#pride special

            “It’s no wonder there are more sinners than ever,” said the man. “People look like they live in sin before they even make it here.”

            Whisper was perhaps an understatement. The words were clear and carried. (Y/N) slowed, knowing who they were talking away as people glanced at them warily.

            “And so many claim they’re not men or women? Or that being with men when they’re men wasn’t the sin that brought them here?” The woman scoffed.

            “Utterly ridiculous,” said the man. “We may have stole, but at least our lifestyles weren’t sins.”

            (Y/N) spun on their hell and looked at the man and woman. The cashiers in the store and everyone who recognized them froze. The man and woman were blissfully unaware, so they just smirked at the smaller demon—they had the advantage of being tall, insect-like demons.

            “Do you think you’re better than some sinners? You’re in Hell, just like the rest of us,” said (Y/N). “So who cares who’s with who or how they dress? The only one who cares are archaic demons like you who couldn’t hack it in life and can’t hack it here.”

            “Excuse me, young lady!” said the woman. “We were respected—”

            “Not a lady,” said (Y/N), and their eyes narrowed. A small flowerbox outside began to grow at a rapid rate. “And obviously not. If you were this-this judgmental when you’re as ‘bad’ as you think we are, then no one respected you. And no one respects you now.”

            They had and still struggled with bad thoughts about themself, their identity. They knew murder had brought them to Hell, but their identity…their parents had always forced them into a box (Y/N) couldn’t fit into. They had the exact thoughts of these people. They handled it with more force against (Y/N). But (Y/N) was getting better. They weren’t—they weren’t the sin. Their existence wasn’t wrong.

            “We barely stole. We didn’t live and wallow in sin as if it was something to be proud of,” said the man. “It’s a sickness, and if the Princess really wanted to save sinners, she’d get people like you, young man, out of that life of sin.” He stared at (Y/N)’s outfit. “Like getting men out of dresses for a start.”

            “Not a man,” said (Y/N). Another warning, and the people in the store were backing away.

            “You’re one of those?” said the woman.

            “And they think you can be saved?” The man looked at them like they were something rotten, and (Y/N)’s stomach turned over as they saw the looks in their mother and father’s eyes in this man’s. “The only way that could happen is if they beat the ugly queerness out of you.”

            (Y/N)’s throat constricted, and the phantom sensation of scars opening up on their back ran hot as the rest of their skin turned ice cold. The entire room turned dark, and sinners fled as they saw plants blotting out the windows and the sun.

            “Beat me?” (Y/N)’s voice was low, hoarse as they spoke through the lack of airflow pressing down on their lungs. “Beat me? You…You monsters. The reason you’re in Hell isn’t that you stole. It’s that you treat other people as things.” So many people here still did. Adam had done that to sinners. Valentino and his fucking contracts. Vox sucking people dry of energy. This was the real rot in Hell, the realest sinners. “I despise people like you.”

            A shower of glass punctuated their words, and vines shot through the window. They grabbed the man and woman, and they cried out as thorns torn through their skin. (Y/N) flicked a wrist, and the vines dragged them out of the store, screaming and kicking. They dragged them down into the flower bed of dirt until only their heads were exposed, like demented flowers.

            (Y/N) glared. “I’d kill you, but I can’t be bothered.” They stepped carefully over broken glass and stared down at the heads. “In the future, shut up. Your mouth got you into this problem, and if you keep running it, I will personally remove it.”

            They glanced back at the store where people were fearfully peeking out. (Y/N) pulled out some more money and tossed it back into the store. “For your window.”

            They walked away, feeling the gaze of people on their back. They swallowed. They knew it was fear. But was that what (Y/N) wanted? They had just—They had remembered—They couldn’t stand there and take it anymore. (Y/N) had lost it. It happened sometimes. More these days.

            But (Y/N) wasn’t ashamed of who they were. They couldn’t just stand there and let themself be shamed for something that wasn’t shameful. (Y/N) was who they were. No one could change that.

l

            “Thanks for doing the shopping,” said Charlie, putting the food away.

            “No problem,” said (Y/N), sitting down. “Had to deal with some bigoted sinners.”

            Vaggie frowned. “What?” If (Y/N) had gotten bothered, she wasn’t letting them go out alone.

            “They just made some comments about queer people’s ‘lifestyles,’ ” said (Y/N).

            “Ugh,” said Angel Dust. “Those types are the worst.”

            “Are you okay?” asked Husk.

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N). “I buried them.”

            The four adults exchanged looks at (Y/N)’s matter-of-fact tone.

            “You what?” said Vaggie.

            “Dragged them into dirt.” (Y/N) waved their hand in the same motion. “Taught them a lesson.”

            “(Y/N), violence isn’t the answer,” said Charlie worriedly.

            “I didn’t kill them. And their heads are sticking out,” said (Y/N). “But they were saying—” beat the queerness out “—I couldn’t stand there and do nothing.”

            “Well, I think our sprout did the right thing!” said Alastor, appearing out of nowhere. “They exercised refrain but also didn’t roll over like a coward!”

            “Being kind isn’t being a coward,” argued Charlie.

            Alastor laughed, clearly disagreeing.

            “Listen, Charlie,” said (Y/N). “I’m sorry. Really. But some of what they were saying—the idea that you should beat the queerness—” they forced the words from their throat “—out of us—I couldn’t just…”

            Husk and Angel exchanged glances. (Y/N) never completely explained their situation in life. They knew (Y/N) had killed their parents, but they knew no other details. They had their suspicions of abuse, though, by the church, by their parents, for their identity, for standards no one could meet. It angered both men, and if they had a chance, they both personally wanted to teach (Y/N)’s parents a lesson for what they’d done to the innocent kid. They wouldn’t be in Hell if whatever had pushed them hadn’t happened. Husk and Angel didn’t doubt that their parents had been the catalyst. (Y/N)’s instincts didn’t lean towards harm unless their triggers appeared, and then it was fight or flight.

            Charlie seemed to come to the same realization, and she calmed. “It’s okay. Just…be careful. You’re a good kid, (Y/N). I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

            “Thanks,” said (Y/N).

            “Where did this happen?” asked Alastor.

            Everyone looked at him in surprise, and Angel and Husk exchanged glances.

            “Um, Alastor? What are you going to do?” said Charlie warily, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She had to stop further violence from Hazbin Hotel guests, though. (But Alastor wasn’t technically a guest, so he didn’t care).

            “I want to see their heads sticking up!” laughed Alastor. “Squirming and wriggling like worms.” He clearly found the entire thing entertaining.

            Angel and Husk felt a little different. They still hadn’t figured out what Alastor’s around (Y/N) were, and it worried them. He had taught them to use their abilities, and (Y/N) had grown stronger because of it, but why did Alastor care? What game was he playing? It was doubtless that he had a game, an angle. Alastor couldn’t just care about the kid. Not this quickly, no way. Husk doubted Alastor was even capable of caring about another person without profiting from them. So what was he planning for (Y/N)?

l

            Alastor stood over the pathetic insects—almost literally—in the dirt. They had managed to get their torso’s partly out of the earth, caked in mud. The sinners had all left the street as the Radio Demon approached, and now he and his prey were the only people left.

            “My, my,” said Alastor, his large smile not leaving his face. “Two plants trying to escape.”

            The sinners paled as they looked at Alastor. They recognized him.

            “We can’t have that, can we? You were freshly planted,” said Alastor.

            Shadows rose into the air, and screams filled the street a moment later. Come morning, the flower bed would have arms, legs, and heads sticking out of the ground, blood drying on the stumps of their limbs.

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