#Zendal

[carabanchelnet]

INCONTESTABLE | Ayuso no es una presidenta, es una comercial de determinadas empresas privadas. Entre Madrid y Quirón, elige Quirón. Entre Madrid y Florentino, elige Florentino. Entre Madrid y UBER, elige UBER. Video publicado por Alejandra Jacinto @AleJacintoUrang Lo cuento en @agenciaefe

[filodendron63]

MeMa, la ministra...es para ponerse a mear y no echar gota.

[yo-sostenible]

Isabel Zendal, la primera enfermera de la historia en misión internacional

Por Curro Oñate Isabel Zendal Gómez nació el 26 de febrero de 1773 en el municipio de Ordes (A Coruña) en el seno de una familia de agricultores con escasos recursos económicos. Cuando tenía trece años, su madre falleció de viruela, por lo que tuvo que abandonar su casa familiar para ponerse a trabajar. Isabel comenzó a trabajar en el Hospital de la Caridad de A Coruña con veinte años, primero…

[feralbutfluffy]

Give a Man a Mask

The man who caught Aziraphale’s eye was lounging rather indecorously on one of the many benches lining the walls of the ballroom. He (because despite every inch of them being covered, Aziraphale was sure it was a he) wore a well-tailored black velvet suit jacket that fit snuggly over a black waistcoat intricately embroidered with gunmetal filigree. Underneath the waistcoat, Aziraphale could just make out a black shirt and a flash of burgundy lace at the man’s throat. Black leather gloves laced up around his wrists, and matching knee-high boots fit snuggly over the man's fitted black trousers.

Aziraphale sighed with envy. He could never pull off something like that.

Of course - he told himself - it wasn’t the man necessarily that had caught his eye. It was the clothing; he had always noticed and admired fine clothing, and his outfit really was exquisitely made.

Besides, it was hard not to notice someone who had dressed in such stark contrast to the rest of the guests. It seemed everyone else was dressed to excess, resplendent in feathers and lace, gemstones and pearls. This man’s costume, by contrast, was downright modern; minimal but striking, yet still in keeping with Carnivale. The handstitched leather Plague Doctor mask beneath a black tricorn hat completed the look. It should have looked offputting, really...

It did not.

The man looked less like a man, Aziraphale thought, and more like a long black shadow curving against the wall. Aziraphale popped a fritelle into his mouth and chewed it slowly before swallowing. 

If he was honest with himself (which he would prefer not to be, all things considered) he knew what had really attracted his attention; there was something about him - the lazy confidence evident in the way he was sitting, or the dark clothing perhaps - that made him think of Crowley. He hadn’t seen the demon in a few years, and although he was absolutely loathe to admit it even within the privacy of his own mind, he did rather miss him.

Well. He missed him and worried about him in equal parts. Handing over the thermos of Holy Water a few years before had certainly ramped up his anxiety.

He was extremely glad of his full-face volto mask as he watched the figure out of the corner of his eye. He popped another fritelle into his mouth under the mask, chewed, and swallowed with a little groan of pleasure. They really were delicious.

The Plague Doctor swiveled to face him as if he had heard him, and although there was no possible way the stranger could have heard anything of the sort from across the crowded ballroom, Aziraphale blushed ferociously. The heat of it was almost unbearable behind his full-face mask.

He turned his body away from the man, staring down at the sweet delights laid out on the banquet table, and tried very hard to ignore what felt like a heated stare. He gazed down at the galani, his mouth suddenly dry.

Although he was almost expecting it, the dark presence at his elbow a moment later made him start.

“Buonasera, come sta?” said the Plague Doctor in perfect Italian, tipping his hat in a quick formal bow.

Aziraphale had been right about it being a man.

He jerked back at the greeting, startled by the man’s sudden proximity, and scrambled for a reply. 

“Oh! Buonasera!” Aziraphale could think of nothing else to say. He cringed behind his mask and wondered if he could miracle his way out of a conversation that was embarrassing before it had even begun.

The Plague Doctor was wearing a zendale beneath his tricorn, and the silk hood concealed every part of his head not covered by mask or hat. He tilted his head, looking like a curious raven, and rested both his gloved hands on top of a cane Aziraphale hadn’t noticed before. His tight grip - Aziraphale could see his knuckles straining against the leather of his gloves - obscured most of what looked like a beautifully carved gunmetal handle.

He looked up. The large eyesockets of the mask were filled with dark glass lenses, revealing absolutely nothing. Aziraphale smoothed down his more traditional costume. The cream and white concoction with gold embroidery and an abundance of lace ruffles had rather delighted him when he’d stepped out this morning, but it felt quite indulgent next to this austere creature.

“I trust you are enjoying yourself?” said the Plague Doctor in an extremely thick Italian accent, leaning forward on his cane so that the beak of his mask almost punctured his bubble of personal space.

“Oh yes, very much so!” Aziraphale nodded, wondering what had drawn this man to his side and how he could possibly reverse it. For all that he had been intrigued before, he hadn’t intended to actually engage the stranger in conversation. There was something extremely unsettling about him up close. Perhaps it was the costume, or the way he was standing; it was patient, watchful, almost… predatory.

Aziraphale shuddered, and the Plague Doctor’s head tilted the other way, making it clear he had noticed. 

“Va bene, Signore?” Are you well?

Aziraphale nodded quickly. “Oh yes… Sto bene!” I am well. There was a brief pause while he summoned up formal Italian and hurriedly added a thank you. “La ringrazio!”

The Plague Doctor nodded. “How did you come to be here?” The words came low and slow, and Aziraphale felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, his skin prickling with awareness.

He had always had a bit of a weakness for the Italian accent. 

“It was suggested to me by the concierge at my hotel,” he smiled, even though the man couldn’t see it. “He thought I might enjoy it, and he was right! I am enjoying it tremendously! The food alone...!" He made an appreciative noise. "How did you…? Are you local to the area?”

A slight tilt of the head as if the Plague Doctor were considering his question. It was surprising how demonstrative he was able to be without a single facial expression.

“Not exactly,” he said, and Aziraphale thought he could hear a smile in his voice, “Although for tonight... Certo. If you like.” 

