#featuring also: they don't know that three of my coaches all placed in the world smallsword tournament

[vpofcookies]

[prorevenge]

Don't screw with the crew!

Back in the early 90s, I got a gig working as a front-of-house sound engineer on a major 10-day music and arts festival in London’s Docklands with some fifteen stages dotted all around the waterfront. All of the crew working the stages were either experienced theatre techs, and/or had loads of experience working major outside events, which is the reason we were hired. As an aside, this festival was to celebrate the culmination of a massive investment in the redevelopment of this area of East London, itself the former site of one of the largest dock complexes in the world.

I was tasked with running FOH sound on one of the largest stages. Normally, events like this are loads of fun to work but within two days it became apparent that the organisers had 1), no idea of how to run major outside events and 2), had not the faintest idea of how to book acts and schedule same. In particular, we also had to contend with some woman from Docklands' middle management team who had been given the job of "overseeing" our particular stage, a person who not only had rapidly proved to be totally ignorant of any aspect of managing outside events, but also someone for whom the word "entitled" had been invented.

Our stage was licensed to run events from midday until 10:00pm but we rarely had a full day’s-worth of events for punters to enjoy, due to the aforementioned incompetence with booking. Still, not our problem—we'll just work with what’s given us.

On the Thursday, we had scheduled an evening of old-time Victorian music hall which featured, as a special guest, a very famous film and TV actress. Her performance rider required a grand piano. For some unfathomable reason (and again due to the incompetence of the organisers), the piano—a full-size Yamaha concert grand—arrived from the hire company on the Tuesday. This was a remarkably stupid idea for any number of reasons: due to operational considerations, we had to store the piano in the backstage area where it spent two days suffering in the heat of the day despite our best efforts to shield it.

As any piano technician/tuner will tell you, this is An Extremely Bad Idea, especially with an instrument worth close to £100,000. Almost as bad was the fact that our area was little more than a roughly-graded building site: the ground was covered in hard-core rubble fragments around the size of hen’s eggs (very uncomfortable to walk around on, even with proper work boots), which also kicked up loads of dust and other detritus—not the sort of crap you want floating about gumming up the works of a very expensive concert grand!

Now let me properly set the scene: it’s mid-summer, very hot, and our venue is a large circus-style tent with around 800-seat capacity. The cast of the show, along with our august star, were due to turn up at around 1:00pm to conduct a production rehearsal so we could sort out sound and lighting cues for the show.

The main cast duly turn up on time, and we start sorting out their technical requirements (pretty simple and nothing that we’re not used to). At about 1:30pm, our star turns up sporting dark glasses and an immaculate couture. As anyone who’s worked in this industry knows, the initial interaction with a major A-list star vis-à-vis their technical requirements can go one of two ways: full-monty diva, or let’s go with what we have.

Her first demand was that the piano be dropped off the front of the stage so that she could maintain an eye-line whilst standing right downstage, both with her pianist and with the audience. The stage was about 4.5 feet above ground level and would have required at least eight burly lads to safely shift a full-size concert grand off the deck. Also not a good idea since it had been tuned that morning and moving it would have almost certainly caused the tuning to go out of whack.

I delicately pointed out that doing so would be in direct violation of both health and safety, and fire regulations—as per our written policy—as it would have put the piano in both the fire lane and close to one of the primary emergency exits from the venue. Thinking rapidly, I then suggested that we place the piano as far downstage as physically possible, and that she page herself three or four feet upstage so that she could still glance over and take cues from her MD whilst still “taking in” the audience.

The tension was palpable: after a few seconds consideration she replied, “No problem, I can work with that.” Phew!! No sooner than this crisis had been averted than the Docklands rep rocked up. I remind you, gentle reader, that this person had absolutely zero knowledge about how to run an outside event.

