A/N: If y'all want me to write out other character reactions to the new baby, let me know in the form of a request! FOR NOW, however, I wanted to write out Carmilla's reaction as the "final" one for the main baby arc saga, so I can focus on other requests I need to get to. I think I only have a few more, so y'all are more than welcome to send me more if you wish to!
Definitely send me requests revolving around Alastor and Carmine!Reader being parents!
Previous Chapter: Absolutely Nobody Was Prepared for This
When Carmilla picked her head up from what she was working on, she immediately sensed something was off the moment Y/N stepped into her office. Not wrong or bad, just...different.
She noticed it in the way her daughter slowly moved towards her. It was very much like how she used to when she was younger, fearing interrupting her work. A hand rested against Y/N's chest, as if steadying herself. Her fingers were splayed, almost as if she were holding something precious. And then Carmilla noticed the weight her eyes were carrying. It was something...important, yet fragile. Something that would cause great damage if handled carelessly.
It was all enough to get Carmilla to push her paperwork aside to give Y/N her undivided attention.
"Mija, is everything all right?"
Y/N didn't answer right away, needing a moment to swallow nervously before grounding herself some more with the familiarity of her mother's office: the faint smell of iron polish and ink on paper, the sight of shelves lined with ledgers, contracts, and weapons - all of it a testament to decades of careful planning, fierce protection, and survival. It was enough to calm Y/N down so she could begin with her news.
"I need you to listen, and to please not interrupt until I finish,"
Carmilla’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, her focus sharpening, as if she were reading a battlefield. Regardless, she nodded in compliance.
Y/N inhaled, the quiet tremor of fear threading through her chest. Her voice, when it came, was low, like speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile reality she held in her hands. “Something has changed. Alastor—” She choked briefly, swallowed, and tried again. “Alastor and I… have a child.”
Silence fell. Heavy, complete.
Carmilla did not speak or move from her seat. She simply regarded her daughter with the same intensity she had reserved for contracts penned in blood, for assassins waiting in the shadows, for negotiations where life itself hung in the balance.
“Explain,"
Y/N’s hands trembled, her hair fell into her face as she looked down at the floor, then back up, letting the words come slowly but surely. “Alastor did something with… Lucifer. He made a deal. I—I didn’t know until after.”
Carmilla’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, a muscle that had not relaxed in decades as she stood up from her seat on instinct. “Did he force this on you?” Her voice was quiet now, but razor-sharp.
“No,” Y/N said immediately, just as fiercely. “Never! He would rather sell his soul than take my choice from me.” Then, unexpectedly, she laughed softly, a humorless, slightly relieved sound. "Alastor did this because he knew this was what I wanted… even though I gave up the very idea of it a long time ago.”
Carmilla’s expression faltered, a crack in her usual armor. “You… gave up?”
Y/N nodded. “I did. I thought…I thought that part of me died along with everything else. But Alastor wouldn’t let me stay without hope. He did this because he loves me, and because he believed in what I couldn’t anymore.”
Carmilla blinked, her hands tightening slightly at her side. Then… something shifted. Her eyes softened as she came to her daughter, cupped her face, and had her thumbs brush beneath tear-bright eyes. It was a gesture she offered no one else outside the family, a quiet, unguarded intimacy forged through blood, fire, and trust.
“Look at me,” Carmilla said, a warmth crept into her voice. “You are not foolish, not weak, or selfish for wanting this. You've earned this after surviving for so long."
Y/N broke then as a sob escaped, sharp and aching. “I made peace with never being a mother,” she whispered. “I told myself it was punishment. That it was Hell reminding me of who I was.”
“No,” Carmilla murmured. “It was Hell lying.” She pressed her forehead to Y/N’s. “You were always meant to love fiercely. That was never your sin.”
Y/N’s hands clutched at her mother’s sleeve like a frightened child. “I’m scared.”
“As you should be,” Carmilla replied softly. “Anything worth protecting is terrifying.”
Y/N nodded in understanding, tears spilling freely. “She will be,” she whispered.
Carmilla’s breath caught—just once—but Y/N felt it. Something deep and wild stirred behind her mother’s eyes. “She,” Carmilla whispered, voice trembling with awe, “Una nieta.”
Y/N laughed softly through the tears, a sound half broken, half ecstatic. “Sí, mamá. Her name's Dahlia.” She exhaled, the weight of impossible hope in her arms. “Would you like to meet her?”