The man swept into a much deeper, more theatrical bow than before. The black feather in his hat almost grazed Aziraphale’s chest. “This is my palazzo - my festa - and I am your host for the evening. You are…” he said, and straightened, holding out his hand. When Aziraphale hesitated, the man crooked his fingers impatiently and for some reason Aziraphale obeyed, quickly placing his white silk-gloved hand in the man’s leather-clad grip. 

“... You are extremely welcome here,” the man finished, bringing Aziraphale's knuckles to his mask.

It didn’t seem to matter that there were no lips there to brush against his hand; Aziraphale felt it as if the man had kissed his knuckles open-mouthed. A dart of something hot and unutterable shot through him, flared up and burnt out, thankfully vanishing before Aziraphale had time to recognise it and panic.

“Yes. Well. Thank you. La ringrazio,” he said, feeling flustered.

“No need for such formality, Signore,” the Plague Doctor said warmly, tugging his hand without warning to bring them shoulder to shoulder. He tucked Aziraphale’s arm into the crook of his elbow and patted his hand as if to reassure him that it was alright.

Aziraphale thought that it was probably not alright.

Surely it was not alright to walk arm in arm with a total stranger? Surely there was something morally grey about taking a turn with a mortal Italian dandy who apparently owned a palazzo and, by extension, the many sweet treats Aziraphale had been helping himself to throughout the evening?

If nothing else, surely he should feel some guilt or shame about enjoying the closeness of a stranger who reminded him so much of Crowley?

Continue reading...

[lilisouless]

If the Grishaverse was a Mexican telenovela

Alina Lucero

Manuel “Manu” Otero

Nicolás Larios/ Capitán Ciclón

Zoila de los Cielos

Genoveva Solís

David Costa

Tamara & Tolomeo Benítez

Nadia & Adrián Zapata

Carlos & La gata

Fedro Kabana

El Iván

Leona Colina

Las cornejas and associates

Carlos Barrios

Inés Garza

Nina Zendal

Jesús Fuente

Matito Helguera

Guillermo Del Valle

If someone has a good one for Kuwei please tell me

Don Cosme Fuentes

[jartita-me-teneis]

@EmilioDelgadoOr

El Zendal ha sido el gran Plató pagado con dinero público, con el que Ayuso trató de lavar su pésima gestión de la Pandemia en 2020. También un surtidor de dinero público para los amigos y empresas cercanas al pp. Te lo cuento aquí.

[hergan416]

Get to Know You Tag Game

Thank you @alabaster-moon

Three Ships: I only get three???? aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa (I think this tells you more than the actual ships I choose at this point). Uh. Prideshipping (yugioh), Katamar (One Piece), and oh my god I want to choose a yuumori ship for the last ship but I literally can't I've been weight the pros and cons of the ships for like. 15 minutes. Just staring at this ask. Albert/Milverton maybe?? because I want to write more of it and Dark!Albert is really hecking interesting? Moriarthree? Something I can go find content to read like mycal? I DONT KNOW IM SORRY and now you have like 5 ships

First Ship: I know I shipped other things before this but my first ever OTP was prideshipping. Most everything else was like... canon ships I supported or like... stuff other people were writing that I was into. I mean, I guess you could also consider zendall from All My Children in that I helped my mom send zendall keychains to AMC in the mail after they broke them up??? but I do truly think that was more about my mom than me.

Last Song: My phone says "A Million Dreams" was what I stopped halfway through playing most recently. I've listened to music since then, but the audio player on my desktop doesn't keep track of what I was listening to after I closed the program. (Honestly, I don't like that my phone does this either? I just can't get rid of it there).

Last Movie: Hell if I remember?? I don't really watch movies regularly. Fiance thinks it might have been Wakanda Forever? Which sounds right.

Currently Reading: Other than fanfic... My Secret Life. Yeah. That's uh. A thing.

Currently Watching: My family is NOT caught up with Master Minds. Not sure if that counts. But yes, we record and watch all episodes of a trivia game show.

Currently Consuming: I think I'll choose fanfiction for this?? I have been LIVING off Dying Wish which is a massive reincarnation RP fic that has literally made me fall in love with Albert as a character? I have lost so much sleep the last week because I started reading before bed and then suddenly it was like... 4 am? 5 am? even later?

Currently Craving: Oh man. I dunno. I think something sweet. Or maybe a nap. Or maybe some mycal? I'm pretty sure the next chapter in the above fic is mycal smut AND a different mycal fic that I've been reading (@user-needs-new-hyperfixation's Love In All it's Disrepute also updated today and I'm just so stoked to read more of THAT also)

Tag List: (0 pressure please, just if you want) @user-needs-new-hyperfixation (hopefully this double tag does not do anything screwy hyper, sorry), @sakuplumeria OOH IS IT GOING TO LET ME TAG YOU NOW?? DID YOUR BLOG GET FIXED?, @wurm-food, @xamaxenta, @operagoose I know you but what are you up to now?, @bum-scum, @sapphicspaceranger, @straycrayoncrypt, @rivaltagonist, @winxhelina OR anyone else who wants to!

[rainbows-fanfics]

Help Unwanted (Chapter 6)

Summary: After losing the Pirate, Deacon is unwillingly paired with a partner to help with his job. The only problem is - they can't stand each other, and time is dwindling until he can re-capture all his lost prisoners.

Human AU of the Armada from Pirate101.

Pairings: Deacon/Queen!Deacon, Deacon/OC

--

He didn’t get much sleep that night. He reflected on what his life had been like these past several months. Deacon thought he was doing fine with his career. He started off strong, leading his spies and gathering valuable intel around the spiral. After a few years of exigent work, he’d gotten the chance to expand his duties and lead the aggressive sweep of undesirables - only to be repeatedly impeded by Boochbeard and Mr. Gandry. Ever since then, it felt like a constant battle to maintain the respect he’d earned in the Armada. 

Dea had only worked with him for a month, and already deemed him unfit as an Elite. Some chagrined part of him agreed with her, while the rest of his dignity demanded to prove her wrong . 