She had also been a major thorn in our side for the previous week, trying to micro-manage proceedings in the venue in order to big herself up in front of her bosses: we, of course, completely ignored her “suggestions” but in such a way as made her think she was in charge—trust me, she wasn’t! She had also been inexcusably rude to virtually every single member of the crew from Day One, and had over the days previous reduced several of them to tears. Production crews don’t take kindly to our own being treated in such a cavalier fashion, and while we’re generally fairly thick-skinned, there comes point where we want to get our own back. Believe me, after a week of constant abuse, we were coming up with creative ways of disposing of the body.

Although we didn’t realise I at the time, our saviour was at hand…but I digress…

Obviously star-struck, she announced in gushing tones that she would be taking personal charge of our star’s every need and that we were not to concern ourselves with that aspect: indeed, we were to “keep our place” as we were only the hired help. Our stage manager, who was at that time sweeping the stage, bridled at the suggestion and made as if to use his broom to beat the brains out of this woman. I had to step in front of him as unobtrusively as possible and stop him from burying the woman right there and then—“she ain’t worth it, mate.”

She then swanned off, leaving our star slack-jawed in amazement. She then turned to me and said, “Is that fucking woman for real?” I replied: “Darling, you have NO idea!”, at which point she laughed uproariously. I gave our star a brief summary of the previous few days' farrago and instantly, she became one of us and from then on we were all on first-name terms.

We then ran a full tech rehearsal from 3:00pm to 5:00pm, sorted out all our cues and then repaired to the beer tent with the cast for a spot of late lunch and a drink or two.

The show was scheduled to kick off at 7:30pm. At around 6:00pm, The Harridan reappeared to overlook the situation. She noticed that we had all the sides of the tent raised in order to get some air flowing through—remember it’s mid-summer and it’s currently low to mid 80s. She then demanded that all of the tent flaps be lowered because she wanted a more “theatre” atmosphere and the light spilling through the side walls would spoil the effect. Despite pointing out that dropping the tent sides would significantly raise the temperature in the venue, she demanded the sides be dropped, so despite our earnest advice to the contrary, we reluctantly complied.

At around 7:00pm, we saw eight 50-seat coaches arrive. To our amazement, out from the coaches came an entire flotilla of old-age pensioners, many on Zimmer frames, who proceeded to shuffle their way into the tent across the hard-core rubble underfoot. We discovered later that the organisers had forgotten to advertise the event anywhere (seriously??) and in desperation, had gone around to all the local Darby & Joan clubs a couple of days before handing out free tickets and laying on transport in order to have an audience.

So now we have 400-odd OAPs frantically fanning themselves with anything to hand as the temperature climbs ever higher. We start the show: everything’s going fine but the mercury in the thermometer I have strapped to the FOH rack is slowly going up and up: it’s so hot up at the sound desk that I’m down to my shorts!

By the end of Act 1, the temperature has gotten up to around 94°F and one could clearly see the old dears are in a bit of distress. Naturally, the organisers had neglected to provide water for the public, and judging by the horrified expressions of the two St John’s Ambulance first-aiders stationed either side of the stage, things were about to get a lot worse. I climbed off the tower, found the rigging crew and ordered the sides of the tent raised. No sooner had I done so than “our friend” standing nearby demanded that the sides stay down because "she was in charge" and "...her instructions were to be followed absolutely, no questions!"

It was at this juncture that diplomacy went completely out of the window. I informed her in no uncertain terms (and employing a fair amount of Anglo-Saxon vernacular) that it was in fact the crew who had the responsibility of ensuring the health and safety of all the people in the venue, not her, and that we have the legal authority to enact ANY procedure that we see fit at ANY time to ensure the safety and well-being of everyone present. I then informed her that I was now exercising my authority under The Health & Safety at Work Act 1974 to remediate the situation, and that if she made one single attempt to circumvent that authority, I would have her ejected from the venue without hesitation. She then got in my face and screamed, “I’M IN CHARGE!”. No strike one, no strike two, instant strike three!