Carmilla studied her for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she huffed—almost like a warrior catching her breath after a long battle.
She nodded.
---------------
The office door opened softly.
Alastor stepped inside without his usual theatrical flourish, the radio-static hush around him muted to a respectful hum. His long arms were cradled carefully, admiringly, around a small bundle wrapped in deep red fabric embroidered with fine black thread. Y/N followed just behind him, one hand resting lightly at his back, grounding him as much as steadying herself.
Carmilla turned, and for the first time in decades, Hell’s most feared weapons dealer forgot how to breathe.
The child was small, smaller than Carmilla expected. She seemed impossibly delicate against Alastor’s tall, angular frame, her tiny horns curled just above a head of dark hair, and her gray skin held a warm undertone beneath Hell’s glow. Then there were her eyes, half-lidded with sleep, that flickered open just long enough to reveal white irises framed by red sclera and narrow black pupils.
Somehow, miraculously, she had the Carmine eyes.
“Oh,” Carmilla whispered.
Alastor stopped a respectful distance away. His smile was soft, proud, dangerously sincere. “Madam Carmine,” he started as he slowly, carefully, lifted up the baby in his arms so Carmilla could have a better view. “May I present...our daughter!”
Y/N’s fingers curled into Alastor’s back. “Mamá,” she said quietly. “This is Dahlia.”
The baby stirred at the sound of Y/N’s voice, making a small, disgruntled noise before settling again, one tiny hand slipping free of the blanket. Her fingers flexed in a clumsy, instinctive way.
Carmilla approached slowly, as if the air itself might shatter if she moved too fast. When she stopped in front of them, she didn't reach out right away. Instead, she studied Dahlia with the same intensity she once reserved for weapons prototypes and battlefield schematics, except that her eyes shone with something softer.
“She’s real,” Carmilla said, almost to herself.
Y/N let out a shaky laugh. “She is.”
Carmilla finally lifted her hands. “May I?”
Alastor’s grip tightened instinctively for a fraction of a second, then he relaxed and carefully transferred Dahlia into Carmilla’s arms, every movement precise, deliberate. When the child was settled, Carmilla stiffened slightly, surprised by the weight. It wasn't heavy, but it was definitely important.
Dahlia shifted again, nose scrunching as if offended by the unfamiliar scent of gun oil and iron and power. Then she calmed down enough for one of her small hands to latch onto Carmilla’s finger with surprising strength.
It was enough to freeze Carmilla and cause her breath to hitch.
“Strong grip,” she noted, voice barely steady.
Alastor’s smile sharpened with pride. “Runs in the family.”
Carmilla shot him a look that would have killed lesser demons before she looked back down at her granddaughter.
Her granddaughter.
“Hola, pequeña,” Carmilla whispered, brushing her thumb gently along Dahlia’s cheek. “Soy tu abuela.”
Dahlia yawned, wide and ungraceful, then settled against Carmilla’s chest as if she belonged there.
Carmilla swallowed hard. “She has your eyes,” she said to Y/N. “I know that's not possible, but she does.”
Y/N simply smiled through fresh tears in response.
Carmilla straightened slightly, squaring her shoulders as steel returned to her spine even as her arms cradled something infinitely more dangerous than any weapon she’d ever built. “No one will touch her,” she declared. “Anyone who even thinks about it will cease to exist.”
Alastor’s grin widened, sharp and delighted. “Ah, splendid! We were hoping you’d say that.”
Y/N rolled her eyes fondly and leaned into his side.
Carmilla glanced between them; her daughter, finally allowing herself joy, while the Radio Demon looked disturbingly domestic.
“She is Carmine,” Carmilla said, returning her attention to her granddaughter. “Maybe not in blood, but in name. In protection.”
Her gaze lifted to Alastor, eyes blazing. “And if you fail her—”
“I won’t,” Alastor replied simply.
No jokes this time or even static. Just truth.
