that damn apple to eve…

Lucifer clenched his fists with enhanced bitterness. His dreams, what he meant to use to forge good in the world in the lives of man, only made things worse.

He always made things worse. He failed. That's why heaven did away with him. He failed to adhere to their ideals. He wanted to exchange them for his own, wanted to expound upon them. He wanted to make them better.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t, because he ruined every single thing his hands handled. His ideas of grandeur got in the way of heaven’s design for humanity. His creations were the fall of every living thing. He was their doom, their end.

He was heaven’s failure.

Bereft tears poured torrentially from his eyes, his face turning so his cheek was plush on his desk. He felt the sensation of cold, murky paint water running into his shirt sleeves. The stickiness of glue greeted his clothes, attuning itself into his face and skin and mixed with the continued tears as the night waged painfully on.

Amidst his tears, Lucifer failed to notice the duck he had handled with such care earlier had fallen to the floor; cracked into a state of chaotic disrepair due to his spirited rage…

#Lucifer Angst week 2025 #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin lucifer

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