#but a woman allowing herself to get wrinkles is a Topic of Importance in today's world and I HATE THAT

[coffee-in-europe]

thank u keira knightley for allowing yourself to age you are so beautiful and we need you

[golden-deer-dear]

The Weight of a Name, Claude x Byleth AU Fic

Summary: One decision can change the course of nations. When King Mahtab brought home a baby from Fódlan, he gave his own son someone to stand at his side. Byleth grows up side by side with Claude, surviving the hardship of Almyra together. For each, they are the other's only friend.

Notes: Because again, I have no self control, have the first part of my NaNo story I'm working on. This is technically the second part of the series. I will be doing a prologue for it as well dealing more in depth with Claude's parents.  I don't know guys. I know this is a weird story. Let me know what you think, and if it's worth continuing.

Read on AO3.

The Weight of a Name 1162

Byleth stared out at the glittering capital city of Almyra, looking much too stern for a child of two years old. There was a flurry of activity when normally the city’s inhabitants would just be waking. And the bells, they were ringing nonstop, from the royal tower in the palace to the people marching in the street. Bells of music and peels of laughter filled the air.

It  all made no sense. She had never seen people act like this even on festival days.

The small girl jumped down from the window and calmly walked toward her caretaker. She knew the servants found her strange, even at two that was something she understood. There was something about the way she carried herself, something that made her seem mature beyond her years, that unnerved other people. It was why Byleth preferred only to interact with Nader and Naima. 

“Naima,” Byleth spoke in her high pitched voice, her fingers moving to form the signs Naima needed to communicate. “What is going on?”

The prince was born this morning, Naima signed back to her. She was the only person who seemed to understand and accept Byleth’s strangeness. Byleth was well aware that Naima was not her mother, but she was the closest thing the little girl had to one. The bells are a celebration of his birth. 

Byleth thought that over for a moment, her face blank as she processed what Naima had told her. “That does not make sense,” Byleth finally responded. “Babies are born every day, and no one ever makes this much fuss.”

Naima smiled at her, amused by her comment. But not royal babies, Byleth. The prince is important. It means the king has an heir. 

“But why is an heir important?”

Because it means a chance at stability. Seeing Byleth’s confusion at the new word, Naima broke off to explain, When the current king either dies or gives up his throne, the prince will have the opportunity to prove himself worthy to take his place. If he is successful, the throne will go to him. If he is not, there will be fighting between the nobles as they each try to take the throne for themselves.

“All the nobles do is fight between themselves,” Byleth pointed out.

True. Naima stood, setting aside the embroidery she was focused on before Byleth had distracted her. Come, I think Nader will be fine with us taking a break on such a momentous day. Let us go see what celebrations are going on in the city.

Byleth slid her small hand into Naima’s larger one, allowing her caretaker to lead her from the estate and into the bustling crowds. 

Byleth supposed the new prince was good for something after all. At least she would not be forced to read any political theories today. 

/

The king returned to the capitol a week later to the joyful cheers of his populace. Some were calling it a prosperous sign that the prince was born on the morning of the king’s latest victory. But others, many of them discontented nobles who hated that King Mahtab had essentially married an enemy, were already fast at work spreading rumors of illegitimacy and weakness. 

Not that Byleth was aware of any of that. Such things were not the concern of a child of only two years old. 

No, what concerned her about the king’s return was the subsequent return of her other caretaker. Nader rushed into Naima’s rooms and swept up the young girl just as he did every time he returned home. 

“Look at how big you’ve gotten!” Nader laughed, sitting Byleth on one of his shoulders.

“I have not gotten bigger. It’s only been a month,” Byleth pointed out.

Nader paused and shook his head. “But I see you’re just as serious. Have you kept up with your training?”

“Yes.” For an instant there seemed to be a hint of joy in Byleth’s usually monotone voice. 

She gave Kasra’s boy a black eye, Naima signed.

Nader’s face lit up all over again as he watched his sister’s fingers form words, bursting out in another belly laugh as she finished. “Did you now? He’s what, six years old and twice your size? How’d you manage that?”

“I hit him,” Byleth answered succinctly.  

Nader shook his head again. “That is usually how one wins a fight.”

Byleth knew she confused the big man, but besides Naima, he was the only one who made an effort to understand her. And he was the one teaching her to fight, so Byleth rather enjoyed when the loud man was around. 

Are we expected at the palace? Naima asked, changing the subject.

“Tomorrow, not tonight. The king wants tonight to spend with his queen and newborn son. There will be a feast tomorrow we’ll be expected to make an appearance at.”

And Byleth?

Nader thought for a moment, tilting his head to look at the child on his shoulder. “I don’t see why she can’t come. I think it’ll do her good to meet the new prince.”

Byleth’s eyes narrowed, the closest she ever came to expressing her displeasure. They narrowed further when she caught Naima’s next comment.

Good, that gives me time to get her something to wear.

Byleth clung tightly to Nader even as he pulled her off his shoulder. “Come now, Byleth, it won’t be so bad.”

Byleth gave him a deadpanned look, silently telling him she did not believe a word of that. 

/

Byleth was not impressed with the new prince. He was a baby, just like every other baby. She did not see what was so special about the wrinkled little thing. The queen beamed down at her child, her attention only leaving him whenever her husband came back to her side. 

Queen Odette had greeted her warmly enough when Nader led her forward, and even seemed amused as Byleth studied the baby. “Is the prince not to your liking, Byleth?” the queen asked in a teasing tone.

Byleth looked up to her, and then back down to the baby. “He’s so squishy,” was the answer she decided on.

King Mahtab and Nader both threw their heads back and laughed. Other courtiers joined in, but these were not false laughter. The people surrounding them were the king’s closest friends and advisors, those Mahtab trusted above all others. They were those who laughed with the king, and not to win his favor. 

Of course, Byleth only barely grasped that concept. She realized that the royal couple seemed more relaxed than any other time she had seen them, and Byleth found the entire experience strange. Besides, she was distracted when the baby opened his eyes. They were a brilliant shade of green, one Byleth had never seen before. 

She leaned over the baby, trying to get a better look. The prince blinked up at her for a moment before cooing happily, and he began to squirm in his mother’s arms.

Odette smiled down at her son, and traced a finger over the bridge of his nose. “It seems like Claude likes you.”

“You’re really calling him Claude?” she heard Nader whisper to the king.

“I can’t convince her otherwise,” Mahtab answered, fondness in his voice as if he was sharing a joke with his friend.

After that, the queen allowed Byleth to sit next to her, but was pretty much forgotten about after that. The adults talked over her, trading jokes and jabs about topics Byleth had no idea how to place. She absentmindedly swung her legs back and forth, ignoring the occasional whisper about what a strange child she was. 

After a few hours, Odette handed over the prince to one of her handmaidens. There was a flash of hatred in the woman’s eyes that seemed to go unnoticed by the adults in the room. But Byleth knew that look. It was the one the noble children gave her because she was an orphan from Fódlan.

Byleth slid off the chair and followed the woman. No one noticed her, not even the woman as she placed Claude in his crib. She unfolded a fresh blanket, and looked over her shoulder. But Byleth, hiding behind the crib, was the only one paying her any mind. The handmaid pulled a vial from her skirts, her actions hidden from the royal couple by her own body. Byleth watched as she popped off the cork on the vial and spread the powdered contents on the blanket. 

The woman picked up the blanket by sliding her hands under it, careful not to touch the top. Warning bells went off in Byleth’s head as the woman turned to the prince. That look in her eyes, it wasn’t one someone who was supposed to care for another should have. She looked so angry.

Byleth did not really think about what she was doing. Before the woman could drop the blanket onto the newborn baby, Byleth pulled her leg back and kicked the woman’s shin as hard as she could. 

The woman cursed loudly, the rest of the room fell silent, and dropped the blanket. She cursed again and clasped her hands together, eyes blazing as she turned to Byleth. 

“Byleth,” Nader’s voice cut through the silence, “why would you do that?”

She felt his presence behind her, acting as a bulwark between her and the hostility many of the courtiers were directing her way. “She put something on the blanket,” Byleth said. It was as if she sucked all the air out of the room. Every adult went rigidly still. 

“It was simply powder to help his skin from drying out,” the woman protested. She moved her hands behind her back, obviously wringing them together. Her face was twisting as she tried to hide her pain, but she was failing miserably. 

Nader stepped around Byleth and grabbed the woman, ignoring her cry of pain as he dragged her hand forward. Already the flesh was turning red and starting to crack. It looked incredibly painful.

Mahtab stepped around his wife, carefully picking up the blanket with gloved hands. His face was blank as he turned toward her, but he radiated hatred hot enough that Byleth shrank behind Nader to hide herself. 

“Why?” was the one word question Mahtab asked, the weight of the woman’s life hanging by that word. 

The woman’s face twisted as she gave in to her hatred and pain, and she spat at the king’s feet. “You should be ashamed,” she hissed. “You dare taint the throne with a Fódlan whore, and now you give us a filthy half breed for an heir! We will never accept such a creature as that-” she jerked her head toward the crib where the baby was still sleeping, “-on the throne.”

Mahtab took a deep breath, studying the blanket he held. The entire room held its breath when he finally opened his mouth. “My son will be the greatest king to ever sit upon Almyra’s throne. But of course, you won’t be around to see that.” He moved forward, the woman’s eyes widening in fear as he raised the blanket, and wrapped the poisoned fabric around her face.

