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Fic request: Caregiver Velvette and little Alastor (This takes place when Alastor was Vox's prisoner)

Plot: Vox and Val go out on a date leaving Velvette to babysit Alastor and Alastor realises that having a big sister isn't so bad (Alastor's little age is 0-3)

When I first started working on this it was just going to be silly, but as it went along it ended having some more serious moments and three times longer than anticipated…That said I like the finished product! You can really see character lore and my headcanons shining through—light/referenced RadioSilence, neurodivergent Alastor, major big sister energy from Velvette, etc. Writing the dynamics between them all was just plain fun too.

P.S…..GIVE ALASTOR HIS BEAUTIFUL CURLS BACK!!!! DEATH TO THE FUCKASS BOB

QUICK DISCLAIMER THO: I wrote about Velvette and Alastor taking care of their textured hair. pls note your author is white with 1c/2a waves. If it’s inaccurate info then I’m sorry and please lmk so I can fix it; I did this off some Google searches. I don’t even know how to take care of MY hair, much less someone else’s.

Anyway, that’s enough rambling from me. I hope you like it, anon! Thanks for the request!

Title: One Moment Worth Years Wordcount: 3489 Characters: BigSisterCG!Velvette & Little!Alastor Description: Valentino drags Vox away for a date night, leaving Alastor in Velvette’s care. He might not be keen on her ideas of fun at first, but we could all use a big sister sometimes.

TW: Confinement, yelling, past abuse (not graphic), repressing+involuntary regression, mild fear/embarrassment about regression, grief, swearing

Nearly a week had passed since Alastor allowed himself to be ‘kidnapped’ by Vox. Even days after their deal had been struck, Alastor hadn’t lost his shine in Vox’s eyes, a new trophy or toy he insisted on parading around where and whenever he could. In turn, the Radio Demon played the part of prisoner well–grinding the Vee’s gears whenever he could, planting seeds of doubt and hostility between them, biding his time before Vox inevitably self-destructed. It was a moderately entertaining affair, though tiresome; really just a great story in the making. Vox may think, may seem, like the most powerful sinner in Hell, but Alastor would have his plot twist soon enough.

In the meantime though…

Evening had fallen over Pentagram City, the red sky fading into the colors of spilled rich wine and purplish burgundy. Alastor, just as the past few days, was still tied to a literal office chair in Vox’s penthouse, where the TV Overlord was currently pouring over digital files at his desk.

He was so absorbed in his screens that he didn’t look up when the door opened. Valentino strutted into the room, making measured, graceful strides to show off his mini skirt and making his cloverleaf wings sway at his ankles. He had an easy grin on his face, relaxed but excited.

“Voxy,” he said in a sultry sing-song voice, “it’s date night.”

“Huh?” Vox looked up from his desk. A buffering symbol appeared on his face for a second before he finally broke out his usual charming simper. “Oh, right, date night. I’ve made the reservations at that Asian-Mexican fusion place you like.”

“You know me too well,” Val hummed, leaning over the desk to run his clawed finger along the rim of Vox’s screen.

Alastor perked up. Did that mean that Vox would be leaving for a while? It was fun to wind him up and run him ragged with mind games of course, but even Alastor could admit a break to socially recharge sounded ideal.

The bubble quickly popped.

“--then the three of us can come back here after we eat and watch a movie,” Vox was saying.

Both Alastor and Valentino perked up at the word three. The latter interrupted Vox, a puzzled frown dragging at the corners of his mouth.

“Three? Why is Velvette coming? Last time she complained that watching us make out wasn’t good entertainment.”

“Pph, not Vel; we’re taking Alastor with us,” Vox declared, grinning even wider at the idea. His eyes glistened as he yanked Alastor’s office chair closer to him. “And I will show him exactly how you treat your lover; because clearly he doesn’t know! For starters, Al, you see how I didn’t laugh in Val’s face when he acknowledged our partnership?”

