#susie is so very clearly one of those students who tried when they were little but quickly learned the school system did not care

[trees-to-meet-you]

Apart from slamming the door open, Susie entered the classroom rather calmy (that is— she wasn’t yelling or making a fuss. She just asked if she was late)

[whisker-biscuit]

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 22

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world’s most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 22: Wants and Needs

In the end, they couldn’t pin the prank on anyone. Too many students, too few indicators of who might’ve done it, and not enough disturbance to really be considered vandalism. To make up for the lack of arrests and accountability, the tour group was forced to leave immediately, and as they left the building their professor vowed to make the rest of the term a living hell for everyone.

Dr. Rorschach considered that justice enough, and Flug was inclined to agree with her. Bautista didn’t share the same sentiment.

“This is bullshit,” he announced two hours later in the security room. He, Flug, and their supervisor were watching the footage of Metauro dumping his glitter load all over the unsuspecting psychiatrist.

“Um, when you say that, were you referring to the situation, o-or the inmate with the bull tattoo?” Flug asked innocently, hands in his coat pockets. He was in a wonderful mood.

Bautista shot him a dirty look and gestured at the screen. Pink sparkles still fluttered at the movement. “All of it, dammit! How can we just let them walk away like that? I want to press charges!”

“There’s not enough evidence for us to do so, Doctor.” Rorschach responded coolly. She tapped manicured nails against her glasses, watching the footage with a barely-there glint of amusement.

“We’re a goddamned criminal institute! There has to be some way to make this stick to those kids,” the irate man growled. “I’m not letting a group of delinquents get off scot-free and just go on like nothing happened. They’ll just go on and do it again to some other innocent guy. Perpetuate the cycle.”

“I think you’re using that phrase out of c-context, Doctor,” Flug let his tongue loose. He couldn’t help himself. “And they’re not going unpunished, you heard their professor.”

“I don’t want their class ruined, Slys, I want their chance at this kind of future ruined.” Bautista folded his arms and glared at his boss. “Well? Are you on my side or not? That’s my workspace, I can’t work properly if it’s wrecked.”

“Of course I’m on your side, Dr. Bautista,” Rorschach said, still playing with her glasses. “And rest assured, I’ve already got people cleaning up your office. There’s no need to worry, I’m taking care of it.”

The taller man’s face contorted like he very much didn’t believe her, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Instead, he turned back to the security footage.

“Fine. Whatever. What are we gonna do about this inmate then? He assaulted me.”

Flug rolled his eyes under his bag.

“He’s been placed in a solitary cell for now, on Floor 4,” the director replied. “I’m planning to talk to his psychiatrist about his recent behavior and see if we can pinpoint why he lashed out like this. I’ve read his file, he’s been fairly docile and well-behaved up until now.”

“I want to be there for that conversation,” Bautista threatened, picking out glitter that was clinging in his lab coat. “And I want to decide how to deal with the inmate.”

“You are completely welcome to join us, Doctor, but as far as ‘dealing with the inmate’ goes, please remember that we are a professional institute. He’ll face consequences for his actions but we aren’t inhumane.”

“Bullshit, all of this,” the psychiatrist swore again under his breath. He spun around and stalked out of the room, calling over his shoulder to get the last word in. “Mark my words, Dr. Rorschach, we’re getting lax here about discipline and it’s going to cost someone. Mark my words. I’m going home to get this shit out of my clothes.”

“Leave is granted,” Dr. Rorschach said quietly as the door slammed shut, fully aware the man couldn’t hear her anymore. She looked over to Flug, who was staring at the footage and trying to figure out if he could sneak off with a copy.

“Dr. Slys?”

“Hmm, what?” He snapped to attention, embarrassed.

“I appreciate your help, but I think I can handle it from here. You’re free to go if you wish.”

“Ah, o-okay. I’ll just do that then. Have a – good luck with everything.” Flug gave one more glance to the video monitor in an attempt to memorize Bautista’s stunned face, then headed out the same way his colleague had left.

It was getting late and a lot of people were clocking out for the day or clocking in for the night. The psychiatrist wavered in the hallway, unsure of what to do. He knew what he wanted to do, of course. He wanted to find Martin, and Dementia, and share the pictures he’d taken. He wanted to see Bautista struggle and curse as he tried to wipe out all traces of glitter from his body – no doubt a feat that would take days. He wanted…

He saw Susie leaving the front lobby.

An image flashed in his head, of her shivering and distraught after being cornered by someone much bigger than herself, of the familiar haunt of her face as she fled two days before.

Flug knew what he wanted to do first. He barely caught her just as she was heading into the staff parking lot.

“Susie, w-wait up!” The psychiatrist called out, trying not to trip himself over the sidewalk. Susie stopped and turned around in surprise.

“Dr. Slys?” She asked, clearly perplexed by his behavior. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yes – I mean, uh, just wait a second,” Flug caught up to her and put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. He was pathetically out of shape. “I wanted to, hang on….okay. I wanted to apologize properly, for the other day. That was really, really not okay.”

She stared at him. “Are you talking about Tuesday?” At his nod, she clenched one hand. “Oh. Well, thank you, Doctor, but that really wasn’t your fault. Dr. Bautista is responsible for his own actions. I’m not – I’m fine now.”

He made eye contact with the nurse, who averted her gaze with her lips pursed. “Oh. I just thought, maybe. Um, I’m not making you u-uncomfortable right now, am I?”

“No, Doctor,” Susie said reassuringly. “If I was uncomfortable, I’d let you know. Don’t worry.”

“Okay. That’s, that’s good then.”

They stood there in awkward silence for a minute, thinking about what to say, both trying to look at each other without giving it away. The nurse cracked first.

“Do you want to meet up this weekend? For, coffee or something?”

Flug blinked. “Uh…”

“I was just thinking that we didn’t, really get the chance to talk on Tuesday like I’d hoped to.” She clasped her hands together at her hips. “That is, if you’re alright with it. I know you’re not fond of socializing with coworkers.”

“I’m not – what? What gave you that idea?”

“I don’t know, you’re always just so busy, you know? And I don’t – I mean, it seems like you never want to stay for lunch or after hours. It’s, uh,” Susie looked away, “there’s actually a bit of a bet among some of the nurses that you don’t like people very much.”

Well they’re not wrong, he thought wryly. Out loud, he attempted damage control. “I don’t mean to be rude, I just, get so focused on my work that I lose track of time. I’m not – I won’t bite, Susie.”

“That’s a relief, I guess,” the nurse smiled just a little bit. “So, um, do you want to meet up sometime this weekend? It doesn’t have to be for long, we don’t have to get coffee either. If you want to.”

Flug considered her, considered her offer. He thought about all the stress these last two weeks, from coworkers and circumstance and certain inmates. It had been a long time since he’d really gone anywhere that wasn’t job-related. And it had been even longer since he’d allowed himself to do anything but work, and plan, and stress.

“You know what? That’d be great, actually.” The psychiatrist said, tilting his head. “I’d love to get together for coffee. I’m pretty free on Saturday, do you have someplace in mind?”

So they made plans for Saturday and parted ways, and Flug felt a little lighter than he’d felt in weeks. There was nothing wrong with treating himself, he decided. Especially not when the prank had gone so smoothly.

It’s great to be back in the game, was the thought that flitted through his mind as he left for the day.

Flug didn’t correct it.

 Friday came agonizingly slow, like the unassuming growth of a blister when one knows it’s happening but can’t take the time to falter in their pace in life. It pissed me off.

I had worked out my thoughts Wednesday night, yes, but that also left the entirety of the next day to sit and do nothing while I waited for my next unfortunate session with dear doctor Flug. There was one moment of that day, however, when one of my guards were made to leave their post by unseen circumstances for over an hour. He came back snickering and the two of them got to gossiping happily about some event with an inmate on a lower floor. I was almost tempted to snap at them for not giving me my due attention.

But I endured.

As one could imagine if they had any intelligence, Thursday evening was used to meditate. I needed – no, I wanted, I had no need of anything – to prepare myself for the inevitable indignity of either seeing Flug again, which would make him an idiot, or never seeing him from now on, which would make him a coward.

Human hypocrisy is so tiring.

In any case, I had plans for both outcomes, and as Friday arrived like the pop of that blister, I waited for our scheduled session to see what I’d be working with. It wasn’t long I had to do so.

The Dusk hit me all in a rush; someone was coming down the hallway towards my cell, and it seemed they had been very busy in the sinister aspects of life. I recognized very well who it belonged to, but it puzzled me greatly. I hadn’t seen Flug in two days, after I’d promised him his death, and there was surely no chance he had been so busy during that time to create such an enticing aura.

So when Flug unlocked the door and stepped inside, I studied his body language for signs of distress. He was…conflicted. There was clear fear in his visage at the sight of me, and his bodyguard was right by his side with a taser in hand. He watched me, the way I perched on my mattress, and I could see the chill go up his spine like a feather.