Byleth clung to Nader’s leg as the woman screamed. It did not last long. The contact poison tore through her skin, causing her to convulse in the king’s grasp. The sounds she made as her throat and face were destroyed were terrifying. Mahtab did not flinch. He held her there until the woman stopped moving, until those distorted screams died away. Only then did he let the body fall to the floor.

His eyes were softer when he turned to Byleth. Mahtab leaned down, a tight smile on his lips as he addressed her. “You saved my son, Byleth. I owe you a debt, little one. Thank you.”

Byleth shook her head, leaning into Nader’s comforting touch as she continued to try and hide herself behind him. She did not like being the center of attention. Mahtab nodded once more before he straightened, barking orders at guards and servants. Byleth was quickly forgotten by everyone besides her caretakers.

Nader picked her up, holding her close as the room erupted into a flurry of activity. “You did good, Byleth,” he whispered to her. “I’m proud of you.”

Naima was quick to reach her brother’s side, taking the small girl from him. “I’ll need to help Mahtab with his investigation. Can you take Byleth home?”

Naima nodded, holding onto Byleth tighter than she usually did. Naima was scared, and Byleth was not sure why. Surely the danger was passed now that the woman was dead. 

Byleth gave one last look over Naima’s shoulder to the tiny prince, meeting his bright green eyes before he began to bawl. 

He was certainly noisy for such a small thing. How did those tiny lungs make cries that loud?

/

“Naima?” Byleth said and signed as her caretaker began to tuck her in for the night.

Yes, Byleth? Naima signed back when Byleth offered no other words. 

“How did the king know my name?” Byleth asked. It had bothered her ever since Mahtab addressed her. “He was not beside the queen when I introduced myself to her.”

Naima hesitated, something flashing across her face that Byleth was too young to understand. Nader is the king’s best friend, Naima signed, her fingers fumbling over the words as she attempted to sign too fast. As his ward, it is only natural that you would come up in conversation from time to time. Now, it is time for bed.

Byleth let Naima tuck the blankets in around her, and closed her eyes. Seemingly satisfied, Naima blew out the candles, her skirts swishing around her as she walked out of the room. Byleth waited until the sound of Naima’s footsteps faded away before throwing the covers off and slipping out of bed. She pulled a chair to her window, climbing on it to stare out at the palace.

It was a logical explanation, but for the first time in her short life, Byleth felt like she had been lied to. It did not sit easy with her. There was something about the king that made Byleth feel connected to him. When he had talked to her it was too familiar. It was almost the same way Nader talked to her.

Byleth did not like it, but she had no idea what to do about it. So instead she settled for staring up at the stars, watching the constellations wheel overhead until she drifted off to sleep. She was vaguely aware of Nader picking her up and tucking her back into bed, whispering goodnight before she drifted out of consciousness. 

[pingo1387]

in one piece, the women are always limited to side fights and being lesser villains. very rarely are they allowed to fight in close-range combat, instead using weapons that work from a distance. this is especially true of the women considered “beautiful,” making the writing and art lend themselves to sexist principles. in this essay i will 

demonstrate how the potentially strong female characters being pushed to one side detracts from the story and weakens the writing and characterization overall. 

We’ll start with discussing women in media as a whole. Writing women in media has always had some layer of sexism to it, whether it was punishing a woman for wanting the same thing as her male peers by belittling her, reducing her to the trope of being nothing more than a motivation to the main male character (often by “fridging” her), or inserting her into a romantic relationship that had nothing to do with the plot (furthering the idea that women in a fictional sphere must exist in some kind of romantic relationship, or at the very least be confined to a role like The Sister or The Mother). When female characters appear in cartoons, they are more often than not drawn and written as extremely feminine, while their male counterparts are allowed to be “neutral,” with no particularly masculine traits. More recently the idea of the “empowered” woman has come into play---the female heroine wears revealing clothing with feminine accessories, because she is a Strong Independent Woman who can dress how she wants, and her femininity is now her tool with which she attacks, all while being eye candy for a male audience. There is also the common trope (yet unnamed) where a female character is shown to be far more accomplished at a job or task than the main male character, but because he is the Chosen One, he overtakes her skills after a single training montage or with no training at all (see The Matrix and the Percy Jackson movie). 

Another important facet of this “modern sexism” is that women are not allowed to fight, and when they are, they are limited to side battles and ranged combat (see the trope “Guys Smash, Girls Shoot”). This is a sharp turnaround in public taste from the equally sexist gratuitous violence against women, which not too long ago was everywhere (and more covertly still exists today on the set but off the cameras). This unnecessary hitting, threatening, and beating of women was more or less for men’s (vindictive) pleasure and somewhat reflected a society that accepted wives as property and thus allowed husbands to beat their wives, often backed up by laws. While I would argue that this current climate of a taboo against hitting women both in real life and on screen is much better than a climate of beating women, it is a different story when there is a legitimate fight happening. I’ll stick to fiction for this essay and keep real life discussions for another post. 

The long and short of it is that if a woman (in fiction) is shown to be at least as strong and skilled as her male colleagues or opponents, there is no reason why she should be relegated to minor battles or no battles at all. This would not be a problem in and of itself if it did not happen so frequently, in all forms of media, to all women. Of course there are examples of media where women are allowed to have major battles, but because the majority of media does not let their female characters (if there are female characters at all) do this, I’m focusing on the problem at hand. 

Let’s narrow our focus even more and zoom in on the main topic: One Piece. Oda is notorious for drawing all of his women he deems beautiful with the same body which he describes as “three circles and an X.” He also says in the same question that he gets complaints from his female audience and just ignores them. (I would be willing to bet that if you switched the heads around on the women in this colorspread, not counting Big Mom (who we’ll get to later), you wouldn’t be able to tell at first glance what was wrong). Oda, however, also refuses to let his female characters fight properly, much like other major stories out there. 

All of these “beautiful” women in One Piece who get to fight use ranged weapons. Nami uses her Clima Tact, which allows her to create mirages and send weather-based attacks at others from a distance. Boa Hancock, touted as one of the strongest women in the world by virtue of being the only female Warlord, has been shown to kick her enemies, but more often uses her devil fruit to turn others to stone. Kalifa, a member of an elite force of the Government and likely trained since childhood, primarily uses her devil fruit (a soap/bubble ability) to disarm her opponents when she is shown fighting. Vivi used Peacock Slashers, a string of small blades, to lash out at opponents after disarming them with a distracting dance. Laki, from Shandora, used a bazooka-like weapon, and Perona wasn’t even physically present for her battle with Usopp, instead using a spiritual projection to intimidate him while planting bombs in his path. Even Robin, who technically uses her hands and feet to fight (when she gets to), attacks from a safe distance thanks to her ability. All of these women are either part of a team of villains who are set up to be some of the strongest foes yet, a powerful force in the world, and/or are main characters, yet all of them end up forced into minor battles, none of them are the leaders, and all use some kind of ranged weapon to fight. 

There are rare exceptions to this, but the exceptions mostly apply to women considered “ugly”---in other words, not depicted with the “hot” hourglass figure standard of the women. When Alvida was introduced, she was considered so ugly it was laughable she would think of herself as the most beautiful woman in the world, and she was shown to be merciless with her spiked club. However, ever since she slimmed down into a standard One Piece beauty, she was never shown using her club again despite carrying it, and has not even been shown fighting, instead using her new ability to deflect all attacks. Miss Merry Christmas, a wrinkled middle-aged woman, was depicted as shrill, annoying, and mole-like, and she attacked Usopp and Chopper more directly by surprising them from under the ground and even dragging Usopp through crumbling walls to hurt him. Big Mom is probably the most prominent exception at the moment, as she uses her incredible size and strength to pummel entire cities to the ground, but even she has rarely been shown in actual combat, and the fight with her was abandoned altogether near the end of Whole Cake. Nami fought in more close combat when she had a baton, but has fought from a distance ever since Usopp gave her the Clima Tact. Tashigi, who uses a sword, has been shown attempting to fight, but was easily defeated in Loguetown, and was shot down verbally in Punk Hazard by nearly everyone she came across for being a weak woman (which in my opinion was entirely undeserved, but I digress). Finally, Koala was shown to be skilled at Fishman Karate, but has only been shown using it once, and hasn’t fought since then (to be fair, we haven’t seen her much at all since Dressrosa). 

The only prominent situations where the beautiful women are allowed to participate in close range combat are in slapstick moments. Nami frequently slaps around her crewmates with punches and kicks, especially Brook and Luffy, and Hancock has often been shown throwing her grandmother out the window. However, the normal laws of anime fights don’t apply to slapstick---the wounds are never permanent and often disappear in the next scene, and no one brings it up again. The women who do end up in serious fights come out unscathed or at least never as damaged as the men do, preserving their unmarked beauty. This is shown even outside of battle; the women rarely have scars, for example, and even when Nami was sometimes shown to have a scar from trying to remove her tattoo, Oda has stopped drawing the scar since at least Skypiea. The rare moments where a woman can participate in a serious fight, close-range combat or not, are few and far between, especially in more recent chapters. 

This pattern of pushing women into the sidelines when it comes to fights, even when they’re introduced as strong and smart, perpetuates sexist stereotyping that women are inherently weaker than men and are physically unable to deal with close-range combat, letting them fight without damaging their perfect beauty. While I am certainly not asking to bring back gratuitous violence against women, female characters who through their actions demonstrate time and time again they are strong and can be self-reliant are done a disservice when they are only ever allowed to fight other women (which in the narrative means the weaker members fight the weaker enemies) or male characters who are obviously meant to be the weak links of the group. Showing women coming out unscathed 90-100% of the time adds to the proof that their battles were against weaker enemies than the men’s, and sexualizes women further. “See? This woman can fight and come out still stunningly beautiful.” 