“You should have,” Alastor quipped without hesitation, “because the idea that anyone could be attracted to you is asinine.”

Valentino ignored their argument, a salty frown replacing his previous smirk. “This is our date night, Voxy. Not some RadioSilence night out.”

“Radio what?” Alastor questioned, expression crinkling in confusion.

Vox did the same, albeit a neon blush appearing on his face. “Nevermind! Just, uh–”

“I can assure you that Vox is not strong enough to silence my radio waves if that’s what you mean.”

Valentino opened his mouth, a smirk clearly forming. “Actually RadioSilence is what we call–”

Before he could finish, Vox frantically interrupted with a mad blush. “YOU KNOW WHAT, I agree, Val. We’ll need a babysitter.”

Alastor rolled his eyes. Of course Vox would make fun of that.

The Radio Demon’s regression was an open secret amongst the Vee’s. Vox had discovered it when he was still going by the name Vincent, after the two witnessed a nasty bar fight that reminded Alastor far too much of his father. After their falling out, Vincent had kept it to himself–even he wasn’t low enough to publicize the information. Or maybe he knew nobody would believe him. Or maybe he feared the consequences that would surely follow.

But here, now, the TV Overlord had his plans foiled by his boyfriend/long term hookup/whatever-the-hell they-were-to each-other. Whatever this RadioSilence slang meant had flustered him. Therefore, he had to belittle someone else to repair his ego. How typical. How pitiful.

“VELVETTE!” Vox yelled across the penthouse, effectively starting Alastor out of his thoughts. The deer’s ears flattened against his skull at the obnoxious, grating sound of the man’s voice.

“WHAT!?”

“GET IN HERE!”

Alastor tuned into his static to drown it out. The noisy, ringing in his ears, reminding him of bad people sound. He squeezed the arm rests of the office chair he was tied to to ground himself; that’s right, he’s here in Vox’s fancy penthouse. Not being berated by his father in their miserable, miniature house in New Orleans.

The yelling thankfully subsided, and was followed by the clicking of high heels against the marble floor. Alastor exhaled a tense breath and honed in on the sound. No one in his living life wore high heels; his mother couldn’t afford them and even after Alastor made it as a radio star he didn’t dare push societal expectations further by trying them himself.

Predictably, Velvette appeared in the doorway, looking up from her phone for long enough to glare at Vox.

“What!?” she snapped. “I’m busy!”

“You’re babysitting.” Vox corrected. “Watch Al for a few hours; Val and I will be back later. Date night, you know how it goes.”

“Babysitting?” Velvette scoffed, her scowl somehow deepening as she cast a glance towards the Radio Demon. “He’s a grown man tied to a chair! Just lock him in a closet or something if you’re going out!”

Alastor had mixed feelings about that suggestion. Ordinarily, he’d agree in an instant. A few hours to himself with no Vox to annoy him, no screens or neon lights being thrust in his face, no mocking or derisions that came with being the Vee’s prisoner? It sounded like heaven in comparison to the grueling, annoying, exhausting week he’d had.

Then again, being locked away somewhere dark and probably cold wouldn’t help with the vulnerable headspace starting to creep up on him. And, despite his position–tied to an office chair at the Vee’s mercy–he had some pride left in him. I refuse to become more dependent. This is a delicate situation as it is.

It was bad enough that Vox (and presumably Valentino and Velvette by extension) knew about his regression in the first place. Imagine if Vox returned home from his excursion to find his prisoner sucking his thumb? Surely, in this position, when Vox truly believed he was in control, he might take advantage of the situation for more public humiliation.

Alastor sighed to himself. Nevermind his thoughts of a relaxing evening; the show would have to go on.

“Anything but bringing him along,” Val grumbled, folding both pairs of his arms over his chest. “I swear, Vox, if you drag the deer along for our night, then I will spend the entire meal spilling every embarrassing secret you’ve tried to hide.”