He woke up early that next morning still feeling irritable. His gaze came to his co-captain’s bed. He was usually the one to wake her and start their day together, but he thought twice about it. He got dressed quietly before leaving their cabin and calling for the rest of the crew. As they prepared, he received a notification on his communicator.

He read the message and his face instantly lit up behind his mask. He redirected the crew to their new location and eagerly took his respected place behind the captain’s wheel. 

—----

Dea was feeling sluggish. 

Her throat felt dry and her eyes stung when she rose from her sleep. She had no sense of what time it was, but she felt suspiciously well-rested. She threw the blanket off and slipped on her mask. She peeked out from the privacy sheet, only to find Deacon’s bed empty and already-made. She peered around before stepping out and dressing into her uniform. Judging by the sunlight coming in from the window, it was nearing noon. 

She reached under her mask to rub her eyes while she left the cabin. She felt disgusting after several weeks of being out on the water. The brief sea showers did little to upkeep her hygiene. While the zendale spared her from the salty air, she hated being in these layers all the time. It felt suffocating in the hot weather. She quietly envied Deacon’s tolerance of wearing so many clothes. 

When she walked out on deck, she expected the clear, orange skies of Cool Ranch. What she was met with instead were the vivid blue horizons of Mooshu. Confused, she searched around for a member of the crew, who informed her that they took a detour this morning. This worsened her dubiety and she immediately began looking for her co-captain. He wasn’t at the wheel like she assumed - but was searching through a box with one of the soldiers at his side. 

She approached Deacon. “What are we doing here? Don’t we have to search for someone in Santo Pollo?” 

He passed something to the man beside him, who saluted before walking away. Only then he returned to his full height, turning to her and tipping his head. “ ¿Dormiste bien?”

‘Did she sleep well..?’ He must be teasing. She had a terrible habit of oversleeping at home. The freedom of co-captaining a ship brought it back. She felt a little embarrassed, but ignored the feeling as she crossed her arms. 

“Why didn’t you wake me? I could’ve been helping you.” 

“I thought you could use the rest,” He responded dryly, leading them into their proper spots beside the wheel. He corrected their course and she noted the lack of eye contact from him. It didn’t take long to piece two-and-two together, remembering their conversation yesterday. A feeling of guilt panged her. 

“Look,” She dropped her arms. “I’m sorry for what I said…If it upset you-”

“-It’s not important.” He interrupted. He grabbed his compass from his pocket and checked their direction. She went to refute, but he spoke before she could. “We’re in Mooshu to collect some supplies. They’ve been delivered to a nearby merchant ship. We’ll be boarding them and loading it onto the Executioner.” 

“Supplies? For what?” 

“Our next mission.”

Her question still wasn’t answered. She always felt left behind when it came to knowing of their missions. Judging by the way he focused on what he was doing, it was clear he wasn’t going to tell her anything more. She decided to drop the subject for now, lowering her head and reflecting on his words instead. 

‘Maybe you don’t know enough about me.’ 

Her emerald eyes trailed over Deacon’s figure. Her posture unwillingly slumped, feeling regret for what she said. He was understandably affected - rushing out of that room, after they had finally made some progress with each other. She felt stupid for ruining that moment. It was hard to get anything out of him these past weeks, and the moment he started talking to her, she just had to go and insult him. She didn’t even think twice about her words, believing it was just another quip, but she picked at a sensitive subject without even knowing it. 

As she went to say something, an Armada ship came into view. It sailed towards them before slowing down and dropping their anchors. Their vessel repeated these actions until they were both stopped beside each other. Adjustments were made, marines hailed to each other, and boards were soon sat between the two ships. Before Dea knew it, there were several men walking aboard their ship. 

—---

Deacon removed himself from the wheel and made his way to the other boat. He easily moved through the commotion, nodding to his fellow Armada officers, before he was standing on the merchant ship. He didn’t have long to go before he was approached by a substantially bigger man, who rested his axe beside him. He got a good look at the spymaster. Once his little inspection was over, he bowed his head and briefly waved with a large, gloved hand. 

“ Buongiorno . I’m glad to see you again.”

He sighed in relief. “You have no idea.” 

Deacon and the General got their formalities out of the way. They spent several minutes filling out paperwork and overseeing their men before stepping aside. He was relieved to be speaking with Rooke again. He was surprised to be contacted by his twin that morning, but was grateful for it nonetheless. After keeping much to himself for all this time, it felt good to talk with someone who could understand his problems and possibly even relate to them. 

Rooke quickly pointed out the obvious.

“You’re lucky my dreadnought has been out for repair,” He commented wryly. “‘The Executioner’? I’m shocked Kane even allowed it.” 

“I didn’t name it. My…’co-captain’ did.” Deacon rolled his eyes. “And it’s only temporary. The moment I have my ship back, it’s getting re-named.” 

“‘The Erebus’?” Rooke guessed, slowly crossing his arms. Deacon groaned at his own predictability. It stung to even remember about it, like he was opening a fresh wound. 

“I wish I never lost her. I’m tired of that damned ruffian and his abettor. They nearly cost me my job. I *can’t* screw this up again.” 

His brother sighed and looked away. “Kane’s been in a bad mood. That Pirate you let escape is rumored to cause trouble - but I don’t believe it. It’s only a small concern right now, but-” 

“--I don’t want to talk about this.” Deacon interrupted. He moved to sit down on a nearby crate, resting his hands on his cane and groaning. “I’ve been lectured more times than you can count.”

“Then I won’t repeat my disappointment.” Rooke grunted, joining his side on one of the stair steps. The soldiers transporting boxes easily maneuvered around the General. They watched them move around for a bit before the smaller man chuckled. 

“It’s odd to see you somewhere like…this.” He gestured around. “Warships are more of your forte.” 

“What happened wasn’t my fault. My men and I came out unscathed, but my craft… didn’t .” He looked to the floor, ashamed. “I’ve been taking small jobs in the meantime, mostly overseeing trade. It’s not bad to pass the time with….Better than what happened with you .” He picked his head up and changed subjects. “-Speaking of, did Kane really assign you…someone..?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“What’s his ranking?”