But there was also a looseness in his limbs that baffled me; a drop to his shoulders that suggested relaxation instead of resignation. And of course his Dusk, which swelled as we made eye contact. It gave him away completely, yet what it was that he gave I was not yet certain of.

Curious and unforgiving, I let him take the first move to dig his own grave even further. He obliged.

“Before we d-do anything else, I th-think we need to talk about, what happened. On Wednesday.” Flug stood by the door and kept my gaze. His body was tense in preparation for an attack.

I lifted one eyebrow but didn’t reply, waiting for the fool to make a deeper hole.

“I’m a-aware that you, um. That you p-probably hate me.”

“Hate has always been an underwhelming word, Flug.”

“Ah, well,” he wavered, “I would – I’m here to inform you that as of n-now, we’re no longer allowing physical c-contact to occur during these, sessions. None at all.”

“For my sake, or for yours?” I watched the way his fingers twitched. “I see. Do continue, Flug.” Bury yourself alive, dear doctor.

“Also, ah, from now on I’m g-going to stay on one end of th-this room with you on the other, and a guard will b-be next to me at all times. If, if anything compromises that, the session is over and I’ll, leave at once.”

“Is that all you have to say, Flug?”

He regarded me suspiciously. “…Yes.”

“No sincere apology for upsetting me again? You seem so adept at screwing up and then groveling for it.”

I’ll admit that I spat these words for my own angry benefit, not as a verbal attempt to dig into Flug’s skin or a physical attempt to cause him to error and be within death’s reach of my teeth. I was not expecting the flare up of his Dusk, nor the way his goggles reflected the light in a way that I couldn’t see his expression.

“I th-think you’ll be surprised to learn that I won’t, that I’m not g-going to grovel so much anymore. It’s – something I’ve been working on.”

“So it seems.” What had happened in the last two days, I wondered. What had bolstered this human’s confidence and encouraged his darkness when he’d been so determined to squash it down subconsciously.

I considered my options in this moment. I still very dearly wanted to kill Flug, make no mistake, and it was going to happen one way or another. But then I would be stuck here with no source of amusement until the time of my escape. And from what I had to acknowledge, that could be a very long time from now.

I made a decision then, that would change things in ways that I could not predict. I decided that so long as Flug behaved himself, and did not infuriate me any longer, then I would let him live. I would offer the proverbial olive branch, let him think that I had forgiven him after a time, and then play along with his game so that I could learn his secrets and extort his Dusk.

And when I was finally free of this accursed collar, free to do as I pleased just as it should be, I would drag Flug to this cell and tear him apart limb from limb, slowly and painfully, and then raze his precious institution to the ground.

Yes, what a satisfying end to my humiliation.

“Well, Flug,” I said at last, ending the silence that had clearly made him nervous. “It’s marvelous to hear you’re no longer such a sniveling infant. Perhaps now you will be tolerable enough to hold a conversation with.”

I felt the flare of Dusk and pride even as Flug gave no physical indication to my insult. It was hilarious.

“If that w-were the case, Black Hat, then I’m s-surprised you lasted this long. It must h-have been very boring.” The doctor bantered hesitantly.

He had sensed the traitorous olive branch, and was trying to reach for it. I smiled languidly.

“Oh Flug, you have no idea. I’ve had to get by with the meager slivers of intelligence I could find, and unfortunately that means you. It’s amazing I’ve survived.” I held the branch out, easy for him to hold onto.

“Boredom isn’t a c-clinical cause of death.” He touched the offering. “But maybe they’d make an exception f-for you.” He took it.

Flug was mine.

“No doubt Inspector Daniels would be happy to see me go,” I dropped out of my crouch completely, opting instead to lean causally against the mattress. “I wonder how he’s been doing.”

My doctor just looked at me. I raised an expectant eyebrow, but no obvious tells could be found off his body or his aura. Unfortunate but not problematic.

“Ah well, I don’t care enough about him to want to know. May he drop dead where he stands.” I dropped my neck backwards so my head rested on the mattress and I was staring at the ceiling. “On the topic of health, how have you been these last few days, Doctor?”

I couldn’t see Flug, but I heard his feet shuffle. “I’ve been w-well, Black Hat. Why?”

The tone was so guarded it was amazing the words had made it past his lips.

“Oh, no reason at all, really,” I hummed leisurely. “It just makes my heart happy to know my favorite psychiatrist is in such good condition.”

“I d-doubt that.”

“Doubt what, Flug? That I wonder how you are?”

“That you have a heart in the first place.”

A delighted smile danced along my face. “Look at you, Doctor, trying to learn my anatomy. I thought you were an expert of the mind, not the body?”

There was just enough silence after my statement that I turned my head towards Flug, inquisitive. He had this look in his goggles, one I knew well. It was the look of someone gauging how much information is worth leaking to another.

“You’re right, Black Hat,” he said after a beat. “I’ll just focus on my a-area of expertise.”

Hmm. That was going to have to be a secret for another day, because the doctor’s darkness was still heavy in the air and I was getting restless to learn why. But this mild back-and-forth, as entertaining as it was, would not yield what I wanted.

I remembered suddenly the commotion with my guards from yesterday, how there’d been an event with an inmate. Perhaps Flug had something to do with it.

“You know, I’ve been hearing down the grapevine lately,” I said in nonchalance. “That something happened very recently. A situation with a criminal, it appears. Are you aware of it?”

“There was an incident yesterday, yes. Just an inmate who lashed out. That’s all you r-really need to know.” The doctor tugged at his bag, possibly anticipating that I wouldn’t be satisfied with that answer.

I wasn’t, but it was not due to the event itself, which was lackluster at best. It was because I felt that surge in Dusk again.

“All I need to know? Please, Flug, it sounds as though the ‘incident’ has already come and gone. And besides, what could I do from in this cell? It’s not like I have access to the other inmates in this, place. I imagine it’s nigh impossible from this floor even.”

“You’d be surprised,” came the murmured response as Flug pulled at his bag again. He said a little louder, “it doesn’t matter, it’s imperative that we keep outside contact to a b-bare minimum or there could be chaos.”

His fingers were fiddling with his lab coat, and that creepy tint was back in his goggles. He wanted very much to talk about it.

“Surely there’s no harm in idle gossip. My guards already partake in it enough as it is.” Flug’s escort huffed air through his nose, and I smirked at him. “Come now, don’t be surprised. The two of you are loud as braying mules when you talk. It’s wonderful how much I’ve learned since yesterday.”

I had not actually been paying enough attention to know what was going on, but it didn’t matter. My bluff worked well, because Flug whirled on his bodyguard.

“What did you tell him?!”

“I didn’t tell him anything,” the escort raised his hands placatingly. “Lucas and I were just talking, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, it’s not – what were you saying to each other?”

“We just talked about how quiet that inmate usually is, and how it’s weird he just attacked Bautista like that. Nothing else!”

Bautista. I knew that name well. And I knew Flug hated him thoroughly.

“Isn’t it strange,” I began, careful not to reveal how little I knew, “that this inmate would do something like this? Such a pliant, goody-two shoes patient who goes berserk on a psychiatrist for no reason. Truly tragic. I wonder if he has permanent scarring.”

“The psychiatrist wasn’t physically harmed,” the doctor asserted, irritation lined through his body. “He’ll be just fine.”

“Well, sure,” the guard said quietly, “but that still had to have been awful. Traumatic, even.”

Flug rolled his eyes.

I blinked, surprised that he’d been bold enough to do the motion here, but then I remembered that humans have such feeble vision. It was no wonder he wasn’t afraid to do it; it was highly probable that no one would know what he was doing beyond those goggles.

Except me.

I was suddenly gleeful – here was the explanation for my doctor’s unusual behavior. He’d been struggling at playing nice with a coworker, wanted some way to get him back without sticking his own neck out. How he persuaded an inmate to do whatever it was to Bautista was still a mystery, but not one that mattered.

What did matter was that it had been pulled off without any suspicion towards this ‘innocent’ human. No doubt it bolstered Flug’s confidence, but even more so I knew why his darkness was a maelstrom today, why it pitched at every little mention of the event, and of me – the only expert of the Dusk on Earth.

This was wonderful. I had no idea such a sniveling creature was even capable of it, even on such small a scale. How thrilling. How entertaining.

How useful.

I would have continued dwelling on this new insight, except for what happened next.

“Alright, I’m done talking about this. You both n-need to be more careful, honestly,” the doctor pointed at his guard, then up at the ceiling camera. “You’re lucky the audio recorder hasn’t picked up either of you, if you’re doing this so much. It’s not p-professional.”

I stiffened, staring at Flug with the nearest to shock I’d ever show outwardly.

“Audio recorders? Aren’t cameras sufficient enough?” I tried politely, feigning a pout as if upset that there was more to hamper my escape.

“That’s right, v-voice recorders.” The doctor folded his arms, watching me warily. “So don’t – you should watch yourself if y-you know what’s g-good for you.”

I tuned out most of his words. Recorders. Meant to catch sounds and conversations. I had been screaming at that blasted bear neighbor for several evenings now, provoking him and openly expressing intent to harm my doctor when I thought no one else was watching. But someone had been watching, and yet Flug and his guards acted none the wiser to anything.