Women using close-range weapons is not a bad thing by itself, just like a female character wearing makeup and being very feminine is not an inherently bad thing. However, when these things become a consistent pattern of all women across all media (or all female characters in a piece of media), they must be considered part of the whole problem of sexism instead of a stand-alone issue. And in this case, the whole problem of sexism in One Piece is that women are almost always treated as inherently weaker than men, even by the characters whose characterization shouldn’t allow for such sexism, such as Luffy or Zoro. 

To summarize, women in One Piece, especially beautiful women, always being forced to fight the minor battles or no battles at all contributes to the problem of sexism in the story. It shows the viewer that the women in the world may be smarter than the men, but are never stronger, and if they are stronger, they will never stay stronger. 

[gladysplummer]

A Good Start

Thom and Moiraine’s initial attraction to each other

Steam, hot water, lavender soap, and quiet. Once Lan had finally gotten the country boys to quit running their mouths to their attendant at Baerlon’s Stag and Lion Inn, Thom could finally enjoy his hot bath in peace.

Attempting to empty his mind and relax a little, Thom allowed his thoughts to wander, letting them float up to the surface of his consciousness and just as gently pushing them away. Thoughts of their recent journey flowed by. The boys. Lan. Moiraine.

Now, there was an interesting one. As beautiful as she was intelligent, as commanding as she was mysterious, women like her didn’t just come along every day. As much as the fact that she was Aes Sedai repelled him, the rest of her beckoned him forward, piquing an interest that Thom had long since given up for dead.

Aes Sedai calm layered over Cairhienin reserve, the woman did not reveal a speck that she did not wish to reveal, either of her plan for their journey or her personal thoughts on matters. Thom wondered what lay beneath those guarded walls, wondered what it would take to dismantle them. Who was Moiraine when no one else was watching, when the cares of the world didn’t rest so heavily on her shoulders, when she could be totally herself, uninhibited?

A mental image of the thought flashed across his mind—Moiraine, uninhibited, flushed, hair wild across his pillow. Fool! He immediately admonished himself, shaking his head to dispel the unbidden image. She is Aes Sedai. And either young enough to be his daughter or old enough to be his mother besides. With more important affairs to attend to than the attentions of a foolish old man.

But there were other, more achievable ways to break down her icy exterior.

Yes. If Thom Merrilin could do one thing, it would be to learn to make her laugh.

***

“I am ready,” Moiraine said, pen poised above a fresh page in her worn notebook. “Tell me what you saw. Tell me everything.” Her dark eyes bore into Min’s with an intensity that belied her otherwise cool demeanor. “Both individually and together.” They hadn’t gotten a chance to speak in-depth about Min’s visions last night before dinner and so they had agreed to meet privately to discuss them after an early breakfast today. The pair sat in the inn’s private dining room, Lan casually buffing his nails with a dagger outside the closed door.

Min swallowed and started from memory, one by one. She didn’t quite understand Moiraine’s fixation on the three men—practically boys, really—from the backwoods of Andor, but she did want to help. And if her visions could help somehow, in ways she didn’t see yet, she was happy to lend her talents to someone who could make sense of them. Methodically, she recited her visions around the Two Rivers folk one by one. If anything stood out as significant to the Aes Sedai, she gave no indication, merely jotting down Min’s words as if writing down the shopping list for the market. But perhaps that was because Min hadn’t gotten to the gleeman yet.

Min had begun with the boys, both because that was who Moiraine seemed most interested in and because the images swirled most potently around them, and now she wrapped up her reading of the boys with descriptions of the particular sparks that linked the three of them up, with Rand at the center. From there, she moved on to Egwene, backlit by her own sparks, in seven swirling colors, that tied her in different ways to the three.

“Nothing new surrounds Master An—Lan— since he came through here on your way down country, except for the gold sparks I see around all of you as a group now…” Min trailed off. She wasn’t sure how to tell Moiraine the rest. The nonsensical images dancing about the others’ heads felt impersonal, but there was something new for Moiraine and unlike most of what Min saw, she knew exactly what it meant.

“And the gleeman? Do the sparks contain him as well?” Moiraine prompted when Min trailed off.

“Yes, he’s mixed up in all of it too,” Min started, shifting uneasily in her chair. She wasn’t sure how to share the rest. It was so personal, and the few people she did speak to about her gift got so uncomfortable when she was honest about what she saw. Everyone always thought they wanted Min to read them, but they were seldom content with the answers. It made Min hesitate to tell the rest, having gotten the impersonal bits out of the way.

Moiraine seemed to detect her hesitation. Whereas she had been mainly focused on writing, she returned Min’s gaze expectantly, leaning forward as if to wrench every drop of the truth from Min’s eyes.

“Yes, and?” Moiraine asked quietly, pen still at the ready even as she leaned closer.

Min took a deep breath and decided there was nothing for it but plain honesty. Moiraine clearly wanted the whole truth and she would get what she asked for. Min surmised she would be content with nothing less, and she hadn’t faltered when Min read her during her last visit. “You know how I can look at two people and know they’ll marry?”

Moiraine nodded almost absently as her pen returned to the paper.

“I know who Thom will marry. It’s you.”

Looking down at her notebook, Moiraine’s expression didn’t change, but her quill did pause a moment. Then it resumed.

“Anything else?” she asked briskly. “Anything we haven’t covered yet? I have already written down what we were able to discuss last night.”

“No, Moiraine, that’s all I have for now. I’ll let you know if anything changes,” Min replied, relieved that Moiraine did not seem upset with her.

“Thank you, Min,” Moiraine responded, gathering her things. “I know that your visions can be difficult or unpleasant to process, but your gift helps further the work of the Light, and your talent is appreciated.”

With that, she glided to the door and collected Lan on her way out. Together they returned to their rooms to prepare for a day visiting the Blues’ eyes-and-ears network in Baerlon, and hopefully taking in some of the local cuisine while they were out.

Egwene had already left for the day, so when Moiraine closed the door behind her, she stood gratefully alone in the small room. If she had maintained her calm exterior, it did not match what she experienced inside. It was not the part about Thom that had shocked her; it was the marriage part. Marriage had never entered her mind. No, that was not quite accurate; she actively did not wish to be married. Since Gitara’s Foretelling, her course in life had stretched before her as straight and precise as an arrow, pointed toward finding and protecting the Dragon Reborn. Toward finding Rand or Mat or Perrin. That goal left no room for anything—or anyone—else. Which had never discontented her; most Aes Sedai outside of the Greens never married anyway. Marriage?

To Thom? Thomdril Merrilin. It was not as though she had not appreciated his quick wit and his startling blue eyes, but she had the sense to hold the man at length. For hidden purposes of his own, he masqueraded as a gleeman now, but Moiraine could never forget that name or the man who bore it. Not that she had ever been particularly close to her half-brother Taringail, but fifteen years ago she had certainly taken note of the man most likely to be his killer.

Yes, perhaps the Thom part vexed her as much as the marriage part.

“The Wheel weaves as the wheel wills,” she told herself aloud, as she had told her travelling companions many times. She wryly suspected that the phrase convinced and comforted her now as much as it did the Two Rivers folk. Releasing her grip from her silk skirts, she shook her head, poured a little water into the chipped basin, and splashed some onto her face. She took a few deep breaths and resolved to trust in Min and the Pattern. It certainly was not the first thread of the weave that she did not understand, after all.

Settling a light cloak over her squared shoulders, she made her way back to the common room, taking some more calming breaths and willing the flush creeping up her cheeks to recede. Lan had not come down yet, so she stood off to the side of the emptying common room, alone but for a few patrons getting a late start to their breakfast. And of all people, Thom, burn the man! No doubt preparing for a day of common room entertainment. Grateful that her high-necked blue gown concealed the flush creeping back up her throat, her eyes cast about for something, anything to occupy her for the few moments until Lan would surely appear in the doorway. The bond let her know he remained upstairs, but surely any moment now… Where was that inn cat? Cirri, she believed his name was.

Displayed on the wall near her head hung, of all things in a town increasingly besieged by Whitecloaks, an old map of Tar Valon, which her eyes began tracing. Her casual examination of the map belied her racing thoughts as she nonchalantly eyed the ink drawing. Tucked inside two folds of the Erinin, the island city appeared as a vertical oval with pointed ends, its banks forming protective lips around the White Tower grounds, a grand avenue creating a slit from top to bottom, and North Harbor, small and round, sat nestled at the apex of the slit.

Noticing Moiraine regarding the map, Thom sidled over.

“You know, they say most men can’t find North Harbor,” he observed casually. Too casually.  

Failing to quash the grin blooming on her lips, Moiraine suddenly appeared to be preoccupied with smoothing a skirt that had apparently gone wrinkled in the last few seconds. The allusion to such an intimate topic after Min’s revelation rocked her all over again, but she could not help finding it amusing in spite of herself. Having lain with both women and men in her lifetime, Thom’s quip was perhaps closer to the truth than even he realized. She took a minute to regain composure. When she met his blue gaze again, her lips had been tamed but her eyes were smiling. Very well, she thought. Min’s vision comes a little clearer into focus already.

“You only think you know of which you speak, gleeman,” she replied coolly, her tone mismatched with the warmth of her gaze, yet both communicating that she took his meaning precisely. At that moment, Lan blessedly appeared at the bottom of the stairs, ready to be off with Moiraine for the day. She acknowledged Lan and headed toward him, fixing Thom for the briefest moment with a sidelong glance and wickedly arched brow as if to say she saw exactly what he was doing.