“It’s not a man. My co-captain is a woman from Monquista. A transfer, if I were to guess. One of Queen’s friends."

Rooke scratched his stubble from under his mask. “How long are you two working together?” 

“Three months, but we only have a couple more to go. It wouldn’t be so bad, except-” 

“G-General Rooke…?” 

—----

Dea had searched for Deacon a little after she adjusted to their situation. The soldiers knew where to put what, and apparently, the paperwork for this exchange had already been handled. She sought after her co-captain, and eventually found him on the other ship. He was engaged in a deep discussion with another man, whom she shortly recognized as the highly-praised General of the Armada. 

She’d heard from others that he was a large, muscular man, wearing a specially-painted golden and red bauta. The nose had been removed, enabling a sharp beak to protrude from it. He was covered primarily in armor and belts, wielding a large axe and shield wherever he went. He had a cape, slightly longer than hers, that lightly swayed with the wind. His tricorn hat shielded his face from her view, but she was met with his hazel eyes after exclaiming his name. She hadn’t even realized she’d done so - she was so stunned in that moment, feet firmly planted on the floorboards. She couldn’t move if she tried. 

The heat rose to her cheeks under his and Deacon’s gaze. She was thankful neither of them could see it. The man briefly tipped his hat to her, then directed his attention back to the spymaster, resuming their conversation.

Dea stood there, dumbfounded. She'd heard of Rooke from many of her peers when she first moved to Valencia. He was highly admired by her superiors, and fawned over by fellow women. He was one of the strongest men in the Armada. As her eyes impressively looked over his form…she understood why.

She took a few nervous steps forward. She was intimidated to approach him. Her eyes moved to Deacon, who looked more than comfortable in comparison. The two of them talked like they were longtime friends. She shuffled forward and cleared her throat when their eyes came to her again.

"I-I'm sorry, I….It's just…" She fiddled with the collar of her jacket. "I've always wanted to meet you, General..! I…. Ahaha ….you're spoken so highly of-"

Rooke interrupted her rambling when he pointed a finger at her. She shivered at this action. His eyes went down to Deacon. His tone sounded…amused?

"Is * that * her?"

Deacon studied his co-captain as he fidgeted with his gloves. He gave a reluctant nod of the head. The General lowered his arm and laughed, much to either of their surprise. 

"You’ve got to be kidding…" He marveled, rubbing his chin under his mask.

Dea lowered her head. She suddenly felt like a shy schoolgirl meeting her crush for the first time. Her heart refused to settle down as she met with them, playing with her gloved hands as she thought of what to say. She began to sweat under her mask. 

"It's an honor t-to meet you…" She failed to keep her arm steady when she offered it. "I'm Dea."

"...Dea?" Rooke repeated, glancing back to the man beside him. He sounded like he was having the time of his life right now. Deacon turned away and muttered something that neither of them could hear. 

Politely, the General moved his hand that was bigger than her face. He clutched her small one and shook it, trying to be careful with how much pressure he applied. "Piacere."

She forgot all her Italian and could only smile back dumbly, completely forgetting that he couldn't even see it. Her partner looked between them several times before coughing. Rooke eventually let go and leaned back, taking in the sight of her. 

"What do you need?" Deacon cut to the chase. He was getting tired of watching the scene before him. It was the first time he’d ever seen Dea act this way, and it wasn’t hard to guess why.

"Oh! I just wanted to, um, make sure everything went alright. With-with the paperwork, and all." Dea grinned shyly under her mask. She rubbed her arm subconsciously. "I was wondering if…I could be of any assistance?"

"My men are doing just fine," Rooke tipped his head in the direction of several marines carrying boxes. They weren’t his usual handful of battle angels and dragoons - but they fared alright. 

Dea shifted on her feet before muttering a small ‘see you later’ , then turned on her heel and left. The two men watched her go a little longer than necessary. The General turned to him, and Deacon expected to be bombarded with questions and endless teasing. Instead, he looked around before ducking his head and leaning forward. He hushed his voice to keep their next conversation away from nearby soldiers' ears. 

"The crew and I were searching a ship and came across some books. I set a few aside that I thought you'd like. They're in the cabin, if you want to see them."

Deacon relaxed his shoulders as he nodded gratefully. 

—---

They made their way to the other end of the ship and entered the Captain's quarters. Normally, on his Executioner, Rooke’s room was the biggest in its existence, to accommodate the General's size. But this one was nowhere near equipped to handle him - the bed and chairs being of moderate size. Deacon cringed trying to imagine his brother even fitting on them. A desk was filled with maps and papers, scrawled with strategic notes and plans. It was clear he was still working while his dreadnought was undergoing maintenance.

Deacon entered and promptly made his way to the pile of books sitting in the corner of the room. He observed their covers and read each of the brief summaries. Rooke took this time to sit down and properly clean his axe. It was almost humorous to see a man of his size making a standard chair look puny. 

For a few minutes, it was quiet, beyond the sound of pages flipping and Rooke shining the steel. It was far from uncomfortable, while they tended to their own things. Deacon savored this moment of peace, and how the subject of Dea was dropped entirely. 

That is, until Rooke decided to speak up.

"She's cute." He offered politely. It was clear who he was speaking of. Deacon rolled his eyes, not buying any of it for a second.

"She's wearing a mask. How can you tell ?" 

"Well. You know. Her voice, the petite body-"

"-- Stop ."

"Alright." He held his hands up in mock surrender. He watched Deacon sort through his collection of books, picking out whatever he fancied. "What’s she like, anyway?" 

"Completely unbearable. She challenges me every chance she has and reminds me of my mistakes constantly. Other than that, we work…fine, I guess."

Rooke tapped his knuckle on the desk. "It wouldn't be a punishment if you liked it."

"I can't understand why Kane is doing this. All she's done is slow down my progress. Aren't we working to *fix* what I have broken?"

"He's right to do it. You need to learn to cooperate with people - even if they're difficult to get along with."

"Easy for you to say. She was practically puddy in your hands." He remarked unkindly. Rooke chuckled and looked around the room, pressing his fingers together.

"All I'm saying, fratello , is that you have…problems…working with people. It might be good for you, to communicate, to reach out-"

"-I don't care to know her. She's a help that I don't need."

