#solo para: another piece on the board

[ishikawayukis]

porque mucho hablo, pt. 2 JAJAJAJA

y si he visto incluso Nami y Zoro shippers que igual que con Perona yo digo wtf they couldn’t act more like siblings y’all?? yo entiendo que hay dinámicas tan fuertes que en fanon se vuelven shippeables (zosan, zolu, FROBIN<3, namivivi, etc.), but there are some dynamics that just scream platonic imo, pero pues quién soy yo para juzgar?🍵 JAJAJAJ

si el peor arco para Sanji fue Fishman Island people are just haters JAJAJAJAJA I MEAN, en la vida real obvio un tipo así yo digo “llévenlo a terapia” but this is literally an anime of adventure AND COMEDY!!! man was stranded for two years on a remote island without women, ofc the silly joke for the womanizer/helpless romantic will be he loses his marbles when he sees a woman again ://// hay cosas que yo siento que la gente toma muy en serio cuando solo son for comedic reasons y otras cosas que si son un poco más preocupantes and don’t even bat an eye like, what’s wrong with y’all

okay, confieso que yo si pensé “será que Crocoboy era Crocogirl o tiene un pasado vergonzoso que Ivankok sabe?” JAJAJAJA BC ANYTHING CAN APPLY- he could’ve worked for the rebellion or have been an annoying little kid raised by Ivankok, idk anything- pero que sea la mamá de Luffy: amigos, busquen terapia JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJ LIKE WTF THEY DONT EVEN LOOK ALIKE AND HE TRIED TO KILL LUFFY

no fr that was such a plot twist to me AND THEN SABO FREAKING COMES BACK???😭🫶🏽 y no sé si recuerdas a un personaje llamado Grount? I saw him and I was ready to hear he was Luffy’s cousin or something LMAO yo lo vi y dije “por qué parece Luffy con un mohwak?” JAJAJAAJA a este punto estoy lista a escuchar que cualquier personaje puede ser familiar de Luffy

yo, me quedé con la teoría de Corazón de que “will of D” se refiere a que son enemigos de los dioses y los “dioses” son los celestial dragons porque solo esa teoría entendí JAJAJA Sengoku took the time to explain another theory to Law and I zoned out like, can’t someone just say it directly I don’t get it

my yapping under the cut LMAO

FROBIIIIIIIIN oh you're an intelectual for real. y exacto entiendo q a todos les gusten dinámicas distintas y q vean esas dinámicas de una forma diferente pero zoro y perona?? romántico?? q es lo siguiente q van a decir luffy y ace? por favor JAJAJA

TU LO ENTIENDEEEEEES, o sea yo lo veo en el animé y también pienso llévenlo a terapia por favor este hombre lo necesita, pero literal si estás viendo un video de sanji en tikok o cualquier cosa así todos los comentarios son "ok but fishmen island" ok what about it huh, you're telling be you would be better surrounded by some gorgeous gorgeous mermaids? stinky liar. y sí pq pa mi el hecho de q quería ver a gente desnuda sin su consentimiento es harto peor q ay no se desangró pq es un estúpido, but to each their own i guess we sanji enjoyers are still thriving LMAO

i'm honestly on board with the theory of croco being trans, makes sense what else could he own iva. but then they start with the crocomom and i'm like......... i know we're all allowed our headcanons and stuff but this one literally came out of nowhere LMAO

SABO COMING BACK MADE ME CRY SO MUUUUUUUUUUCH, luffy was ready to kick his ass only to realize who it was and that whole scene is just so well done. and i LOVE that sabo ended up being the one eating the mera mera fruit because who else if not him. a este punto pueden decir q cualquier personaje es familiar de luffy y ya ni me sorprendería (a menos de q sea crocodile ese lo sigo poniendo en duda ajajaja)

no te voy a mentir, the will of d es una de esas cosas q aún no entiendo bien y q a esta altura tengo miedo de preguntar AJJAJ antes de q viera one piece un amigo literal me explicó q significaba y yo literal mirándolo con la misma cara q luffy pone cuando law se pone a explicar sus planes

[asktheheartsprincess]

Solo Para:  Another Piece on the Board, Part 2

See part 1 here

Cora knew she couldn’t actively defy her mother.  It counted as treason, and while Auradon technically ruled Wonderland at present, Cora tried as best she could to honor Wonderlandian law in her parents’ presence.  Therefore, she had to honor the wishes of the Queen of Hearts. But she also couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.  Ardenzana had ordered Cora to kill Kayla, who was apparently the daughter of the Duchess of Spades...the rogue White Queen.  If Cora actually went through with it...she’d lose everything.  Maybe if Cora appealed to her mother’s desire for their throne... “Your Majesty,” Cora said cautiously, “Your ways are all ways, of course, but I think that murdering her will ensure we never get Wonderland back.” 

Cora braced for Ardenzana’s response, sure it would be brutal- Ardenzana loved talking about she would smite her enemies in graphic details (her vengeance on Alice was one of her favorite breakfast topics). But, much to Cora’s shock, the Queen of Hearts started to laugh.

“Corazana,” her mother giggled, “Do you think I’ve learned nothing in this foolish rehab?  I said ‘kill her,’ not execute her.”  Abruptly realizing the princess wasn’t following, as Cora merely stared at her, Ardenzana clarified:

“Fairy Godmother has been going on for days about anger management with me.  She says that when I was in Wonderland, instead of losing my temper and ordering executions, I should have killed my enemies with kindness,” the queen shrugged, sipping her tea, “Of course, the idea is utterly ridiculous in our queendom and would not have applied, but here, there is some merit to the concept.”  Based on her tone, she’d obviously given the matter a lot of thought. “Your Majesty,” Cora said, utterly perplexed, “I...I don’t follow.  Could you... elaborate?”

The Queen of Hearts straightened up in her chair and said, “Destroy the girl’s reputation, Corazana.  Do some digging, find some secrets, and expose her.  Make her utterly unsuitable as someone a rebellion could lobby behind.  If you ruin the pretender’s reputation, you kill her chances at obtaining the throne, but allow her to keep her head.  I think that’s very kind, don’t you?  Killing her reputation, but letting her keep her life?”