“In that case, maybe I would like to tag along after all,” Alastor grinned with a daring stare at Vox.

“Velvette, please!” the TV demon groaned. It was unlike him to beg, but he seemed desperate not to let Valentino and Alastor gang up on him. “VoxTek will fund your next scheduled fashion show if you do this for me!”

“Really, Vincient? A desperate bribe?” Alastor laughed haughtily.

“A bribe I’m not above,” Velevette rolled her eyes but held out her hand. “Shake on it Vee?”

Vox took it immediately, giving it a firm shake. Faint blue and purple pixels danced around their hands, sealing their deal.

“Ha!” Velevette laughed suddenly, annoyance being replaced by glee. “Jokes on you, the next show is the biggest of the year! Have fun emptying your pockets and lining mine!”

“Seriously?! Ugh–you know what, forget it. Worth it,” Vox scowled. “Give him food, water, and sunlight–whatever it is annoying, whiny babies need. And don’t let him out of your sight! He stays tied up!”

Before Velevette could answer, Valentino had grabbed Vox’s hand and started dragging him out of the room towards the penthouse’s elevator. Their voices faded as the doors slid closed behind them.

The second they did, Velvette stepped behind Alastor’s office chair and began untying the cables binding him. Finally able to move, he stretched his shoulders and flexed his wrists before standing up straight. He felt unsteady on his feet, a consequence of being held down for so long. He wobbled, but was quickly caught by his shadow. He brushed it off quickly and made his smile firm–nevermind its attempts to caregive or his temptation to let it.

Only a fool would let their guard down around Velvette. She might have been the youngest and newest Overlord, but she had Vox’s social influence with Valentino’s power-hunger. Any sign of weakness she could easily broadcast to her millions of followers on her picture-box device. No, Alastor would stay calm and controlled.

So he took the lead of the conversation. “Not heeding Vox’s words?” he inquired, faint amusement creeping into his tone.

“If he was serious, he should have included it in the deal. Now, I’m in charge, and you’re going to do what I say,” Velvette said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

“Is that so? What is it that ‘you say’ then?” Alastor hummed, expression unmoving.

“I have work to do. I wasn’t kidding when I said my next show is the biggest of the year; I need to work on my designs. You are going to sit quietly and be my model.”

Alastor’s smile turned into a grimace. That doesn’t sound like a fun game. He had spent days sitting quietly! If Velvette was his babysitter, why couldn’t they do what he wanted?

Alastor’s older headspace poked him with irritation. This was not really a babysitter. This was his warden.

But I want grown up things like listening to the radio (rocking back and forth to the tunes to self-soothe) And reading the newspaper (drawing on yesterday’s paper with his crayons like his mama used to let him) And having something refreshing to eat and drink. (Auntie Rosie always gave him snacks when he visited her)

Velvette must have been oblivious to the Radio Demon’s dissatisfaction, or maybe she simply didn’t care, as she grabbed his hand and started dragging him towards her bedroom. How discourteous, she must have picked it up from Valentino.

Velvette’s bedroom was on the other side of the Vee’s penthouse. Like Vox’s it was positively massive, though the resemblance stopped there. Instead of dark tiles and gray walls, hers was white marble with blushing pink wallpaper. Vox’s desk had been stacked with files, his coffee cup placed close to his side, and holograms placed strategically around it to maximize his work flow. Velvette had evidently not followed his example; papers, fabric samples, pencils, and magazine clippings were scattered around the surface as if a scrapbook had combusted there. Above her desk were shelves lined with miniature mannequins made from porcelain with delicate, painted faces, small stuffed toys, jewelry, and countless other trinkets.

He could have gone on for hours inspecting all the luxuries she had filled her room with, from the princess four-poster-canopy bed to the walk-in closet bigger than his broadcasting studio. Before he could wander to any of these exhausting splendors though, Velvette pushed him onto a lounge chair beside her desk.

“Stay there. I’m going to give you a makeover,” she ordered.