Carmilla studied him for a long moment, then nodded. She looked back down at Dahlia once again, her expression softening into something almost unrecognizable.
where human!alastor is trying to make a deal with a demon. the only issue is the manual he was using was old and had a few missing pieces. still, it's enough that he feels confident in his usage. at first, everything is going well, lots of smoke, dark lights, eeriness.
then this leads to alastor summoning a powerful demon yes, but it is a baby demon. alstor is standing face to face with a young girl with red colorful cheeks and a button nose. alastor was facing the only heir to hell, charlie morningstar.
alastor is freaking out. what did he do? what could he do now? charlie was friendly enough, too friendly for a demon. she would not stop talking. he decides to keep her by his side, coaching her to say he's her nanny. alastor was still thinking about making a deal, even if charlie was young she was still a powerful demon.
meanwhile, lucifer is slowly loosing his mind. who dare take his daughter? yes, it might've taken him a while to recognize that she was gone but he noticed and now he needs to see her. luckily, he has a connection with his daughter and could create temporary portals straight to her. unluckily, charlie refused to leave this human who kidnapped her.
Hazbin Hotel; Alastor’s and Adam’s Room, Late Night
Evelyn is miserable.
Her tiny body is burning up, covered in itchy red spots. Her breaths come out in ragged little wheezes, her nose is clogged, and her usually bright red eyes are glassy with fever. She’s exhausted, uncomfortable, and for once in her short second life, too weak to fight.
And worst of all—she’s alone with him.
Alastor holds her securely against his chest, rocking her in slow, steady motions. His usual wide grin is softer, his eyes lacking their usual playful malice. He’s been tending to her for hours, not once leaving her side. A damp cloth rests against her burning forehead, his clawed fingers delicately smoothing her sweat-dampened curls.
Alastor: softly “There, there, little one… I know. It’s dreadful, isn’t it?”
Evelyn doesn’t respond—not a glare, not a frown, not even the usual annoyed little huff she gives him. She just breathes,wheezing faintly, her small body curling weakly against his chest.
She’s too tired to hate him right now.
He adjusts his grip, cradling her as he reaches for a small spoon of thick, syrupy medicine.
Alastor: *gently* Now, my dear, I know you despise me, but surely you don’t despise getting better! Just a little sip?
Evelyn barely turns her head away. It’s weak, pathetic, but still stubborn.
Alastor sighs, but there’s no irritation—only patience. Instead of forcing her, he starts to hum. A low, melodic tune, smooth and rich with an old-timey warmth. It’s slow, steady, familiar.
And somewhere deep inside her fevered mind—Evelyn recognizes it.
Not her, but… Trixie.
The memory is hazy, distant—an echo of a song once sung in the warmth of a Louisiana summer evening. A time when things were simple. Before fear, before death, before him.
It soothes her.
Her little body relaxes just slightly, her fingers twitching before curling weakly into the fabric of his shirt. It’s warm. He’s warm.
Alastor notices.
He doesn’t gloat, doesn’t tease. He just brings the spoon to her lips again, this time with barely a whisper.
Alastor: *softly* There’s a good girl…
And this time—she drinks.
His grip tightens ever so slightly, a protective, instinctual motion. He presses a gentle kiss to her fevered forehead, continuing his song, rocking her as she finally stops resisting.
—————
Evelyn is getting worse.
Her tiny body is still burning up, her breaths weak and raspy, but now—she’s barely moving. The occasional whimper has faded into eerie silence. Her little hands, usually so stubborn in resisting him, now rest limply against his chest.
Alastor shakes her gently.
Alastor: *softly* Come now, darling, don’t start that.
No response.
A creeping dread claws up his spine.
He presses his hand to her forehead—still too hot. He listens to her breathing—too shallow. He holds her tiny wrist—her pulse is there, but faint, fragile, like a candle flickering in the wind.
She is slipping.
His heart lurches.
No.
No, no, no—
His breathing quickens. His thoughts spiral. He doesn’t have medicine strong enough for this. He doesn’t know how to treat this. He’s always been untouchable, unstoppable—but this is something he can’t fight.
And he is alone.
Adam is gone. The others are gone. He had insisted on staying behind, convinced he could handle things himself. But now—
Evelyn shudders weakly in his arms.
And something inside Alastor snaps.
He bolts from the room.
—————
Pentagram City, The Streets
The neon-lit streets blur around him as he runs, Evelyn clutched tightly to his chest. His usual confidence, his ever-present smugness—all gone. There is no grin, no laughter. Only desperation.
Alastor: *frantic, shouting* Please! Someone—anyone! She needs help!
He dashes past sinners, demons, Hellborn—faces turn, startled by the Radio Demon in a panic. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t stop.
He bursts into a rundown clinic—deserted.
He storms through a shadowy alley, searching for an underground doctor—no one in sight.
He is losing time.
Evelyn’s little body is barely moving now, her breath so faint he can barely hear it.