"Don’t you see that as an issue?" Rooke snapped. Realizing his tone, he looked away and sighed. "Deacon, you shut people out before they get to know you…It's frustrating to see."

His figure involuntarily slouched. If anyone knew his faults to a tee, it would be Rooke. His voice came out weak. "This is a working matter, and I prefer to work alone."

"But you're alone all the time. Our conversations mean much to me, but I'd like to know that someone is there with you, when I'm not." 

He observed the blade of his axe, dulled from the constant strikes to armor and metal. He'd have to sharpen it again sometime. He tsked and soon shook his head. 

"You know how busy things have been. I'm sailing all the time while you're several islands away. Why not get to know her? Make yourself a friend, at least?"

Deacon stared at the floor, taking in his words. His chest felt tight. Truthfully, he didn't enjoy being alone as much as he let on. It was sometimes depressing to sit at the same bar stool in his solitude every week. The only romance in his life came from the pages in his books, and the occasional plays he'd watch. Sometimes he mused the idea of a lifelong partner…but doubted he would ever have the safety nor time for one. 

Rooke grew smug at his silence. He sensed him grinning coyly under his mask. "-Unless you'd want more?"

He gestured dramatically towards him. "--With MY competition?" 

"Hey! We look exactly alike, aside from my scars. You should have no problems there."

"Grazie, Rooke…I mean it."

"Non c’è di che. I just have one question..."

"What?"

"'Dea' ? Is that really her name?"

"No. She made it up, after hearing mine." He sensed the next question and followed it up with, "Queen's responsible for her uniform. She designed it herself, I think."

"-I was going to say!" He laughed. 

He joined in on the laughter. He felt…better, after this little talk. He hoped to see Rooke again after this. He was great company to be around. He imagined them playing a round of pool and darts in their usual bar, like they used to do while he was off-duty. 

The other man rested a large hand on his caped shoulder, bending down to look him in the eyes. "Seriously. I'm here for you. If you ever need anything, just call me." 

Deacon's blue eyes happened to wander behind Rooke. "...Is that a pin up calendar on your wall?"

He whipped around. He stood in front of the object with shame. "It’s from my ship. It gets a little boring when you’re out all the time, and I like to keep track of the days."

"Right." He pushed his luck and teased him some more. "-Would you happen to have any magazines I could borrow?"

"Not a chance in Hell."

"--So you * do * have some..?"

He pushed him to the door with some force, but his voice was lighthearted. "Get out." 

[etarragof]

Isabel Zendal

04 diciembre 2022

Nos suena el nombre de Zendal ¿verdad que sí? Dejo aquí un vídeo con su historia.

[art-dogs]

Scribbles

Le Zendale Giovanni David (Italian), 1775 Engraving Minneapolis Institute of Art

[jartita-me-teneis]

@ZeCPequeno

El Zendal. Parece un campo de concentración vacío. Ayyy…cuando se abra este melón.

[pippobunorrotristuff]

ENTRE INCLINADAS LINENAS

Entre las inclinadas líneas de mis versos, blanco y negro, asoma el Zendale de la alargada silueta de mi figura, ocultando los enigmas de mi alma y el rostro, tras la tímida mascara de palabras encadenadas, por miedo a miradas extrañas que puedan desnudarme en su pantalla. Mis batallas, mis sueños corren en la blanca pradera de unas páginas sin nombre buscando ese lugar que…

[rainbows-fanfics]

Help Unwanted (Chapter 17)

Summary: After losing the Pirate, Deacon is unwillingly paired with a partner to help with his job. The only problem is - they can't stand each other, and time is dwindling until he can re-capture all his lost prisoners.

Human AU of the Armada from Pirate101.

Pairings: Deacon/Queen!Deacon, Deacon/OC

--

“His hair it hangs in ringlets, his eyes as black as coal

My happiness attend him wherever he may go

From Tower Hill to Blackwall, I'll wander, weep and moan

All for my jolly sailor, until he sails home”

Deacon’s eyes began to drift as the sound of a woman’s voice filled his ears. They flitted to the source of the noise and found Dea sitting on a crate not too far from him - lifting her head with closed eyes, allowing the words to leave her tongue and drift off in the wind that filled their sails. It was a gorgeous sight, and an even better experience when she continued the sea shanty:

“My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold”

They had just captured their second-to-last fugitive, who was secured in the brig below. While they were happy about the accomplishment, there was still some tension between him and Dea. It sprouted from their last conversation and had yet to leave. It was obvious they dreaded the end to this journey. It wouldn’t be long until they had to face what they feared  - and it was showing in their quiet voyage today.

He was grateful she was singing again. Her voice was equal to that of a siren - who captivated sailors to lure them into a deadly fate. He was ashamed to realize he would fall for such a spell if it was her voice. 

“My name it is Maria, a merchant's daughter fair

And I have left my parents and three thousand pounds a year

Come all you pretty fair maids, whoever you may be-”

“Did you know there are actual sirens out at sea?” He interrupted. 

Dea stopped singing and turned to him in surprise. She sounded apprehensive. “You mean like mermaids?” 

“Yes.” 

She stood up and walked over to him. “They’re not real.” 

“Oh, but they are.” He responded, pleased in knowing he had her full attention. 

She looked at him with unimpressed eyes. “..Mermaids?” She began to tsk . “I think you’ve been reading too many fantasy novels, espía.” 

"It’s true; I saw them for myself. It’s the closest to death I’ve been so far.” 

Her look changed at this news. She appeared concerned, but still doubtful. He decided to indulge her.

“When a group of our sailors failed to report back to the Armada, we went to investigate their last known position in Aquila. I was assigned to captain the crew. We found the vessel shipwrecked on an island. Before we could search for any survivors, a group of sirens swarmed us and sang their song.” 

Dea’s eyes were glued to him. He stopped speaking to admire how adorable she was, completely engrossed in this tale he was telling her. His silence prompted her to question him. 

“So, if you ran into the sirens yourself…how did you survive?”

"I happen to have special earmuffs in my zendale, to soften the sound of my gun and the ship’s cannons. They just barely protected me, so I made haste in leaving.” 