Cora herself hadn’t been present for this particular lesson between Fairy Godmother and the Queen of Hearts, but she was 99% sure this was not what Fairy Godmother had meant.  Still, it was a much wickeder proposal than outright murder, though Cora honestly wasn’t sure how she could find secrets about someone who supposedly didn’t know her past.  “I appreciate Your Majesty’s wisdom,” the princess said eventually, unsure whether Ardenzana’s idea was practical- or even something she wanted to do.  Sure, Cora was desperate to get Wonderland back, but to Cora, starting what was effectively a smear campaign against Kayla felt uncomfortably like what Auradon was doing to her.  The last thing Cora wanted to do was repeat those mistakes- she knew how much they hurt.  Plus, she also was concerned about what it could cost her.  Cora’s own reputation was already shaky to start with- wouldn’t spreading rumors make Cora herself look even worse, and thus an unworthy candidate for the throne?

“What if the Auradonians think that this makes me cruel?” Cora asked, “That it confirms me as the villain they’ve been saying I am all along?” 

“Corazana,” the Queen of Hearts inquired, reaching down to hold a stunned Cora’s hand in her own (the queen rarely touched her), “Are you a villain?”  The question was loaded, and the queen’s green eyes glittered as they stared into Cora’s brown.

For once in her life not sure what Ardenzana’s desired answer was, Cora responded without thinking:

“No.  I’m a future queen, fighting for her queendom.”  “Then do what you must,” Ardenzana said, her lips pursed in a line.  Recognizing the dismissal, Cora curtsied three times, and backed out of the room.

[askscottatavie-blog]

Queen Takes King || Solo Para

Word Count: 2542 Note: So, this came out waaaaaay longer than I originally intended, and took much longer to write, but I’m super proud of it and I hope you enjoy!

Scotta had never really experienced a lucid dream before. In fact, she hardly ever remembered her dreams. But this, this felt different. Like she was dreaming, yet she was awake.

The sight of her old room startled her slightly. The decorations looked dated, with furniture yet to be broken by fits of teen rage. But something felt wrong. Off. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it...

“You know, you always were my favourite.” A sharp turn towards the accented voice revealed a familiar blond, the sight of which caused Scotta’s skin to prickle.

“I should have known something was off about you.” She began, standing her ground as the much taller man approached her. “Twin intuition is one thing, but having the exact same imaginary friend? That’s unheard of.”

“See? This is exactly what I mean! You’re clever - you read into things."

“That’s called being cynical, not clever.” Scotta pointed out.

“Tomato, tomato. Say what you will, but it’s the cynical ones that tend to last.” He replied, making a wide gesture with his arms.

“Like you?” Her incredulity was only emphasized by the lift of her eyebrow.

“Like you.”

There was a brief silence between the two, where they did little but stare at one another. Keen eyes attempting to calculate each others’ next moves.

“So, what do you want?” Scotta took the leap, getting straight to the point. A grin spread across the mans face.

“What? I can’t visit an old friend?” He asked, holding his chest as if he were hurt. His voice mimicked this, but his eyes told a different story.

“You’re not that kind of person.” Scotta began, taking slow steps as she began to circle around him. “In fact, everything about this setting is off. You’ve bought me back to my childhood bedroom, presumably to make me feel more comfortable. Yet you’ve also come to me in a dream, maybe so you’d know that you’d have more control over the situation. But I think it’s more likely that you can’t come to me any other way. Because you still haven’t escaped, have you?” Silence answered her, causing a smirk to stretch her cheeks. “And to top it all off, if you are who I think you are, then the information recently brought to light gives you a motive. So correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you want something from me.”

A beat of silence.

“...Very perceptive.” His smirk now matched hers, although his held a hint of malice. He even mirrored her previous movements as he began to stalk around her. “However, there is one flaw in your little brainstorm.”

She raised her eyebrows in reply, ceasing in her movement and crossing her arms. His intimidation tactics were dated and obvious, as he got right up in her personal space, his chest against her back as he leaned down to whisper into her ear.

“You don’t know what it is that I want.”

“I know enough to make a logical guess.” Scotta shrugged. Imitating her own movements, the man only raised his eyebrow in return, causing the girl to roll her eyes. “Ragnarok. Something to do with Ragnarok. You want to end life on earth as we know it, and for some reason want my help to do it.”

“I knew that you’d done your studying.”

“I’d be a hypocrite if I didn’t.” She shrugged.

“So, what do you say, huh? End of the world? How about it?”

“Sorry to be a party pooper, but I’m not about to help you end the world. Unlike you, I happen to live in it.”

“What?” The man scoffed. “Your mortal life, here on Earth? You could be so much more than this - just as you were destined to be!”

“I was destined to be the orphaned bastard of your king. The only legacy he’s left me is to be a stain on his throne.”

“And I’m offering you vengeance-”

“On who?!” She exclaimed, her arms flailing violently as her calm composure fell for a moment. “A man I’ve never met, with motives I couldn’t even begin to understand? And what can you give me? The prize of a broken throne at the cost of your own petty revenge? No. I am sick of letting everyone else decide what’s best for me. From now on, I decide my own destiny. And I can guarantee that it doesn’t involve me helping you.”

“Is that so?” He asked, exiting her personal space so he could continue to circle her. “So you’re not even the slightest bit tempted? All it would take is one bite of a golden apple, and you’ll be a goddess. Bastard or not, with no pesky siblings in the way, you’ll be the rightful heir to the throne of the gods.”

“Queen of the damned? Sounds charming, but I’ll have to decline.”

“Really? Well then, I’m sure your brother wouldn’t be so quick-” Scotta cut him off, her tone sharp enough to cut stone.

“You leave Hew out of this.”

The man chuckled.

“Don’t you see? He’s always been a part of this. It’s either you or him, honey. Make your choice.”

Then there was silence.

“...No.” Scotta finally replied, causing him to frown.

“No?”

“This is my dream, right?” She began. “My subconscious. Which means that I make the rules.” With a flick of her hand, the scenery changed, and the blond gave her an incredulous look.

“...Chess?” He questioned, to which she nodded as she placed herself in the chair her mind had conjured.

“Chess. A game of wit and intelligence.” Scotta replied. “Two things you seem to value incredibly highly, I might add.” And within which I’m sure you’ll be eager to prove your superiority. “So, I’m going to raise the stakes. I win, and you leave me and Hew alone. You win, and I go through with this little plan of yours.” Her tone was reluctant, but decisive. Seating himself in the chair across from her, the man crossed his arms, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He leaned back, as if getting comfortable, but his gaze never left his opponent.

“I have to say, I like these odds.” He eventually replied.

“So, what do you say? Deal?”

“...Deal.”

The two shook hands, Scotta grinned. “Great. King's pawn to E4.” The man seemed shocked as the chess piece moved without being touched.

“We’re doing this verbally?” He asked, incredulously.

“What? Too complicated for you?” Scotta replied, mockingly. The man scowled.