My eyes narrowed.

The session went on in contrived pleasantries, and Flug left thinking he was in the clear, or at least that I had no immediate plans to kill him. A half-truth, but one that would benefit me in the long run. It was of little consequence anyway, because I knew now that someone could be aware of what I was doing and hadn’t done anything to stop me. I’d say it was out of the sympathy to my plight, or out of the badness of their hearts, but I did not make a habit of trying to fool myself.

Humans, after all, are only outclassed in their stupidity by their inherent selfishness.

It was time for a new conversation.

 It was frustrating to wait for nightfall, and downright torment to sit and play nice until the wretched bear fell asleep in his own cell. I estimated it was close to 2:00 in the morning by the time I made my move. I advanced to the center of the room and stood firmly.

“I want to talk to you.” I spoke into the darkness, loud and clear. “This isn’t a request. I want to know who you are and what you want with me.”

I stayed there immobile for over an hour, eyes trained on the door to my cell. I did not move closer to view the hallway, in case this overseer would feel intimidated and flee.

Eventually my patience paid off, as a single set of footsteps echoed louder and louder until I could see a silhouette in the window. The sight made me chuckle.

“My goodness,” I purred. “Who would have seen this coming? I must say I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t you.”

The silhouette did not shuffle from my words as I half-expected. “You said you wanted to talk.”

“That’s right, I did.” I inclined my hat, a gesture of courtesy that this human would not recognize. “It’s been brought to my attention that I have you to thank for leaving my nightly discussions a secret, although frankly I can’t imagine why.”

There was no response. Either my question was too subtle or this human had a death wish.

“So I suppose I’d like to know your role in all of this,” I continued, eyes narrowing to show that I expected an answer now.

“It doesn’t matter to you.”

“Oh, oh it doesn’t matter!” I cackled, delightedly provoked. “Of course it doesn’t matter, it’s not as if I’m the most capable force of nature on this abhorrent planet! It’s not as if I’ve been saying incriminating things out loud for you to monitor and report, things that could very well kill Dr. Flug Slys at the least, if not more people! No, it doesn’t matter to me at all!”

I dropped my head to wipe tears of mirth onto my shoulder. Then I looked back up, all pretense of joviality wiped away in the same movement.

“If it doesn’t matter to me, as you so disrespectfully put it, then I don’t understand why you came here tonight in the first place. If your only purpose is to mock me, human, then you’re going to suffer just as much as the doctor I’ve been placed with. And we both know what I’ve said about that.”

This time I saw the flinch. My mouth split open without humor.

“Well?”

“I’ve been…testing things out,” the silhouette said not quite tentatively. “Learning what gets noticed and how it’s handled. Little things. Weaknesses.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that without due proof,” I growled. “Why would someone like you want to look for those things, and why would you tell me?”

“Proof,” the human had the audacity to snort. “Isn’t it proof enough that I told you?”

“Only when there’s merit in words, which I’ve found to be most often false in dealing with your species.”

“That’s a fair point.” The concession was almost bitter. “But I don’t know how else to prove it. You’re…difficult to read, Black Hat.”

“You can prove it by telling me how we’re having this conversation and you’re not afraid of the repercussions of just standing here without authorization.”

“Footage looping.” At my carefully blank stare, the silhouette sighed. “Pre-recorded video footage can be edited over later time stamps so everything looks fine to anyone who watches it later. It takes precision to appear untampered, which is why I took a while in getting up here. So.”

“And you’ve been doing this for all the previous nights? I find it hard to believe a human can stay awake so many hours.”

I watched idly as the tell-tale signs of pride raised itself in the human’s posture. “That’s not the only trick I know, give me some credit.”

“I’d love to give you credit, human, but some things still don’t add up.” I prompted, quiet steel in my voice. “Primarily, I’m curious what you have to gain by doing this. Surely your job is not worth the risks you’re taking.”

It took several seconds for my question to receive a response – almost unforgivable. Finally – “I’m not doing this for you, demon. I meant it when I said it doesn’t matter to you.”

“Except for the part where I’m your test subject in these little experiments.” I dipped my head sideways. “Tell me, is it because I’m in the most secure part of this building and therefore the best place for your tests? Or do you just hate Dr. Slys so much that you’re hoping I’ll succeed in my plans to break him?”

“I –”

Beep!

An annoying little alarm went off, and the human brought out a mobile cellular phone to turn it off.

“I have to go, that means the footage loop is almost done running on its own.” The human pocketed the phone. “I’d ask that you stop plotting so loudly at night, Black Hat, but I know you’ve never listened to humans.”

“And likewise,” I sneered, angry at the time cut short, “I’d ask that you stop involving me whatever trifling plans you’ve concocted in that fragile little skull, but I know your kind is too idiotic to keep to your own business. So we’re at an impasse.”

My overseer took a step away, then hesitated. “You’re not going to tell anyone who I am, are you?”

“No.” I said truthfully. “As much as it pains me to admit, this is useful for both of us. I will not, ‘rat you out’, so to speak, but only if you don’t reveal my intentions to anyone.”

“Good.” And then the human was gone.

I remained where I was, listening to the fading footsteps and the night sounds of crazy inmates dreaming the drugs away. This was a development I had not been expecting, and not one I could control.

I didn’t like it.

A/N: Hey look I live.

I’m back in the game, baby! I promised March 1st chapter update and it happened! I’m so proud of myself hahah.

I promise I will never abandon this story, no matter how long it takes for an update. This fic is my child I love it with all my heart. Thank you to everyone who's still sticking with me on this! (Also if you see any discrepancies or weird characterization, please let me know. I reread the fic to get into it again but it's been a while and I'm bound to miss details)

[queenofcats17]

Epic

I’ve written BATIM fics to Hadestown songs before. But I recently rediscovered this song, and I wanted to write it. This video held a lot of inspiration too. 

This story is very much about my version of Joey, but the song works for many of them, I believe.

@halfusek ‘s Abomination also heavily influenced this.

Heavy and hard is the heart of the king King of iron, king of steel The heart of the king loves everything Like the hammer loves the nail

Joey Drew had long since convinced himself that the world was against him. A lifetime of bullying and ostracization had told him that no one was ever going to support him. The school had never done anything to help him. His parents had brought up the subject time after time, and the administration had said they’d do something. But they never did. Because he was different. The administration couldn’t very well tell the students not to beat up the sickly Jewish kid, right? After quite a while of this, his older sister Esther just started beating up those who dared hurt her brother. Of course, most had been quick to demonize her for this, but it had made Joey feel better. 

“You don’t need to beat them up,” Joey said as Esther cleaned off the fresh scrape on her knee. “Everybody just gets mad at you for it.” Their parents had told her off for getting into another fight, especially given she was about to go into high school. They were more worried about her than anything else, though, unlike the school administration. They didn’t know how much they could protect her. 

“So?” Esther didn’t look up, wincing a bit as she applied the rubbing alcohol to her scrape. “They hurt you, so they deserve to be hurt back.”

“But Ma and Pa are always really mad when you beat them up.” Joey hugged his knees, trying to hide his smile.

“I don’t care.” Esther looked up, her eyes meeting his. “You’re my brother and I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” 

At the time, he’d felt comforted by her words. He felt better knowing that she was on his side. But then she’d gotten into high school, and she’d turned her back on him like everyone else. Suddenly she had responsibilities and expectations to uphold. Suddenly, she didn’t have time for him anymore. His parents weren’t much better, in his opinion. They too talked about expectations and responsibilities. 

“A career in the arts is rather risky, don’t you think?” They’d say. “Are you sure you’d be able to get by?" They were always talking about money, if he’d be able to make a living, if he’d be comfortable. Their families had had nothing when they’d come here. They knew what it was to be hungry. Their worry had nothing to do with his abilities. But to Joey, barely 18 and angry at everything, it felt as though they didn’t believe in him. So, he decided that he didn’t need friends nor family. Obviously, everyone would only abandon him in the end. They’d never believed in him anyway. If he wanted to be successful, he had to harden his heart. He couldn’t let anyone get in the way of his ambition. 

After Henry had left, he’d hardened his heart once more. He’d thought Henry would stay. He’d thought Henry would support him, would share in his dreams and be by his side forever. But Henry too had abandoned him. Everyone left in the end. And so Joey’s talk of dreams grew hollow. Not even he believed himself anymore.

But the heart of a man is a simple one Small and soft, flesh and blood And all that it loves is a woman A woman is all that it loves

He had moments of what he called weakness, of course. Moments where he missed his family, missed having friends, missed having people to support him. But he knew how to deal with those moments of weakness. He knew how to numb his feelings to make sure they didn’t bother him. Alcohol usually did the job well enough. He’d sit in his office, drinking until he couldn’t see or think straight. 

“You shouldn’t drink so much, sir,” Grant told him whenever he found Joey doing this. “It’s bad for you.” 