I glanced over at two of our security crew who had been hovering in the background with huge shit-eating grins on their faces, who then stepped up either side of her. Defeated, but complaining like a banshee with a terminal case of haemorrhoids, she was escorted off the premises in short order.

By the time Act 2 kicked off, we’d gotten the temperature down to a more manageable low 70ºF, much to the appreciation of our audience, and the rest of the show went off without a hitch.

After the show, cast and crew—including our august star—repaired to the bar for a well-earned drink. Moments later, you-know-who appeared and in imperious tones informed us that our star was to be the guest of honour at a VIP reception for the various Docklands' bigwigs. With a tinge of regret for having our fun curtailed prematurely, we said our goodbyes to our star.

Now it gets interesting!

Not ten minutes later, she storms back into the beer tent with a face like absolute thunder. Taken somewhat aback by her reappearance, we enquired as to why she had returned.

“That fucking woman! She drags me off to this so-called ‘VIP party’: I get there and all that’s there are two fucking plates of curled-up ham sandwiches and two fucking boxes of cheap wine from Sainsburys! How the holy fuck did she get this job?

“I gave her a right bloody earful and came back here because I’d much rather drink with you guys!”

At which point she calls the barman over and orders a round for the entire crew. We spend the rest of the evening chatting away like old friends: she regaled us with stories of her life, and she was gracious enough to listen to some of ours. Despite us trying to buy her a drink, she refused point-blank and picked up the entire bar tab for the rest of the evening on the basis that “…you’ve had to put up with that fucking evil bitch all week: the least I can do get you folks a drink!”

All good things must come to an end and at the end of the evening, her chauffeur turns up to take her home. She embraces all of us as old friends: she hugs me, plants a big kiss on my lips and thanks me, whereupon I comment, “you have just fulfilled a boyhood dream!” Again, that uproarious laugh! She looks at me and says, “Don’t let that fucking bitch get you down! Leave it to me…”

I later discovered through the back-channels some weeks later that our bête-noir had been fired from her five-figure job for her monstrous screw-up, primarily because our star’s agent had ripped the organisers a new one in very short order; you do NOT fuck with someone of our star’s track record without there being consequences. So, although we were not directly responsible for The Harridan’s demise, we were gratified to have someone of our star’s calibre standing up for us.

Revenge is a dish best served cold!

Edit: corrected °C for °F.

(source) story by (/u/GhostOfSorabji)

[dailytomlinson]

I meet Louis Tomlinson at Simon Cowell's London office: a huge, two-room space befitting of a Bond villain at Sony Music’s HQ in High Street Kensington, on the floor occupied by his label, Syco. Cowell, to be clear, isn’t here, but he definitely feels present. A ten-foot portrait of the music mogul smirks down on all those who enter from the minimalist living room wall. Tomlinson, his publicist and I go straight through the frosted glass doors into the office-proper to do our interview, but before we can start the 27-year-old One Direction member turned solo artist needs a cigarette.

Within 30 seconds someone has brought Tomlinson a heavy orb-shaped black ashtray and a cup of tea. He lights up – smoking two more over the next half an hour – and visibly relaxes, leaning back in his chair. Tomlinson has the air of a comedic TV personality: warm, funny and self-effacing, he makes regular references to his hometown of Doncaster (“Donny”), has a loud, theatrical voice and swears like a trooper. “Simon won’t mind,” he says – and mind Cowell shouldn’t. One Direction, one of the most successful boy bands of all time, were Cowell’s cash cow after he brought them together on the X Factor in 2010. Since going on “hiatus” in 2016, all five boys (now men in their mid-twenties) launched solo careers, but only Tomlinson stuck with Syco. Now, Cowell's last vestige of the One Direction big bucks is gearing up to release a debut album, which, as anyone who knows anything about the fervour of the band's fans will be well aware, is already a guaranteed hit.