His vision blurs—not from exhaustion, but from something he hasn’t felt in decades.
Fear.
He drops to his knees in the middle of the street, holding Evelyn close, his voice cracking as he shouts—
Alastor: *pleading* Please! Someone save her!
Alastor is running out of time.
Evelyn is barely breathing, her tiny body burning with fever, and every second wasted is another step closer to losing her.
There’s no one left to turn to.
No doctors. No help. No hope.
Except—
His gut twists. His pride screams in protest. He doesn’t want to go there. He doesn’t want to see them.
But when Evelyn gives the faintest, weakest little whimper against his chest—he makes his choice.
And so, for the first time in his entire existence—
Alastor swallows his pride and runs straight to V Tower.
The doors slam open with a violent burst of static as Alastor storms inside, his voice raw with desperation.
Alastor: *frantic, shouting* LUCIFER! VOX! I KNOW YOU’RE HERE!
The air crackles with tension.
Lucifer Morningstar stands at the top, bathed in the dim glow of bright lights. His crimson eyes narrow, expression unreadable. Beside him, Vox materializes in a flicker of static, his screen flickering with white noise.
A soft coo echoes from behind them—Virgil, their infant son, nestled in Lucifer’s arms.
The sight should disgust Alastor. Should make his stomach churn.
But all he feels is fear.
For her.
Lucifer descends the stairs, slow, calculated, his smirk laced with amusement.
Lucifer: Alastor. It is 2 in the morning and I’ve been up with a cranky baby. What do you need???
Alastor grits his teeth. Every fiber of his being hates this.
But Evelyn shudders in his grasp, barely clinging on.
So he does the unthinkable.
He drops to his knees.
Alastor: *desperate, voice breaking* Evelyn is sick… Please… help her.
Lucifer kneels, his red eyes scanning Evelyn’s tiny, fever-ridden form. His smirk is gone, replaced by a rare look of seriousness. Gently, he presses a clawed hand to her burning forehead, then tilts her head slightly to examine her wheezing, labored breathing.
Lucifer: *calm, but firm* She has the Hell Flu.
Alastor’s stomach drops.
Lucifer exhales, shifting Virgil to one arm while brushing a thumb over Evelyn’s damp curls.
Lucifer: *quietly* And it’s taken a turn for the worse.
Alastor grips Evelyn tighter, dreading the next words to come.
Alastor: *hoarse* What can I do?
Lucifer meets his gaze.
Lucifer: She needs real medical treatment. You must take her to St. An’s Hospital in the Sloth Ring—immediately.
Alastor stiffens, his grip on Evelyn tightening.
Alastor: *low, hesitant* …You know I can’t.
Lucifer: * tilts his head, his gaze knowing* No, you can’t.
Sinners were bound to the Pride Ring. They could not leave. Could not cross the boundaries into the other rings of Hell.
Alastor knows this.
Lucifer knows this.
Which meant—
Alastor would have to trust him.
Trust Lucifer Morningstar with his daughter’s life.
His hands tremble.
Lucifer watches him carefully, waiting for the inevitable fight, the stubborn refusal. But when Evelyn lets out the faintest, pained little fawn bleat, Alastor’s decision is made for him.
His pride does not matter.
Only her.
Alastor: *whispers to Evelyn* Mo kontan to, mo ti bébé doux
Slowly, hesitantly, painfully, he lifts Evelyn from his chest—
Alastor has been stressed. And Sir Pentious is quite moody and isolated... What's happening? A certain babbling baby wants to know!
[omg Böse's POV for once??]
[cw: Heavy implied Radiosnake, Premature birth hatching, Böse hitting the egg, (panicked) Yelling]
Böse was sitting on a carpet, chewing on a crayon for the 3rd time now. Mama wasn't around anyway... Why did mama INSIST he was dada?
Hm.. Where was mama? And his friend? They hadn't been so focused on her recently. Mama's friend, known as "Sir Pentious" or otherwise the weird snake man, had been almost all over the place. And so was Alastor...
They wanted her to help with holding strange pictures with letter-like blobs on them. In a room with a crib...Was she getting a new room? But she was almost 2! She didn't need a crib anymore!!...right?
Her head turned as she heard a familiar sound of Sir Pentious and Alastor talking. They always seemed to be discussing something with eachother.. And Böse was NEVER let in on what they were talking about!
She toddled over and peered her head in. Sir Pentious was sat on a stool, drinking some sort of tea. He looked fairly tired, and Alastor was leaning on the counter. She wasn't entirely sure what they were discussing, but it might've been bad because of their facial expressions..