“Never.” He grumbled, before studying the board for a moment, as if reminding himself of the game. “Pawn to E5.”

“Pawn to F4. King’s Gambit.”

“Pawn takes pawn.”

“Bishop to C4.”

“Queen to H4. Check”

“King to F1.”

“Pawn to B5.” The man gave Scotta a strange look, to which she merely shrugged in reply.

“Okay then. Bishop takes Pawn.”

“Knight to F6.”

“Knight to F3.”

“Queen to H6.”

“Pawn to D3.”

The blond grinned before he made his next move. “Knight to H5.”

"Scotta?” The knock at her door had already alerted her to her grandmothers presence, but she had always felt the need to announce herself in some way before she entered. A respect of the teenagers privacy, Scotta supposed. Perhaps she had learned from her mistakes while raising Merida.

“I’m coming. Just, give me a second.” She replied, trying her best to stay composed, although she was sure that her shuddering breath gave her away.

“You know, it’s okay to be nervous-” Eleanor began, before Scotta cut her off.

“But if I’m going to be queen-”

“You listen to me, young lady.” Eleanor cut her off, sitting next to her granddaughter and taking her hands between her own. “Right now, you’re not the heir to the throne. You’re a young girl who, for the first time in her life, is about to meet her biological mother. You’re allowed to be nervous - I would be worried if you weren’t. Being afraid isn’t always a weakness. Sometimes it’s a blessing in disguise.”

“Why’s that?” Scotta sniffed. Eleanor merely smiled.

“Because it reminds us that we’re still human.”

Scotta simply raised an eyebrow. “Knight to H4.”

“Queen to G5.” He began, a toothy grin pulling maliciously at his cheeks. “So, are you giving up your Bishop at B5 or your Knight at H4?” There was a pause before Scotta replied.

“Neither. Knight to F5.” Her grin now mirrored his, which had fallen.

“Pawn to C6.”

“Pawn to G4.”

“Knight to F6.” Another pause as Scotta carefully studied the board.

“...Rook to G1.”

“Pawn takes your Bishop.” There was laughter in his eyes.

Scotta wasn’t sure what she had expected. A connection, maybe. Some kind of instant sign of ‘yes, this woman is my mother.’ Instead it was just, awkward. Like meeting a stranger for the first time at a party and being forced to interact. All at once, every expectation she had had about this day had both been shattered and met. “So, I assume you want to know why, I let you go.” She finally got out, a sharp breath interrupting the silence that had fallen over the three ever since they had been left to awkward small talk by their respective families. “That would be nice, yeah.” Hew replied, his tone far more snappy than it usually got. It quickly alerted Scotta to his own unease in the situation, but she didn’t know what she could do to make him feel anymore comfortable. While leaving was an option she imagined was at the forefront both of their minds, she doubted either of them genuinely wanted to. “Right...” She trailed off, clearing her throat and starting down at her wringing hands. “My, family is - was - very wealthy. We had a reputation - a certain image - to uphold. An image, I may have ruined.” The simultaneously raised eyebrow from both twins seemed to make her chuckle, as if it were somehow familiar. “I was engaged to an, an amazing man. But then, I met another man, and it was like a tornado, a storm. Everything just happened so quickly. Before I even knew what was happening, we were in bed together.” She paused, her own voice trembling. “I, I got pregnant, and when we found out how far along... Well, it was obvious that it wasn’t his. The engagement was called off, and I was thrown out. Eventually I found a place to stay, and a part time job, but I just wasn’t in the right place to raise children. I had no room for three of us to live, and I definitely didn’t have the money to raise you.” Scotta raised her head slowly to look the woman in the eye, and opened her mouth to speak, but she was cut off before a sound could emit from her lips. “I promise, it was never you.” She took her children's hands into her own. “I regret what I did every single day. But I want you to know that I never regretted you. Neither of you. Not for a second.”

“Pawn to H4.” Scotta announced, watching the pawn move with a careful gaze.

“Queen to G6.”

“Pawn to H5. Might want to watch your next few steps.” Her light teasing tone seemed to put him off slightly, his upper lip curling in annoyance.

“Says the girl who lost her bishop.” Despite his quip, it was clear that her own confidence was wearing him down slightly. “Queen to G5.”

“Queen to F3.” She knew that she had almost trapped his queen. The slight sweat on his brow indicated that he did too.

“Knight to G8.”

“Bishop takes Pawn, threatens Queen.”

With a grunt, he relented. “Queen to F6.”

“Knight to C3. Want to develop something other than your Queen?” She mocked.

“I wouldn’t get too cocky if I were you - you’re still one Bishop down. Speaking of which. Bishop to C5.”

Scotta was already deep into the ancient tomes at the back of the castle’s library when Hew approached her.

“What’re you doing?” He asked, although Scotta didn’t turn to answer.

“Reading up on my Norse Mythology. I’m a bit rusty.” She teased. Mythology had never really been her thing, after all.

Hew, however, didn’t seem to be in the mood for games. “No, I was talking about your room. What’s going on?”

“Oh, that?” Scotta replied, surprise evident in her voice as she turned to face her brother. “I’m just moving to a different room. No biggie.” She shrugged.

Her brother still appeared confused. “...Why?”

Scotta sighed. “Want to start over, turn a new leaf, you know?”

“...Yeah, I know.” Hew nodded, before placing a firm hand on her shoulder, shaking her slightly as he smiled. “Good for you, Tavie.”

Scotta mirrored his smile as their eyes met. “Thanks, Tahmas.”

“Knight to D5.” Scotta continued.

“Queen takes Pawn at B2.”

“Bishop to D6.”

“Queen takes Rook. Check.” He retaliated, although his furrowed brow made him appear more confused than smug.

“King to E2.” Scotta was calm, but his surprise remained.

“Bishop takes Rook. Your final Rook, by the way.”

“Intimidation doesn’t work if you don’t understand what’s happening.” Scotta pointed out, although her face remained passive, neutral. “Pawn to E5.”

“I’ve got my entire army bearing down on your King, and you’re moving a Pawn?” He questioned, his exasperation and confusion having clearly gotten the better of him.

“Think about it, old friend.” His pause was the only answer she needed.

“Whatever.” He grumbled. “Let’s just finish this. Knight to A6.”

“Knight takes Pawn at G7. Check.”

“King to D8. Try again.”

“Queen to F6. Check.”

“And my Knight takes your Queen.” His grin was victorious, a flame lit behind his eyes. “You’re down to a Pawn and a Bishop. Too bad you wasted your time moving the-” He stopped himself, the grin dissolving and the fire fading.