“Shut up,” Joey growled from behind his bottle. “Just give me the reports and get out.” There were very few who had seen him in this state. Grant was one of them because Joey knew Grant could keep his mouth shut. And so, Grant bowed his head, put the reports on the table, and left. 

Alone once more, Joey cursed his heart. No matter how hard he tried, these moments always crept up on him. Some little thing would happen and remind him of better days, of what he’d once had. He’d gotten rid of any reminders of Henry in the years after his friend had left, and no one dared speak Henry’s name for fear of setting Joey off. For all his smiles and talk of dreams, Joey was a cruel and unforgiving person. Sammy was the only one who could talk back to him without getting fired. 

“Are you fucking kidding me, Drew?!” Sammy yelled, slamming his hands on Joey’s desk. 

“Is something wrong, Sammy?” Joey asked, trying to hide the slight slur in his words. That day hadn’t been a particularly good one. It was the anniversary of the founding of the studio, a reminder to Joey that the man he’d thought he could depend on had left him high and dry. Sure, Henry visited, he sent letters, but it did nothing to mend Joey’s broken heart. He’d coped with it the way he always did. By drinking. 

“You’re giving me two days to write three songs,” Sammy growled. “That’s not enough time and you know it.” 

“I’m sure you can do it,” Joey said dismissively. “If you can’t, I’ll find another music director.” Sammy was about to launch into a tirade but suddenly stopped. He leaned closer, eyes narrowed, and sniffed.

“Have you been drinking?” He asked, his voice softening. He looked genuinely concerned. Immediately, Joey felt rage well up in his chest. 

“That’s none of your business, Lawrence.” He snapped. “Are you going to get me the songs or not?” But Sammy was undeterred.

“Are you alright?” He asked, leaning on the desk. “You can tell me if you’re not.”

“I’m fine.” Joey gritted his teeth, forcing himself to smile. “Don’t you have songs to write? We’re on a deadline. I won’t have you missing it.”

“You’re not alright.” Sammy insisted. “I can smell the alcohol on your breath, Joey. What happened?”

“Nothing happened. I’m fine.”

Sammy drew back a bit, eyes narrowing in thought. Then recognition passed over his face. 

“Oh...” He stood up. “It’s the anniversary of the founding of the studio.”

“Yes, it is. But that’s not important.” Joey’s smile was so wide and so clearly forced it looked unnatural. “You should get back to work, Sammy.”

“You know you can talk to me if you need to.” Sammy moved to lean on the desk again, to get close to Joey. Joey shoved him as hard as he could, sending the music director stumbling backward. 

“I don’t need your pity. I’m paying you to work, not to hold my hand and play shrink.” He growled, letting the facade drop. “If you can’t do your job, I’ll find someone who can. Do you understand?” For a moment, Sammy looked hurt. Then his face settled into a mask of irritated indifference. 

“I understand.” His voice was monotone as he turned and left. Joey collapsed back into his chair, fishing out his nearly empty bottle of whatever booze he’d picked up from the liquor store. It didn’t matter what it was. Just so long as it got him drunk.

And Hades is King of the scythe and the sword He covers the world in the color of rust He scrapes the sky and scars the earth And he comes down heavy and hard on us

He taught himself not to care about other people, to put his own success and happiness first. Nothing else mattered as long as he survived and his name was remembered. He wasn’t a good boss, he knew that full well. He pushed his employees further than they were able to go, demanded more of them than he should have. Sammy and Grant were perpetually on the verge of a nervous breakdown because of him, the animators were overworked and underpaid, the studio was hemorrhaging money, and that wasn’t even touching on the absolute mess with Bendy Land. 

His employees talked behind his back, sure, saying that they didn’t understand what he was doing with the company. But when push came to shove, they were afraid of him. They’d do what he asked because he was the one with the power. He was king in this studio, holding their souls in the palms of his hands. Whether they liked it or not, they would give up their lives for the sake of his dream. Their lives were inconsequential. They didn’t matter. No one mattered but him. 

He was justified he told himself as he sliced Norman’s neck, the blood soaking into his white shirt and staining his skin rust red. The projectionist had been poking around, snooping in on Joey’s plans. He’d gone looking and had found the grotesque version of Bendy that the GENT Ink Machine had produced.

“You should have left well enough alone.” He whispered as he watched the light fade from the older man’s eyes. He didn’t enjoy this. The killing. He liked having the power over other people, but the process of killing was...messy. It wasn’t a pleasurable experience for him. Some part of him was sickened by the killing. But it was necessary. No one would stop him. 

He dragged Norman’s body to one of the coffins, setting it beside the one that held Susie’s body. She’d been one of the earliest sacrifices. So eager to reclaim Alice Angel. It still tickled him how easy it had been to manipulate her into giving up her life. Sammy had been furious with him, of course, but Joey had managed to talk him around to it. 

“She’s happy. She’s embodying the role she loves. Besides, now she’ll be young and beautiful forever!” Joey had told him. “She’ll never have to worry about losing roles because she’s getting too old or she’s not pretty enough. Don’t you want her to have security?” 

Susie was a sweet girl, but so terribly insecure. Both Joey and Sammy knew this. Her insecurity was what had driven her away from Sammy and into Joey’s arms. From what Joey could tell, she’d always been riddled with anxieties. Always afraid of not being good enough, not being pretty enough. She’d been voicing Alice Angel for years when Joey decided to replace her, so it was natural that she’d grow attached to the character. Of course, he didn’t really think Allison could do better. He just needed a reason to make Susie desperate. 

Allison herself had been rather unaffected by Joey, but that was only because Thomas had stepped in and protected her. Joey wasn’t sure if she knew what he’d done. She was always polite and courteous to him, so he imagined she didn’t. Still, she was much more confident in herself than Susie was, and thus harder to manipulate. She could be flattered, yes, but that only went so far. He knew he couldn’t seduce her the way he had Susie, nor could he prey on her insecurities. Her only weakness was Thomas, and Joey wasn’t eager to take on the other man in a fight.

It was their fault for falling for his manipulation, he told himself. If they were smarter, they wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Of course, most weren’t fooled by his act. They could see through his bullshit smiles and fine words. But those who did believe him...Well, he didn’t let them get away.

But even that hardest of hearts unhardened Suddenly, when he saw her there Persephone in her mother’s garden Sun on her shoulders, wind in her hair

Joey had known he was gay since he’d been very young. He’d learned quickly not to publicize his attraction to men, especially after he’d been mercilessly bullied for kissing another boy on the playground, but it was still there. No amount of suppression would make it just go away. When he’d been 18, his attempts to harden his heart were much less successful than he’d hoped, especially after he met Henry. The moment he’d laid eyes on Henry, his heart had melted. Henry had always been rather babyfaced, but as a fresh-faced college student, he’d been downright cherubic. 

The two of them had run into each other on their first day of classes. Joey hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going, and neither had Henry apparently, so they’d run straight into each other. Joey wasn’t exactly in the best of moods, so he was prepared to scream at whoever had run into him. Until he saw Henry’s face. Henry was flat on his ass, his large glasses askew, his soft brown hair mussed in a way that was frankly adorable. He was wearing an oversized sweater, pants that were too big for him, and some beaten up loafers. He looked like just about every nerd Joey had gotten stuffed in lockers with, and yet infinitely cuter. His lips looked so soft and plush, and Joey just wanted to bury his face in the other boy’s fluffy hair. 

“Oh no! I’m so sorry!” Henry looked distraught, trying desperately to gather up his and Joey’s books. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I-”

“I-It’s okay.” Joey cleared his throat, helping to gather the books as well. “I wasn’t looking where I was going either.”

“I guess we were both lost in our own worlds, huh?” Henry smiled. And Joey’s heart melted. 

“Yeah.” Joey smiled back, a tad awkwardly. “Um, I’m Joey. Joey Drew.” He held out a hand to the smaller boy. Henry stared at the offered hand for a moment before gingerly shaking it. 

“Henry. Henry Stein.” His smile turned shy. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“So, um, which class are you headed to?” Joey withdrew his hand, shoving it in his pocket. 

Henry fumbled his books a bit to pull out his schedule. “Umm...Introduction to Art History, room 406.”

“Me too!” Joey’s face lit up. 

“Really?” Henry brightened as well. “What a coincidence!”

“Maybe we could sit together,” Joey suggested, a hopeful note in his voice. He hadn’t been able to make a lot of friends since he’d come to the college. It didn’t help that he was living in a ratty apartment a mile from campus because he couldn’t afford on-campus housing. 

“I’d love that!” Henry gave him a big smile, and Joey’s heart melted. 

The smell of the flowers she held in her hand And the pollen that fell from her fingertips And suddenly Hades was only a man With a taste of nectar upon his lips, singing: La la la la la la la…

Being Henry’s friend was the best thing that had ever happened to Joey. For what felt like the first time in his life, he had a friend. Henry was in his corner, no matter what happened. He was Jewish too, although Joey had long since abandoned his faith. Absolutely no one was allowed to know about that part of him. He wanted to make something of himself, and he’d seen how being open about their heritage and faith had affected his parents. Even his sister hadn’t publicized her faith. Sometimes Joey wished he could find the comfort in religion that Henry and his family did. It would have been nice to have something he could believe in. 

