#miighted

               Rather indigently, the Might of Demacia snorted away from the deep sleep he rarely found himself in. He awoke to a small paw pressed against his face, an occurrence that was not at all unusual to him anymore.

               “I am now,” he answered, yawning shortly after before bringing his hand up to attempt and rub the sleep from his eyes. His other hand rested against Yuumi’s back, his thumb idly stroking her soft fur before he sighed and forced himself to rise from his bedroll.

               “How long was I asleep?” he asked as he gently picked her up and placed her on his pillows so that he could gather himself for the day.

Yuumi jumped back a little-- well, that was generous, she almost hovered backwards, landing gently on him still as he snorted himself awake.

“Yay! Because you uh... I think you said you wanted to be up by now. Yuumi checked!” She nodded, as though trying to insist her right-doing.

sometimes  ,  the distance felt unreal. as if yasuo could just close his eyes and drift through the seaside wind that would cradle him to garen  .  no matter where garen was ,  he would arrive.  𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 .  battle field or palace .  whatever obstacle would be light work.  just to be back to your side  .  the days and weeks -- they all blur together the moment yasuo meets onto those gentle eyes . such gentle , tired eyes  . . . yasuo knew a man exhausted of life’s trials when he saw one .  however ,  they always did spark with a familiar and comforting life upon  seeing one another . 

perhaps   ,   just this once ,  life was not  𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗯𝗮𝗱  .  a smile drew on this canvas of his countenance .  there, he held back a relieved sigh .  this may not be home,  but it always felt nice when someone greeted him a if he came back from a long days work . there was a home here somewhere, if yasuo looked hard enough. a home right where the ocean met the breeze upon the shore.

❝   my  knight  ,  i  am  finally  back .  i’m  sorry  it’s been so  long .  ❞

Worldbuilding Prompt

It’s a lot!

They have a thriving media ecosystem - more than thriving, really, inundating might be a better word. Zaun’s got its fair share of creatives and an even larger share of hacks that are happy enough to churn out mass-appeal and mass-market drivel that keeps people entertained. Books, magazines, music, radio plays, theatre, even the odd film or two: you’ll find most forms of entertainment in Zaun. And with it, you’ll find ads.

Ads are ubiquitous in Zaun: they tell you what to buy, when to buy it, and assure you that it’s right for you to want... whatever it is, just buy it. Most Zaunites are immune to the relentless advertising - even as it gets more and more insidious with each passing year. (Just look at the advertising of the early and mid 20th century and compare it to where we’re at now, right?) They’ll buy what they’ll buy. Slapping a picture of Dr. Mundo on it and jacking up the price really only works to sell something when you’re a kid, after all... right?

But back to media. Zaun’s tastes are very diverse, and you’ll find any type of genre fiction that you’d like to in the city. There’s probably a slight skewing towards science fiction, though: while Piltover is more often seen as the city that looks towards the future, Zaun’s got its eye on the (smog-covered) horizon as well. Pulp sci-fi’s in full swing - you can find plenty of magazine subscriptions to throw a few coins at, if you’re interested. (Think of things like Amazing Stories.) There’s plenty of other genre-based magazines, too, all of varying degrees of authorial and editorial quality.

Radio plays are also intensely popular. Just like magazines and most other media, they skew towards sci-fi - although, again, most other genres have their place. Zaun broadcasts on both AM and FM, and there are a multitude of stations for news, entertainment, and everything in-between. There’s little governmental regulation on who can broadcast on what frequencies and so it’s not incredibly uncommon for there to be frequency hijackings/intrusions/jammings... but most stations that would be targets have enough might (from money or otherwise) to make would-be troublemakers think twice. Smaller stations and individual broadcasters tend to escape this threat, unless they have a particularly vicious rival.

For what it’s worth, Viktor’s favorite program - not that he would admit it - is one by the name of Завтра, Сегодня, or Tomorrow, Today. It plays on weekday evenings, and is very long-running - since his childhood, in fact.

