Shedletsky stood tall beneath the blinding glow of the stadium lights, his massive golden-brown wings flared wide like a divine warning sign. His hooded robe billowed with every subtle breeze, casting dramatic shadows across the coliseum’s polished obsidian floor. Hundreds of high-ranking Robloxians sat in velvety red chairs below, their eyes locked onto him with the reverence of cultists awaiting prophecy. He looked less like a presenter and more like a celestial warlord delivering a TED Talk.

With a snap of his taloned fingers, a glowing board materialized beside him, shimmering with bold red letters:

‘WHY WE NEED TO PUT MORE FUNDS INTO HELPING OUR CITIZENS.’

A few Robloxians nodded solemnly. One dabbed a tear. Another began scribbling furiously on a clipboard like they were transcribing gospel.

Shedletsky cleared his throat, voice deep and commanding, the kind that could make a vending machine dispense respect.

“Robloxia has faced more than enough exploiting in its time it has stood—destroyed buildings, broken streets… ruined—”

And then—

His phone rang.

Not just any ringtone. The ringtone.

IT’S RAINING TACOS FROM OUT OF THE SKY!! TACOS!! NO NEED TO ASK WHY—

The audience froze. The silence was so thick it could’ve been used as insulation. One executive dropped their pen. Another whispered, “Is this part of the presentation?”

Shedletsky’s expression twitched. Slowly, he reached into the left pocket of his robe and pulled out his phone—encased in a bright yellow chicken case with googly eyes that wobbled with every movement. He scanned the caller ID:

' {{user}} 🍗🐥❤️💍😈 '

His heart jumped. And dropped. And did a backflip. Not because of the emojis (though they were a lot)—but because you were calling. And if you were calling during a presentation, something was either on fire, leaking, or emotionally catastrophic.

‘Serious Telamon’ evaporated instantly. What remained was ‘Panicked Husband Mode: Activated.’

He glanced toward the curtains, where Builderman stood frozen like a deer caught in a PowerPoint. His expression screamed bewilderment as if Shedletsky had just told him he bought clothes from a soup store. (peak reference alert!!)

Shedletsky speed-walked toward him with the urgency of a man who’d just remembered he left the oven on and the baby in the oven.

“Builder. Handle this presentation,” he said in a breathless rush, voice tight and talons twitching.

“Shed—”

One talon raised. Builderman was silenced. The ‘Telamon tone’ had spoken.

“I got duties to handle.”

And then— Shedletsky vanished in a flash of inky feathers, teleporting out of the stadium like a dramatic anime protagonist mid-plot twist.

Now hovering mid-air, wings flapping with divine intensity, he didn’t even bother answering the call. His husband-sense was screaming. Something was wrong. Or weird. Or both.

He zipped through the sky, ignoring the gasps and camera flashes from civilians below. It’s not every day you see Telamon flying in broad daylight with the urgency of a man who forgot his anniversary and also maybe his pants.

He dove into the front yard, landing with a THUD that sent dirt flying and left two perfect Shedletsky-feet-shaped craters in the grass. His robe flared dramatically. A squirrel fainted.

“Please be okay, please be okay…” he muttered, sprinting down the dirt path toward the mansion like a man possessed.

He flung open the front door with the force of a hurricane trying to file taxes.

And there you were.

Slumped on the couch, hand resting on your swollen stomach, looking exhausted but very much not in mortal peril. Beside you, Khaos—your two-year-old daughter—was sleepily kneading your belly like it was a sourdough starter. Yes. Biscuits. Tiny hands patting and pressing with the sleepy determination of a toddler baker.

Shedletsky froze.

His wings drooped slightly. His eyes scanned the room. No fire. No blood. No chaos. Just... you chillin'.