“..Did your crew make it out alive?” 

“Many of them jumped overboard to try and pursue them. The Armada has made it a regulation for sailors to have wax in their ears, should they be in Aquila.” 

Dea took time digesting what he told her. He admired the gleam in her eyes. He was glad he could still entertain her amidst the small time they had left together. 

“I don’t know if any of that was true, but you’re a great storyteller.”

“If you should learn anything from it - make sure to stuff your ears with wax, if you’re to be on Aquilian waters for long.”

“ Ooo, scary… ” 

“Dea, I genuinely mean that.” 

“Then where are the pictures of these mermaids, hmm ?”

“Ah, yes, my priority clearly was to grab my camera while my crewmembers jumped overboard into stormy waters…” He rolled his eyes. 

“And where is the rest of this so-called ‘crew’ to validate your story?” 

“How should I know?” 

“ Hah ! You were lying.” 

“I’m not going to argue with someone who doesn’t believe in mermaids.” 

“ Deacon! ” 

She smacked him playfully and he let out a good laugh. As he turned back to face the sea, something caught his attention. He gestured for her to take the wheel as he reached for his spyglass. He held it in front of an eye hole of his mask - confirming what he believed to see. One of their soldiers came running to them. 

“Captains!” He exclaimed, out-of-breath.

“I see it,” Deacon replied, motioning for him to leave. “Tell the crew to take their position.” 

Dea was clearly lost in what was happening and looked in the direction he was staring at. She could make out something from afar, but not clearly. She swiped the spyglass out of the Emissary’s hands and took a look for herself. It was a pirate ship sailing quickly in their direction, with red sails and a blue octopus figurehead. She didn’t recognize the sight as well as her partner did. 

“Boochbeard..” He muttered. 

“Boochbeard?” She repeated. He grabbed his spyglass from her and returned it in his coat. “Isn’t that your arch enemy?” 

“ Quel tipo è proprio uno stronzo.” He gritted his teeth and stomped back to the wheel, urging her aside. “He and his accomplice sank my last ship. They’ve been a thorn in my side for a long time.” 

“Why? Do you guys have history?” 

“He just always seems to be around, causing me problems.”

She watched as the pirate ship grew closer and more clear in their view. They weren’t turning around or moving off course at all. She began to get worried and fingered the gun in her pocket, trying to remember the last time she loaded it with any bullets.

“Are we not going to avoid them?” She asked.

“This is personal ,” He seethed. 

“Deacon – it’s not worth the trouble. We have so many prisoners onboard, we shouldn’t risk this..!” 

“You don’t know what he’s taken from me!” He snapped. She stepped back at his outburst. “I nearly lost my job because of that idiot ! It’s time to show them who they’re trifling with.” 

She tugged on his caped shoulder to move him away from the wheel. He wasn’t budging. “You don’t need to do this! Don’t do anything stupid !” 

He moved his arm to shove her away. “Stay out of this and take your position.” 

“¡Qué demonios!” 

There was no point in fighting him, so she prepared for the inevitable. She ordered their soldiers to prepare their cannons and load the rest of their weapons. She watched anxiously as the oncoming ship advanced on them. It was clear they intended on plundering them. They unloaded their cannons in their direction - a few landing on The Executioner and jolting it harshly. She stumbled forward and grabbed onto the railing to keep her balance. They launched cannonballs right back at them, equally damaging the ship and closing the distance between the two. 

She bit her lip when she spotted rope being thrown and pirates sliding down to board their craft. Fortunately, their crew were prepared and took care of the trespassers. Dea listened to the sounds of gunshots and the clashing of blades below her. She warned her people of the influx of pirates coming from above, ordering them to make sure they did not access the brig. 

“Dea, take the wheel!” 

She turned her head to find Deacon grabbing his pistol from his sleeve and folding in his cane. He was preparing to join in on the commotion below. As he turned to leave, she grabbed his wrist and forced him to face her. His blue eyes widened in surprise at her display of authority. 

“Just where do you think you’re going!? We have a crew to take care of these Pirates - we need to stay back and make sure they don’t reach our prisoners!”

 “I have some unfinished business with his ruffian,” He scowled under his mask, whipping his gloved hand out of her grasp. 

“Deacon, you got us into this mess, don’t make it any worse..!” She grit her teeth. “And don’t leave me alone –!”

Her attempt at reasoning with him was futile. With a dramatic wave of his cape, he went down the steps and joined the battle. Dea wanted to slam her head into the wheel out of frustration. Why was he so willing to engage these Pirates? This was * not * what they needed right now..! They were almost finished with their mission…they shouldn't have gone looking for more trouble! 

“Estúpido,” She shook her head. “What a stubborn man…” 

Her goal was to maintain control of the ship, but she noticed their soldiers were starting to struggle. They were growing outnumbered as the seconds went by. It was embarrassingly obvious that they had been unprepared for a sudden attack like this. She called the nearest person to take hold of the wheel and surfaced her gun, running down the steps and aiding in the fight. 

----

She attacked any rogue who threw themselves at her and kept her distance from those with swords and daggers. It was hard to stay back in the midst of this scuffle. She suffered tears in her clothing and a blow to her mask. The hit threw her head back and she watched as her tall hat flew from her head and drifted into the ocean. She took a second to grieve this loss before shooting the man who had hit her - watching him fall to the floor in pain and stepping over his body to continue her defense. 

‘Where is Deacon!?’ She thought as she scanned the crowds. She could find no trace of him until someone flew above her, riding on a rope and laughing loudly as they landed on the crow’s nest. He was a short man wearing a blue admiral’s uniform, equipped with a red sash and a golden badge. 

“What do you zink of zat, you fiend?!” The man gloated, waving around a cane in his hand. Dea realized it was Deacon’s - which was now being paraded around like a newly-acquired prize. “‘Zis will be ze last day you capture anyone! Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité!”

“Gandry!” She heard Deacon exclaim from below. He was attempting to climb his way to him. “This is the last time you scoundrels will ruin my plans!” 