Henry wasn’t ashamed of who he was. He had none of the persistent self-loathing that Joey did. When they’d met, Henry had admittedly still been figuring himself out. But even as the two of them grew into adulthood, Henry showed no signs of developing any kind of self-hatred. He proved to be easy-going and calm, reigning in Joey’s more manic tendencies. The two of them worked well together, especially once the studio was set up. Joey had the charisma and silver tongue to get through the business parts, as well as quite a lot of ideas, while Henry supplied the actual content.

Joey was never happier than when he was with Henry. Henry was such a genuinely good person, always polite and kind to everyone he met. Or at least, polite. There were some cases where he didn’t particularly want to be kind. He made Joey want to be a better person, always pushing him in the right direction or to do the right thing. He relied perhaps a bit too much on Henry to be his moral compass. Henry had never been one for confrontation, something Joey only really noticed in passing. He didn’t often speak out against Joey, tending instead to keep his grievances to himself. After all, his grievances were always rather small. Just little things. But as time went on, his grievances began to build. Still, he kept quiet, always telling himself he’d bring his complaints up at a later date. 

Then they’d opened the studio together. Henry had been seeing Linda for nearly a year at this point. He’d met her when he and Joey were working odd jobs in order to get up enough money to start the studio. Joey hadn’t been all that fond of her at first but had relented his displeasure after seeing how happy she made Henry. He was also a little scared Linda would beat him up. She was a small woman, but she’d been working a factory job when they’d met her. 

“This is it!” Joey said, wrapping an arm around Henry and pulling him closer. “Our own studio!”

“It is pretty exciting, huh?” Henry grinned, unable to stop himself from laughing. 

“Come on! You have to see the inside!” Joey let go of him, fumbling out some keys and opening the door with a flourish. Joey’s expression was enough to send Henry into another wave of laughter. His friend very much resembled an excited child, eager to show their parent something they were proud of. 

He stepped inside, looking curiously around. The hallways still smelled faintly of sawdust. Everything was new and fresh, completely untouched. Henry almost didn’t want to venture further in for fear of sullying this place with his presence. 

“What do you think?” Joey asked, striding in behind him. 

“Well, it’s great so far.” Henry glanced back at him with a smile. His excitement continued as he entered what seemed to be the main lobby. Until he saw the company name plastered onto three reels. 

“Joey Drew...Studios?” His smile fell a bit. He turned to Joey, who was standing nearby with an eager look on his face. “Why is the studio named after you?”

“I thought you said you didn’t mind being out of the spotlight?” Joey’s eager expression dampened a bit.

“I don’t. It just...” Henry pursed his lips, then sighed and shook his head. “You know, nevermind. It’s not important.”

“Are...Are you sure?” Joey asked. 

“I’m sure.” Henry nodded. “Now show me the rest of the studio.”

“Well, alright.” Joey gestured for him to follow. 

The rest of the tour went well, but Joey couldn’t put that moment from his mind. Henry had seemed rather upset to see Joey’s name on the wall and not his own. But Henry had said that he didn’t mind being out of the spotlight. So what was the problem with it? He tried to put it from his mind and focus on getting the studio off the ground. 

Norman, Sammy, and Wally were some of the first few to be hired. Both Henry and Joey had become friends with Sammy after working at a bar where he played music. He was responsible for bringing in most of the band, since he had more contacts in that field. Wally and Norman, meanwhile, had responded to ads put in the paper by the studio asking for a janitor and a projectionist. 

At first, Henry was the only animator they had. Joey trusted no one else to draw Bendy and Boris. Henry had always had a tendency to work himself harder than he should, but with Joey relying on him like this he’d gotten even worse. The other employees would often come in to find that Henry hadn’t gone home, finding him asleep at his desk or drinking an ungodly amount of coffee in order to keep going. Everyone became rather worried about him, especially Linda. 

She came by the studio a lot to check on Henry. Joey heard her talking to Henry in hushed tones whenever she visited. Occasionally, she’d stop in to say hello to Joey and ask how he was doing, but more often than not she just made a beeline for her husband’s desk. Joey mostly tried to stay out of her way, but he had a bad habit of eavesdropping when it came to Henry. 

“I’m fine, Lin, really.” Henry’s words were slurred by his lack of sleep. “I just need to meet this deadline.” 

“You say that every time.” Linda sighed. “You can’t keep going like this. You’ll end up killing yourself.”

“I’m not going to die.” Henry laughed, but the sound was hollow. Joey felt his heart sink at the sound of Henry’s voice. God, Henry sounded so tired. He wasn’t killing his best friend, was he? He quickly shook his head. That was ridiculous. If Henry felt he was being overworked, he would have told him. And so he walked away, failing to hear the rest of Linda and Henry’s conversation. 

“Well, have you at least talked to Joey?” Linda asked, glancing down the hallway to the staircase that led to Joey’s office. 

“Not...yet.” Henry hunched his shoulders, drawing into himself. “But I will. I promise, I will.”

“Henry...” Linda cupped her husband’s face in her hands. “You can’t keep putting it off.”

“I know...” Henry averted his gaze but lifted his hands to touch hers. “I just don’t want to bother him. The studio’s just getting off the ground, so we’ve all been busy. It wouldn’t be fair for me to dump my problems on him.”

“If he’s really your friend, he’ll understand.” Linda pulled away. “I hope you’ll be home for dinner tonight.” She knew full well he probably wouldn’t be. But she could hope.

As more time passed, Henry’s grievances began to build. He tried to push them down, but he was almost at his breaking point now. No matter how hard he tamped them down, they rose up again, constantly at the back of his mind.

Joey relied on him far too much to push him in the right direction. 

Joey took credit for work Henry had done. 

Joey expected far too much of him. 

Joey took and took and took and never gave anything. 

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. When he entered Joey’s office, his friend was a little surprised. Henry had a rather grim look on his face, one Joey was rather sure he hadn’t seen before.

“Is something wrong?” Joey asked, quickly shuffling away his paperwork. 

Henry took a deep breath, leaning on Joey’s desk. “We need to talk.”

“We...We do?” Joey felt his stomach begin to sink. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Joey.” Henry continued, his eyes on the floor. “I haven’t seen Linda in weeks now, I’m working so hard I can't remember what it’s like to sleep on an actual bed. It’s just...It’s too much.” Joey stared at him for a moment, licking his lips. Why did his mouth suddenly feel so dry?

“I...I understand.” He managed to force the words out, putting on a shaky smile. “I’m so sorry, Henry. I didn’t know how much pressure I was putting on you.” 

Henry immediately relaxed, as though a weight had been taken off his shoulders. “I know this was supposed to be our dream, but I really need to find somewhere else. I can’t work for you. You’re my best friend. I can’t be strictly professional around you.” 

“I understand.” Joey nodded again, his smile staying in place. But Henry could tell his friend was forcing himself to put up a happy front.

“I’m not leaving you, Joey.” He reached out and took Joey’s hand in his. “I’m still going to be here for you. I’ll visit. I just can’t work here anymore.” Joey looked down at Henry’s hands, admiring the callouses on Henry’s fingers and the ink that forever seemed to outline the ridges of his fingertips.

“I know.” His voice was soft as he lifted his gaze to meet Henry’s. “I hope you’ll be happier elsewhere.”

“Thank you.” Henry squeezed his hand. “And I hope you make this the most amazing studio the world has ever seen.”

Joey wished he could believe him.

And what has become of the heart of that man, Now that the man is King? What has become of the heart of that man, Now that he has everything?

One could count on one hand the number of people who brought up how much Joey had changed.  Wally was one, but that was only because he tended to just say whatever was on his mind without thinking. Sammy was the one who brought it up the most often. He was one of the original employees, after all. He’d seen Joey’s slow descent into madness and wasn’t afraid to call him out on it. 

”What happened to your dream?!” He demanded after Joey had given him yet another impossible deadline. 

“What does the deadline have to do with my ‘dream’?” Joey asked coolly. Grant had delivered that month’s expense reports, so Joey was already in a rather sour mood.

“You’re practically a slave driver now!” Sammy slammed his hands on the desk. “You’re working everyone too hard and expecting too much of us! You used to care about the employees here! Now you just treat them like machines!”

“I do care about my employees.” Joey looked the slightest bit offended. “I’m simply pushing you all so you can achieve your true potential.”

“Our true potential.” Sammy scoffed, drawing away and folding his arms. “That’s bullshit.”

“Well, it certainly worked for Susie.” 

Sammy stiffened at the mention of Susie. He hadn’t been allowed to see her since her transformation into Alice. Joey had told him that Susie didn’t want to see him, which was partially true. He also didn’t want Sammy undoing all of his hard work and showing Susie how she’d been manipulated. 

“Is she...She’s still alright, isn’t she?” His voice was much softer and he wouldn’t look at Joey. His fingers began to twitch as he fought the urge to start fidgeting. 