Tomlinson has, however, taken a big risk. Dressed in a vintage red football shirt, black tracksuit bottoms and black trainers, hair still styled into sweeping boy band perfection, he explains that this new music is “a statement of intent”. Gone are the saccharine, dance-tinged pop beats heard on his 2017 and 2018 collaborations with Bebe Rexha and Steve Aoki. Instead, his latest single “Kill My Mind” is a nineties rock-inspired anthem that sounds like an ode to Oasis. “I spent a long time treading water working out where I fit in the industry,“ he says. “I had to work out what it is I can actually get away with, and just how much I have to play for radio,” explaining that he did the aforementioned collaborations “because I felt like I had Tomlinson says that, unlike former bandmates Zayn Malik and Liam Payne, both of who have released music obviously influenced by hip-hop and R&B, “I can’t really relate to the urban-leaning sounds you hear on American radio”. Instead, he cites Catfish And The Bottlemen as an influence (“Lyrically, it’s conversational and honest”) and spends his time listening to Apple Music playlist “Kebab On The Night Bus”, which features bands such as The Arctic Monkeys, The Stone Roses, The Who and Idles . The result is a solo output that, finally, makes him feel “really excited and really proud. This is where I want to be.

Tomlinson has, however, taken a big risk. Dressed in a vintage red football shirt, black tracksuit bottoms and black trainers, hair still styled into sweeping boy band perfection, he explains that this new music is “a statement of intent”. Gone are the saccharine, dance-tinged pop beats heard on his 2017 and 2018 collaborations with Bebe Rexha and Steve Aoki. Instead, his latest single “Kill My Mind” is a Nineties rock-inspired anthem that sounds like an ode to Oasis. “I spent a long time treading water working out where I fit in the industry,“ he says. “I had to work out what it is I can actually get away with and just how much I have to play for radio,” explaining that he did the aforementioned collaborations “because I felt like I had to.”

Tomlinson says that, unlike former bandmates Zayn Malik and Liam Payne, both of who have released music obviously influenced by hip-hop and R&B, “I can’t really relate to the urban-leaning sounds you hear on American radio”. Instead, he cites Catfish And The Bottlemen as an influence (“Lyrically, it’s conversational and honest”) and spends his time listening to Apple Music playlist “Kebab On The Night Bus”, which features bands such as The Arctic Monkeys, The Stone Roses, The Who and Idles . The result is a solo output that, finally, makes him feel “really excited and really proud. This is where I want to be.”

So what does he want this new music to say about him, other than he likes guitar music? “I want people to look at me as a good and credible songwriter.” Overall, what I want from my lyrics is honesty,” he elaborates. “I want it to be real. I don’t want them to feel Hollywood or contrived.” Most of the album is “very autobiographical”, but he’s also taken care to keep it “exciting”, after listening to the earliest version of it and feeling that “A lot of it sounded quite sad.” Tomlinson, who lost his younger sister earlier this year, references the single before “Kill My Mind”, “Two Of Us”, which is about his late mother, Johannah Deakin, who passed away in 2016 after a battle with leukaemia. “That’s a very, very honest song, but it was also very emotionally heavy. I don’t want to be known as that guy.” What, the stereotypical mope with a guitar? “Yeah, exactly, I don’t want people feeling sorry for me. I want people to feel good when they listen to my music. That’s one of the amazing things we had with One Direction.”

Together with Liam Payne, Tomlinson did a lot of the writing for One Direction, which, on reflection, he thinks he was driven to do so that he might find his role in the band. “This isn’t a relatable statement,” he acknowledges, “but I imagine that anyone who’s been in a band or boyband will understand this feeling. There were definitely times in the band that I felt like I could do more or sing more, which is why I actively tried to get better as a writer, because I thought that would be my outlet.”