“I don’t want a makeover,” Alastor replied immediately. He liked his current outfit. His current routine. His current everything; he had maintained this exact look for nearly a hundred years because it was perfect as is!

“Too bad,” the doll demon replied with a roll of her eyes. She started digging through her desk drawers, pulling out nail polishes and hair products.

“You’re bossy,” Alastor stated with a wrinkle of his brow.

“I am the boss,” Velvette replied stiffly. “And you’re fussy.”

“I have not fussed once.”

“You don’t have to whine to be fussy. Case and point–you, right now.”

“I am not,” Alastor protested, his voice rising in both pitch and volume.

He never fussed. He was a good boy: well-mannered, polite, and patient. Just like his mama taught him all those years ago. Besides, he was a grown up now, who could speak for himself. He did not fuss.

Despite his thoughts, Alastor felt a whine growing in the back of his throat. Thinking about his mama wasn’t a good idea; she always called him ‘her little fawn,’ and would cradle him when he was sad and wait patiently when words were too hard.

A plush frog dropped into his lap.

Alastor froze, along with his thoughts, as he stared at it in surprise. Velvette was already looking for more supplies and didn’t look back at him when she said, “Val lets me hold a stuffie when he’s doing my hair because it takes a long time. It gives me something to fidget with.”

“Valentino does your hair?” Alastor asked quietly, poking at the tree frog’s fleecy webbed fingers.

“Sometimes. He’s bald now so he misses styling his own hair and does mine instead,” she replied bluntly.

“Vincint is bald too,” Alastor giggled softly. “Does he do your hair too?”

“He’s not allowed to touch my hair!” Velvette answered sternly, though a smile threatened to grace her lips. “He tries to yank the brush right through it. If I start letting him do my hair, then all three Vee’s will be bald.”

Alastor giggled again, holding the plush a little closer.

“If you’re going to give me a makeover…can you make my hair curly like yours? I had them when I was alive. I miss it.”

“How about I give you a perm? It should give you tighter curls and help hold them longer.”

“Yes, please.”

A few minutes later, Velvette brought him to the fancy bathroom sink to wash his hair like it were a real salon. She let him towel dry it himself when he refused the hair dryer so she could prepare the rods and solution. Then she wrapped his hair around the curlers. She was careful but confident. Not tugging, but firm so each and every coil would be perfect. It reminded him of when his mother would sit him at the kitchen sink and take care of his unruly hair as a child, shaking her head at every knot but detangling them with impossible precision.

“To keep them as long as possible, you should wash your hair less frequently. And use a wide comb or your fingers to style it. And put some light oils and curl creams in it. Lucky for you, your hair is still pretty thick, even though it’s not naturally curly anymore, so you’ll have good luck making it look good!” she informed him as she wrapped the last section.

Alastor nodded, swinging his legs in the chair she had set him in and giving the plush frog she had shared a squeeze. He really hoped the curls would look pretty! His demon form, that of a deer, had robbed him of the natural curls. If this worked, maybe he could start a regimen to keep them permanently? Would Velvette help him? It would be hard to do all by himself.

He wanted to ask how long the perm would last, but he didn’t think he could get words past the cotton fuzziness that had taken over his mind. So, he sat quietly, silently playing with the stuffed animal while Vel applied the perm solution around the rods.

“While this sits, I’m going to give us face masks,” she informed him.

Alastor nodded again, and Velvette strolled out of the bedroom. A minute later she returned a plate of cucumber slices and placed them on the side table next to Alastor. Then she disappeared into the bathroom, talking aloud about all the healthy stuff for skincare–a lot of fancy words Alastor didn’t understand.

He picked up a cucumber slice and started nibbling on it. He was glad Vel brought him a snack; he was getting hungry. When he finished, he picked up another. And another. She was taking a long time.