“She’s fine.” Joey smiled, folding his hands on his desk. “Although, if you keep pushing me, she might not continue to be.” 

“Don’t hurt her.” Sammy’s eyes snapped up. 

“Then keep doing your work.” Joey’s smile widened. 

“I can’t do it,” Sammy said, giving in to his desire to fidget. “There’s too much to be done and not enough time.”

“You just have to believe, Sammy.” Joey’s voice was soft and soothing. “Have faith in me.” A flash of annoyance passed across Sammy’s face, but he said nothing. 

“If you do as I say, everything will be fine.” Joey continued. “Now go on. You have songs to complete.” He gestured to the door. Sammy gritted his teeth and hung his head. Without another word, he turned and left the office. 

Joey sat back in his chair, satisfied by this outcome. Perhaps, though, he should pay a visit to Alice. It had been a bit since his last visit. She’d been a bit...emotional the last time. She was still upset about the whole debacle with Allison, not to mention that she hadn’t come out ‘perfect’ enough to earn Joey’s praise. 

He filed away the rest of his paperwork and headed to where Susie was. She was a floor or two up, along with a few other transformed employees. It was a bit sad that no one had asked where Wally had gone. Perhaps they were all happier now that he wasn’t constantly chattering in their ears. He’d been a terrible mechanic too. Joey hummed to himself as the elevator screeched upwards. He saw Thomas talking to Allison on one of the floors and waved. Thomas gave him a poisonous glare. 

“Hey, Mr. Drew.” The employee in charge of watching the ink creatures greeted him when he stepped off. They were a skinny kid of indeterminate race and gender who called themselves Adrien Amsel. They tended to blend into the background because everything about them was brown, from their hair to their clothes. Joey had just kind of found them on the street and decided they’d be a good person to hire since they didn’t ask any questions or care about much of anything. They had something that was like a reception desk or guard post. It was just a desk with a chair. 

“Hello, Adrien.” Joey strode out of the elevator. “How is my angel doing today?” 

Adrien shrugged, their gaze mostly on their book. “I mean, she hasn’t started screaming or anything.”

There was music coming from inside, which was probably a good sign. Joey moved to the door, looking over at Adrien. The teenager flipped a page. They were reading a copy of Grimm’s Fairytales.

“Fairytales, hm?” Joey paused with his hand on the doorknob. 

“It was a present from my godfather,” Adrien said. “I thought it’d be rude if I didn’t read it.”

“Alright.” Joey turned back to the door. “You know what to do if things get out of hand.”

“Yep.” Adrien gestured vaguely what looked like a fire extinguisher at their side. It wasn’t really a fire extinguisher. It was filled with acetone. Susie’s body was made of ink now, so acetone was a good deterrent for...unwanted behavior. 

Joey smiled and walked in, closing the door behind him. He was rather pleased with the scene he found before him. Alice was sitting in the middle of the room singing while the other ink creatures played instruments. They couldn’t play well, since most of them had malformed limbs, but they were playing all the same. A chorus for an angel. Boris was playing the clarinet, but it was wildly out of tune. Alice stopped, gently slapping Boris’ back. 

“What happened to your musicality?” She asked. “You’re great at the clarinet!” Boris looked sheepish, hunching his shoulders. 

“Don’t give him too hard of a time,” Joey said, entering the room with the pomp and circumstance he thought was necessary. “He’s still getting used to this new world.” Boris moved away from Joey, whimpering. Or at least, he was trying to whimper. Joey had made sure he couldn’t make any noise. 

“Joey!” Alice immediately stood up. She was the perfect image of Alice. But without a halo. He needed to find some way to get her a halo.

“Hello, my darling angel.” Joey walked forward, cupping Alice’s face in his hands. “You’re as lovely as ever.”

“I thought...You said I wasn’t perfect.” Alice lowered her eyes shyly, her cheeks coloring.

“You’re not perfect yet, but we will make you perfect.” Joey rubbed his thumb across her cheek. “After all, you’re my angel.” Alice smile, but then quickly looked back at him.

“But what about Allison?” She demanded, taking Joey’s hands off of her. “You aren’t going to replace me again, are you? You haven’t come back in a while. How am I supposed to know that you didn’t just decide you could do better with her?!” The ink around her began to bubble, the ink making up her body began to dribble. Boris whimpered, backing up. 

“I won’t replace you,” Joey assured her, keeping his cool. “In my eyes, you’re the only Alice. I only had Allison take the role to see if it would drive up sales. Obviously, the world wasn’t fooled.” He took her hand again. “You are the only Alice Angel.”

“...You better not be lying to me.” Alice stared at him. She hadn’t been a dangerous person as a human. But ink creatures had certain powers. And Alice was a very powerful ink creature. 

“I would never lie to you.” Joey kissed her cheek. He was lucky Susie had always fallen for this sort of thing. Lucky that she’d never picked up on his unrequited crush on Henry. Boris watched him warily, holding the clarinet to his chest as though it would save him. Joey kept smiling.

Alice seemed satisfied by this, a smile returning to her face. She walked back to where she’d been sitting, arranging herself primly on her chair. 

“So, what brings you here?” She asked. “You never visit anymore.”

“Things have been...busy,” Joey said slowly, sitting down next to her. “I’ve been dealing with quite a bit.”

“You’re always working so much nowadays.” Alice rested her head on his shoulder. Her horns dug into his shoulder a bit. “Always so serious.”

“I suppose you’re going to bring up how I’ve changed, hm?” Joey let the bitterness slip into his voice. 

Alice pulled away, her brow furrowed. “Did someone else bring it up?”

“Sammy did.” Joey’s smile fell a bit as his irritation became plain. “Kept talking about how I’d forgotten my ‘dream’. All of this is for my dream! I push them so that they can achieve their true potential! So that we can all be better!” He slammed his fist down on the chair beside him. All the other ink creatures had shied away from him at this, especially Boris. But Alice stayed.

“You have changed. But it’s not a bad thing.” She said, smiling and taking his arm. “Sammy doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He never did.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust for a moment. “You’re making dreams come true.”

“Yes, I am.” Joey smiled back. “And it’s all thanks to you.” 

She was such a fool for trusting him. It would only bring her pain in the end. 

The more he has, the more he holds, The greater the weight of the world on his shoulders See how he labors beneath that load Afraid to look up, and afraid to let go And he keeps his head low, and he keeps his back bending He grows so afraid that he'll lose what he owns But what he doesn't know is that what he's defending Is already gone

The bigger the studio got, the tighter Joey held to it. No one could say he didn’t love this studio. Everything he did was to ensure its success. But somewhere along the way, his love had become twisted. He loved the studio as a possession, something he could own, something he could use. He loved his workers not as people, but as tools. Everything within the studio walls was his, and woe to anyone who tried to take what was his. The employees could call him incompetent all they liked. He was in charge. He couldn’t let this studio fail. He couldn’t. If he failed, then those who had doubted him would be right. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. 

He became controlling, demanding perfection from everyone in the studio. 

Bertrum and Lacie tried to take it away from him. Bertrum had threatened to quit, to take all his plans and go elsewhere. He and Joey had been having an argument about it near the elevator shaft on Level S. Bertrum had his plans and blueprints shoved in a bag and clutched to his chest. 

“Bertie, please, you can’t leave.” Joey’s smile was forced and fragile. He felt he might snap at any moment. He knew he probably wasn’t going to get Bendyland off the ground. Not with Grant dead. They’d found the accountant hanging in his office. The pressure had gotten too much for him.

“Let me go, Mr. Drew!” Bertrum snapped. “There’s no point in me staying! This park clearly isn’t going to happen!” 

“It will happen! It will!” Joey was practically begging now, trying to grab at Bertrum as the park architect dodged him.

“You’re deranged!” Bertrum yelled. “A fool! I never should have agreed to work for you!” For a moment, Joey saw red. A fool?! He’d show him a fool! Before he knew what he was doing, he’d shoved Bertrum into the elevator shaft. He stood there, staring into the darkness, listening as the architect’s body hit the bottom of the shaft. He felt...relieved. Bertrum had been so irritating! Always questioning him! But Bertrum was gone now. 

“Bertie? I’ve got the rest of your....papers.” Lacie came walking up with another bundle of papers. She trailed off when she saw Joey standing in front of the shaft, Bertrum’s papers scattered about. She looked at Joey and she knew what he’d done. She dropped the papers and ran at him. All Joey had to do was step out of her way. Even then, she managed to grab one of his suspenders as she went by. If she was going down, she was taking him with her. Joey barely got a hold of the post on the edge of the shaft, and the jerk nearly sent him tumbling down. The only thing holding Lacie up was Joey’s suspender, and it wasn’t very strong. Lacie knew this. 

“I hope you rot in Hell, Drew.” She growled. Then the suspender snapped. Joey managed to pull himself back onto the landing. He sat there for a little, composing himself, then he threw the rest of the papers into the shaft. Everything was going to be fine, he told himself. It was all going to be fine. 

