You know what fucks me up the most about The Foxhole Court? It’s when Neil asks Andrew why is he so different, why does Andrew trusts him, why is he so special. And he leans to touch Andrew and this punk baby goes “Stop” and Neil STOPS and Andrew simply answers “That’s why” like fuck fuck I didn’t need my heart anyways, my dudes
You ever think about the fact that the entire “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t blow you” conversation took place in German with Kevin sitting right next to them? What even does that sound like in German? What did Kevin even think they were saying?
I can tell you for a fact that this whole conversation translated in German is 100 times more funny bc it sounds ridiculous af.
“doesnt mean i wouldnt blow you” = “Das heißt nicht, dass ich dir keinen blasen würde” (to sound a bit more eloquent you could translate it to “ich würde dir trotzdem einen blasen”)
i think way too often about how andrew and neil would go on long night drives in this stupid maserati. windows down, slow music in the background, smoking cigarettes, andrew with one hand on the wheel and the other tangled with neil’s. neil taking candids of andrew whenever he can and andrew being like 253%
Warnings: Discussions of death, mentions of self-harm, mentions of sexual assault, none of which are graphic.
Summary:
A fact: Andrew is biding his time until death.
He counts the hours left in a day, the minutes left in an hour, the seconds between sunrise and sunset. The world keeps turning, and with it, he wakes up, he eats, he smokes, he plays a sport he doesn’t care about, he guards his things, he keeps his promises, he breathes. Each intake of breath ticks off the time he has left – the space between him and death.
But against his will, his clock begins to run on a different schedule.
(or: Andrew versus life and Dr. Dobson, an act in eight parts)
Warnings: Discussions of death, mentions of self-harm, mentions of sexual assault, none of which are graphic.
Summary:
A fact: Andrew is biding his time until death.
He counts the hours left in a day, the minutes left in an hour, the seconds between sunrise and sunset. The world keeps turning, and with it, he wakes up, he eats, he smokes, he plays a sport he doesn’t care about, he guards his things, he keeps his promises, he breathes. Each intake of breath ticks off the time he has left – the space between him and death.
But against his will, his clock begins to run on a different schedule.
(or: Andrew versus life and Dr. Dobson, an act in eight parts)
Nothing but My Aching Soul 