Scotta’s poker face finally broke into a smirk once more. “Bishop to E7. Checkmate.”

Her ‘old friend’ took the loss far better than she had expected him to, which only raised her suspicions. Leaning back in his chair, he raised his hands in defeat. “Well, looks like you got me, kid.”

“So, you’re going to keep your side of the deal, right?” Scotta raised an eyebrow, copying his movements as she leaned back in her own chair, crossing her arms. “You get out of my head and stay away from my brother.”

“Hey, a deals a deal.” The man agreed, placing his hands on the chairs arms in order to push himself up. “I’ll get out of your hair. Promise.”

“Good.” Scotta replied, getting up from her own chair, as if to politely show him out of the door. However, as he began to disappear - taking the dreamscape with him -  she spoke again.

"Oh, and Loki?” She began, causing him to freeze in his tracks as he turned his head to face her. “If I hear that you went back on our deal, then Narfi won't be the last of your children to die at the hands of an Asguardian."

He turned away again, and she missed the smirk that twisted his features.

“I’d like to see you try, princess.”

[diyloloylautitxt]

PERFUCH 2 por Gabriela Schevach para ArteBa Revista #5, mayo 2018

PERFUCH 2 MUESTRA COLECTIVA / GROUP SHOW UV ESTUDIOS 13. 12. 17 | 16. 12. 17

Con curaduría de Lolo y Lauti, UV cerró el año con la segunda edición de Perfuch, transformando su sede durante cuatro días en una plataforma de producción y exhibición de performance, tanto en vivo como en video. Cada uno de los días estaba programado con obras que no se repitieron y que incluyeron música en vivo, reparto de flyers de muestras pasadas por Ceci & Gastix (Cecilia Szalkowicz y Gastón Pérsico, ambos Buenos Aires, 1972), proyección de videos en la terraza y un programa paralelo, Perfuch Disidente, en una de las habitaciones. Dentro del programa de performance que sucedía en la planta baja, el primer día, por ejemplo, Andrés Piña (Mendoza, 1992) instaló una serie de cajas en altura para su obra Curtida y amanerada. Cada una funcionaba a la manera de pequeño escenario donde se veía una parte del cuerpo de los performers, que se habían escondido dentro del set y que iban realizando distintas acciones: una mano encendía un cigarrillo, otra servía vino en una copa y lo bebía por medio de un sorbete. Valentín Demarco (Olavarría, 1986) armó una tabla más alta que él donde clavó panes, quesos y fiambre. La madera tenía unos agujeros redondos y el artista estaba desnudo. Al principio se paró por detrás de la tabla que estaba en posición vertical, sacó el pene y luego los brazos por los agujeros y, haciendo movimientos intrincados, a ciegas, cortó unos pedazos de fiambre. Después, se ubicó a gatas formando una mesa con la tabla sobre la espalda y ofreció la comida a los espectadores. Jair Jesús Toledo (Villa María, 1986), que vive en UV, armó un programa paralelo en su habitación del segundo piso. Perfuch Disidente comenzó con el artista exhibiendo sobre un pedestal blanco su propio puño cerrado recubierto de masilla epoxy y haciéndolo estallar en mil pedazos pocos minutos después. La Britney Cordobesa (Villa María, 1986), drag queen “biológicamente mujer”, aseguran en UV, dio un show “mucho mucho mejor que el de la original [Britney Spears]”. Participaron también Natacha Voliakovsky (Buenos Aires, 1988), Chiachio & Giannone (Leo Chiachio, Banfield, 1969 y Daniel Giannone, Córdoba, 1964), Las Desesperadas Por El Ritmo (Marcela Astorga, Mendoza, 1965; Adriana Bustos, Bahía Blanca, 1965; Marina de Caro, Mar del Plata, 1961; Ana Gallardo, Rosario, 1958; Cristina Schiavi, Buenos Aires, 1958; Silvana Lacarra, Bragado, 1962 y Monica Millán, Misiones, 1960), Jazmín Saidman (Buenos Aires, 1987), Denise Groesman (Buenos Aires, 1989), Guido Yannitto (Mendoza, 1981), Alejandra Mizrahi (San Miguel de Tucumán, 1981), entre otros y otras. Fernanda Laguna (Hurlingham, 1972) y Rosario Zorraquín (Buenos Aires, 1984) mostraron videos y realizaron una celebración pequeña en que sacaron una botella de debajo de sus polleras. Mientras tanto, seguía la programación principal de Perfuch 2. Florencia Rodríguez Giles (Buenos Aires, 1978) con Pablo Katchadjian (Buenos Aires, 1977) y Bárbara Hang (Buenos Aires, 1981) organizaron un ritual en la terraza sin audiencia secundaria, al que solo se podía asistir como participante y con inscripción previa. Hernán Aguirre (San Miguel de Tucumán, 1993) creó una acción en que un grupo de performers, vestidos con accesorios que él realizó, iban construyendo formas y componiendo una escultura viva. Luis Garay (Bogotá, 1981) contrató tres taxi boys para que hicieran una coreografía de movimientos reiterados. Durante un rato largo permanecieron contra la pared agitando sus caderas, a veces cambiando de postura. “Garay jugaba mucho con el cansancio físico y el agotamiento del circuito”. Agustín Ceretti (Buenos Aires, 1989), “revelación absoluta de Perfuch”, aseguran Lolo y Lauti, hizo una versión propia de un tema del disco de Jorge de la Vega, El gusanito en persona. Ich (Buenos Aires, 1982), por su parte, tomó un tema musical y, en vivo, lo dividió en secuencias muy cortas; luego cuadriplicó cada una. La ambientación era propia de una fiesta, con luces bajas y máquina de humo, pero −siguen los curadores− “Se formó una situación muy rara porque era la música más extraña que se te puede ocurrir”. Mauricio “La Chola” Poblete (Mendoza, 1993) presentó un video para incitar a los ciudadanos a votar en Estados Unidos, que era a su vez una remake de un clip de Madonna de la década del 90. Actuaba él mismo con dos chicos vestidos de amish mientras sonaba remixado un tema de Atahualpa Yupanqui. Raúl Flores (Córdoba, 1965) mostró también un video, apropiación de Cut Piece de Yoko Ono, en que distintas personas van apareciendo en el plano para cortarle un pedazo de la ropa que lleva puesta. El último día, Julián Sorter (San Martín de los Andes, 1991) llegó montado a caballo para su obra Colonia Express. Mientras el público lo esperaba en la vereda sonaba una grabación cuya voz, apurada, resumía la trama de la novela La extraña dama, con Luisa Kuliok y Jorge Martínez, que transcurre en época colonial. La llegada coincidió con una gran tormenta de verano que continuó después mientras bailaba vestido de dama antigua. Participaron además, principalmente presentando obras en formato video que se proyectaron en la terraza, Juan Pablo Cámara (Campana, 1989), CC Sheraton (Catalina Muñoz, Buenos Aires, 1986), Cervio Martini (Huinca Renancó, 1985), Matías de la Guerra (Salta, 1995) y Rodri & Lenny (Montevideo, 1985 y González Catán, 2010), Lulo Demarco (Montevideo, 1991), Zoe Di Rienzo (Córdoba, 1974), Toto Dirty (Villa Gesell, 1990), Alfredo Dufour (San Juan, 1989), Sofía Durrieu (Buenos Aires, 1980), El Pelele (Córdoba, 1993), Dana Ferrari (Buenos Aires, 1988), Santiago Gasquet (Buenos Aires, 1978), Bruno Grupalli (Quilmes, 1984), Mauro Guzmán (Rosario, 1977), Carlos Herrera (Rosario, 1976), Hoco Huoc (Quilmes, 1979), Roberto Jacoby (Buenos Aires, 1944) y Alejandro Ros (San Miguel de Tucumán, 1964), Laura Kalauz (Buenos Aires, 1975), Andrés Knob (Buenos Aires, 1983), Kobra Kei (Blancanieves y Dulcinea Damevin, Reconquista, 1989 y 1994), Mariela Scafatti (Buenos Aires, 1972), Lolo & Lauti (Lorenzo Anzoátegui y Lautaro Camino, Buenos Aires, 1980 y 1986), Leandra Levine (Buenos Aires, 1998), Lxs Reales (Catalina Martin y Gregorio Rubio, Buenos Aires, 1988 y 1999, respectivamente), Misionera (Cecilia Closa, Melisa Rheingrüber y Lil Lilen, Buenos Aires, 1990), Maruki Nowacki (Quilmes, 1981), Paul Pescador (Indio, 1983), Gael Policano Rossi (Córdoba, 1987), Fabián Ramos (San Miguel de Tucumán, 1968), Daiana Rose (Buenos Aires, 1980), Gregorio Rubio (Buenos Aires, 1998), Julieta Tarraubella (Buenos Aires, 1991), Dani Umpi (Tacuarembó, 1974), Noelia Valdez (Banfield, 1983) y Florencia y Manuela Vecino (Tandil, 1985 y 1992).