Playwrights and authors exist for theatre and print, and the trends follow there. Theatre is less popular than it is in Piltover, but it has its following. There’s a burgeoning film industry (with sound and color, due to the wonders of hextech and Zaunite ingenuity) but not many films are made. The ones that are have short run times.

Zaun’s popular music scene trends towards the industrial and heavy - rock, metal, anything loud and bone-shaking is good in their books. There’s definitely a counterculture punk scene that is very dissatisfied with their city-state’s hypercapitalist nature, but they’re more underground. The older generation of Zaunites prefer less... intense... music for the most part, and there’s a space for that too... but it’s falling out of favor in the hustle and bustle of modern life. Regardless, Zaun’s music scene is loud, colorful, and is - if you believe the youth - best experienced while under the influence of one substance or another.

There isn’t much in the way of sports - it’s hard to compete in anything physical when the air is thick with pollution. Chess, however, is a perennial fascination: and Zaun has some exceptional players. A sizable portion of the population tracks match schedules with the same fanaticism that others reserve for sports.

you’ll have to do better than that, boy.

     Lucian would be lying if he tried to argue that he wasn’t a heavy drinker; he’d certainly had been for the initial few years after the loss of his wife, which at the time had seemed very permanent, and even now he hadn’t quite shaken the habit. But tonight, though he sat alone at a pub, ushered away into a corner far from the commotion and ruckus closer to the games and the bar, a few shots— no more than three, he’d told himself —would be his only allowance, for this meeting was to be one of business.

     It wasn’t often that he met with any notable Demacian officials. Though the Sentinels of Light were a Demacian order, to be sure, the absolute control over magic within the nation rendered their services seldom of use within its borders. Where none could cast, none could call forth wraiths, demons, or ghouls, or any of the numerous other spawns of summons with impure intentions. And with the Harrowing far from around the corner, Lucian could only wonder why Garen Crownguard had chosen to meet with him. And though Demacian politics mattered abysmally little to the Sentinel, he’d enough respect for the family name not to blow over the request.

     It was easy to recognize the hulking man when he’d made his way through the door, and he wasted no time in pushing himself off the wall and making his approach. He wasn’t worried about being seen, for he’d no issue with raising a gun to any drunken commoner who thought it their destiny to breach the two’s privacy.

Red eyes of the deep had watched the young soldier stir as she focused on the ebb and flow of pristine, healing water around his broken limb. Her soft smile did little to hide the worry on her face, watching the pain and panic grow in his own expression. Although his visage spoke of a chiselled warrior who had seen too many battles for his age, Nami had to fight the instinct to fuss over him like a young one who had carelessly hurt himself on the walls of their coral home. The memory of carrying his unconscious body to the shore, feeling the light inside of him fight from fading, was far too fresh in her mind to let him try to leave just yet.

“My name is Nami.” The marai introduces herself softly like a calm break greeting the sand. She turns her gaze back again to the injury in front of her, uncertainty gnawing at her mind. Her years of study and training had taught her much in using water to not only fight for her, but also heal. But encountering an injury she had no experience with was something she had barely considered. So Nami focused on tending to what she knew, with the water helping align and mend the worst of it, while carrying away as much of the pain as possible. “If you could hold still for a little longer, please, I can make this injury a little less severe. I am very glad to see that you awakened so quickly.” She continued, not giving too much mind to how condescending she may sound.

When the majority of the wound had been sealed, Nami lets the waters looping flow slow, keeping the limb concealed in the liquid. "I saw your vessel shatter against the storm, and you fall into the ocean. If I had been a little quicker, maybe...” Her words petered out, feeling the guilt of searching through the debris and the other landwalkers who were not so lucky wash over her. The platform of water keeping her afloat sinks to the sand of the beach, low enough for her scales to touch the ground below them both. Blinking out of her spiralling sadness, Nami gives him another melancholy smile while adjusting her grip on her staff.     “Do you feel a lot of pain anywhere else?”

How’s My Driving Writing? Tell Me In The Askbox, And I’ll Publish It Without Comment.

honestly i think its works bc theyre two old beings whod be able to find companionship and peace with one another