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fandomweekly2016-02-12 07:33 pm
wallwalker) wrote in fandomweekly2016-02-12 07:33 pm
Entry tags:
[002] Early Works (League of Legends)
Theme Prompt:
Title: Early Works
Fandom: League of Legends
Rating/Warnings: Death. Murder and mayhem, albeit couched in a lot of fancy language (which is pretty much what this character does.) Probably not safe for work for that reason.
Bonus: Yes. (I think so, at least.)
Word Count: 500
Summary: Artists seem to universally despise their early works. Jhin was no exception.
Every artist creates a thousand forgettable works before his first masterpiece. Persistence is the key to perfection.
Jhin had heard a thousand others say that before he first indulged in his own artistic passions. None of them had been nearly so ambitious as he, of course. They had been the painters and actors and musicians, the ones who always spoke among themselves as if the mere stagehands around them were invisible. Of course, they never spoke of such things with each other, only to the questionably-talented new arrivals who had made some small blunder the performance before. He had very much hoped that he, being a man of true talent and vision, would have been able to achieve perfection from the very start.
He cringed now to think how foolish he’d been. Thinking of his first works was an exercise in embarrassment. He had made many... attempts at art before the Golden Demon had first been given a name, and none of them had yet been attributed to them, remembered as unfortunate accidents only by the families of the lost. He was more than happy to leave them to obscurity.
What was to blame for those terrible works? Substandard materials? It was true that he had worked with different tools then (he had not realized just how unsatisfied he’d been with knives until he’d first felt Whisper’s recoil, the roar of the hextech shot ringing in his ears.) And the canvasses! He’d been so young then, not yet able to master his own nerves to harness their energy, and he’d chosen too hastily. Anyone in a dark place, where they would not be immediately discovered... oh, so terribly dull! There was no art without the danger of discovery.
But back then he hadn’t realized the problem. He’d nearly given up, many times. If he could not be perfect, then maybe he would be better off living his life as a mere stagehand. Better to live in obscurity than to be denounced as a failure, his name no more profound than a mere sneeze.
But... no, he could not stop. He’d tried so many other ways to satisfy his artistic vision, from dancing to sculpting to music, and there was nothing that could capture it in such a satisfying way, even if his current works were nothing short of horrendous. No, the only solution was to learn to tolerate the mediocrity, no matter how much it pained him.
Was there a single moment when he realized that his work was no longer so horrifying? He could not think of one. But after a while he began to hear whispers of a demon who left glints of gold in the bodies of those it hunted, and he could hear horror and awe in their voices, and he would smile behind his black mask as he went to prepare the stage for the next diversion.
It was a beginning. Someday, he’d be able to show the entire world the beauty he'd always seen.
Title: Early Works
Fandom: League of Legends
Rating/Warnings: Death. Murder and mayhem, albeit couched in a lot of fancy language (which is pretty much what this character does.) Probably not safe for work for that reason.
Bonus: Yes. (I think so, at least.)
Word Count: 500
Summary: Artists seem to universally despise their early works. Jhin was no exception.
Every artist creates a thousand forgettable works before his first masterpiece. Persistence is the key to perfection.
Jhin had heard a thousand others say that before he first indulged in his own artistic passions. None of them had been nearly so ambitious as he, of course. They had been the painters and actors and musicians, the ones who always spoke among themselves as if the mere stagehands around them were invisible. Of course, they never spoke of such things with each other, only to the questionably-talented new arrivals who had made some small blunder the performance before. He had very much hoped that he, being a man of true talent and vision, would have been able to achieve perfection from the very start.
He cringed now to think how foolish he’d been. Thinking of his first works was an exercise in embarrassment. He had made many... attempts at art before the Golden Demon had first been given a name, and none of them had yet been attributed to them, remembered as unfortunate accidents only by the families of the lost. He was more than happy to leave them to obscurity.
What was to blame for those terrible works? Substandard materials? It was true that he had worked with different tools then (he had not realized just how unsatisfied he’d been with knives until he’d first felt Whisper’s recoil, the roar of the hextech shot ringing in his ears.) And the canvasses! He’d been so young then, not yet able to master his own nerves to harness their energy, and he’d chosen too hastily. Anyone in a dark place, where they would not be immediately discovered... oh, so terribly dull! There was no art without the danger of discovery.
But back then he hadn’t realized the problem. He’d nearly given up, many times. If he could not be perfect, then maybe he would be better off living his life as a mere stagehand. Better to live in obscurity than to be denounced as a failure, his name no more profound than a mere sneeze.
But... no, he could not stop. He’d tried so many other ways to satisfy his artistic vision, from dancing to sculpting to music, and there was nothing that could capture it in such a satisfying way, even if his current works were nothing short of horrendous. No, the only solution was to learn to tolerate the mediocrity, no matter how much it pained him.
Was there a single moment when he realized that his work was no longer so horrifying? He could not think of one. But after a while he began to hear whispers of a demon who left glints of gold in the bodies of those it hunted, and he could hear horror and awe in their voices, and he would smile behind his black mask as he went to prepare the stage for the next diversion.
It was a beginning. Someday, he’d be able to show the entire world the beauty he'd always seen.
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