Well, perhaps he shouldn’t read so deeply into it, Thom thought. Then again, she was Aes Sedai and Cairhienin and a woman. Perhaps he should read very deeply into it. Or perhaps that was exactly what she wanted him to think. He shook himself, then went to gather his cloak and instruments for a day performing in the sleepy hamlet that the country folk were calling a city.

Well. He had failed to elicit a laugh, he thought. But he was off to a good start.

[dust2dust34]

Pieces of Always: March 2031 (FICoN ‘verse)

Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows.

by @so-caffeinated and @dust2dust34

Summary: Thea meets up with the Queen ladies for a shopping trip and has a difficult conversation with her sister-in-law about her health.

An ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. (You do not need to have read FiCoN to enjoy this, but it will spoil the end. Please see the first installment for additional author notes. Thank you @jsevick and @alizziebyanyothername for the amazing beta!)

A/N: Please see the first chapter for an important Author’s Note, as well as under the cut for an additional one.

A/N: The effervescent @so-caffeinated is fully in the driver’s seat and she’s kicking all the ass, so please go send her your love!

A/N:  TW: Coping with chronic illness. (Please see additional notes under the cut.)

Excerpt:

‘Good days’ mean something very different now to Thea Harper than they had in years past. It’s an ever-evolving definition, really. What was good a year ago, five years ago, a decade ago is not the same as it is today. The girl she’d been before could never have understood the realities of her life today.

It feels so shallow, looking back, the way she’d defined a bad day as one with too much homework or a fight with a friend or even being arrested. Bad days now mean her sanity slips through her fingers and her body rebels against experimental treatments with violent, painful, damaging side-effects. Part of her is equally mad and envious at her younger self; she’d taken so much for granted. But she tries to clear her head of those thoughts, tries to remember that envy and anger get her nowhere, and that she was lucky to have no idea what a ‘bad day’ was really like for so long.

Looking at her nieces, she surely hopes it’s something they never have to discover for themselves.

(read on AO3)

Author’s Notes:

TW: Coping with chronic illness.

Like last week’s chapter, I did some research on this topic before writing it. Unlike last week’s chapter, I don’t have direct experience with it. When we gave Thea such a dire outcome in FiCoN, it was never going to be a temporary thing. In fact, at times, we had intended to kill her off during that story. There are a lot of reasons we didn’t (and I’m still glad we made that choice). It would have been remiss of me to avoid what she goes now, but I can admit I’m anxious about having done it justice. I understand that this is a heavy and serious topic (I promise next week’s will not have the same tone; I know this makes two weeks in a row with difficult-to-read health problems and I totally recommend the flashfic series if you need some fluff to balance out). I’ve done my best to treat it with respect and try to put myself in her shoes for a few pages. I hope it’s worked out. Until next week (which is mostly Ameliam)... enjoy. <3

*

March 2031 - The Cost of Things

‘Good days’ mean something very different now to Thea Harper than they had in years past. It’s an ever-evolving definition, really. What was good a year ago, five years ago, a decade ago is not the same as it is today. The girl she’d been before could never have understood the realities of her life today.

It feels so shallow, looking back, the way she’d defined a bad day as one with too much homework or a fight with a friend or even being arrested. Bad days now mean her sanity slips through her fingers and her body rebels against experimental treatments with violent, painful, damaging side-effects. Part of her is equally mad and envious at her younger self; she’d taken so much for granted. But she tries to clear her head of those thoughts, tries to remember that envy and anger get her nowhere, and that she was lucky to have no idea what a ‘bad day’ was really like for so long.

Looking at her nieces, she surely hopes it’s something they never have to discover for themselves.

“Okay, but who actually buys these?” Jules asks, holding up a sky-high, clear stiletto with sparkles running through it from the display and wrinkling her nose in distaste. “I have incredible balance, but even I would probably faceplant in these things. They’re ridiculous.” She’s sixteen now - something that utterly blows Thea’s mind - and while she’s matured into a surprisingly balanced, sharply intelligent young woman, she also seems to have adopted a typical teenage view that the world is best interpreted through the lens of her own opinions.

“Cinderella would like it,” Ellie points out. The sunny twelve-year-old looks past her sister with an “ooooh” a moment later, though. Moving to grab a little ballet flat with a cat’s face on the toes and whiskers on its sides. “These are super cute!”

“Disney princesses are a pretty narrow target market, don’t you think?” Jules scoffs, putting the shoe down before looking at the flats in her sister’s hands. “Do you really want cats on your feet?”

“Sure,” Ellie replies brightly. “I can look down and smile at them and it’s like they’re smiling back up at me. They’re fun!”

“They remind me of my old panda flats,” Felicity tells her daughters. There’s a smile in her voice as she moves to Ellie’s side and looks over the shoe with a wistful fondness. Her eyes go wide when she looks at the bottom, though. “But they cost about as much as one of the whiskers on this thing does.”

“Well, those were from your pre-Queen days, weren’t they?” Thea asks with a smile. She leans heavily on her cane and eyes the seats around her. She’s okay for now, but she knows her own limitations and she’s not about to push them. This is the first time she’s been out for anything other than doctors’ appointments or therapy since the latest round of treatments. Roy and her mom were both worried about her going out today. She knows that, but she also knows to take advantage of the opportunity to actually live her life while she has the chance to do so.

Today’s a good day… relatively. And she’s missed spending time with her nieces and sister-in-law a lot these last two months. The well-meaning phone calls when she was in the hospital had been a far cry from what she’d needed from them. All of her loved ones’ worry and walking on eggshells around her had been understandable, but they’d also hurt. She wants normal. She needs it. Even if it’s under a new definition. And it’s so very exhausting knowing everyone looks at her and sees her limitations first. She refuses to be reduced to that. She might struggle with her illness, but she will not allow herself to be defined by it.

“I want something red,” Thea declares. “Bright, loud, stoplight red. I want something that makes a statement… with no heel and a sensible tread.” She looks at Jules and holds up a finger before adding, “But, I’ll have you know that once upon a time, I’d have rocked a stiletto that height without tripping once.”

The disbelieving noise Jules makes as she rolls her eyes is the sort of thing she’s gotten accustomed to hearing from the teen. It’s funny, because it reminds her so strongly of herself at that age. It’s all bravado and it makes Thea grin hugely at the thought of her brother raising a daughter that reminds her so sharply of herself. “Sure you would have,” Jules notes sarcastically.

“No, it’s true,” Felicity says, backing her sister-in-law up. “Your Aunt Thea could’ve probably walked on stilts and still had the fashion pages gushing over her trend-setting style, before you were born.”

“Bet I could have made Cinderella shoes popular, even,” Thea declares loftily.

“You still could,” Felicity assures her, taking hold of her free arm and hugging it close. Thea lets herself lean against her sister-in-law slightly. It’s nice. She’s missed this. They’ve had so much time robbed from them over the years, but she does her best not to dwell on that because right now is pretty great. Her mind is quiet. It’s her own. And while her bones ache and she knows she doesn’t have terribly long before she needs to take a seat and rest, she’s still better off than she has been most of these last few years and she’s grateful for that.

“I need a designer cane,” Thea snarks. It’s a little self-effacing, but then, so is she. “Maybe I could market my own line.”

“You can do anything you put your mind to,” Felicity assures her. It’s supportive, even if it’s not entirely true, but Thea takes it in the spirit it was meant and rests her cheek against her sister-in-law’s shoulder. The relief at leaning against her is more than Thea expected, though. Maybe she’s pushed herself more than she’d thought. “Know what, girls?” Felicity chimes in. “Why don’t we go grab some lunch? The shoes will be here later.”

It’s only eleven. Restaurants are barely even open, but Thea knows this is entirely for her benefit. Felicity’s hold on her is more purposeful than it had started out and she’s well aware that any desire for lunch is out of a crafty attempt to get them sitting and resting for a bit. Part of her wants to tell her sister-in-law that she knows what her body can and cannot do, that she’s okay for a bit more, but another part knows this is as much for the girls’ benefit as for hers. They’re aware of her illness, of course. It’s been a part of her life since before either of her nieces were born. But the details of it, the severity of it… that’s something Thea prefers not to broadcast too strongly. To the girls, she’s just Aunt Thea. She’s never wanted the intensity of her health problems to be terribly apparent to them. And, they have always absorbed her disability as a part of who she is - it’s all they’ve ever known. It’s harder with her mom, with Oliver, with Felicity, sometimes. They all remember before, still sometimes seem to look at her and see what was done to her, like a surface layer masking who she really is. But Thea knows better. She’s not the same person she used to be any more than they’re the same people they used to be. It’s just a starker contrast with her than with them.

“I could eat,” Thea agrees.

Jules abandons the Cinderella stilettos easily, putting the shoe down and turning her attention entirely to her mom and aunt, but Ellie takes a moment to put down the kitten flats. When she does, it’s with a longing little sigh and Thea has to chuckle because for all that Jules reminds her more of herself than Ellie does… the younger girl does have her moments.

“Buy them,” Thea advises. Ellie jolts and looks at her in surprise. “I’ll buy them for you. You clearly want them.”

“Yeah,” Ellie agrees, but her voice is sad. “But they’re not worth it. I can’t spend that much on a pair of shoes, even if they are cute. There are so many more important things that $800 could go toward. How many people could that feed? How many teachers could get classroom supplies?”

And, just like that, Thea sees a whole lot less of teenager-her in her younger niece.