Now Tomlinson feels like he's found his writing groove, but is he worried the One Direction fans might not like his new music? “Yeah and that’s what creates a bit of a conundrum actually, because that’s very relevant for me,” he says. “I feel like, to a certain degree, we all owe them something. We are where we are because of them, it’s as simple as that.” As my colleagues here at GQ can attest – this 2013 interview with the band got us death threats – upsetting fervent One Direction fans is not an action to be taken lightly. He says that he’s “deliberately included songs on the album that feel a little bit transitional, so it won’t be too alienating towards the fans”. Lyrically, however, he feels like he still “writes what they want to hear, because it’s honest and it’s real and it’s me pouring my heart out”.

But with a ready-made audience come anxiety-inducing benchmarks. “Having the experience of being in 1D was incredible and it’s given me so much to work with, but it’s also hard in terms of expectation, because that was the pinnacle of what we were,” he says sombrely, referring back to the time spent mulling over how to balance making music that’s authentic with finding his place in the mainstream. “If I’d done this interview two years ago, I’d have said to you that if my album doesn’t get to No1 I’ll feel like I’ve failed. It embarrasses me saying that shit out loud now, but it took some real maturity to understand that One Direction wasn’t real life... Everything I’d been shaping my experiences around was something that wasn’t real life, even in the music industry.”

We laugh about those heady days, when he was 18-24, fresh out of Doncaster and making the kind of money 99.9 per cent of us can only ever dream about. “There was a solid time when I spent a long time looking at the most stupid, ridiculous things to spend money on,” he says when I ask him about his own crazy popstar purchases, having read that Liam Payne once bought the Ford Anglia from Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets. “I’ve got a long list of random movie props that starts with the great opener of the leg braces that Tom Hanks wears in Forest Gump. Have I ever got them out? No. I looked at them when I bought them like, ‘Oh, this is amazing,’ but really, I’m not a showy person, I’m not going to have them on display in my house.” Also stored away (“I’ve got Hard Rock Cafe in one cupboard”) are the swords from Kill Bill.

Still three years shy of 30 and living between London and LA (where he shares a home with his best friend from Doncaster, Olly), Tomlinson seems to have finally found some balance. 

Has he ever considered retiring out of the public eye? “I’ve thought about that loads of times. It’s only the fans, and the fact I have a point to prove to myself, that keep me getting up every day and getting on to do it,” he says. “When I’m 50, I’m going to go off and get my coaching badges and I’m going to manage some youth team and win the FA Youth Cup with them.” So with all the intense media scrutiny, the feeling that you owe millions of people around the world well, something, and a hugely successful stint as a musician already under his belt, what’s he’s still trying to prove with his solo career? “People and the press love to say, ‘Oh, A and B will do well, but the rest of the lads, they’re not going to do anything.’ So my point I’m trying to prove is that I’m still going to be here in ten years, I hope”.

[bluesrrgents]

Hi!! I was just wondering - do you have any good andreil fic recommendations?? I ADORE lessons in cartography and wanted something like that. I'm sorry to bother you if you don't read FICS!!

i haven’t yet read lessons in cartography i’m sorry :( i’ve been told there aren’t any other fics quite like it but i’m still willing to make a list of andreil fics to recommend!! thanks to all my friends who gave me more recs

* a star just means i haven’t read it but it’s been recommended to me

sky blue sky by jaylocked 

Neil collects the cup a moment later, almost absently, as he thinks back to the nightmare that had started his day. He takes a sip, planning to turn away, and is almost assaulted by the sheer quantity of sugar in his drink. Who knew coffee could taste that sweet? It’s disgusting.

Neil looks back to Andrew, who is once more leveling a blank gaze at him, hazel eyes deeply unimpressed. Neil quirks an eyebrow, confused. It’s definitely not worth it to say anything. After all, it’s been engrained in him not to draw attention to himself, to order whatever is blandest and least interesting, to get in and out best he can.