UV closed the season with the second edition of Perfuch, curated by Lolo and Lauti. For four days, the venue was turned into a platform for the production and exhibition of live and video performances. On each day, works that would never be repeated were staged, productions that included live music, the distribution of flyers for past shows by Ceci and Gastix (Cecilia Szalkowicz and Gastón Pérsico, both born in Buenos Aires in 1972), and the screening of videos on the terrace; the parallel program, Perfuch Disidente, took place in one of the rooms. On the first day of the main performance program, held on the ground floor, Andrés Piña (Mendoza, 1992) installed a series of boxes. Each one acted as a small stage where one part of the performers’ bodies –hiding inside the set- could be seen as they carried out actions (a hand lighting a cigarette, another pouring a glass of wine and drinking it through a straw). Valentín Demarco (Olavarría, 1986) nailed loaves of bread, pieces of cheese, and cold cuts to a wooden board he put up above him. The board had round holes in it. At first, the artist, who was naked, stood behind the vertical board. He put his penis and then his arms through a hole and, making elaborate motions, sliced the cold cuts randomly. He then crouched on all fours, resting the board on his back to form a table, and offered the food to viewers. Jair Jesús Toledo (Villa María, 1986), who lives in UV, put together a parallel program in his room on the upper level. Perfuch Disidente started with the artist’s fist covered in epoxy on a white pedestal; when he opened his fist, the epoxy was smashed into a thousand pieces. Drag queen La Britney Cordobesa (Villa María, 1986), who—UV assures—is “biologically female,” gave a show “much better than any by the original [Britney Spears].” Other participants included Natacha Voliakovsky (Buenos Aires, 1988), Chiachio & Giannone (Leo Chiachio, Banfield, 1969 and Daniel Giannone, Córdoba, 1964), Las Desesperadas Por El Ritmo (Marcela Astorga, Mendoza, 1965; Adriana Bustos, Bahía Blanca, 1965; Marina de Caro, Mar del Plata, 1961; Ana Gallardo, Rosario, 1958; Cristina Schiavi, Buenos Aires, 1958; Silvana Lacarra, Bragado, 1962 y Monica Millán, Misiones, 1960), Jazmín Saidman (Buenos Aires, 1987), Denise Groesman (Buenos Aires, 1989), Guido Yannitto (Mendoza, 1981), and Alejandra Mizrahi (San Miguel de Tucumán, 1981). Fernanda Laguna (Hurlingham, 1972) and Rosario Zorraquín (Buenos Aires, 1984) showed videos and held a small celebration in which they took a bottle out from under their skirts. Perfuch 2 proper continued as well. Florencia Rodríguez Giles (Buenos Aires, 1978), along with Pablo Katchadjian (Buenos Aires, 1977) and Bárbara Hang (Buenos Aires, 1981), organized a ritual on the terrace that could only be attended by participants who had signed up beforehand. Hernán Aguirre (San Miguel de Tucumán, 1993) designed an action in which a group of performers wearing accessories he had made assembled forms to compose a living sculpture. Luis Garay (Bogotá, 1981) hired three male prostitutes to perform a choreographed dance of repeated movements; for a long time they stood against the wall shaking their hips, sometimes changing position. “Garay engaged the idea of physical exhaustion and a completed circuit,” explain the curators. Agustín Ceretti (Buenos Aires, 1989), whom Lolo and Lauti describe as the ���unrivaled revelation of Perfuch,” did a cover of a song from Jorge de la Vega’s album, El gusanito en persona. Ich (Buenos Aires, 1982), meanwhile, chopped a song into very short sequences in a live performance where he then quadrupled each brief segment. Though the scene was like a party, with dim lighting and smoke machine, “the atmosphere was very strange because the music could not have been weirder,” the curators explain. Mauricio “La Chola” Poblete (Mendoza, 1993) exhibited a video to encourage voter turnout in the United States that was a remake of a Madonna music video from the nineties. The artist himself acted along with two guys dressed as Amish while a remix of a song by Atahualpa Yupanqui played. Raúl Flores (Córdoba, 1965) exhibited a video that appropriated Cut Piece by Yoko Ono, where a piece of the clothing worn by the various people that appear on screen is cut. On the last day, Julián Sorter (San Martín de los Andes, 1991) arrived on horseback for his work Colonia Express. While the audience waited for him on the sidewalk outside the venue, a recording was heard of a voice quickly summing up the plot of La extraña dama with Luisa Kuliok, a soap opera that took place during colonial times. A summer storm arrived along with Sorter, and it continued as he danced dressed as a Spanish colonial lady. Other participants, who mainly contributed works on video that were projected on the terrace, included Juan Pablo Cámara (Campana, 1989), CC Sheraton (Catalina Muñoz, Buenos Aires, 1986), Cervio Martini (Huinca Renancó, 1985), Matías de la Guerra (Salta, 1995), Rodri & Lenny (Montevideo, 1985 and González Catán, 2010), Lulo Demarco (Montevideo, 1991), Zoe Di Rienzo (Córdoba, 1974), Toto Dirty (Villa Gesell, 1990), Alfredo Dufour (San Juan, 1989), Sofía Durrieu (Buenos Aires, 1980), El Pelele (Córdoba, 1993), Dana Ferrari (Buenos Aires, 1988), Santiago Gasquet (Buenos Aires, 1978), Bruno Grupalli (Quilmes, 1984), Mauro Guzmán (Rosario, 1977), Carlos Herrera (Rosario, 1976), Hoco Huoc (Quilmes, 1979), Roberto Jacoby (Buenos Aires, 1944) and Alejandro Ros (San Miguel de Tucumán, 1964), Laura Kalauz (Buenos Aires, 1975), Andrés Knob (Buenos Aires, 1983), Kobra Kei (Blancanieves and Dulcinea Damevin, Reconquista, 1989 and 1994), Mariela Scafatti (Buenos Aires, 1972), Lolo & Lauti (Lorenzo Anzoátegui and Lautaro Camino, Buenos Aires, 1980 and 1986), Leandra Levine (Buenos Aires, 1998), Lxs Reales (Catalina Martin and Gregorio Rubio, Buenos Aires, 1988 and 1999, respectively), Misionera (Cecilia Closa, Melisa Rheingrüber, and Lil Lilen, all born in Buenos Aires, 1990), Maruki Nowacki (Quilmes, 1981), Paul Pescador (Indio, 1983), Gael Policano Rossi (Córdoba, 1987), Fabián Ramos (San Miguel de Tucumán, 1968), Daiana Rose (Buenos Aires, 1980), Gregorio Rubio (Buenos Aires, 1998), Julieta Tarraubella (Buenos Aires, 1991), Dani Umpi (Tacuarembó, 1974), Noelia Valdez (Banfield, 1983), and Florencia and Manuela Vecino (Tandil, 1985 and 1992).