“Let me see the shoe,” Jules insists, holding out her hand. Ellie passes the flat to her big sister and watches as the older girl looks it over. “I bet we could make a knock-off. It’s not that you love the brand or whatever, it’s the cats. I can paint some canvas ballet flats and we can glue some whiskers on them.”

“Really?” Ellie asks. And, oh, but her face lights up at that. It’s adorable, and the way she looks up to Jules clearly is a point of pride for the older girl. Jules loves being held in high esteem by her sister. And this… this is what Thea’s missed the most these last few months. Missing out on the way her nieces have grown and bonded more, on all these family moments, that’s been such a hard part of her latest treatment. The pain is bad. The fear is worse. And getting her hopes up for an actual route toward being solidly healthy only to have them dashed is worst of all. But missing out on life had been a close second. The kids have grown and changed so much, so quickly, and she doesn’t want it to all pass her by.

“Sure,” Jules shrugs, handing the shoe back. “I don’t see why not. Then you can make the cat whatever color you want. It’ll be fun.”

“How about I buy you the paint and the cheap shoes and donate the difference to whatever charity you want?” Thea suggests.

“That’d be awesome!” Ellie declares gleefully. She’s hopping on her toes with giddy excitement. “Oh, maybe the foundation can get a few new laptops or some tools for the training programs? Or we can expand outreach more. Dani said the career wardrobe closet is running low on basics, too, you know. I bet that much money could get a few nice-looking interview outfits. Nothing fancy, but enough to give a few people a chance. And things like socks or underwear! People never donate those, right?”

“Slow down!” Thea laughs, shaking her head. “Dani said? You’ve been hanging around the foundation?”

“Well… yeah,” Ellie shrugs. “I like helping and there’s always something that needs to be done.” That’s doubly true whenever Thea’s going through new treatments, she knows. The foundation is her baby, but Roy’s taken the helm as frequently as she has since they started it. Dani’s backed them both up in the main office, with Donna spearheading fundraising events, and Sin filling in at the garage with hands-on skill training any time her health has taken both her and Roy away. But she hadn’t realized her niece was all that involved, not beyond spending much of last summer doing odd jobs at her side. “I’ve been there a lot more since Christmas. Dani says she doesn’t know what she’d do without me,” Ellie declares proudly.

“And you’re okay with this?” Thea asks Felicity slowly. The foundation does good work - great work - but, by necessity, it’s in pretty much the worst part of the Glades.

“Of course I am,” Felicity answers. “It’s the Queen Family Foundation. It needs all the involvement from the Queen family we can get. It’s our responsibility. And it’s not like she goes down there alone.”

“Sara comes with me usually,” Ellie chimes in. “And you know Sin basically lives there, so she’s always around. Mom’s gone for a couple hours once a month to help with the computers since like forever. Lyla teaches that women’s self defense class, of course. Oh! And Will said he’s gonna bring some guys from the firehouse to talk about career opportunities in emergency response. Even Jules started coming sometimes to paint and stuff.”

Jules shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but she smiles a little and Thea knows that’s a sure sign that it does. “Ellie said there was a girl hanging around there who liked painting but didn’t have any supplies. I figured I’ve got plenty, so I brought her some,” Jules says. “She likes seeing my stuff. She’s kinda cool, I guess. I’ve gone down a few times to show her some things and loan her some books.”

“I bet she appreciates that,” Thea offers up. She says it in an offhanded way, because she knows her niece and she’s well aware that too big a spotlight will make her uneasy.

“We can talk about it more at lunch,” Felicity states. Her voice is firm and clear. She’s not willing to entertain standing here much longer and Thea’s both kind of grateful and a little annoyed by that. She knows her sister-in-law means well, that she cares, and she does need a break soon, but she can manage her own life. If she’d truly needed a rest, she’d have said so herself. She doesn’t want people walking on eggshells around her, waiting for her to break. She’s Thea Queen Harper and she is made of stronger stuff than that.

More and more lately, though, it’s been the treatments that have made her feel fragile, that have robbed her of time with her family and friends, time devoted to her work. It’s been nearly seventeen years that she’s been dealing with the realities of what was done to her, and the optimism she’d once had for a full recovery has faded away over the years. Her focus these days is on managing her condition, on living her life. Every experimental treatment they’ve run her through has brought with it brutal side effects - sometimes keeping her out of commission for months, sometimes robbing her of her sanity, often robbing her of her mobility. It’s led to long, long conversations with Roy lately, ones that reevaluate her goals for her life, for her health. It’s about balance now, more than anything else. She’s so very tired of slashing her quality of life in pursuit of more quantity of life. She’s missed out on so much, too much, and she’s fast-finding that there are limits to what she’ll endure in the quest for something better.

“Lunch,” Ellie agrees brightly, snapping Thea’s attention back to the moment. The not-quite-teenage girl breezes out the door, holding it open and smiling back at them with a grin. Damn, but she’s adorable. She’s grown so much in this last year, shedding the last of that ‘little girl’ look and fast-shifting into a strikingly pretty, confident young woman. And Thea had missed so much of it. She’d missed Jules’ sixteenth birthday, lost in a haze of superpowered bloodlust while locked up in a room at Star Labs in preparation for the new treatment. She hadn’t been there for eight-year-old Nate’s science fair or Ellie’s first middle school dance. And that hurts. It hurts in ways she couldn’t have anticipated when first taking stock of the cost of her injuries nearly two decades ago. But, then, life looks different now than it did then. She’s older - she’s been through so much - and the perspective she’s gained has changed things wildly for her over the years.

Jules lowers her sunglasses off the top of her head as she strides out the door and joins Ellie. Thea and Felicity follow suit. Thea knows she’s a bit on the slow side and that’s frustrating to her, but no one else seems bothered by it, even if Ellie does seem to keep having to force herself to pace her stride once the four of them make their way down the street.

“Can we do the bistro?” Ellie asks. “Aunt That would love their new seasonal menu. They’ve got this pizza with winter veggies and chevre and it’s so good. You’ll just love it, Aunt Thea.”

“Sure,” Felicity agrees. “As long as Jules doesn’t mind?”

“Nah,” Jules shrugs. “That’s fine with me. I like their fish and chips.” Ellie dances on her tiptoes and claps her hands delightedly before looping her arm through her sister’s. It’s silly how happy she looks at the idea, but that’s just Ellie. She’s such a bright, happy kid and even the smallest thing seems to make her face light up with joy.

The girls are a few steps ahead, but they’re clearly hanging back a touch, trying to keep pace with their mom and aunt.

“You know, I bet they’ll have a wait,” Thea tells the girls. “Why don’t you two do us a favor and hurry over there to get a table. That way we won’t have to stand around when we get there. I’d really appreciate it.”

In truth, none of the Queens have to wait long for service anywhere they go - Thea’s pretty sure the salesperson at the shoe store was sorely disappointed when they walked out without buying anything - but it lets the girls go at their own pace and doesn’t leave Thea feeling like she should push herself to hurry up.

“Oh, that’s a good idea!” Ellie replies. “Did you want a booth or a table, Aunt Thea?”

“Tables are easier. Thank you, Ellie,” Thea tells her. “If you could order me a water once you’re seated, I’d appreciate that.”

“Will do! See you soon,” Ellie declares and the two girls hurry down the street at a brisk pace without another word.

That kind of energy is the sort of thing that astounds Thea these days and the moment the girls round the corner, she finds herself slowing more, sagging a little bit. So, maybe she’d been pushing herself a little for their sake.

“Did you want to sit for a moment?” Felicity offers. She’s been paying close attention, very close attention. Thea wonders how long she’d chatted with Roy about what to watch for before this little trip.

“Maybe at the bench after next,” Thea allows. “I’m okay for now. I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I know,” Felicity agrees. “But don’t push yourself for my sake.”

“I’m not,” Thea counters. “I’m pushing myself for mine.”

The look Felicity gives her is a little disbelieving, but it’s true. Yes, today is pushing boundaries as it is, but Thea needs to find her new normal and she knows it. Every round of treatments, every stupid path they’ve gone down to fight this thing, has left her redefining her own limitations. She’s relearning her own body right now, what it can do, what it can’t. She’s figured out some of that over the past few weeks at home, but there’s no substitute for actually spending time out in the world. And if she wants to get back to work - and god she does… she does; her foundation needs her and she needs it - then she needs to sort this through. The sooner the better.

“Okay,” Felicity says easily. Thea doesn’t think she means it, but it ends the conversation anyhow and she’ll take that.

“So, what have I missed during my most recent convalescence?” Thea asks. If it sounds a little bitter, that’s something she feels is more than fair. She’s allowed to be frustrated at her own situation and sometimes she needs to let that out to someone other than Roy. He’s suffered the effects of her condition as surely as she has, just in a completely different way. Marrying him was the best and most selfish decision she ever made, she thinks. But it’s always been worth it. She absolutely cannot imagine her life without Roy at her side. It would have lost so much meaning. “Ellie grew up so much while I wasn’t looking.”

“I know,” Felicity agrees with a sigh. “I keep going to grab her hand and then I remember she’s almost thirteen, not five and it sort of blows my mind.”

“At least she’s not as tall as you yet,” Thea points out. Felicity groans at that. Jules is ever-so-barely taller than her and wow that has to be weird. They should’ve figured. It’s not like Oliver’s short, so it makes sense Jules would be taller than her mom, but Thea doubts her sister-in-law was ready for it, anyhow. Still, poking fun at her is incredibly enjoyable, especially given the last few months in near-isolation. “Wait ‘til it’s Nate,” Thea adds with a grin. “That boy is gonna leave you in the dust.”