He can feel the weight of Andrew’s gaze on his back as he leaves the cafe, but he tries to ignore it. 

this one is 2 parts, about 3k each but it’s cute

*light fires at night (to push back the void by inthesea

The first time Andrew realizes he wants to hear the words, Neil isn’t even doing anything. He’s just sitting there, staring at the horizon with that stupidly dramatic faraway expression of his, and letting the cigarette burn down between his fingers all the way to the filter — an outrageous waste of good nicotine, if you asked Andrew.

(Or: 20+ times Andrew and Neil say I love you, and one time they say it out loud.) (61k)

this one seems to be the most similar to lessons that can be found so i put it at the top :) the rest are ordered based on word count

*your crown of thorns holds roses by quensty

Three days after he signs his death sentence to Palmetto State, five after Andrew Minyard sends him flying breathless to the ground, Neil’s gaze snaps to the locker room mirror and stares, frozen, at the word threat scrawled along his spinal cord in terrifying, heavy bold.

All in all, he isn’t thrilled about the situation this puts him in, but, based off the negative connotation, it isn’t one-sided either. On the bright side, at least this means his soulmate doesn’t harbor any grandeur delusions about him. (4.4k)

*missed call by badacts

There was one thing Nathan had always stood by, his personal code – if you were going to go after someone, you went after them. Not their dog, not their parents, and definitely not their partner. He might not have managed to teach that to his henchmen, but he clearly succeeded with his son.

That, and ‘a head for an eye’. (5.7k)

*now i’m covered in the colors by alaynes

Nathaniel Wesninski is six years old when his first soulmate mark comes in. (9.7k)

*be neither fish nor fowl by Saul

They found it in the locked room of a Royal Navy’s vessel, The Fox waiting to take her crew and their new spoils across the deep blue.

It was beautiful. It was rarer than any diamond.

“A mermaid,” Dan laughed, taking a step back and sweeping her hat off her head to hold to her chest. “They were transporting a mermaid.”

It was going to make them rich.

( wherein the Foxes are pirates, Neil has gills, and no one quite trusts the magic.) (26k)

this fic has three parts!!

*latchkey child by Saul

The segment’s title declared EXY’S DARLINGS - WHERE WILL THEY GO FROM HERE? in a yellow banner along the television screen’s bottom. It was a spotlight feature on where Kevin Day and Riko Moriyama were planning to go after their high school graduation. Of course they were expected to join the best, but a few reporters speculated on favoritism from the Raven’s coach if they signed on at Edgar Allan, and if that’d impact the Exy prodigies’ relationships with their potential teammates.

Usually his mother would box his ears for looking at anything Exy-related, but he changed the channel long before her shower finished, the black ink on a younger Day’s cheekbone haunting him worse than the date in the corner.

( Neil wakes up seven years younger, and, slowly, takes matters into his own hands. ) (31k)

*and in a flash, it’s gone. by Idnis

‘I wouldn’t associate with Andrew anymore, nor with any of the others. You can’t trust foxes after all.’The man’s fist connected precisely where his head wound was, and then Neil Josten was gone.

Neil loses his memory and has to somehow make sense of the pieces of his past and present. And Andrew. (36k)

*die young by moonix

Ever since the violent death of his mother Neil has withdrawn completely from the outside world. He lives with his Uncle Stuart and barely ever leaves the house. In order to help him overcome his anxiety, Stuart hires his favourite waiter, Nicky, to befriend him. With Nicky come the rest of the Foxes, and Neil finds himself being reluctantly adopted into a much bigger family, reconnecting with an old friend, and developing a crush… (41k)

*dangerous magics by SashaSea

“What if evil doesn’t really exist? What if evil is something dreamed up by man, and there is nothing to struggle against except out own limitations? The constant battle between our will, our desires, and our choices?” -Libba Bray, Rebel Angels

(urban fantasy/Celtic legend AU) (52k)

on the impossibility of reality by defractum (nyargles)

“Inception,” says Ichirou Moriyama.

‘You’re crazy,’ Neil does not say, but it’s a close thing. “It can’t be done,” he says instead, after a too long pause.