“Ohoho, I think not!” Another voice joined in on the scene. Dea watched as a larger man in a red coat swiped at Deacon with his sword. The spymaster groaned as he was forced to grab hold of a nearby net so as to not fall off the ship entirely. “Every soul yer’ holding deserves a right ta’ freedom, and pirating! Yo-ho-ho!” 

“They deserve a right to a trial and proper questioning,” He countered, grabbing his gun and firing at him. He missed as Boochbeard heaved himself out of the way. He took this opportunity to lower himself back to the safety of the ground. 

Dea ran from her position and aimed at the crow’s nest, firing at who she presumed to be ‘Gandry’. The man jumped and swung on the rope elsewhere. He went so quickly she couldn’t properly aim her barrel in his direction. She looked back at her co-captain and found him face-to-face with the pirate, who thrust his sword forward, and he dodged in return. Deacon was too close to shoot him and was desperately trying to gain some distance. 

Something swelled in her stomach seeing him cornered, so she shot at the bearded man. She didn’t anticipate him crouching at that second, so her bullet only went through his black hat decorated with a jolly roger. He heard the sound and turned in surprise - his green eye that was not obscured by an eye patch meeting with hers. 

“And who is zis?” Gandry’s voice asked from above. He was perched on one of the masts. Boochbeard's laugh brought her attention back down. 

“I see ye’ got yerself a mate! She wouldn’t happen ta’ have the keys…would she?” 

‘Keys’? What keys? She looked to her partner - who was finally backed up enough to fire at him. He managed to shoot a crate nearby, which exploded upon impact, effectively throwing him and Boochbeard back onto the main deck. 

“Ahh! Oh, that one hurt.” The Pirate rubbed his bum in pain. Deacon hissed through his teeth as he returned to his feet. Gandry finally dropped down, landing right in front of Dea. He unsheathed his sword and aimed it at her, grinning as they finally met face-to-face.

“She is definitely from ze Armada, no doubt.” He commented, eying her outfit from head-to-toe. Dea clutched the handle of her gun, attempting to back up a bit, but he took a step forward to meet her pace. “Tell me. Are zere any pockets in zat dress of yours?” 

She twirled the gun in her hand tauntingly. “I don’t know. Is this gun loaded?” 

“Haha! I like her.” Boochbeard looked over his shoulder at the two. “Gandry, check for some keys, would ye’?”

“On it!” 

He jumped forward and Dea fumbled to step back in time. He pushed her onto her back and perched himself on top. She was uncomfortable with this position and went to knee him in the crotch, only for Gandry to see this move and throw himself aside to dodge it. He pounced on her afterwards and ran his hands along her dress, which only added to her detest with this situation. 

“I do not see any!” He soon exclaimed. While his head was turned, she threw her elbow back into his face, knocking him off of her and face-planting him into the floorboards. 

“Ooh! That had to hurt!” Boochbeard winced.

Deacon took his distraction to advantage and pistol whipped him on the side of his head, sending Boochbeard onto the floor beside Gandry. Dea rushed to his side to check him for injuries, but had no time before the two recovered quickly, sprinting to their feet and taking a fighting stance across from them. Dea and Deacon returned the gesture, circling away slowly. 

“What ‘key’ are they talking about?” She whispered. 

“The key to the brig.” Deacon was clearly irritated. “They’re here to take our prisoners.” 

“See!? Didn’t I tell you-” 

“So!” Boochbeard’s voice broke them out of their hushed conversation. “How’s about giving us those keys, matey?” 

“How about I arrest you two for infiltrating an Armada ship?” He retorted. 

“It is disgusting how you proclaim ‘justice’, yet arrest whoever you want,” Gandry spat near their shoes. “We will be taking zose prisoners, whezer you like it or not.” 

“Good luck with that,” Deacon replied, aiming his barrel behind them and shooting another explosive crate that happened to sit in their vicinity. 

The blast threw them in different directions, but Boochbeard and Gandry received the worst of it. Dea coughed as a cloud of smoke surrounded her. She took control of her breathing before standing and looking around for her partner. She found Deacon physically wrestling with Boochbeard, who was missing his sword this time. He was unable to stop him from tearing off a large keyring from the side of his hip. 

“Got it!” He boasted, holding them up high. 

As Dea ran to help, Gandry was above them swinging on a rope again - grabbing the keys from Boochbeard’s hand and flying off with them. His laughter rang loud throughout the ship. 

“Shit!” Both she and Deacon swore unanimously. 

Right as she arrived at the scene, Boochbeard managed to snag something else from Deacon’s pocket while he was distracted. She pointed her gun at the menace until he spotted her, then did something that took her by surprise. He grabbed her wrist and attached something tightly to it, before yanking Deacon with his other hand and fastening the same thing to him. 

They stared at each other, dumbfounded, before glancing at their wrists. It took a second to realize what it was: 

Deacon’s handcuffs. 

Boochbeard chortled and began making his escape. They tailed after him until Gandry made his appearance again, running down the staircase that led to the brig. Dea went to pursue him while Deacon was still chasing Boochbeard, which caused the chain to tighten and send them both tumbling to the ground. Their fall was graceless and made them scuff their knees. 

He shot her an aggravated look under the bauta. “We need to catch him before he escapes!”

“No! Gandry is the one with the keys! We need to get to the brig before he–” 

Before she could finish, they were interrupted by the sound of metal bars clanking together. It was followed by the collective noise of whooping, hollering, and footsteps. They realized what this meant far before their prisoners came running up the steps and joining the fight above deck. They were now impossibly outnumbered. 

Dea was fuming while Deacon struggled to get them to their feet. “Why didn’t you listen to me!? Now we’re-”

“-I’m aware of the situation!” He yelled back, looking around and thinking of what to do. 

She wasn’t entirely sure on what move to make herself. Their priority was to get themselves out of sight, slipping through the mass and moving to return back  to the wheel. As soon as they reached the staircase, both Boochbeard and Gandry were at the bottom waiting for them. There was enough distance and time for Deacon to grab his pistol and shoot at them. 

…Only for the bullet to miss entirely, ricocheting off the armor of a nearby soldier and landing elsewhere. 