LINK

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: Cuban Artists Find Escape and Entrapment in the Sea

Yoan Capote, “Islands (see-escape)” (2010), oil, nails, and fishhooks on jute, mounted on plywood (all photos by the author for Hyperallergic)

MIAMI — Last November, Jorge M. Pérez, real estate developer and board member of the Pérez Art Museum Miami (PAMM), continued his patronage of the museum with a $15 million donation to be gifted over the next decade — $5 million for the acquisition of work by Latin American artists, $5 million for the acquisition of additional works, and 200 pieces from Pérez’s massive Cuban art collection.

A few years ago, I interviewed Pérez about his private art collection, which takes up nearly every inch of his sprawling home. Touring his villa was akin to exploring a funhouse, searching for work to pop out in unexpected places — in closets, along the wall near the driveway, at the feet of still more art. In a city where the sentiments of the developers don’t always align with the institutions they represent, Pérez is, in some ways, an exception. The man loves art, especially Latin American and Cuban art, with a fervor that leaves him barely able to contain himself when he discusses it.

It’s unsurprising that his donation to the PAMM is massive, with many of the works migrating to the museum’s permanent collection, and others becoming part of a three-part installation: On the Horizon: Internal Landscapes (June 9, 2017–September 10, 2017), which examines the horizon as it relates to the body and self; Abstracting History (September 21, 2017–January 7, 2018), a show of abstract art reflecting on political and spiritual history; and Domestic Anxieties (January 18–April 8, 2018), a set of works exploring architecture and everyday spaces as sources of emotion and duress. Pérez’s donation contains works by Cuban artists both on the island and who are part of the diaspora, living in Miami and elsewhere.

  Jorge & Larry, “Unique Pieces from the Collection: Relics of the Tatar Princess” (2015-16), mixed media; Roberto Fabelo, “Caldosa #1” (2015), engraving on metal pot; Manuel Mendive Hoyos, “Energías I” (2o13), acrylic on wood; José Bedia, “Imitación de vuelo” (1990), painted textile and acrylic on canvas

Manuel Mendive Hoyos, “Energías I” (2o13), acrylic on wood; José Bedia, “Imitación de vuelo” (1990), painted textile and acrylic on canvas; Juan Roberto Diago, “Un hijo de Dios” (2011), mixed media on canvas

Jorge & Larry, “Unique Pieces from the Collection: Relics of the Tatar Princess” (2015–16) (detail)

Diango Hernandez, “El acuario de Ernesto” (2016), oil on canvas and aluminum frame on six panels

Water features throughout Internal Landscapes; separated by various seas, the artists explore what it’s meant — for each of them — to cross certain thresholds, whether literal or metaphysical. In the narrative of migrants and border-crossing, the ocean is a boundary between and conduit to “othered” lands, filled with hope and danger: Gory’s (Rogelio López Marín) photographic series, “Es solo agua en la lágrima de un extraño (It’s Only Water in the Teardrop of a Stranger)” superimposes the image of a pool ladder descending into dark water onto a variety of scenes — a parked car, a subway station. In Luis Cruz Azaceta’s “Caught,” a man floats in a boat, his face frozen in a scream and arms raised in vulnerable surrender, surrounded on all sides by blades and machetes.

Gory, “Es solo agua en la lágrima de un extraño” (1986–2015), black-and-white negative film, photomontages, and digital chromogenic prints

“Caught” has an inadvertent soundtrack: Antonia Wright screaming at the bottom of a pool in her video “I Scream, Therefore I Exist,” while swimmers above the water are oblivious to her shrieks. The idea of concurrent realities — one leisurely, another desperate — in just one space is an intrinsic component of the immigrant experience, to be sure, though it’s also part of living in the economically and socially disparate United States.