An Inception AU. Kevin is the best extractor in the game, Neil spends too much time pretending to be other people, and Andrew? Well, Andrew knows all about inception. (56k)

*grey zone by maydaykevin

Neil’s frown deepened as he stared at the card he was holding.

'Camp Half-Blood, Half-Blood Hill, Farm Road 3.141Long Island, New York 11954’

“You’re telling me this is my only chance at survival?”

“The only one you’ve got left kid.”

A Percy Jackson/Foxhole Court AU (57k)

*to know a man by moonix

In which the Foxes all work at a coffee shop run by Wymack, Neil is their newest recruit with a dark past, Andrew is obvious, Neil is oblivious, and everyone ships it apart from Aaron, who just wants to study in peace. With guest appearance by a stuffed jellyfish called Josephine. (58k)

*claw marks by flybbfly

The Foxes are an underground resistance group in a dystopian near-future. Neil is the shady new recruit.

Part 1984, part “The Lottery,” part “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas,” part V for Vendetta. (70k)

fear in a handful of dust by flybbfly

“I need to talk to Minyard,” Neil says, sipping at a soda. “How do I make that happen?”

Kevin chokes on his whiskey. “You don’t.”

In which Neil doesn’t have Kevin Day to convince him to play, so he becomes a sports journalist; Andrew is a keeper in more ways than one; and Quidditch is the sport du jour. Featuring a frankensteined team, eternal roommate Matt, and hawkish sports section editor Dan. Oh, and Andrew has a shady past (present? future?) that Neil can’t quite figure out. But that’s nothing new for Neil, who is constantly hiding everything about himself anyway—this time with magical abilities greasing the way. (104k)

*armies by nekojita

Upon Mary Hatford’s death, Nathaniel Wesninski makes the call to his uncle Stuart rather than continuing on the run and ending up in Milport, Nevada.Upon graduating university, Andrew Minyard turns down all offers of a professional Exy career and muddles through a 'normal’ life, until the boredom and inanity of it all wears him down and he accepts an offer of a break to spend some time with his cousin Nicky in Stuttgart, Germany.There he meets Abram Hatford, a handsome and broken young man who has more in common with Andrew than he suspects, and nothing’s normal anymore. (341k)

WIPS

sickeningly sweet (like honey) by broship_addict

Andrew Doe is twelve years old when he walks into Fox’s Sweets Shop. Somehow, he leaves with three friends and all of them are Exy-obsessed losers.

Also known as the kid AU in which the Foxes are happy children and Andrew has a crush. (22k)

*the bodyguard by bourbon

“Hello, you’ve reached the homosexual agenda, how may I help you?”

“Nicky.”, Andrew growled.

“Oh, my favorite cousin! I would ask you to join our cause but it seems you already did.”

Or where Neil hires Andrew as a bodyguard but ends up (fake) dating him instead. (43k)

*dog in the manger by Saul

It’s 1922, and rumor had it Wesninski’s son wasn’t so dead after all. A sudden upheaval crumbled the Butcher’s empire almost over-night; in his place, a scarred and terrifying man threatened to set Baltimore alight.

Four years later, Aaron Minyard receives a call from a brother he hasn’t spoken to in a decade, sweeping him into a whirlwind of corruption, homicide, and exhausted, tremulous trust. (52k)

*a hole in the world by lscar123

An accomplished FBI agent. A young runaway who is more than he appears to be. A serial killer that’s haunted both of them for years.

The City of Angels just got a lot more interesting. (132k)

doe & josten: deductionists by SpangleBangle

Andrew Doe, rude but brilliant consulting detective, thought he had no need of a partner as he worked slowly away at dismantling the largest crime family in the country, helping out with other cases on the side to relieve the tedium. That was, until a scruffy runaway with a stupid amount of secrets stumbled into his life. Or, more accurately, broke into his kitchen. (152k)

ok i’ll stop myself, i hope you find some you love!!