#drowning their sorrows

[contemplatingoutlander]

Michael de Adder | Drowning their sorrows | Nov. 11, 2022

[set-phasers-to-whump]

the motherland don't love you, the fatherland don't love you, so why love anything?

prompt: drowning their sorrows

whumpee: kind of all 3 of napoleon solo, illya kuryakin, gaby teller

fandom: the man from uncle

hey!! this fic is a bit different from my usual stuff, it's much more about the angst and kind of the character study type aspect, so it's not whump in a traditional sense. nonetheless i really enjoyed writing it and i hope you like reading it!! (title from ya hey by vampire weekend)

“Listen,” Napoleon says, after his sixth or seventh glass of Scotch. “Fuck the Central Intelligence Agency.”

Gaby raises an eyebrow at him, takes a sip from her glass, and waits for him to say something else. 

Napoleon, however, seems to have lost his train of thought. “Fuck the CIA,” he repeats. “Nothing but a bunch of extortionists.”

“Yeah,” Gaby agrees, with the tone of one who doesn’t know exactly what it is they’re agreeing with but who is staunchly in support of it nonetheless. “Fuck the CIA,” she echoes, giggling at the English curse. 

Napoleon smiles, then grows serious, evidently having remembered his earlier thoughts. He sets his glass down with a thump. 

“No, really. I mean, God knows I’m no saint, but…look at us.” He gestures in a vague circle that encompasses himself, Gaby, and Illya, all painted with bruises and cuts of varying severity, marks of a severely botched mission and the reason for their present collective inebriation. 

Napoleon then gestures to himself, prods at his fresh black eye with a bit more force than is wise. “Ow.”

“We do not work for the CIA,” Illya points out, speaking slowly to avoid jumbling his words. “Only you.”

Napoleon scowls at him. “Not the point, Peril. My point is…my point is, how often have we looked like this because of an UNCLE mission?”

Illya shrugs, scrunching up his face like he’s actually trying to count. 

Gaby answers for him. “Not very often. Not this bad.”

Napoleon points at her. “Exactly. UNCLE has better intel - well, maybe not this time, but you know - and they actually sort of care about us. Like, Waverly probably wouldn’t threaten me with prison if I was a little cheeky with him. Probably.”

Gaby and Illya both nod. 

“And,” Napoleon starts, more to indicate that he wants to keep talking and less to introduce a well thought-out sentence, “and. Okay. I mean, I’ve never been in the KGB and I didn’t grow up in East Berlin, so I can’t really speak for you guys, but my boss here?” 

He stops, considers his use of prepositions, realizes they’re not actually in the States at the moment, and rephrases. “Back in the US, I mean. Sanders, my boss, terrible man, really, talking a big game about the country being on top of the world like he’s the one who put it there. Anyway. He threatens me with prison pretty much weekly.”

Gaby looks at him intently. “Can he actually send you to prison?”

Napoleon shrugs, does his best to be nonchalant. “Probably. It wouldn’t be too hard to convince whoever it is that needs convincing. I mean, sure, I’m useful as an agent, but at the end of the day I’m nothing but a dirty thief who should worship the ground the CIA…well, I guess the CIA as like, a thing, can’t walk, but you know…I should worship the ground the CIA walks on because they kept me out of prison. Not that working for them is anything like freedom.”

“I understand,” Gaby says, leaning slightly against Napoleon’s shoulder, partly as a gesture of comfort and solidarity and partly because everything has gone a little spinny. She waits until the feeling subsides, then speaks up again. 

“In Berlin, they trap us. East Germany is supposed to be a good place, that’s what they tell you, but then they build this wall through the city. And what are we supposed to do? We can’t go over it, they will kill us. It’s like they don’t understand that it’s the same city on both sides. There’s no freedom like that. I don’t even miss it.”

She falls silent, finishes her drink, pours another, contemplates it for a moment. 

“I do miss it, I guess. Is it possible to not miss your home?”

Her eyes have gone a bit glassy. Unconsciously, she rubs at the fresh red scratch on her cheek. 

“It isn’t like East Germany ever cared about me. Or anyone, really. Do you know how many people they arrest every day? For nothing. They questioned me about my birth father once. Two years ago they arrested my neighbor for…how is it in English? Sed… something. They said he was against the state. He was only a painter.”

“Sedition,” Napoleon chimes in, shaking his head. 

