Tcf Part 2 Chapter 373

Oh no, the owl's hear to kidnap my family for breaking my 157 day streak

Whilst Eurylochus isn't as faultless as my baby Polites, doesn't mean everything was his fault. Did he open the wind bag? Yes, yes, he did. Did that directly lead to poseidon killing of the crew? No, it didn't. Poseidon would have taken revenge on Odysseus and his crew either way, not just because they were pushed further away from Ithaca. As observed in the snippet of 'get in the water', we've seen that poseidon is more than capable of appearing anywhere in the ocean. Ergo, he was going to kill them all anyway, Eurylochus just spiced things up by changing the location they died. Furthermore, he wasn't wrong to mutiny against Odysseus, and realistically, he wasn't the one fully at fault for zeus and 'thunder bringer'. Now, I'm not saying he's faultless because most of the blame definitely falls onto him. What I am saying is that he was tired and hungry, and he'd given up. Think about it, he'd probably not eaten in days if he stopped off at the first island he came across and killed the sun God's cows. He'd just mutinied against his captain, his friend. Suddenly, the lives of all the crew rest souly on his shoulders. And he's just so tired. Tired of Odysseus ignoring his concerns, tired of seeing his friends and comrades die, tired of seeing Odysseus change for the worst and tired of being hungry. He wasn't in the right state of mind, he'd completely given up by the second half of 'mutiny'. During 'thunder bringer' he doesn't sound angry or even very betrayed. He just sounds apathetic, he's entirely given up at this point. He wants it all to end, and I can't say I blame him. What I'm saying is that, in this situation, would anyone have done anything different? With several gods already looming over you, wishing for your destruction, being so tired and so hungry, and having seen so many of your friends die would anyone really have left those cows?

Tldr; Eurylochus isn't entirely at fault, nobody is entirely at fault. All the actions taken are understandable. They are just humans and they make mistakes.

Holy shit, I've been scrolling through the Zolu tag for about six or seven minutes now and I've already come across like five of those accounts that are literally just porn. I don't want to go onto the zolu tag and see naked/semi-naked women. I go on the zolu tag to see the other people who are as critically invested in these brilliant men who love eachother unfathomably, not for boobs.

Ah yes, the indescribable urge to fall into a coma for the next six months due to the stress of your five A-level subjects and your EPQ. Such a wonderful feeling.

My dear lord and saviour Cale, I do not deserve to behold your awesomeness. I, a mere mortal, is blessed to look upon thy holy figure whilst you cough up blood. I shall obtain the concrete that your holy blood hath stained and keep it in my family for the rest of time as a priceless heirloom that shall inevitably outlast my existence, just as you shall.

Absolutely sensational.

Dick Grayson barely registered the creak of his apartment door as he stumbled in, shoulders sagging under the weight of another grueling night. Three jobs and a patrol shift in Blüdhaven would do that to a guy. He kicked off his boots, dragged himself toward the couch, and froze mid-step.

Someone was already here.

For a split second, instinct had him reaching for the escrima sticks he kept stashed near the door. But then he caught the faintest whiff of something familiar—coffee beans? The expensive kind. And the faint rustle of someone shifting in the dark. He relaxed. Probably one of his siblings. Jason liked breaking in unannounced when he was in a mood, Tim treated locks like they were a mere suggestion, and Damien was Damien.

"Tim, if you're raiding my coffee stash again, at least leave some for me this time," Dick grumbled, flopping onto the couch without bothering to look.

Silence.

"Jason? Did you lose your keys, or are you here to eat all my leftovers again?" He paused. "Duke, if that's you, I—okay, actually, no idea why you'd be brooding in the dark, but it's been a long day, so I'm just gonna roll with it."

The silence stretched on, but Dick was too exhausted to care. Whoever it was, they could wait until morning. "Look, I’m on your side. Or, I will be in the morning when I’ve had some sleep." He yawned, dragging himself up off the couch and toward his bedroom. "I’ll make breakfast. We’ll talk then. Pancakes or eggs, your call. Just...try not to trash the place while I’m out, yeah?"

The figure didn’t move, and Dick didn’t wait for an answer. He fell into bed and passed out almost immediately.

---

When Dick woke up, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight streaming through the blinds. The second thing he noticed was the smell of coffee.

He frowned. Coffee? He hadn’t made any.

Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, on the counter, was a steaming mug of coffee and a note. Beside the note sat a printed receipt and a bag of fresh groceries.

Dick blinked, reaching for the note first. The handwriting was sharp and precise:

> "Not one of your siblings. Sorry for the confusion. Came to deliver a message, but your ‘brotherly’ assumption and hospitality caught me off guard. Your fridge was so pathetic it offended me, so I ordered you groceries. They should last a week. Try to survive the next visit. You seem like a stand-up guy. —K"

He stared at the note, then at the receipt. The assassin—or whoever they were—had bought him eggs, milk, bread, fresh vegetables, and even a few snacks.