“I’m actively choosing not to think about that!” Felicity informs her with a forced smile that makes Thea laugh.

“Really, Felicity… they’re beautiful,” Thea says a little more soberly. There’s a bench nearby and she finally admits to herself she needs to sit for a few minutes. The restaurant is really only a block and a half away. She should be able to walk there. It wouldn’t have been a problem last fall - and she hopes it won’t be a problem again soon - but right now… right now her body needs a break. She sighs in relief the moment she leans back on the park bench and rests her cane against the side, rubbing her sore thighs just above the knees for a moment. Her physical therapist is probably not going to be happy about how much she’s pushed herself today, but that’s too bad. Sometimes these things are worth it and - despite his training - she still knows her own body better than he does. “I’ve missed them. I’ve missed all of you so much.”

“We’ve missed you too,” Felicity tells her, taking a seat next to her and squeezing her shoulder lightly in affection.

“I bet it was hard on Ollie when he couldn’t visit me, huh?” Thea asks, looking to Felicity with slightly guilty eyes. It’s unfounded, that sense of responsibility over her brother’s undoubtedly hurt feelings, but that doesn’t mean she feels it any less. For safety’s sake, for the sake of her own health and the well-being of everyone around her, visitors had been extremely limited. She hadn’t even seen Roy for the first two weeks. She’d finally been able to have visitors a couple of weeks ago and Oliver had been the first one there, but it hadn’t been anywhere near the celebration they’d been hoping for. The latest round of treatment had been a total flop.

“He coped,” Felicity replies as she sits next to Thea. She busies herself with watching as she smooths her hand over her wrinkle-free jeans, though, and she won’t meet Thea’s eyes. So… it was bad. Ollie hadn’t handled it well. And Felicity would prefer she not know that. Great. “Are you and Roy coming to dinner on Sunday?”

It’s far from the subtle shift of conversation that Felicity seems to think it is, but Thea lets that slide for the moment. “I’d like to,” she says. “I want to see Will. But let’s wait and see how I am.”

“He’d love to see you, too,” Felicity replies. “He’s been very busy lately, between volunteering with the fire department and studying for the written exam. He’s taking it really seriously.”

“I’m proud of him,” Thea says with a light smile. “He’s got so much more direction than Ollie or I had at his age and he’s got such a good heart.”

“He could use to hear that from you,” Felicity notes. “Oliver and I tell him all the time, but Samantha is still trying to talk him out of it. It’s put a real strain on their relationship. I know she wants what’s best for him, but…”

“But sometimes you have to back off and let someone decide what’s best for themselves, even if it’s not what you’d choose for them,” Thea continues. The truth of that sinks heavily into her skin, echoes of frustrated conversations with her own mother in recent days. Moms will always want what’s best for their children, at any age, but they can’t always necessarily see what that is.

Thea sucks in a long, deep breath of crisp air, savoring it before exhaling sharply, letting it go as she looks to Felicity. “Roy and I talked about it,” she starts. “I’m done with the experimental treatments.”

Felicity jolts at the words, her eyes widening. Thea can practically see the tension settling in her muscles. “What are you talking about?” Felicity asks warily.

“I’m done,” Thea repeats, mustering up a half-smile. It’s rueful and sympathetic. If Felicity’s reaction tells her anything at all, it’s that she’s far more at peace with her decision than anyone else in her family will be.

Except Roy. God, she’s so thankful for Roy she could cry.

“But you’re not cured yet,” Felicity points out in astonishment. “You can’t just give up.”

“I can, actually,” Thea counters. “It’s been almost seventeen years, Felicity. I’m tired of being a guinea pig. I’m tired of sacrificing months and months of my mental and physical well-being every year in search of something better. Every time I have to go off meds entirely, I’m nothing more than a feral animal. I lose myself. Can you get how terrifying that is? To know you’re capable of anything? That you’re a threat to the people you love most? And for what? A chance at a cure that might not even exist? I don’t want to give up the quality of life I do have in search of more. I feel like I’m wasting my life away in labs and hospital beds.”

“But... “ Felicity says, swallowing and licking her lips. “The treatment that keeps you stable now… it’s not sustainable. It will eventually kill you.”

“Yeah,” Thea agrees. A light breeze drifts by, teasing at her skin and rustling her hair. She lets it wash over her, savors it for the fleeting experience it is. “You’re right. It will.”

Felicity is clearly stricken, flabbergasted. Maybe it was a mistake to have sprung this information on her quite so suddenly, but Thea thinks there’s really no good way to tell your loved ones that you’re dying. Then again, that’s not how she sees it. Not really. She sees it as choosing to live, to enjoy the days she has ahead of her, the moments she’s in, rather than grasping for the impossible and whittling away the days in the process.

“We’ve reached a place where I had to make a choice,” Thea says. She takes Felicity’s hand in hers, the other woman grips it harder than she was expecting and Thea feels a rush of love and affection surge through through her. She’s awfully lucky to have such a wonderful sister-in-law who cares so much about her. Given Ollie’s track record, she’s well aware that could have gone another way entirely. “Every single trial we’ve done has run the risk of me dying or, worse, not being able to reach the same level of stability I had before. So… yes, relying on the tried-and-true treatments they’ve developed so far will eventually kill me. But I’ll get to live first. And that’s worth it.”

Felicity’s eyebrows are knit together as she stares down at their hands. She’s not crying outright, but Thea can see how very upset she is. It’s not even a question.

“How long?” she asks after a moment.

“Four or five good years,” Thea tells her. “Six at the most. But I’ll get to devote my time to my foundation and to Roy instead of to doctor’s appointments and lab work. I might be well enough by the end of summer that he and I can travel for a bit. I think I’d like that. And I’ll get to be there for Jules’ high school graduation and maybe Ellie’s, if I’m lucky. I’ll get to see Nate grow to be taller than you,” she notes, bumping Felicity’s shoulder with her own. “I don’t want to miss that.”

Felicity nods, but she still doesn’t look up, instead shutting her eyes tightly and exhaling a long, steadying breath. It’s the sorrow in her profile, more than anything else, that prompts Thea to continue. “I know Ollie won’t get this, but-”

“Yes he will,” Felicity counters, looking up with a dry, humorless laugh. “If anyone knows what it’s like to go through hell for years on end and get to a place where it seems like it’ll never end, it’s your brother.”

That might be true, Thea realizes, but it doesn’t mean he’ll accept it. “Not all of us get miraculous rescues from purgatory.”

“No,” Felicity agrees. “I suppose most people don’t.”

“I’m done trying to be rescued,” Thea tells her. “I want to enjoy what I’ve already got. I know that’ll be hard on you and the kids, on Ollie, on my mom, on… on Roy.” Her voice breaks a bit on Roy’s name. The thought of him having to deal with her eventual death absolutely guts her. It’s why she didn’t make this decision years ago. “But this is my health and my life. I have to choose what’s best for me.”

“I understand,” Felicity tells her. She doesn’t, Thea thinks. Not really. She can’t, because she’s never had to make a choice like this. And Thea’s grateful for that, but it also leaves her feeling a bit lonely in her choice. Between her mom and Roy and now Felicity, there’s a fair bit of sympathy, some anger, a lot of sadness, but no one can relate, not in a way that truly gets it. “Please tell me you’re going to tell Oliver soon? I won’t keep this from him.”

“No,” Thea shakes her head. “I wouldn’t ask you to. That wouldn’t be fair. I’ll talk to him when we get back.”

“He’s in session right now,” Felicity says, checking the time on her phone. “He’ll be back late.”

“Excellent,” Thea smiles. “Then I’ll have a chance to take a nap and recharge before that lovely conversation. But that’s for later. Right now, I want to have lunch with my favorite sister-in-law and the two best nieces in the entire world.”

She lets go of Felicity’s hand and pushes herself up off the bench, feeling stronger either from the brief rest or from the weight of words previously unsaid slipping off her shoulders.

“It’s a beautiful day, Felicity,” Thea says, turning her face up into the sunshine and letting it wash over her. There’s a kind of peace in this, a sort of joy in relishing the small things of the day instead of succumbing to the anxieties of ‘what if.’ She’s missed that in recent years. She’s missed so many things. And she’s done letting them slip past unnoticed and unenjoyed. “Let’s make the most of it.”

*

Reviews literally feed the soul and muse, so go send some love to @so-caffeinated! 

[cashcounts]

Can AI Learn to Understand Emotions?

Growing up in Egypt in the 1980s, Rana el Kaliouby was fascinated by hidden languages—the rapid-fire blinks of 1s and 0s computers use to transform electricity into commands and the infinitely more complicated nonverbal cues that teenagers use to transmit volumes of hormone-laden information to each other.

Culture and social stigma discouraged girls like el Kaliouby in the Middle East from hacking either code, but she wasn’t deterred. When her father brought home an Atari video game console and challenged the three el Kaliouby sisters to figure out how it worked, Rana gleefully did. When she wasn’t allowed to date, el Kaliouby studied her peers the same way that she did the Atari.

Rana el Kaliouby, who grew up hacking Ataris, is now helping AI understand human emotion.

“I was always the first one to say ‘Oh, he has a crush on her’ because of all of the gestures and the eye contact,” she says.

Following in the footsteps of her parents, both computer scientists, el Kaliouby knew that her knowledge of programming languages would be a foundational skill for her career. But it wasn’t until graduate school that she discovered that her interest in decoding human behavior would be equally important. In 1998, while looking for topics for her Master’s thesis at the American University in Cairo, el Kaliouby stumbled upon a book by MIT researcher Rosalind Picard. It argued that, since emotions play a large role in human decision-making, machines will require emotional intelligence if they are to truly understand human needs. El Kaliouby was captivated by the idea that feelings could be measured, analyzed, and used to design systems that can genuinely connect with people. The book, called Affective Computing, would change her career. So would its author.