"...How about Eleanor?"
"I...ssuppose it could work...If it's a girl..."
Böse raised her eyebrows. Were they giving her a new name? But..but that was HER favorite name! She's always been known as Böse!
She stormed in..as best she could. She held her hands at her sides, clenching her fists.
"NO!"
Clearly they didn't understand her warning. They just laughed. Like..it wasn't that serious.. It was VERY IMPORTANT! And they treated it like a joke!
"Oh little darling, were you listening in on adult conversations again?"
"Bad.. Bad name."
"..Böse, we're not calling you Eleanor."
"..Eh?"
"Oh, you'll meet Eleanor soon.."
She watched as Sir Pentious sipped his tea again. What was with him? Was he sick? Was he dehydrated? Was he...Just being a strange adult?
"..Drink?"
"You want my..drink?"
Böse shook her head.
"Drink."
"Oh, I can make you a glass of water."
"No! Drink!!"
She pointed at Sir Pentious.
"Do you want to know..what I'm drinking?"
She shook her head.
"Why I'm drinking..?"
She nodded. Why didn't adults just understand her? It took FOREVER for them to catch on!
"Well...it helps me feel..better?"
Böse sighed and toddled away, having tripped over on the way. She spent too much energy arguing with dumb grown ups, that's why she tripped!
She sat back down, hearing Alastor chuckle again. What was so funny? That fact she tripped?
"Such a silly girl, don't you think, my dear?"
Sir Pentious groaned.
Böse went back to drawing some beautiful scribbles.
As time passed, she was put down for...a nap. How disgusting. How HORRID OF THESE ADULTS! She threw her blanket onto the floor, crying and stomping her hooves on the mattress.
But no response.. How odd. It usually worked...what were they so busy on?
"BLANKIE!!"
...
Nothing happened. Again.
She was a big girl, she could be an amazing detective like the people in those strange books that mama reads! Well..they didn't always catch the bad guy, but it didn't matter.
She maneuvered her body and climbed onto the railing. From here, she fell down and landed on her bottom. At least it didn't hurt, but it did shock her.
She sat there frozen, before getting up and getting her blanket. Böse toddled towards the door..
But the handle was too high up.
She fussed and tried to tug at it. Eventually, she grabbed a pull toy and smacked the door with it.
It didn't open it, but Alastor came back and tucked her back into her crib.
"Now, now, you should be asleep, not trying to come up with an escape route!"
"Blankie."
"Your blanket is in your crib."
"Blankie..bye bye."
"Hm? Where'd it go?"
"Uh...Blankie."
He sighed
"You certainly need a nap. Now, close your eyes and off to bed."
He ruffled her hair and left. She laid down, upset. Her plan was practically foolproof, what could've alerted him?
She shut her eyes, but still couldn't get to sleep.. It was like something was missing!
CREAKK
Some light from the hallway spilled into the room, which disturbed her sleep. She grew cranky, before grinning ear to ear. That was it! The door was open!
She crept out her bed again and toddled down the hallway, hiding under and behind anything at the sound of any noise.
She approached Sir Pentious's room. He'd been in there so often and for such long periods of time. She could sometimes hear him talking to something in there..either an Eleanor or an Ethan. It was one of the two.
Well, she now knew it was a Eleanor.. But who was Eleanor anyway? A toy? A blankie? A plushie? No matter what, she knew that Sir Pentious seemed to be so protective of her.
She giggled. Maybe it would be funny to take it from him! After all, she was a quote, "little rascal", why would an adult need a blankie?
She used a nearby plant to push it towards the door and climb on top of it. Her hooves were a little dirty, but it didn't matter. She could reach the door handle now!
She twisted it and pushed forward. The room was coated in a warm light and Sir Pentious was completely asleep. But, she saw something else.
A small egg.
It was about the same size as her plushie. And it was laying on the bed, close to Sir Pentious, at least within arms length. She carefully approached, letting her blankie fall onto the ground. Maybe it was a new toy?
She touched the egg. It was the texture of an actual egg. Like one mama would use to make scrambled eggs. Or the one she touched after he dropped one onto the ground. She'd never seen him panic more than that, ehehehe!
It must've been a very good plushie then! It felt so real! So carefully, she smacked the egg.
Sir Pentious shot wide awake, seeing Böse standing there. To her, he looked like he'd woken up from a very bad nightmare.