Yoan Capote, “Aperture” (2014-15), mixed media, including handmade steel scissors and display case

Yoan Capote, “Islands (see-escape)” (2010) (detail)

Yoan Capote’s “Island (see-escape)” (2010) — which will become part of the museum’s permanent collection — is an emblem for the exhibition: a massive sea comprised of half a million plywood-mounted fish hooks, sourced and shaped by members of Capote’s community in Havana. Viewed from across the room, it’s beautiful, the sky shades of ice cream colors; up-close, the dense, sharp material alludes to what Capote once said in an interview with The Brooklyn Rail while discussing a larger series of works utilizing fish hooks: “I was reflecting…about the term ‘Iron Curtain.’ I remember thinking, In Cuba we don’t need a wall — our iron curtain is the sea.”

Elizabet Cerviño, “Beso en tierra muerta” (2016), handmade clay bricks; “Horizontes”(2013) from the series “Nieblas,”  gesso on linen

I was most struck by Elizabet Cerviño’s “Beso en tierra muerto (Kiss on dead ground),” a cluster of handmade clay bricks shaped like the waves of the ocean. Maritza Lacayo, part of PAMM’s curatorial team, informed me that the bricks take the form of cursive lettering from a poem Cerviño hand-wrote herself. Manifested into waves, her words are carried like the sea, a very literal display of the exhibition’s use of water as metaphor — an ocean that creates borders and washes them away, too.

Elizabet Cerviño, “Beso en tierra muerta” (2016) (detail)

Rubén Torres Llorca, “Remedio para el mal de ojo” (2004), mixed media

Rubén Torres Llorca, “Remedio para el mal de ojo” (2004) (detail)

On The Horizon: Internal Landscapes continues at the Pérez Art Museum Miami (1103 Biscayne Blvd, Miami) through September 10. The three-part installation On Horizon continues through April 8, 2018; see the museum website for more. 

  The post Cuban Artists Find Escape and Entrapment in the Sea appeared first on Hyperallergic.

from Hyperallergic http://ift.tt/2sWyXgj via IFTTT

[asktheheartsprincess]

Solo Para: Another Piece on the Board, Part 1

Cora felt as though the entire earth had tilted off its axis, though she kept up her confident stride until she rounded a corner- out of Iris’ view. Then she slumped against a wall, struggling to control her racing heart. This couldn’t be happening. This simply couldn’t be happening. This was somehow a million times worse than when she had met Iris and Ally, because at least Iris and Ally were living representations of the woman who had stolen everything from Cora and her family. Cora knew that A...lice hadn’t died. But Kayla? Kayla was a living representation of someone who could steal everything from Cora in the future, an additional piece on the board that should never have been there. And Cora simply could not allow that to happen.

Perhaps the most mind boggling aspect was that Kayla shouldn’t exist. Ardenzana of Wonderland, Queen of Hearts, had famously executed the entire House of Spades, from its rogue Duchess Palaterra (the chit who dared to call herself ‘the White Queen’) to its younger members before the ink reading “guilty” had dried on the parchment declaring the verdict (it was this incident that had led to the Auradonian tall tale of the Queen of Hearts preferring “sentence before verdict,” though the verbal verdict had already been handed down. Auradonians, of course, didn’t bother with these particulars). Every member had been executed. No one could have survived; indeed, the stories and records indicated no one had-

Unless Ardenzana herself had plotted for them to.

Heart pounding, feeling more nauseous than she cared to admit, Cora practically ran to the Rehabilitation Center to visit her mother. She found the Queen of Hearts in her chamber, sipping tea. Cora stumbled through the requisite three curtsies, gasping out, “Your Majesty-” midway through the last one.

The Queen of Hearts, realizing something must be terribly amiss for Cora to blatantly botch simple etiquette and protocol, raised an eyebrow and inquired, “Corazana, what’s wrong?”

“Your Majesty,” Cora asked, entirely unsure what she wanted the answer to this question to be, “Did you- did you ever let any traitors live?”

“What?” The Queen of Hearts balked, “No, of course not. Corazana, you know treason is a high crime. Why would you even ask that?” She set her teacup down on the table, folding her arms.

Cora, somewhere between relief and desperation, said, “Because there’s this new student- she’s calling herself Kayla -says she’s the daughter of the Wh- Duchess of Spades. I mean, I thought it was ridiculous, of course. It had to be. It is ridiculous, right?”

All at once, Ardenzana’s lips pursed. She sighed, and stared out the window, “I always knew that decision would come back to haunt me. And darling, never trust Fairy Godmothers,” under her breath, the Queen of Hearts added, “I loathe that woman.”

Instantly, Cora felt her relief dissipate. Settling back on her heels- her mother hadn’t granted her permission to rise out of the curtsy -she asked, her sense of dread worsening, “Your Majesty...what are you talking about?”

Ardenzana of Wonderland, Queen of Hearts, surveyed the execution orders for the House of Spades before her. She read off each name, her blood boiling at the thought that these people she had trusted- people she had considered friends -had brought a rebellion against her. This one she’d danced with at a ball last week. This one she’d sent an unbirthday gift to. And all the time, they’d been plotting to take her queendom from her. They’d been burning down her people’s houses, dressing themselves up as her knaves and soldiers so innocent Wonderlanders would think the Queen of Hearts herself was harming them. They deserved to die, she thought fiercely, and she continued reading the names, a scribe dutifully writing each one down. There would be no mistakes.

Just then, Ardenzana arrived at a name that was (relatively) unfamiliar to her: “Palacaela, of the House of Spades.” She turned around, facing her lady-in-waiting, “I can’t place it.”

Clearing her throat, the lady-in-waiting added with a curtsy, “Daughter of the Duchess of Spades, Your Royal Majesty. A baby.”

Entirely unaware she was performing the action, Ardenzana’s hands fluttered to her stomach. The court wasn’t aware of it yet- the king and queen didn’t dare announce it -but the Queen of Hearts was pregnant. They’d had trouble having children in the past, and she’d already miscarried once, fairly late into her pregnancy. She’d subsequently suffered a bout of post-partum psychosis, and her court, in their way, had been supportive of her, following even the strangest of her orders without complaint. The Queen appreciated it, but she still felt vulnerable about the entire episode. So while the royal couple was cautiously pleased they were pregnant, they didn’t want the courtiers to know unless there was a viable chance this baby would survive.

“A baby,” Ardenzana repeated with as much disinterest as she could muster, “How old?”

“I’m not sure, Your Majesty,” the lady-in-waiting admitted, reverting to the shorter title, “Only that she’s very young.”