It wasn’t fine. He’d underestimated just how badly in debt they were. Esther was the one to give serve him the bankruptcy papers. Her firm wasn’t handling the case, but she’d wanted to serve it to him. She’d wanted to help him. Her eyes were tired and pleading and she promised she would help him. He didn’t want her help. He didn’t want anyone’s help. He had to find some way to fix this. He couldn’t lose everything he’d worked so hard for. So...He panicked. No one was going to take this away from him. No one. Everything here was his, everyone here was his. They would die for his dream. They had to. 

On the last official day of operation, Joey locked the doors to the studio and went down to where they kept the twisted copy of Bendy. He wasn’t allowed near the other creatures as they’d found he tended to...dissolve other ink creatures. He opened his spellbook and began to chant. He’d held a goodbye party in the breakroom, with provided cake and coffee. Everyone had gotten something. They hadn’t even noticed the inky taste in everything. As Joey chanted, the employees began to feel strange. Soon enough, they began to vomit, shocked and horrified when they saw they were throwing up ink. The ink continued to pour out of them, starting to consume them. The employees screamed, scrambling for the doors. Their panic and fear spiked when they found the doors were locked. Joey could hear their screams even from where he was. 

“This is my studio.” He said, closing the book. “No one is taking this away from me.” Bendy tilted its head to the side curiously. 

“Tommy said you needed a soul.” Joey smiled. “So I’ll give you a soul.” He wrapped his arms around the demon, allowing the ink to spread over him, consuming him whole. He’d wanted to live forever. Now he would. 

Where is the treasure inside your chest? Where is your pleasure? Where is your youth? Where is the man with his hat in his hands? Who stands in the garden with nothing to lose, singing: La la la la la la la…

It was all over now. The studio he’d worked so hard to build had crumbled, leaving him trapped in a hell of his mistakes, gazing out over his crooked empire and the people he’d destroyed. The dreams were gone. Had it been worth it? Had his actions been justified, in the end? 

He’d brought his creations to life, hadn't he? They walked and talked and breathed and thought, didn’t they? But...No. They didn’t.  Bendy had been born without a soul, and Joey’s fusion with him had produced a twisted and horrifying monstrosity. He’d taken Boris' voice, and all subsequent Borises lacked voices as well. Alice’s mind was fractured due to an ill-fated run-in with Joey himself. The Butcher Gang were twisted mockeries of their animated counterparts. None of it was right. None of it was the way it was supposed to be. And he knew it was his fault. He’d been so unwilling to let his studio go he’d turned it into a horror show. 

“You just have to believe.” He’d said that before, in an audio log. He wondered if he’d ever actually believed that before he’d adopted that persona to manipulate his workers. Henry had believed. Henry had always believed. Henry had always pushed him to do the right thing. Without his family there, Henry had been his moral compass. 

“He should have pushed harder.” He growled to himself, trapped within the ink, surrounded by the reminders of how he’d failed. Henry should have done something. Henry should have stopped him. Henry should never have left. If he could just get Henry back...Henry would fix things. Henry would put everything right! All he needed to do was get Henry back into the studio. Henry had the heart that Joey needed. Henry had always been the soul of the studio. If he could just get Henry back, then everything would be fine. It was Henry’s fault that this had happened, anyway.

But deep down, Joey knew that this was his fault. All of it was on him. He’d lost sight of what he and Henry had sought to create together. He’d lost sight of his dream, his happiness. He should have listened to the others, should have accepted their help, should have acknowledged his own shortcomings. He was in too deep, though. He’d become too wrapped up in his own ambition. He couldn’t just admit his mistakes now. And so, in the ink, he let his anger fuel him. The young man who’d stood side by side with Henry was gone. There was only a monster now. 

La la la la la la la…

La la la la la la la…

La la la la la la la…

[pippiessweathogs]

Welcome Back Kotter fanfiction: From Juan to Susie: A Mixtape

Part one: Spill the Wine

 Several students hung out in the courtyard of the school. Someone had brought a large stereo and had it setting on a bench with the music blasting. The Sweathogs walked out to the courtyard, right away commenting on the music. The song that was playing, had ended and then a different song began to play. Spill the Wine by War.

               “Hey check it out!” Epstein laughed, pointing to the stereo. “This song, man. This song seems to follow me wherever I go. It’s kinda like my theme song.”

               “Theme song?” Freddie asked, frowning. “Man yo’ trippin’.” He rolled his eyes.

               “No I ain’t. Well I mean, ok so it’s not exactly a theme song. But it seems to play a lot wherever I go. It’s even playing at school. I can’t explain it. It just happens.” He shrugged. “Don’t hurt that I dig this song.”

               Vinnie stepped over to the stereo, looking thoughtful at it. “There’s something that’s always bugged me about this song. When that chick comes in and starts talking.”

               “Yeah.” Horshack said “She talks and I can’t pay attention to the music no more because I’m tryin’ to picture her.” He laughed

               “No that’s not what I mean. It’s because she talks so fast I can’t understand what she’s saying.” Vinnie said

               “Yeah, hey, I never knew what she was saying either.” Freddie added “Keep tryin’ to figure it out but it’s hard to follow.”

               “She’s speakin’ Spanish.” Epstein said mater-of-factly.

“How would you know?” Vinnie asked.

               Epstein looked at him with an expression that read “Are you kidding me?”

               “Did you forget I speak Spanish?” he shook his head in disbelief. He walked closer to the radio. “Let me try to figure it out. I can translate. Would be easier if I had headphones. But I can make do.” He listened carefully to the song, and concentrated. “She is talking a bit fast but I can make out some stuff. Azul, azul, loco…” He laughed. “Man she’s telling some crazy story. He pretty much says everything is crazy and blue.” He laughed some more. “This chick’s talkin’ about an acid trip!”

               The other three looked at him in disbelief. “What?!” They all laughed.

               “Dude.” Freddie laughed, walking over to him. “Yo’ makin’ that shit up. There is no way that chick is talking about an acid trip.”

               Epstein laughed “Ya wanna bet? I mean I couldn’t understand all of it but that’s basically what she was saying. She was telling a story about an acid trip she had where everything was crazy and she started seeing colors. She clearly said everything was crazy, everything was blue. I can’t make that shit up!” he laughed some more.

               “Alright.” Vinnie said, laughing. “Alright. We’ll take your word for it.”

               “Very impressive Little Juan!” Horshack said. “How did you know how to speak Spanish so good?”

               Again, Epstein gave him the “are you kidding” look he had given them before. “Really? You guys all know I speak Spanish. Learned it same time I learned English.” He shook his head, disappointed in his friends. “I know I don’t speak it often around you guys, so you ain’t used to hearin’ it. But come on. I’m Puerto Rican! Of course I speak Spanish! You all know that!”

               “Ok, Juan.” Freddie said, “Don’t get yo’ panties in a bunch. It just slipped our minds since you hardly speak it around us.”

               “Ok. But still.” Epstein grumbled.

               “Come on,” Vinnie laughed “Kotter’s on his way. Let’s make him think we care about not being late for class. It’ll blow his mind.”

               They shared one last laugh and they headed inside the school. As they went inside, Epstein had the feeling that this would not be the last time that day he would hear that song. He knew it was just going to keep following him as always. But this time he felt different about it. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but he felt that somehow, in some way, the song was going to lead him to something good.

 …

                 Epstein entered his bedroom and immediately kicked off his shoes. He walked over to the radio and turned it on, cranking it up as far as it would go. He stood there for a moment and then counted on his fingers until there was a pounding on the wall.

               “Turn that down you asshole!” His sister shouted from the next room.

               “Come in and make me!” He shouted back. He counted on his fingers again.

               His older sister burst in through the door and went over to him. She grabbed his arms, putting them behind his back before marching him over to the radio.

               “You turn that down now!”

               “Kinda hard to do when you’re holding both my arms!” He squirmed, trying to free himself. But the more he tried, the more she dug her nails into his skin.

               “Ah! Fuck! What’s with those press on nails?”

               She freed one of his arms. “Turn that shit down or I’ll make you eat your gym socks!”

               “Alright alright!”

               With his free arm he turned the music down. His sister let him go and then strolled away. He checked his arms where her nails had dug into him and then he muttered to himself. That event had become a normal occurrence every week day since he had started high school. It was one thing he always looked forward to when coming home.

               Rubbing his arms, he then walked over to the animal cages across the room. He peeked in on his pets and made sure they had enough food and water. He grinned as he reached into one cage and gently picked up a hamster.

               “How are you Florence? You miss me?”

               He let the hamster crawl in his hand and part way up his arm. As he let the hamster play, his ears perked up as the song on the radio changed. He first notes of Spill the Wine began playing. He let out a small laugh when he heard it.

               “Knew it.”

He placed the hamster back in the cage and then watched all his animals for a few seconds. He whistled along with the song a bit as he moved over to his bed. Stopping to grab his headphones, he plugged them into the radio. He hopped onto the bed, stretching out as he reclined and made himself comfortable. With the headphones on and in place, he closed his eyes and drifted away to the song.