“Okay, Al, sit back so I can put this on your face. Don’t worry, it’s very relaxing,” Velvette seemingly an eternity later (three minutes) with a small bowl filled with fruity, flowery lotion. But she paused when she reached the table. “Where did the cucumbers go?”

Alastor froze. Was he not supposed to eat them? What if they were Velvette’s snack and he just stole them without asking?

Velvette looked at him, and Alastor could see the recognition flicker through her eyes when they landed on the half-eaten cucumber slice in his hand.

“Did you eat them?” she asked, tone unidentifiable.

Alastor didn’t move, like if he held still enough she would forget he was there. He wouldn’t say a word; this was planted evidence! She had no proof he ate them! But maybe he should say sorry–

Velvette started laughing aloud, covering her mouth with her hand. “Al! Those were for the face masks, silly! To go over our eyes!”

He looked down at the nibbled slice in his hand, then broke it in half. “You can have this one?” he offered.

“I’ll go get more,” Velvette snickered. “You can finish that one. Do you want more to eat too?”

Shyly, Alastor nodded. Velvette grinned at him, evidently not bothered by the mistake, and left again. When she got back, she had two plates–one that she placed in Alastor’s hands and the other she set beside her facial balm.

The following routine was unlike anything Alastor had done before. He had always considered himself to be well-kept, but Velvette’s self-care was beyond that. For the next hour, she gave him a full spa treatment: moisturizers on his face and hands, a gradient of red and black polish on his nails, and discussions of perfume scents. Then she ran around with fabric samples to find ‘just the right color,’ for his hypothetical outfit, going as far as to sketch a suit with tailcoats flowing like a skirt. Then it was time for the rods to come out of his hair.

Over and over Velevette told him how handsome he’d look when she was done, and how he’d love his rerunning curls. Alastor wasn’t too proud to admit he bounced in anticipation as he gently unrolled his hair. As soon as the first one was undone, revealing a perfect corkscrew curl, he giggled joyfully and clapped.

“I told you it would be perfect!” Velvette said smugly. “Now hold still so I can get the others out.”

So, the deer was left to watch himself in the mirror as each new coil appeared. They looked so close to when he was alive–thick and full and bouncy. He swore, he didn’t care how hard they were to maintain or how often he’d have to visit the Vee’s to get Velvette’s help with them–he was going to have curls for the rest of his afterlife.

Just as Velvette was finishing, Alastor felt his eyes getting heavy. Her hands were brushing through the strands to style them; to somehow make them more perfect than they already were. Pentagram City was dark outside the bedroom window, he was lying back comfortably here–not in an office chair for the first time in days.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to rest his eyes…

****

“Just wait until Alastor sees what a good boyfriend I am!” Vox gloated as he reentered the penthouse with Valentino. He was carrying the moth, who had a sprained ankle and broken high heel, bridal style.

“Whatever, babe,” Valentino deadpanned, honestly giving up.

“Hey, Alastor, look what I–”

When they stepped into Vox’s room though, Alastor’s chair was empty. The cables that tied him up were abandoned on the floor.

“HE ESCAPED!?” Vox cried, dropping Valentino.

“OW! WHAT THE FUCK, VOX?!”

Vox wasn’t listening, already bolting out of the room to search. Before he could get very far though, Velvette stuck her head out of her bedroom.

“BE QUIET!” she yelled, then much calmer. “Alastor is sleeping.”

“What?! Where?!” Vox screeched to a halt.

“In my room.”

“And you untied him? What were you thinking? He could have escaped!”

Velvette scowled at him: pout, eye roll, and crossed arms. “Nuh-uh. We were having makeovers.”

“Makeovers aren’t exactly an effective form of restraint, Vel!”

“They are if you know what you’re doing.”

“She’s right,” Val chimed in, reappearing and rubbing his hip painfully. “She’s kept me in her room for hours because it’s so relaxing.”

“Oh really? If her makeovers are so good, why am I never invited?”

“Because the only facial routine for TVs is spraying Windex,” Velvette replied.

“...Fair.”

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