Today, el Kaliouby is the CEO of Affectiva, a company that’s building the type of emotionally intelligent AI systems Picard envisioned two decades ago. Affectiva’s software measures a user’s emotional response through algorithms that identify key facial landmarks and analyze pixels in those regions to classify facial expressions. Combinations of those facial expressions are then mapped to any of seven different emotions as well as some complex cognitive states such as drowsiness and distraction. Separate algorithms also analyze voice patterns and inflections.

Rosalind Picard pioneered the field of affective computing.

Affectiva’s software allows market researchers to gauge a response to ads and TV shows. It powers furry social robots that help children stay engaged in learning. And, in the near future, it will allow cars to detect when drivers are dozing off.

By creating AI systems that incorporate emotion data, el Kaliouby and others in the affective computing field envision a world where technologies respond to user frustration, boredom, or even help alleviate human suffering.

“I see that our emotional AI technology can be a core component of online learning systems, health wearables even,” el Kaliouby says. “Imagine if your Fitbit was smart about when it told you to go to sleep or when you needed to get snacks. It could say, ‘Oh, I see that today is going to be a really busy day for you and you’re going to be stressed. How about you take three minutes to meditate?’ ”

Calculating Emotion

Analyzing emotions in real time is a mathematical problem of astronomical proportions—an equation our brains solve in microseconds over and over and over again throughout the day.

“If you take chess or Go—these games in AI that people think are so hard to solve—those are nothing to compared to what can happen in a few minutes in facial expressions,” says Rosalind Picard, founder and director of the Affective Computing Research Group at the MIT Media Lab.

By conservative estimates, one single chess game can have up to 10120 possible moves, presenting a colossal challenge for artificial intelligence systems at the time. AI is more sophisticated today—last year Google’s AlphaZero algorithm taught itself the game and defeated a world champion chess program called Stockfish in just four hours—but analyzing metrics like facial expression in real time “isn’t even in the same league” Picard says.

Humans start an interaction with any of 10,000 possible combinations of facial muscle movements that can create a facial expression. Each expression is created through a combination of more than 40 distinct muscle movements ranging from eyebrow furrowing to nose wrinkling to lip puckering. Those expressions are often accompanied by any of roughly 400 possible aspects of vocal inflections along with several thousand potential hand and body gestures. These face-voice-hand permutations change continuously throughout a single conversation, creating an ocean of data that zips from one person to another instantaneously. While our brains subconsciously process complex emotions and their intensities, teaching an artificial neural network to wade through that tsunami of data is an extraordinary technological challenge, one that’s further complicated by the fact that nonverbal communication varies between cultures.

How does today’s artificial intelligence actually work—and is it truly intelligent? Watch “Can We Build a Brain?” Wednesday, May 16 at 9/8c on PBS.

Despite the challenges, artificial emotional intelligence is a technological brass ring for a growing number of companies and researchers. While the field is in many ways still in its infancy, serious resources are being devoted to developing tools that can analyze and predict emotional response. These emerging tools include apps that forecast when students will be stressed out, vocal analysis software that helps diagnose mania and schizophrenia, and programs that predict suicide risk based on social media posts. These tools come with serious privacy and ethical questions that haven’t yet been answered as well as significant technical challenges.

“There’s just a huge, huge amount of data and research that has to happen before it’s going to be something that our computers are smart about,” Picard says.

Making the Field of Feelings

While el Kaliouby was fighting to be taken seriously as a computer scientist in Egypt, Rosalind “Roz” Picard was in Boston waging a somewhat similar war. Picard spent her early days at the MIT Media Lab building mathematical models that emulate how the brain detects patterns from data it collects from the outside world. Emotions, she discovered, have more to do with it than one might suspect.

“As I learned more and more about the role of feelings I went, ‘Oh shoot. This looks really important for AI and computer intelligence, and I sure don’t want to do it,’ ” Picard says. “This would totally destroy my career as a woman. Who wants to be associated with emotion?”

Picard tried to recruit male researchers, but no one bit. She began to do it herself, testing ways to capture data on genuine, spontaneous emotions and applying the same machine learning techniques she had used in previous research. Her first papers were rejected and criticized, with one reviewer writing that one article about engineering emotional intelligence was perhaps best suited for an in-flight magazine.

Like el Kaliouby, Picard persisted, turning what began as a small collection of academic papers into her groundbreaking book, Affective Computing, which was first published in 1997.

Seven years later, Picard met a starstruck el Kaliouby, then a Ph.D. student who was designing facial analysis software that could recognize emotional states. The system, called MindReader, was trained using video footage from the Autism Research Centre at the University of Cambridge. It featured actors making hundreds of different facial expressions—a sort of library originally compiled to teach children on the autism spectrum how to read nonverbal cues. El Kaliouby was planning to return to her husband and home country after finishing school. Instead, Picard offered to collaborate with her in Boston.

“I was like ‘I would love that. That would be a dream come true; however, I’m married. I have to go back,’ ” el Kaliouby recounts. “She actually said, ‘Commute from Cairo.’ It was insane.”

El Kaliouby finished her Ph.D. and embarked on a three-year stint at the MIT Media Lab, flying between Egypt to Boston while creating the next iteration of MindReader. Picard, in the meantime, had already developed several new tools for capturing emotions in data computers could read, including a set of hair scrunchies embedded with sensors to measure skin conductance. Worn on the palm of the hand, the sensors picked up changes in electrical conductivity that happen when someone becomes psychologically aroused and begins to sweat. Believing that MindReader and the biometric sensors could be used to help children on the autism spectrum learn to navigate social situations and control their emotional responses, el Kaliouby and Picard began a multi-year study.

As the project progressed, the pair demonstrated both technologies for corporate sponsors visiting the Media Lab. They were overwhelmed by how many organizations in industries ranging from retail to banking to robotics were interested in real-time data on their target audience’s emotional states. In 2008, they asked then Media Lab director Frank Moss to expand their research team. He refused, but offered a different proposition: Form a company. Reluctantly, Affectiva was born.

Affectiva’s software maps a person’s face and uses a series of neural networks to judge their emotion.

Nearly a decade later, neuroscientist Dr. Ned T. Sahin is using Affectiva software to fulfill Roz and Rana’s early dreams of using the technology to help people on the autism spectrum. Sahin is the founder of Brain Power, a company that makes wearable life coaching technologies for people with brain and cognitive challenges. Sahin’s team has developed a suite of Google Glass augmented reality applications, some of which are powered by Affectiva algorithms, and many of which were originally designed for children but have applications for wider audiences.

One game, called Emotion Charades, prompts a partner sitting across from the user to make a specific facial expression. Affectiva algorithms identifies the emotion and shows the user one augmented reality emoji representing that feeling and another that doesn’t. Users earn points by picking the correct emotion while prompts encourage players to discuss how they experience that feeling in their lives.

Like all Brain Power apps, Emotion Charades is designed to be used in short, daily spurts, just enough for users to practice skills they can use in their everyday lives.

“It’s like training wheels on a bike that then get removed,” Sahin says.

El Kaliouby and Picard agree that affective computing should focus on human needs. People should be able to decide whether and when to use the technology, understand how their data is being used, and maintain a level of privacy. Affectiva’s licensing agreement prohibits the software from being used in security or surveillance, and it requires partner organizations to obtain explicit consent from users before deployment.

But as the field expands, potential for misuse ratchets up. Groups like the IEEE Standards Association have issued guidelines for affective design that include calls for explicit consent and data transparency policies. When a system is likely to elicit an emotional response, it should be easily modifiable in case its misunderstood or if it unexpectedly hurts or upsets. Whether and how organizations will implement those guidelines is still up in the air.

Automating Mental Health

Answering those questions now is crucial, says Munmun De Choudhury, an assistant professor of interactive computing at Georgia Tech. Back in 2010, while completing her dissertation, De Choudhury unexpectedly lost her father. As she processed her shock and grief, she began thinking about the loss from a more scientific perspective—how do users change their social media behaviors when a major life event happens?

De Choudhury began analyzing how and what new mothers post on Twitter after they’ve had a baby. She expected to see shifts in positive social media activity, but her data also revealed that some new moms were expressing negative emotions, too, and posting less often than they were during pregnancy. Suspecting that these might be indicators of postpartum depression, De Choudhury, then working at Microsoft Research, conducted a separate study that compared data from Facebook posts to interviews with mothers before and after their children were born. She found that data from social media posts could not only detect when a user had postpartum depression, but it could also predict which users would become depressed after giving birth.

Since then, De Choudhury has used social media to identify mental illness risk, including psychosis symptoms among patients with schizophrenia, while other researchers have created algorithms that detect signs of anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder. Another team at Vanderbilt has built algorithms to predict suicide risk and is currently seeking ways to translate them into medical practice. Late last year, Facebook rolled out several suicide prevention tools, including an artificial intelligence program that scans posts and comments for words related to suicide or self-injury.

“Social data can be helpful to clinicians and psychiatrists as well as public health workers because it gives them a sense of where are the risks,” De Choudhury says. But, she adds, “currently the landscape is really, for lack of a better word, ‘primitive,’ in how algorithmic inferences can be incorporated into interventions.”