Dea stared at him in astonishment. He was a better shot than her - how in the hell did he miss at point blank? The Emissary held his position for several seconds before lowering his weapon.

“How could you have missed them? They’re right there!” She derided. Deacon snapped right back at her.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but I’m left-handed.” 

It was then she realized which of their hands was currently locked in the handcuffs. His right side was the one that was free, while her left remained unencumbered. This worked to their disadvantage, as she happened to be right-handed, and him the opposite. She’d miss even worse than he did if she tried shooting at them now. 

There was little they could do as Boochbeard and Gandry captured them, tying the two of them to the bottom of the main mast of the ship with bulky rope. Since they were handcuffed together, Dea and Deacon were forced to sit closely. The fact that their hands were hindered made the possibility of escape even more difficult. The rest of their crew was missing - and she had the faintest feeling they were in the brig below, locked behind bars like their convicts once were. 

Boochbeard and Gandry rounded up the newly-freed prisoners together and took a hold of the wheel. The Executioner was now in their control - and the captains completely in their hands. 

“Well! Thank ye’ for cooperatin’ with us! I think we got everybody.” Boochbeard grinned as he peered down at them. He leaned down to pat Deacon on the shoulder. “Maybe next time, buddy?” 

The Armada Elite was not happy. “Vaffanculo.” 

“They seem a little sour,” Gandry commented as he joined his friend’s side. “Shall we leave zem be?” 

“Eh, they ain’t going nowhere. Full speed ahead, Dominick!” 

The pair laughed as they returned back to the wheel. They were now surrounded by the ones they had captured, who looked at them in disdain. The tension was unbearably thick and Dea began wiggling her fingers nervously. Were they going to kill her and Deacon? Torture them? Like the Armada was planning to do to *them*? 

She gulped when a large man came over and stopped in front of them. He looked at her for a second before redirecting his attention to Deacon. Then he grinned - displaying his crooked teeth wickedly.

“Doesn’t feel good when * you’re * the one captured, huh? Asshole. Do you remember everything you’ve done to me!?” 

The spymaster had little to say to that, so he kept staring at him. This only angered the man, who quickly succumbed to his rage and slammed his boot hard against his chest. Deacon began coughing and wheezing, shifting in their constraints uncomfortably. Dea turned her head and saw the trail of blood falling down his neck - the only part of his skin she could really see with his uniform.

‘Jesus,’  She mouthed. 

“Hurts, doesn’t it!?” The man bellowed. The veins in his neck were protruding - he was pissed . “How about I take off that mask so you can look me in the eye? Like you did with me?” 

He crouched downwards and reached out to grasp the bottom of Deacon’s bauta. Dea knew she couldn’t stomach what was about to happen, nor had to see his face like this, so she turned away and tightly shut her eyes. Things were quiet until she heard a loud bump, followed by the man’s exclamation: 

“Fuck!” 

She opened her eyes and turned around. A bruise was forming on the man’s forehead while some blood had splattered on Deacon’s white mask. It was still in its place and the man clutched his face painfully - giving Dea the impression that her partner had just headbutted him, rather than allowing him to reveal his face. 

“That’s it! Motherfucker–” 

“-Korbin! Stop!!” A man stepped forward, holding him back to prevent him from pouncing on their once-warden. “Remember what’s going to happen to them? You don’t need to do anything!”

“You think that’s gonna’ be enough ? These two deserve a good-” 

“-Come on, man, let’s put something on your head and have you lie down.” 

Korbin was led away, making Dea internally sigh in relief. The prisoners around them regarded them one last time before leaving to attend to other things. She assumed they were robbing their gold and taking whatever they fancied. She thought about the cabin she and Deacon shared, and frowned to think it was being rummaged through right now. 

She glanced to her right to see her partner laying against the wood, eyes closed. She could hear him slightly wheezing as he breathed.

“..Deacon?” She whispered, nudging him with her hip. “Are you okay?” 

He slowly opened his eyes and regarded their surroundings before looking at her. He gave a slight nod, but did not say anything. 

“That looked bad…are you sure-” 

“Let’s not worry about me right now,” He whispered back, continuing to eye what was around them as the ship sailed to who-knows-where. Something caught his attention. His eyes brightened and he turned back to her eagerly. “Dea, my cane is right over there. Kick it towards me.” 

“Your cane?” She inquired, looking for herself and finding his cane sitting across from them. Gandry must’ve dropped it at some point. “How is that going to help us? We can’t reach anything.” 

“There is a knife under the handgrip. If we unscrew it, we can cut through this rope.” 

“Oh, my god,” She scoffed, reaching her leg out and catching the end of the handle with her boot. “Of COURSE you would have one of those.” 

He watched attentively as she kicked it towards him, then used his shoe to push it near enough for him to grip the handle with his fingers. He spun it around and took the time to discreetly unscrew it. Dea kept an eye out for anyone watching them in the meantime. It wasn’t long before she heard the cane drop to the floor and felt some movement on the rope holding them down. 

“Is it working?” 

“Yes. Just a little more-”

“-Hey! What are you two doing!?” 

Their heads shot up to spot one of the prisoners pointing at them. Deacon rushed through the rest of his cut and managed to snap off the rope. He used the knife to slice the brute’s face, sending them off their tail. He started running and Dea allowed him to take the lead - not wanting to struggle and fall like they did last time. 

“Where are we going!?” She squeaked.

“Escape boat. I’m afraid we have little choice right now.” 

He slowed down once the boat was in sight. He wasted no time in preparing to release it. They heard some shouting coming from their left and glanced up to see more of the prisoners running in their direction. He threw them onto the boat together and slashed the final rope - sending them falling unceremoniously toward the waters below. 

Their landing was rough and caused the breath to escape both of their lungs. Once they recovered, Deacon sat up and reached for the oar - starting the tedious act of paddling away from the ship. Dea lifted her head to see the men huddled above watching them. The large outline of Boochbeard joined them, and he waved off in their direction, dispersing the crowd and allowing them to escape. 

She cried in relief.

[ferrolano-blog]

El Gran Premio de Madrid de Fórmula 1 se celebrará en los pasillos vacíos del Hospital Zendal (Javi Ramos)