Gaby nods. “That’s it. Sedition.” She pronounces the word carefully, committing it to memory. “And even then I - I do miss it. Even after everything. There is nothing left for me there, no one. Still, sometimes I think about how I can never go back, and I think it should feel like…like freedom, but it doesn’t.”

She leans more heavily into Napoleon and shuts her eyes. She will not cry over this. Over a place that does not care for her in the slightest. Over a place that she is indifferent to and misses in the same breath. 

A soft silence. Gaby scrubs at her eyes. Illya shifts slightly in his chair, keenly aware of the fact that it would seem to be his turn. 

He finishes the last of his drink - he doesn’t know what it is, something Napoleon made that had tasted good earlier but is now horribly bitter. He doesn’t know how many of these terrible drinks he’s had. He should have kept count. He shouldn’t be so drunk. But he is, and so his tongue is loosened. He takes a deep breath and tries not to wince when his bruised ribs protest. 

“My father was not a good man,” he says, and then stops. Napoleon and Gaby both look at him, attentive. He looks away, continues after a beat. 

“He was arrested. Sent to Gulag. He stole money from the Party. I thought, they will kill him. But he is still alive. No one can see him. They will maybe tell me when he dies, I don’t know.”

He pauses, considers, formulates the English words. “He is a criminal. Or else they would have freed him. He is in prison for almost twenty years. Oleg Grigorievich, he says to me sometimes… Solo,” he says suddenly, looking at his partner. 

Napoleon looks back at him with startling intensity. “Yeah?”

“You said that Sanders, he threatens you with prison, yes?” Illya asks, and then barrels on atop of Napoleon’s affirmative answer. 

“Oleg Grigorievich also does this. He tells me I will end up in Siberia like my father if I do not perform well. I love my country, I will die for my country, but…I do not love him.”

Gaby nods seriously. “Fuck Oleg Gri…gorievich,” she proclaims, pausing in the middle of the patronymic to hiccup. Napoleon snorts, and she elbows him. He winces. 

“Your elbows are sharp. And I already have a bruise,” he complains. 

“Sorry,” Gaby apologizes, mostly sincerely. 

Illya looks at them. He is beginning to think he should not have begun speaking, because now he is not sure that he can stop. 

“I am good at my work. KGB needs me. I am happy to work for my country. But…”

“Go on,” Napoleon encourages, leaning forward. 

“We won’t tell anyone,” Gaby adds. “Nobody tells anyone anything.”

“Except each other.”

“Obviously.”

“I was just making sure!”

“But,” Illya continues, and Napoleon and Gaby turn their attention back to him. “You are nice to me.”

He doesn’t say anything else. His face feels hot and his throat feels tight. For a very long moment all three of them just look at each other. 

And then, as if by design (though neither one of them had spoken to the other), both Gaby and Napoleon get up and grab hold of Illya’s hands. 

“What are you doing?” Illya asks, scarcely moving despite their straining. 

“Come sit with us,” Gaby says. 

“Please?” Napoleon adds. “So we can all be miserable together.”

“We are already together,” Illya points out. 

“Come on, please?” Gaby asks. 

Illya heaves another sigh that has him wincing. “Okay.”

He lets them pull him to his feet. For a second he gets horribly dizzy and he has to close his eyes. When he opens them again, he’s leaning against Napoleon and Gaby has her hands on his back. 

“I’m fine,” he says. “Just dizzy.”

“So’m I,” Gaby agrees. “Come on, let’s sit.”

The three of them stumble back to the couch and sink down onto it rather ungracefully. Napoleon ends up in the middle, with Illya curled into the corner beside him and Gaby lying her head on his leg. 

“I’m glad you ruined my car,” Gaby suddenly says, not moving her head from its pillow. 

“What?” Napoleon asks. “We destroyed it. Beautiful car, too.”

Gaby shrugs as best as she can given her current position. “If you didn’t ruin my car, we would not be here now.”

She does have a point, Napoleon figures. “I’m glad we’re here,” he adds. “Working for the CIA is mostly terrible. Working with you is fun. You’re…” He trails off, unsure of or unwilling to fully voice any further words. 

Illya shifts a little closer to them, carefully. “At home I am part of machine. I do not mind this, but with you I am something else. Not a machine.”

“Just a person,” Gaby says. “More free.”

It’s different for her, she knows. Her career as a spy has been with Waverly alone. The only person controlling her is someone she trusts and likes. 

And yet Napoleon agrees. “Yeah,” he says, slowly. “I mean, Sanders is still in charge of me, but so is Waverly, and with UNCLE I’m not a prisoner of the US government, or at least I don’t feel like one. Maybe one of these days I won’t be, I don’t know. I’d work for UNCLE, with you guys, even if it was my choice, is what I mean, I suppose.”

“I am maybe not so free at home,” Illya chimes in, leaning slightly onto Napoleon. “This is how it is, I don’t mind. It is important that there is an order, things like this. But we…we care about each other, yes?”

It takes Gaby and Napoleon a second to realize that they’re being asked a question here. 

“Of course,” says Napoleon. 

“Obviously,” Gaby agrees. 

“Okay. We care about each other. And maybe so does Waverly. This is different. I am…I have…I can be something else here. And that is good too.”

“Well put,” says Napoleon. “Now, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m feeling a little bit too drunk and a lot bit like I’d like to go to sleep.”

“Me too,” Gaby chimes in. 

“Yes,” agrees Illya. 

“And I’m not moving.”

“Me either.”

“I will stay.”

Napoleon nods slowly, closing his eyes when this makes him too dizzy. “Glad we’re agreed.”

They rearrange themselves as best as they can, which involves a lot of shuffling around, grabbing of arms for support, and general wincing. Eventually, they manage to configure themselves in a reasonably comfortable manner, all stacked and tangled together. 

“Goodnight,” Gaby mumbles, voice muffled by the fabric of Napoleon’s shirt. 

“Night,” Napoleon echoes, already half asleep with his face pressed into a cushion. 

“Goodnight,” Illya concludes, head propped up at a slightly uncomfortable angle against the armrest. 

In the morning, there will be pounding headaches, empty glasses and bottles to clean up, and various injuries to check in on. But for now, there is only silence and comfort. There is only them.

thanks for reading! this was a whole different kind of beast to write but i really loved getting to explore their characters like this, i have so many thoughts about them that don't often get to come through in my usual 'beat them up' fics. i hope you enjoyed this!!

[baby-girl-aaron-dessner]

the tomb won't close...

[popsicle-stick]

hey, don't cry. night of the 26th may, ok?

[an-established-butt-dent]

'Harellan'

Solas: Dragon age

Mixed media on paper

[oh-no-bummer]

I'm gonna be fixated on this for a while and I hate to be the voice of negativity but I'm just really disappointed with how Agatha's story was handled. The thing is at the beginning of the series when it was clear they had made the choice to give Agatha a son I suspended my disbelief, because there are many ways in which that could've fit and it wouldn't have had to be a damning choice for her to also be a mother. But it was. I'm tired of cinema but marvel in particular using motherhood as a way to categorise women and compromise their stories. I hated it when it happened with Wanda and I hate it now. Why are women not allowed to be ? I get it that is also all a thing in the comics, but that doesn't mean it's right. Agatha was a villain and she in many ways remained one but the focus on her personhood as one centered on being a mother took so much away from her. I'm just so disappointed because there are a thousand ways to make that coexist! It could have been a beautiful story about loss and grief and empowerment and repression and love. But I believe marvel really has a problem with tying things up, they always mess up everything at the end and apparently women's stories are just not meant to be. Even if Agatha had to die, there are many other ways in which that death could've been more rewarding and peaceful. But what gets me the most is that the fears we exposed did come true, the show was not ultimately about Agatha and her grief or her love but about how she's a tool for Billy who disappointingly but predictably become the focus of the show. Rio was villainized, because she is death, which is such a flat interpretation of her character. The fact that the love Agatha and Rio clearly had for each other was so cruelly undermined by the writing. The fact that we have no closure for them, for Agatha's son or Agatha's story. The fact she now is just narrowed down to be Billy's mentor, a literal ghost of who she was, used to perpetuate the more central role of a man's story. And with this I don't mean to say that I hate Billy or his storyline nor that I hate Agatha being a mother, what I absolutely abhor is how those things became so central they obscured her story and deprived us, the audience of seeing it complete. Fine, I get it Billy needed to be introduced, but did that introduction have to destroy Agatha's story? Was there no other resolution? Obviously not. Agatha could've still become his mentor while alive, could have remained with Jennifer and decided to actually try, or Agatha could've died, and finally confronted her grief and Rio. There's so many ways in which her role as a mother and mentor didn't have to impede her character's arc. There's so many ways this show could've been good. I'm sorry if my anger comes true but I truly am disappointed in the way the media and marvel especially continue to treat women and their story. Let's not even talk about Alice, or Jen , because neither of those stories were complete, the way they had Jen's binding sloppily be caused by Agatha felt like such a rushed decision with absolutely no explanation. Where did Jennifer's story go? Her role as high priestess? I get it that it might be picked up again in the future but this is what the fucking show was supposed to be about, witches walking the road and growing and facing themselves. I have even more to say about Agatha and Rio specifically, but for now I'm just gonna conclude by saying that it didn't have to be this way, it's just proof of how little they care about women's stories that they think they can be used to further the narrative without any consequences. It feels cheap, it feels illogical and rushed. It seems like horrible writing. It saddens me greatly and I hate it.

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

"You saved your insurance company I don’t even know how many millions of dollars, but I just know that when you needed them… What happened to your family is the kind of thing-"

Leverage S01E01 The Nigerian Job.

[fireflysugarpie]

thinking about scumcum and cumplane again

specifically if Airplane and Shen Jiu get together/married, but Shen Yuan transmigrated into Shen Qingqiu anyway.

i mean, how would airplane cope with that???? his partner got died and got replaced by someone who isn't even to blame, that he also kinda knows??? and he can't let anyone, even his friends or family, know under threat of punishment and/or death???

in the angsty route, if they were private with their relationship and no one knew they were together, Shang Qinghua could try as hard as possible to bring back Shen Jiu without anybody finding out anything was up in the first place. he could go on a wild goose chase for every single artifact/Mcguffin he put in this world trying to find one that would bring his love back.

or he could even find himself falling in love with the imposter that stole his husband's face and deal with all of the mental baggage that would come with that.

on a lighter note, if it's one of those 'Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan are the Same Person' stories, then maybe Shen Qingqiu would slowly remember his life as Shen Jiu, and fall in love with his husband again ❤️

in the worst case scenario, I don't think Shang Qinghua would be vindictive enough (or physically capable of because of the system) to rat Shen Yuan out to Yue Qingyuan and the rest of the sect for being a body snatcher... But he could be found out anyway :)

[bedforddanes75]

hello how have i never seen this before i need to bite him

[k0fii]

Mutual Love and One-Sided Obsession

Love is mutual and that's the fundamental difference of MiziSua and IvanTill. That's what Ivan understood in his final moments - and that's why he said his feelings were shallow.

Prefacing this, not really an analysis but more of a personal connection and overview of the songs of alnst, with a quote from Richard Siken on love.

"If it was unrequited, it wasn't your first love, it was your first desire. You've got all your loves ahead of you. That sounds pretty great to me."

My Clematis; Love and the Significance of a Duet

My Clematis is a song that stands out amidst all other Alien Stage performances. Not only because it's a duet with the intentions of a tie, but also because Mizi and Sua are singing this song to and for each other. Instead of catering to the audience before them, they look to each other. In an act of defiance, they love each other. Sua sings to Mizi, as Mizi sings to Sua and this performance isn't for anyone else but them. It's beautiful, enchanting and Sua's death is made more painful by that love that's so clearly shown to the audience. Even as Sua is taken away from Mizi, nobody can deny the fact that they love each other. That the feeling between them was undeniably love.

Unknown (Till the End...); Idolization

In juxtaposition to My Clematis' heavy focus on the duet between Mizi and Sua, UTTE makes it a point to show how Till takes the spotlight all for himself one-sidedly, not even allowing his opponent to sing. In a way, this represents the extent of Till's idolization - only his feelings, the admiration for this idealized version of Mizi he has in his head are sang and borderline shouted out. The other singer is drowned out in Till's intense voice and declaration of love;

"Ain't nobody but you're the one that I'm feeling it's love"

However, Till fails to realize that the thing he wanted - Mizi's gaze to look back at him too - is rooted in reciprocity. It means allowing the other singer to get their voice out, it means allowing this preconceived notion he has of her in his head to be shattered by the reality of who Mizi truly is. UTTE is a representation of how Till's deluded image of Mizi overpowers the reality he currently lives in, it's a form of escape for someone who has always been shackled by chains.

It's a contradiction present in the song itself;

"I wanna know all about you (ya)"

For all Till sings that he wants to get to know Mizi, he never attempts to get closer to her and always, in his view of her, she's far away like an idol he can't reach. Like a god to a sinner that needs saving. It's the first desire of wanting to be saved, of wanting a saint to reach out their hand to you. And that first desire, as much as Till proclaims it to be love for its intensity, is known as something that's not love, something closer to obsession because of that very same intensity. Because that intensity prevents him from loving who Mizi truly is apart from who she represents in his head - again, it drowns it out.

Black Sorrow; Unrequitedness

Black Sorrow starts off with an admission; Ivan can't reach Till. He'll always follow him, even if he recognizes that all this will end in is tragedy. He constantly speaks of an absence - foreshadowing of Cure perhaps, but also of Till leaving him and turning back, of Till always choosing to not stay by his side, to chase for an unreachable idol. To the viewer, Black Sorrow is a song solely focused on Ivan but we can see in the video that Ivan allows his opponent to sing - a representation of his subservient nature but also perhaps of the fact he sees Till. He allows Till to sing out in deafening roars and sees him for what he is, and admires him for that. In contrast to UTTE's idealistic nature, Black Sorrow is very much rooted in reality. Till is pointedly not awake during this song - once again, he doesn't see Ivan but also he is not woken up to the reality that Ivan forces him to face. If not rooted in love because of the acknowledgement of unrequitedness, then what is Ivan's desire? It's to drown in his chosen black sea of sorrow.

Cure; Obsession and the Significance of a Duet

Ivan and Till both sing to someone who is not listening, they both sing to someone who is not looking at them in contrast to My Clematis.

"Dissolve me in your gaze

...

Please, leave me scars

Please, hurt me so that

Not a single drop of me remains

Let me drown in you"

Till wants to drown in the fantasy he's created for himself - going back to the sinner analogy, he wants everything of him that he views as wrong cleansed by Mizi's saintly presence. For once, Till lacks the same conviction he did before - he's pleading now, and asking as if praying to a dead god. Maybe it's because he thinks Mizi is gone, maybe it's because he thinks he's beyond saving.

"May they linger on your tongue

You can break me apart

...

I'll drown in you"

Ivan remains the same, steadfast in his determination and doubling down on his declarations in Black Sorrow. He doesn't ask - he knows his 'love' is unrequited, but that he will drown in it anyways.

"To this everlasting melody

Face to face we dance

With our story

Lost in forever's embrace"

Despite the lyrics stating that they stand face to face, they don't - one is always looking away. That's why, the story of what they are and what could've came to be is lost in the embrace of a time that's both not there and forever there. What they could've been is not what they are because of that everlasting melody, the obsession the two of them have that is distinctly not love because it's unrequited. Because they will always ask to be consumed in another's gaze instead of simply looking at each other and seeing. Because Till's first desire is to be saved and Ivan's first desire is to drown, the round would have always ended that way.

"Thank you for being the victim of my shallow emotions."

Ivan thought he and Sua were similar at one point. He felt jealous when he realized that the fundamental difference between them was that Sua was loved, and he was not. I think that in his final moments, he recognized this jealousy for what it was - the incessant human need to be loved and to be wanted. And what does that love entail? He sees it in Mizi and Sua, it means loving and being loved in return. That's what love is, and with heartbreaking clarity, he understands that it's not what has driven him or Till this far. A one-sided obsession could never be love, because love is always mutual. To love is to be seen, to be known. Ivan was not the former, Till was not the latter.

He steels himself, he will drown in these shallow emotions, just as he always planned (even if the sacrifice was not). He knows this sacrifice seems hypocritical, but it couldn't be with such a simple yet clear difference.

Compared to the deep grief brought about by the deep and intense emotions of love and loss, the pain he will cause Till will only be as shallow as his own emotions. Because it only reached Ivan, only drowned him and it never seemed to reach Till.

[stefisdoingthings]

some dumbass vashwood sketches from yesterday !!!

[heavensfinest]

Ugh I made the mistake of watching Dead Boy Detectives and I'm unfortunately hooked. Fuck you, Netflix.

[assortednarutoheadcanons]

Assorted #8

In Konohagakure, there are 3 types of Ninja. Clan, Civilian, and Civilian Clan Ninja.

Clan Ninjas are really rigid and have a lot of unspoken rules of propriety. They are extreme lightweights and can't drink coffee without Side Effects occurring. Typically (exceptions may apply) living with their families, they have very specific diets that won't cause any issues in the long run.

The Inuzuka Clan can't really eat vegetables. Shino nearly faints when he finds out that Kiba has never see lettuce because that's a huge staple of the Aburame Clan.

Civilian Ninja are 'rowdy' and 'rough'. They can generally eat everything safe for humans and live in either the civilian or ninja districts. They drink coffee, eat deep fried food, etc.. No Clan Ninjas can truly drink coffee or have whiskey, despite Kakashi desperate attempts when he was a chunin.

There are a few 'Civilian Clans' (Uzumaki, Lee, Sarutobi, Yamanaka) where they can eat normal food and drink coffee but they can't handle alcohol.

The exception to all these rules is the Akimichi Clan who can consume Anything with no side effects whatsoever. This includes rotten flesh, although they don't exactly like the flavours or taste.

P.S. I have Feelings about the Sarutobi Clan. None are really good.

[gdn7-dollopole]

Have you ever thought about how tragic it is that Arthur was in love with Merlin, but he knew it? And that Merlin realised Arthur loved him and reciprocated his feelings, only the moment Arthur died?

It is so unfair, for the both of them. They weren’t able to act on those feelings, only read them from afar, and when they thought that maybe, just maybe, something about these feelings could have been done, it was too late.

They had waited and waited to see if they could stop, if they could stop yearning and wanting and longing and gazing, but the more they got to know each other, the more attached they became, they literally transformed into that bloody coin, two faces, you try to break one, it’s always going to have two sides. It does not matter in how many pieces you destroy it, Merlin is always going to be a part of Arthur, as much as Arthur is always going to be a part of Merlin, and the worst part of it all is that they both knew, they could feel it in the air with every grasp of their shoulders, with every almost death moment, with every smile and stare and feeble touch. It itched them, it was in the air that they breathed, it burned them until they were walking, as if they were dead already; they wanted to touch, to trace the edges of their bodies with their finger tips, carefully, as if they were infinite and could shatter with just a pull of skin, and they needed to share that warmth, as if they were one and that’s what broke Arthur the most, because he saw the reciprocation in Merlin’s eyes, every single day, he watched him watch him get undressed, both out of his clothes and out of his soul and bitterly, Arthur thought for those long ten years, “I wonder, wonder what it would be like to be enveloped by Merlin, what would happen if I pushed over that boundary line and discover something that is so much more than just my imagination, to feel Merlin’s arms around me and to be crushed under the weight of his desire, of his love, of his deepest secrets, and I would accept him, and profoundly, I would sink my fingers in my mind just to mould it into Merlin’s, like metal does under the hot flame, the same heated one that ignites me, when I stare at Merlin, and I just smile, punch him on the shoulder, tell him not to do anything stupid, and love him desperately.”

Arthur knew he loved Merlin, he craved him, but couldn’t do anything about it.

Arthur knew his life was a tragedy, since the moment it started.

[rolandkaros]

respectfully i think y’all didn’t give this meme enough love considering the fact that it’s always relevant

[seaweedstarshine]

Thinking about River affectionately calling the Doctor her “madman in a box” only after he's called her his “bespoke psychopath,” and vice versa. They each were called these words by the other before ever using them to describe the other.

Thinking about the way they defy reality for each other. How modern psychiatry elevates objective reality to gatekeep full participation in society, yet they shatter objective reality with love — “I can’t let you die without knowing that you are loved.” and “You are always here to me and I always listen and I can always see you.”

Thinking about “What's the mad fool talking about now?” and how Gallifrey ostracizes those labelled mad, going so far as to see it as failure in children. Thinking about “A child is not a weapon!” “Give us time.” and how Kovarian equates psychopath with weapon as a tool of dehumanization and control.

Thinking about the way the psychiatric-industrial complex inflicts violence upon those who deviate from psychosocial norms. How their relationship was born in violence, but of madness — not madness in a post-Enlightenment framework of opposition to Reason, but madness as radical compassion that doesn’t demand so-called rationality — “Every time you've asked, I have been there.”

Thinking about how neither of them chose “psychopath” or “madman,” but they both own those words as instruments in their own agency.