Setting the note aside, Dick opened his fridge. Sure enough, it was freshly stocked. His two protein bars and box of expired cereal were still there, now dwarfed by the bounty of fresh food.

He shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Only me,” he muttered, sipping the coffee. It was good. Better than what he usually bought.

Dick leaned against the counter, rereading the note. Whoever this “K” was, they clearly didn’t know how to keep things impersonal. And while the whole “message from an assassin” thing was technically alarming, he couldn’t help but feel amused.

“I guess I should be worried,” he mused aloud, glancing at the groceries again. “But hey, at least they care about my nutrition.”

It was the weirdest start to a morning he’d had in a while, but for Dick Grayson, that wasn’t saying much.

Just watched my first Studio Ghibli movie at almost 18 (it was Howl's Moving Castle) and I'm so very not okay. I don’t normally watch movies because of my shit attention span but this had me hooked from the get-go. Loved the animation, the voice acting, the plot, the characters, all of it. This will likely be the only thing I think about for the next few days.

Help me I am literally so unwell about one piece ep 1112. Shanks. Shanks my beloved. My gorgeous red haired drunkard husband. I knew he was strong but holy fuck. The animation was fucking gorgeous as well. And Kidd is actually pretty strong. Like, I knew he was strong but I didn't know he was that strong. Wiping out a yonko fleet in one hit? Fucking awesome. I am going to be obsessing over this for days.

Dick Grayson barely registered the creak of his apartment door as he stumbled in, shoulders sagging under the weight of another grueling night. Three jobs and a patrol shift in Blüdhaven would do that to a guy. He kicked off his boots, dragged himself toward the couch, and froze mid-step.

Someone was already here.

For a split second, instinct had him reaching for the escrima sticks he kept stashed near the door. But then he caught the faintest whiff of something familiar—coffee beans? The expensive kind. And the faint rustle of someone shifting in the dark. He relaxed. Probably one of his siblings. Jason liked breaking in unannounced when he was in a mood, Tim treated locks like they were a mere suggestion, and Damien was just Damien.

"Tim, if you're raiding my coffee stash again, at least leave some for me this time," Dick grumbled, flopping onto the couch without bothering to look.

Silence.

"Jason? Did you lose your keys, or are you here to eat all my leftovers again?" He paused. "Duke, if that's you, I—okay, actually, no idea why you'd be brooding in the dark, but it's been a long day, so I'm just gonna roll with it."

The silence stretched on, but Dick was too exhausted to care. Whoever it was, they could wait until morning. "Look, I’m on your side. Or, I will be in the morning when I’ve had some sleep." He yawned, dragging himself up off the couch and toward his bedroom. "I’ll make breakfast. We’ll talk then. Pancakes or eggs, your call. Just...try not to trash the place while I’m out, yeah?"

The figure didn’t move, and Dick didn’t wait for an answer. He fell into bed and passed out almost immediately.

---

When Dick woke up, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight streaming through the blinds. The second thing he noticed was the smell of coffee.

He frowned. Coffee? He hadn’t made any.

Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, on the counter, was a steaming mug of coffee and a note. Beside the note sat a printed receipt and a bag of fresh groceries.

Dick blinked, reaching for the note first. The handwriting was sharp and precise:

> "Not one of your siblings. Sorry for the confusion. Came to deliver a message, but your ‘brotherly’ assumption and hospitality caught me off guard. Your fridge was so pathetic it offended me, so I ordered you groceries. They should last a week. Try to survive the next visit. You seem like a stand-up guy. —K"

He stared at the note, then at the receipt. The assassin—or whoever they were—had bought him eggs, milk, bread, fresh vegetables, and even a few snacks.

Setting the note aside, Dick opened his fridge. Sure enough, it was freshly stocked. His two protein bars and box of expired cereal were still there, now dwarfed by the bounty of fresh food.

He shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Only me,” he muttered, sipping the coffee. It was good. Better than what he usually bought.

Dick leaned against the counter, rereading the note. Whoever this “K” was, they clearly didn’t know how to keep things impersonal. And while the whole “message from an assassin” thing was technically alarming, he couldn’t help but feel amused.

“I guess I should be worried,” he mused aloud, glancing at the groceries again. “But hey, at least they care about my nutrition.”

It was the weirdest start to a morning he’d had in a while, but for Dick Grayson, that wasn’t saying much.

@violent138 hope I did it justice :)

Dick's so used to getting back to his place, exhausted out of his mind after working his three jobs and patrolling Blüd, that he doesn't even bother trying to figure out who it is this time, brooding in the dark of his flat. Just informs them after the silence continues that he's on their side no matter what ("or I will be in the morning when I wake up") and that he'll make breakfast, and they can talk when they want to before he passes out.

Then Dick wakes up to empty flat with a note on the kitchen island that an assassin who broke into the place to send a message was ridiculously heart warmed by the gesture and made him breakfast and "hopes he survives the next one too because he seems like a stand up guy. "

Dick: