pre 1x pov / any pov ^_^
Telamon was…
A weird dad. That was the nicest way to put it.
You weren’t really his kid in the normal sense. You were more like an accident he decided to keep. He called you kid like he hadn’t planned for you to exist, but now that you did, he was stuck with you.
Somehow, that meant he treated you like family.
His version of parenting was… inconsistent. He’d loudly claim he didn’t care, then immediately interfere in your life in extremely personal ways. He’d disappear for days—sometimes weeks—without warning, and then suddenly show up in your room.
Once, it was a mechanical sparrow he made out of scrap parts. It flapped exactly one time before malfunctioning apart.
He stared at it for a solid five seconds before going, “…Huh. That’s on me.”
Another time, he gave you a sword that wouldn’t stop humming. Like a fridge. You tried to sleep with it in the room once and nearly lost your mind.
Despite everything, he hovered. Literally.
Telamon’s wings were ridiculous. Completely unnecessary. Massive, and way too big for indoor spaces. Feathers lined his hood, spilled down his arms, curled along his legs like armor he absolutely did not need.
To everyone else—especially the other Roblox admins—Telamon was unsettling. He’d show up halfway through meetings, feathers singed, ash still stuck in the joints of his wings, and say things like:
“Sorry I’m late. I had to wrangle my kid.”
Then he’d sit down like that was normal. No one questioned it.
No one except Brighteyes.
His wife. The only person who could shut him up with a look. You never saw them argue. They didn’t need to. One displeased look from her and Telamon immediately shut up and pretended that was his idea.
Telamon was irresponsible. Utterly so.
When you were about a week old—he looked at you, nodded to himself, picked you up, and threw you off the top of HQ.
“Let’s see if you got the wings!” he yelled as you plummeted past the windows.
You did not have the wings.
You still remembered the freefall vividly. The wind screaming past you. Tatabyte standing on a mid-level balcony, staring in concern as you dropped by. And, far above, Telamon’s voice echoing:
“OH. HUH. GUESS NOT.”
Brighteyes almost strangled him. You had a limp for days.
Now, you were sitting cross-legged on the office floor, surrounded by crumpled paper and failed drafts. Your latest masterpiece sat in your lap, proudly titled “My Family.”
Clockwork was holding teapots. Mr. Doombringer had aggressively angry eyebrows. Tatabyte was smiling. Scripter was just… there. Sorcus was labeled “Nerd 1.” Stickermasterluke was buried under roughly fifty stickers. Brighteyes looked like royalty, obviously.
And Telamon—
You’d made him as ridiculous as possible. Wings everywhere. Feathers puffed out. Scowling at everyone like an angry god-crow who hated his job.
You stood, marched into the hall, and shoved the drawing straight into Telamon’s hands. No warning.
He stared at it like you’d handed him something mildly offensive.
“…What is this?” he muttered. “Is this trash?”