Internally, what served as Ardenzana’s conscience warred with itself:

‘Every traitor deserves to lose their head.’

‘But can a baby actively chose treason? They can’t do anything without the support of a mother.’

‘A mother. And what kind of mother would Palaterra have been? Undoubtedly, she would have led the child down the wrong path-’

A baby cannot commit treason, the Queen of Hearts decided eventually, and a baby should not be punished for the crimes of its mother. However, she can hardly stay here either.

Her hands flew to her stomach again. Ardenzana would not allow for her child to lose everything the way she almost had.

Nodding to the lady-in-waiting, the Queen of Hearts commanded, “Fetch me the Rabbit.” With a curtsy, the lady-in-waiting departed, unaware that the Queen of Hearts shook her own head at her scribe, and he crossed out the name “Palacaela.”

“I was pregnant with you,” Ardenzana admitted, “and hormonal, and I let it override my better judgment. I thought that a baby couldn’t commit treason, but of course I couldn’t let her stay. I insisted she be sent away from Wonderland, never to return, and with no idea of her identity. I thought it was better that way. She might have a mother who wouldn’t let her commit treason.”

Cora could barely believe her ears, “So it’s...true?” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she felt her head start to swim.

“Yes, unfortunately,” the Queen of Hearts confirmed with a sip of tea, “And no one would have been the wiser, except that insufferable Fairy Godmother accused me of murdering innocents the other day. I have presided over many executions,” Ardenzana huffed, “but always of convicted criminals. I have never executed an innocent person. She dared call me a liar, and told me I was wrong, and I saw red. Obviously, I couldn’t kill her-”

“Obviously,” Cora repeated dumbly, still trying to process her mother’s story.

“-and before I knew it, I had shouted at her that I had not killed an innocent, that in fact I’d given someone a second chance against all of my instincts, because a baby can’t commit treason, and here we are,” the Queen of Hearts finished glumly, “What I failed to factor in, of course, is that babies grow up. And then they get vengeful, and dangerous.”

“That’s why you always gave me lectures on cutting off any loose ends,” Cora realized with a start, “About always following through what I’d started.” The Princess of Hearts had eventually started tuning out those lectures, mostly because she’d had to focus on pretending she’d liked tea. But her mother had often waxed on about that (in between her graphic descriptions of how she’d like to make Alice pay).

The Queen of Heart’s green eyes glittered darkly, “Lessons, darling. Not lectures. And yes. Spies do not just appear out of nowhere. They have allies who let them into court to begin with. You simply can’t cut out one weed, you must cut out the entire rotten growth, no matter how young the sprout is.”

“So...Your Majesty....what do I do now?” Cora asked, uncertain and doubtful. Her voice was high-pitched, like a child’s. For the first time, Cora didn’t know what her path was.

“You kill her,” the Queen of Hearts responded.

[asktheheartsprincess]

Solo Para (Switched Event): Fairy Tale, I

Cora sat on her bed, a collection of books she’d smuggled out of the library piled up around her. It was taking her a while to open them. In fact, she’d spent the last twenty minutes just staring at them. They all contained various descriptions of Wonderlandian history, as well as Alice’s story, and even a few volumes of Auradonian origin that appeared to detail the story of the House of Spades. On the one hand, she wasn’t sure that she *wanted* to read them. Because this would tell her the story of the family that wanted her. But that family, just like the Williams family, was dead. And this would tell her that that family- the Spades family -was evil.

And it would tell her that, as always, she was alone. Without a family. Without even an identity, really, except the girl that kept thrown away. It was only a matter of time until Cassius threw her away, too.

But yet....

These books could also tell Cora that she *did* have an identity. She could have friends. And sure, maybe there would be some hard parts to read, but didn’t every heroine have hard parts in her fairy tale?

At that, Cora laughed, “Is that what I am? A heroine?” The word didn’t taste quite right on her lips. Still, it sounded better than “orphan.” Taking a deep breath, Cora picked up one of the books. Counting to three, she opened it...

*

Despite her previous revulsion for the place, Cora had to admit...she found the history of Wonderland (up until the Civil War, anyway) fascinating. From the story of the first queen of Wonderland, the warrior queen Ilystrezana, who had famously used the Vorpal Sword to vanquish her enemies, to the tales of the pirates of the Boiling Seas, whose specially reinforced ships allowed them to sail into impossible realms. And then there were the traditional stories around each of the Houses, with the House of Spades working almost as a type of specialized police force. Dedicated to protection of those weaker than themselves, using their considerable resources and wealth (as demonstrated in a stunning picture of their palace) to hunt down and imprison criminals. Begrudgingly, Cora wished that someone like the various members of the House of Spades had been around when she’d been fostered. She could certainly have used real protection. Cora flipped a page, reading yet another biography of a famous woman of the House of Spades. Someone who...she was descended from. Cora decided, her stomach in knots, that it...might be kind of cool to be descended from these people. From what she was reading, they all seemed to be incredibly brave.

And none of them seemed to run.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Cora wiped away the tear in her eye. If she really *was* a descendant of the House of Spades...if she really was the last member...that made her the last person who could carry on their legacy. Could she do that? Was she capable of...forgiving...Palaterra for abandoning her? Could it even be considered abandoning her when the Queen of Hearts- who had apparently, Cora had read with a bit of nausea, once been Palaterra’s best friend -had executed her for her ideals?

It wasn’t like the House of Spades had abandoned Cora. They had just been sticking to the values of their House, their ideals, until the end. It wasn’t like the foster families who had given her up. Much like the Williams family, it was forces outside of their control that had parted them.

A steady resolve growing within her, Cora got up from the bed, walking over to a jewelry box. She didn’t own a ton, but there was one piece of jewelry she treasured: Mrs. Williams’ wedding ring. She lifted up the delicate piece, slipping it onto her right ring finger. Then she penned an email to Katie, asking if the girl would help her with some wardrobe adjustments. And then she sent out for the museum and Fairy Godmother, determined that she would have two other rings: Palaterra’s signet ring as the White Queen she’d found in the museum, and the ring of the Duchess of Spades.

Cora wouldn’t run anymore. Not from her past. Not from who she was. And not from her identity. And Cora was going to honor the two mothers who had been cruelly taken from her.

Maybe it wasn’t exactly like the fairy tales other students had. But also...maybe it wasn’t over.

“‘Once upon a time,’” Cora smiled slightly at the familiar phrase, “a different kind of pawn took her place on the board. And that pawn,” she trailed her hand along the picture of Palaterra in one of her books, “would grow to be a queen.”