"Böse!! WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
She frowned. Why was he yelling? Did the plushie get hurt? Oh no!
"Uh..sowwy?"
Sir Pentious hugged the egg tightly. His eyes were all glossy. And he seemed to slowly become full of relief.
"Oh thank the HEAVENS! Your still breathing.."
Crack.
Alastor had entered not long after. He watched everyone freeze.
"Plushie?"
"This isn't a plushie!!"
Oh no.
A small head broke through the shell. It had some black hair and deer like ears that were naked. Its eyes were squinted and it seemed very dazed and confused.
It let out quite the screech and slithered into Sir Pentious's neck. Böse assumed this new creature could tell who was it's career by the smell. Then, Böse finally figured it out.
"ELEANOR!!"
She smiled. Alastor had ran over and sat next to Sir Pentious. Eleanor kept crying as Sir Pentious tried to soothe her.
"She's fine?!"
"I believe sso.."
Böse noticed the snake tail on the baby. It was like Sir Pentious's. Wait..the deer ears..the snake tail..
She had a new little sister! Böse stomped over and held her arms out
"Gimme."
"Not until I'm ssure you can not hit her again."
"We'll talk after your nap..."
Alastor picked her up again and grabbed her blankie with her. Why was she being taken away? That was her little sister. She deserved to know something..Right?
(This is a request! Although I don't have the 'ask', I will be keeping the user anonymous! Enjoy!)
Mentions: Fluff, Teen!Reader, GN!Reader :]
The first person to meet you outside the hotel was Rosie. You two have definitely grown close from how many times Alastor left you there for Rosie to babysit.
In his eyes you were easy to raise as a Lil tot, but now in your teen years, he's slowing losing his patience.
Lucifer likes to make it a point that the teen years are the rebellious years, but you know better.
The worst you've done infront of Alastor was break a plate or lie. You've never lied again.
Despite Alastor coming off as strict, he's not. He's just a bit protective of you.
You two bond a lot. Most of it is when he's in his studio working and you're listening to him all the while.
You try to use electronics, but he's strongly against it. This is because your his child, and that's an open opportunity for Vox.
When everyone else met you, they treated you like a little kid. Constant compliments about how you look, how you resemble Alastor, ect.
he's killed so many people on your behalf its crazy.
HE REFUSES to let you go out on the streets of hell alone.
You always get breakfast in bed, secretly, you're spoiled rotten.
He's protective, but not entirely overprotective?
If Rosie can't babysit you, Husk does. He doesn't like it but he doesn't hate you. Mainly Alastor.
Alr, don’t get me wrong. Alastor COULD be a great dad. And I have plenty of headcanons for that :)
If he has a son, he’d love playing catch with a baseball. He teach his son how to throw and swing a bat and he’d even do these a bonding experience to understand his son better and have more serious talks during these little games of catch.
If he had a daughter, he’d probably spoil her rotten. To many gifts, to many clothes. He’d also spend a lot of time bonding with her over music and songs. They’d often sing together when making breakfast for the rest of the family.
Educating his children would be his top priority. He’d most likely enjoy home schooling more than public schools. Though he may be a little bitter BUT PROUD that they outwit him, or become smarter than him. But hey, that’s the whole job of a parent, to make your kids better and smarter than you were.
It doesn’t matter what gender his child/children are. Alastor WILL ALWAYS dislike them “dating” or having significant others. He tolerates it, but he often tells his kids “Leave room for Jesus”
If ANYONE disrespected his children IN ANYWAY, he will fuck shit up. No one is allowed to bully his kids BUT HIM. (Dad jokes are a form of bullying we all know it)
Alastor wears dad clothes once, his kids make fun of him. He cries himself to sleep that night.
His children and RELENTLESS when it comes to picking on him, but in a nice way. His kid: “Dad you got something in the mail?” Al: “what is it?” His kid: “Oh mom finally filed for divorce-” then hands him junk mail and walks away.
Alastor no like holding baby. Will freak out every time. Will if he has too, but avoids it if he can. He does this just because kids smell… and leak… and make messes…. He also just doesn’t know what to do when holding a baby. Yes his emotional holding his kid for the first time but he’s also like “okay take them back-” cause he just doesn’t enjoy it as much as you’d think.
This man is the kind of Dad who would give his kid a beer at 13 and be like “Good Job Champ” cause his kid kicked another kids ass in a fight in the playground
