#piltover college of fine arts au

[tyrrible-twos]

It is an old saying in Zaun— If they’re mean, they want a fight. If they’re clever about it, they want to fuck. If they do both, you’re in for a good night.

His approach to attraction is a cultural habit, one Viktor has never given much thought to because it has always been true. No one in Zaun flirts openly. They play, they provoke, they get under the skin. And if a partner snaps back just as sharp—well. That’s interest.

Piltovans as a whole don’t seem to understand this. They flirt in ways that are too clean, too direct, too painfully earnest. They go soft first, then ask permission to go softer.

Jayce is a Piltie. He does not have the stomach for the game.

_

At the Piltover College of Fine Arts, the most prestigious and selective academy in the arts world, talent is everything.

After a disastrous first meeting, Jayce writes Viktor off as caustic, unimpressed, and apparently allergic to basic conversation.

In a twist of academic misfortune, they’re assigned to work together on a project that means months of high-stakes rehearsals and performances. Working together isn’t optional.

But music is built on tension, and dissonance isn’t always meant to be resolved.

[tyrrible-twos]

"The Zaunites" are a group of scholarship students from Zaun who found family in each other at the Piltover College of Fine Arts. They share a snug three-bedroom apartment just off campus, tucked in a slightly rougher part of town. It’s far from perfect, but compared to what any of them had growing up in Zaun, it feels like a luxury. More importantly, it’s home.

The group consists of Viktor, a music performance and composition major, and three dance majors: Powder/Jinx, Ekko, and Vi. Viktor often feels like the odd one out in a house full of dancers. His Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome means he’s just as bendy as they are, but his near-constant joint subluxations keep him from moving with their ease and grace. Still, the three of them make sure he’s included. They’ve turned his physical therapy into a group effort, dragging him into strengthening exercises and modified yoga routines his physical therapist approved. It’s half encouragement, half affectionate bullying, but it works—they keep him on track, and he loves them for it.

Viktor admires their passion for dance, especially the way Powder transforms when she performs. There’s something raw and unfiltered about her on stage that he envies and treasures. Ekko’s loyalty and energy make him the glue of the group, while Vi’s sharp humor and surprising knack for choreography are their steadying force. They might joke about Viktor being the “cripple” among them, but their teasing is full of warmth, and Viktor knows it’s their way of making sure he feels like he belongs.

Together, they’ve created a space that feels safe—a haven where they can dream big and support each other through all the messiness of art, ambition, and just surviving. It’s imperfect, but it’s theirs.

[tyrrible-twos]

This is the first of many headcanons I'm putting together ahead of my next fic, which will be set at the Piltover College of Fine Arts. It currently doesn't have a name.

[tyrrible-twos]

Jayce shares a well-kept apartment just off campus with two of his closest friends, Caitlyn and Mel. It’s a far cry from the Zaunites’ place—cleaner, quieter, maybe a little too polished at times thanks to Mel's influence—but it’s home. The three of them ended up together mostly by circumstance, but at some point, they stopped feeling like just roommates and started feeling like family.

Caitlyn has been in Jayce’s life for as long as he can remember. Their families have been tied together for years—her parents’ investments helped keep Talis Stringworks running, and in return, the Kirammans have always had access to the best instruments money can buy. That arrangement extended to Caitlyn’s education, too; her family is the reason Jayce can even afford to go to school, something she waves off every time he brings it up. He pays her back in small ways, maintaining her violin for her while they sit around talking about nothing, falling into the same easy rhythm they always have. Caitlyn is sharp, steady, and has always been in Jayce’s corner. She was the first person he told when he first questioned his sexuality, and she just rolled her eyes and said, “Yeah, I know. You didn't know?”

Mel is their other roommate, though calling her that feels weird—she’s too vital to just be a third name on the lease. She’s a fine arts major, mostly oil painting, though she dabbles in everything. Her mother, Ambessa, wanted her to go into politics, but Mel chose passion over practicality, throwing herself into her work with the kind of self-assurance that makes it impossible to imagine her doing anything else. She and Jayce had a fling once, back when he was nude modeling for the art department to make some extra cash. It was fun, and the sex was great, but they weren’t in love, so they called it for what it was and stayed friends. Now, she loves to torment him in the way only a best friend can—specifically by keeping a few paintings from his nude modeling days and conveniently leaving them out whenever she knows guests are coming over, just to watch him blush and stutter.

The truth is, Jayce has always had the strongest women in his life. Caitlyn, who has never let him feel alone for a second. Mel, who has always seen him for who he is and never let him run from it. His mother, who taught him the value of hard work and how to be proud of the things he builds with his own hands. Every step of the way, the women around him have been his foundation, the people he trusts the most, the ones who hold him up when he starts to doubt himself.

Between the three of them, the apartment is full of music, the scent of oil paint, and the kind of friendship that makes everything else a little easier.

[tyrrible-twos]

Another headcanon from my Piltover College of Fine Arts AU.

[tyrrible-twos]

your emptiness to melody - Chapter 1 Sneak Peak

The man is slight but holds himself with an easy kind of composure, shifting his weight just enough to rest into the hip opposite his cane as he studies the menu. His fingers tap a quiet rhythm against his forearm—light, deliberate movements that remind Jayce of the muscle memory of warming up before a performance. There’s an unconscious precision to it, the kind that comes from years of practice rather than thought. Likely a pianist.

He’s a good foot shorter than Jayce, though something about the way he carries himself makes him seem taller—maybe it’s the sharpness of him, all long, lean angles and a posture that suggests he takes up space whether people like it or not. His amber eyes, sharp and assessing behind black, square-rimmed glasses, flick across the menu like he’s memorizing it just to tear it apart later.

Even under his boxy button-up and sweater vest—who wears a sweater vest in August—he’s waifishly thin, all narrow shoulders and sharp edges. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, revealing long, elegant fingers and the creamy, freckled skin of his forearms. Jayce doesn’t mean to look, but his eyes catch on the tattoos scattered up and down his arms, a pair of unfinished patchwork sleeves. He doesn’t quite catch what all of the symbols are, but one in particular stands out—a caesura, inked neatly on the inside of his wrist.

A musician, then. Jayce can relate. He’s been there a time or two.

His hair is cut just past the shoulders, almost a bob, layered with caramel highlights that catch the café’s warm lighting whenever he shifts. It’s pulled up into a messy half-bun, stray strands curling around his face and revealing the sheer number of piercings threaded through his ears. Hoops, dangles, delicate studs—on anyone else, they might look heavy, but on him, they only make the delicate points of his ears more striking.

They’re not the only piercings, either.

There’s a hoop through the middle of his nose, a neat little stud sitting in the arch of one eyebrow. It suits him, Jayce thinks absently. A little sharp, a little defiant. He wonders, purely out of curiosity, if there are more.

He’s never had a piercing before.

It’s only when the man shifts, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear, that Jayce realizes he’s been staring.

Then, Jayce realizes his heart is pounding.

Stop being so weird, Talis.