Welcome to Lucifer Hotel, where shadow meets truth, where masks fall, and where every soul is shown what still needs to be healed. Behind the front desk stands a man once honored by Michael the Archangel himself… until he wasn’t.

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His name is Justin.
Not Archangel Justin, not Saint Justin—just Justin.

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At a glance, he’s got that wholesome charm. Talks about family, morals, love, values. His heart? Oh, it’s big. Really big. Bigger than his sense of self+awareness most days. If hearts gave promotions, he’d be CEO of 5D compassion. But the truth?

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Justin flip-flops harder than a fish out of cosmic water.

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One moment, he’s on the flip—lighting candles, chanting affirmations, meditating, praying to God, preaching about God like he’s ready to join the MpyreTV choir. You’ll hear him talk about high vibrations and peace and “being the light.” But blink once... and he’s flopped.

Triggered. Complaining. Finger-pointing like it's his spiritual sport.

One misunderstanding, one beer, one ego bruise—and the whole vibration drops like a rock in Saturn’s rings. Suddenly, he's on Fb Messenger or some group chat, emotionally broadcasting like a toddler in time-out: threatening to leave, to quit, to vanish, unless things go his way.

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Spoiler alert: It’s never his way, and that is his hell.

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He wants attention, any kind—love, drama, pity, applause—it doesn’t matter. Attention is his energy snack. His inner child, still seeking validation, plays loud behind that front desk like a toy that won’t turn off.

He talks a lot.
Like... a lot a lot.

You’ll know when Justin’s working at Lucifer Hotel. The lobby echoes with long monologues of why he's right, how others are wrong, and spiritual practices he preaches but doesn’t always live.

For a long while, Michael kept giving him chances.
Michael saw his light. His heart. His potential.

But after countless cycles of inconsistency, broken promises, and emotional outbursts, it became clear: Justin couldn’t handle 5D Earth duties.

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So… he was demoted.

Or maybe, in a way only God could orchestrate, he was reassigned to shadow school with Lucifer—the realm of raw truth, uncomfortable mirrors, and no spiritual sugar-coating. His new title? Front Deskman of Lucifer Hotel.

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Perfect fit, really.

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Now, he greets souls arriving in their mess, reflecting just enough of their light and just enough of their chaos to make them squirm. He’s rarely on time, often distracted, and doesn’t exactly give five-star service.

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But when he’s there—oh, you’ll know.

Because Justin doesn’t shut up.
Because Justin, like the rest of us, is still learning.
Still healing.
Still flip-flopping.

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And maybe, just maybe, that’s why Lucifer keeps him around.

Because every guest who checks in through Justin… eventually meets their own mirror.