Chris Danforth, co-director of the University of Vermont’s Computational Story Lab, believes that conversations around when and how to deploy predictive mental health algorithms are especially important as opaque organizations like Facebook move further into the field. Danforth has designed one proof of concept computational model that can predict whether users are depressed by observing their Twitter feed and another from their Instagram photos.

Rosalind Picard is also focused on mental health. She left Affective in 2013 and has since concentrated on several health-minded projects, including work with MIT research scientist Akane Sano to build predictive models of mood, stress, and depression using data from wearable sensors. The goal is to create models that anticipate changes in mood and physical health and to help users make evidence-based decisions to stay happier and healthier, she says. Picard has also launched Empatica, a start-up that makes wearable devices for medical research. Earlier this year, Empatica received FDA clearance for the Embrace smartwatch, a device that uses skin conductance and other metrics combined with AI to monitor for seizures.

Meanwhile, el Kaliouby spends much of her time developing Affectiva tech. Since launching the software development kit in 2014, the company has licensed its software to organizations in healthcare, gaming, education, market research, and retail, to name a few. The company is currently focused on automotive applications as well as incorporating voice analysis into its “Emotion AI” software. Last year, Affectiva also joined the Partnership on AI—a technology consortium developing ethics and education protocols for AI systems—and el Kaliouby is currently working with the World Economic Forum to design an ethics curriculum for schools. She envisions a future where machines are tuned into our feelings enough to make our lives happier, healthier, maybe even more human.

“I just have this deep conviction that we’re building a new paradigm of how we communicate with computers,” el Kaliouby says. “That’s been the driving factor of my work. We are changing how humans connect with one another.”

[selucid]

essay about Stevie Nicks that i wrote like four years ago under the cut lmao

Incorporating and addressing social issues in music is something many artists/bands strive for. Music can be used as a platform in which artists are able to advocate for organizations and express their opinions on certain subjects. Through not only the lyrics but the music itself, we are able to learn about important humanitarian issues and relate to them on a much more elaborate and complex scale. An important and influential individual in the music industry today is Stephanie Nicks. Stephanie Nicks, commonly known as "Stevie" Nicks, is an American singer-songwriter associated with many famous bands including Fleetwood Mac. Through Stevie's personal life and lyrical/musical contributions we are able to recognize and appreciate the work she has done addressing critical social affairs focused mainly on women's rights.

Stevie Nicks is a strong and powerful voice for women everywhere. It is easy to see why she is an idol to young women and men through (in my opinion) one of her most influential and eye-opening quotes: "When you grow up as a girl, the world tells you the things that you are supposed to be: emotional, loving, beautiful, wanted.  And then when you are those things, the world tells you they are inferior: illogical, weak, vain, empty.  The world teaches you that the way you exist in it is disgusting — you watch boys cringe backward in your dorm room when you talk about your period, blue water pretending to be blood in a maxi pad commercial.  It is little things, and it is constant.  In a food court in a mall, after you go to the gynaecologist for the first time, you and your friend talk about how much it hurts, and over her shoulder you watch two boys your age turn to look at you and wrinkle their noses: the reality of your life is impolite to talk about.  The world says that you don’t have a right to the space you occupy, any place with men in it is not yours, you and your body exist only as far as what men want to do with it.  At fifteen, you find fifteen-year-old boys you have never met somehow believe you should bend your body to their will.  At almost thirty, you find fifteen-year-old boys you have never met still somehow believe you should bend your body to their will.  They are children.  They are children." Here she describes the discrepancy between how women view themselves and how they are viewed in society. When young girls are brought up they are taught to be so many things, but most importantly, to be beautiful. They learn early on that how they look is a crucial part in their success and self worth. Then once they achieve their idea of "beauty", they are silenced. Once they finally have confidence in themselves they are told that they are superficial and vain and they are brought back down to square one. Its a never ending cycle and its sad that women often live their life in confusion and constant second guessing. Stevie Nicks tries to remind us that "they are children." She encourages us to ignore the cruel words and unrealistic expectations created by society. Nicks places emphasizes on the importance of acknowledging the prejudice women face in order to being able to overcome it. In a recent SXSW (south by southwest music festival) discussion, Nicks addresses her worries on the current battle for women's rights. "We fought very hard for feminism, for women's rights. What I'm seeing today is a very opposite thing. I don't know why, but I see women being put back in the place. And I hate it. We're losing all we worked so hard for and it really bums me out.” Here we notice how disgruntled Nicks is with the current state of affairs with regards to women's rights. She believes that women are slowly becoming more and more oppressed and are drifting back into the old ways of life they fought so hard to get out of. The subject of feminism/women's rights is very important to Nicks and she is clearly left troubled by just how much further it still has to go. By Nicks addressing this important social issue in the media she is able to help educate those who are unfamiliar and acknowledge the problems at hand in hopes of finding a solution. Stevie Nicks' strong personal morals & unyielding passion for women's rights are all attributes to her adamant participation with feminism.

Stevie Nicks beliefs on women's rights are very apparent throughout her music. Nicks joined the band Fleetwood Mac in December of 1974 and with the debut of their twelfth album, "Tusk", they released "Sisters of the moon" as their 4th single. The song was written by Nicks and contains a very important social message. "Heavy persuasion / It was hard to breathe / She was dark at the top of the stairs / And she called to me / And so I followed." Here we can infer that Nicks is encountering a persuasive force, one so demanding it is making it hard for her to breathe. She then says that this force called for her and she followed. She is letting this force control her to the point where she cannot think and make decisions for herself. We can connect these thoughts and feelings to real life situations in which people (mainly women) often battle with the stereotypes and ideals created by society. Woman are continually pressured by the media and society to become someone who they're not and sometimes they give into these pressures and let it control them. She mentions how she feels lost and overtaken by these pressures to the point where she can no longer decipher the real her with these lyrics: "Some say illusions are her game / They like to wrap her in velvet / Does anyone, ooh, know her name?" She is so used to living these illusions that she has lost herself. "So we make our choices / When there is no choice / And we listen to their voices / Ignoring our own voice." She again comments on how she is left with no choice but to give in to these voices and make a choice that she is pressured into making. She expresses her sadness with abiding and conforming to societies ideals while ignoring her own voice and morals. At the time this song was released, 1979, body image issues were very prevalent in society mainly with regards to women. The message "Sisters of the moon" by Fleetwood Mac provided was very relevant at the time of its release. Nicks used her gift of music to share her thoughts on the societal pressures she was enduring at the time. She expressed her feelings on the issues women faced in regards to their appearance and used music as outlet to share and educate others on the problems at hand. Through her lyrical input on the song "Sisters of the moon", Stevie Nicks has subtly stated her views on the prejudice women face, not only the external conflicts/issues, but also the detrimental internal problems it causes them as well. Through "Sisters of the moon" we are able to see just how problematic societies ideals are on women and how women often surrender to these overbearing demands and begin to lose their sense of self. Nicks places great importance on this issue at hand through this song and is able to enlighten listeners while providing musical entertainment, a true feat in itself.

The topic of body image and self esteem is still a serious issue in society today. Not only have expectations changed but they have become more harsh and unforgiving. The number of people battling Anorexia and Bulimia worldwide has steadily increased over the years and is continuing to grow. Women are constantly battling with the warped view they have created of themselves in their mind and the pressures to be "perfect". They encounter it every day, whether it be on TV, in the newspaper, or even other individuals making comments on their appearance throughout the day. Through technological development, such as the internet, it has given people another outlet in which they allow their problems with their body to manifest. Children are now able to peruse the internet and come across "pro-ana" (pro anorexia) websites and can even view "thinspiration" videos on YouTube showing pictures of emaciated women. This further increases he likelihood of young boys and girls growing up with distorted body ideals and developing eating disorders.The overall message of "Sisters of the moon" is still very prevalent in society today. Back in 1979 when the song was released, Stevie Nicks stressed on just how volatile societal pressures can be on women throughout many of the lyrics. She expressed her thoughts on women's rights and the seriousness of how society depicts young women to act, look like, etc. These lyrics still hold the same meaning today, if not more. According to studies found by the National Eating Disorders Association, incidences of bulimia have tripled since the 1980s and anorexic incidences are also on the rise. Societal ideals have changed since the 1980s and have brought about more serious and desperate measures for women to try and obtain their thoughts of "perfection." Stevie Nicks stressed how problematic humanities' ideals and perception of beauty were on women and acknowledged how women were becoming defenceless because of it. Both back when Fleetwood Mac released "Sisters of the moon" and today, women still struggle with the pressures placed on them and often conform and lose a sense of themselves in order to become, in their eyes, truly valuable. Body image and societies depiction of women has been an issue for many decades and will continue to be problematic in the future. Many artists and celebrities, including Stevie Nicks, are encouraging others, especially young women, to recognize the often subconscious pressures they place on themselves and ignore the negative opinions they encounter. "Sisters of the moon" by Fleetwood Mac educates listeners on societal issues that were both prevalent on its release and in the world today.

Stevie Nicks lyrical ability to create a song that depicts and acknowledges society's problems is a true feat in itself. Through Fleetwood Mac's "Sisters of the moon", Nicks states her view on the prejudice women face and how serious the issue of body image is. The message this song has is timeless in that even fifty years from now, there will still be people who can relate to it. Not only through "Sisters of the moon" but also Nicks' personal morals, we can clearly see how passionate and driven she is about educating others on the many matters women are subject to endure because of society's warped ideals. Music is an outlet in which many artists, including Stevie Nicks, have used to incorporate and advocate for many humanitarian issues that are important through them. Music is not only a means of entertainment to people, but also can be used as a platform to express and educate others.