               The song reached the chorus and certain images popped into his head. He saw a girl standing in the shadows. Even though he couldn’t see her face, he knew she was smiling. She waved her hands, beckoning him to come over to her. When he moved closer he noticed she was in a white dress. She held her left hand out and he gently took it in his. Suddenly, he had a ring in his hand. He didn’t know why, but he felt compelled to place the ring over the girl’s finger.

               He quickly removed the headphones and then sat there, stunned. “Whoa…” He frowned, confused and then scratched his head. “The hell does that mean?”

               He lay back, resting his head on the pillow. Putting the headphones back on, he gazed up at the ceiling. The song continued and he began seeing flashes of similar images. The girl in the white dress had a bouquet of flowers. He looked at himself and he was dressed in a suit. A ring was now on his left finger. A bit startled, he looked up at the girl. He watched her as she tossed the flowers to another girl.

               Shaken, he ripped the headphones off and tossed them as far as the chord would allow. He sat up and stared at the wall, trying to make sense of the images.

               “Holy shit. I’m going to meet my wife soon.”

 …

                 The Sweathogs were messing around in the hallways between classes. They picked on Epstein a little bit after he claimed to have had an epiphany while listening to Spill the Wine. Just the fact that he made this claim, and the fact that they were sure he had said the word wrong, was enough for them to pick on him. He never even told them what his epiphany was. He didn’t bother with telling them because he realized they would never believe him.

               After deciding not to talk about the song to them anymore, they moved on to more important subjects, such as the girls up ahead of them in the hallway. Three of the girls happened to be wearing skirts. Their eyes all went to the back ends of the girls and traveled down their legs. The guys started walking behind the girls, keeping their distance as they made somewhat crude gestures of the sexual nature.

               Someone had run into Epstein, causing him to lurch forward and land on the floor. Normally he would have been mad and ready to fight back, but he rolled over when he realized he had a good view up one of the skirts. He smiled and made an “ok” sign with his hand towards the other guys.

               By pure coincidence and seemingly noticed only by Epstein, an announcement played over the PA system. There happened to be music playing just before the announcement (which was an occasional thing that happened, depending on the student working in the office that day) and as luck would have it, the song that was playing was Spill the Wine. For Epstein it was the perfect moment to hear that song.

               The other two girls nearby saw him and quietly got the third girl’s attention. They informed her of Epstein’s whereabouts. The girl shrieked as she quickly jumped away from his view.

               “Juan!”

               Epstein smiled and then rolled onto his stomach. “What? What I do?” He looked up at her, finally seeing who she was. She looked none too pleased with him as she huffed and stormed away. He watched her leave, smile still present on his face. He then got up and then strolled with a small bouncy dance back over to his friends. They laughed and gave him fives before obnoxiously musing over his lucky endeavors.

               “Did you see that?” Epstein laughed, pointing behind him with his thumb towards the girls. “That was Cutie Pie!”

               Freddie looked towards the girls and smiled slickly, touching his teeth with the tip of his tongue. “Yeah she sho’ is.”

               “Hey Juan!” Vinnie laughed and slapped Epstein on the back. “How’s it feel to see up Cutie Pie’s skirt?”

               “Pretty good, Vinnie.” He looked towards Cutie Pie. “Pretty good.”

               Horshack laughed. “You have got to teach me that!” He laughed again. He stopped laughing abruptly when he saw Epstein staring at Cutie Pie. He waved his hand in front of Epstein’s face but Epstein didn’t budge. “YOO HOO! EARTH TO JUAN!”

               Epstein lightly shoved Horshack away. “Cool it, Arnold. Cool it.”

               “What’s up, Epstein?” Vinnie asked. “What are you starin’ at?”

               “Oh nothin’.” Epstein shrugged and then took his gaze off Cutie Pie.

               The song ended and then the announcement started. The guys started walking down the hall again. Epstein glanced back at Cutie Pie and a strange feeling came over him. It was unlike any other time he had developed a crush on a girl. He wasn’t sure if this was really a crush. As he walked, following his friends, he couldn’t shake this feeling. Flashes of the images he had the day before came to him. The girl, the dress, the bouquet and rings. This time he saw the girl’s face. And it was Cutie Pie. He stopped dead in his tracks when this hit him. He glanced back towards Cutie Pie.

               “What?” He asked quietly, watching as she turned a corner and out of his sight. “Nah couldn’t be her.” He shook his head and turned back around toward his friends. “Could it?”

               “Could what?” Vinnie asked

               “Nothin’, Vinnie. Just talkin’ to myself.”

               “Ok but if you start answering your own questions or arguing with yourself then then we’re taking you to the nurse.”

               “Come on!” Epstein urged his friends forward. “Let’s just get to class.”

               “Yeah alright.” Vinnie laughed. “Hey why don’t you describe to us what you saw under that skirt?”

               Epstein laughed. “Yeah, yeah!”

               The four of them continued talking and laughing with each other as they headed down to Gabe’s classroom. But even as they joked around, Epstein could not shake his feeling about Cutie Pie. He simply grinned, keeping it to himself.

 …

                 Cutie Pie’s jaw dropped and she let out a small shriek, much like the one she did when she caught Epstein looking up her skirt. She playfully slapped Epstein on the arm.

               “Juan you’re terrible!”

               “What?” he laughed

               “I can’t believe you realized I was the one you were going to marry after looking up my skirt!”

               “Hey I can’t help it if that’s how nice it looked up there!” He laughed, despite seeing her reactions. “I’m kidding! That’s not what made me realize it.”

               “Then what was it?”

               “I dunno, I can’t   explain it. Just the way you looked. Everything about you. It just hit me. You were a perfect fit for the girl I saw in my epiphany.” He shrugged a little. “And, well, what I saw under your skirt didn’t hurt in the moment.”

               She playfully slapped him again. “Juan!”

               “What? What?” he laughed

               “I still can’t believe you did that.”

               “Hey now the only difference between then and now is, now you let me do it.”

               “I guess you got me there.”

               “Come here.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. “I love you.” He kissed her. “And what’s under your skirt.” She slapped him again. “Ah!” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I know you’re playin’ around, but you’ve got to stop doing that.”

               “Ok, Juan. So what’s the next song?”

               “Oh, um. Well it’s the song that follows you around. The one you both love and hate because of your name.”

               “Suzie Q?” She groaned “You didn’t.”

               “Did.” He pressed play on the cassette player. “And I think you know the story behind this better than I do.” He kissed her again and then they listened to the song begin to play.

[hesham-abdelhamid]

What is a 'Youthquake' and why should you care about it?

There is an Arabian phrase that says “alalam yantami 'iilaa al-Shabab” - the world belongs to the youth. Now, there is a word for that phrase in the English language. Not just any boring old word. It’s a “word of the year.” Oxford Dictionaries chose “Youthquake” as the word of 2017. The word had a huge impact when it shook the ground and became the epicentre of the 2017 UK general election and later on striking again during the elections in New Zealand. 

YOUTHQUAKE is the Oxford Dictionaries #WordOfTheYear 2017. Find out more: https://t.co/BanfCMh2Gi pic.twitter.com/iIQ4ykwUwa

— Oxford Dictionaries (@OxfordWords) 14 December 2017

The word itself, ironically, isn’t new. It was first coined in 1965 by, Vogue’s editor-in-chief, Diana Vreeland. It was used to describe the youth-led fashion and music movement of the Swinging Sixties. - groovy, I know right?

I wasn’t even alive to catch the word the first time but I am young enough to be enthusiastic about it now. But unfortunately politics isn’t my forte - so I took it upon myself to expand my knowledge on the youthquake phenom and maybe you can benefit from it too.

According to Oxford’s own undoubted definition: “The noun, youthquake, is defined as ‘a significant cultural, political, or social change arising from the actions or influence of young people.’” 

Lexicographer Susie Dent told the Guardian that the 2017 shortlist showed that “there’s not a lot of sunshine in the standout words this year. Words like Antifa and kompromat speak to fractured times of mistrust and frustration. In youthquake, we finally found some hope in the power to change things and had a little bit of linguistic fun along the way. It feels like the right note on which to end a difficult and divisive year.” The sad and sombre shortlist is a true representation of how times have changed because in 2015 the word of the year wasn’t even a word it was an emoji, the famous ‘Face with Tears of Joy.’ So, 2017 was about serious business and politics played a huge part in that.

2017, was a weird year for young people following the history-changing results of the 2016 US election and Brexit. They were left with little to zero hope of ever getting their voices heard. I spoke to young people from all over the world and the main words that were used to describe 2016 were either ‘disappointing’ or ‘devastating’. So, it’s natural for young people to have been vocal and loud in 2017.

The term was popular in the UK after Jeremy Corbyn’s Labour Party drove normally apathetic young people to the polls in the general election. Critics moaned that no one actually used the term. Now, they have more ammunition. According to a new paper by the British Election Study (BES), the youthquake did not happen - so why waste our time with the word of the year malarkey?! 

Youthquake '17: Surge in younger voters under 40 to Labour - especially amongst 18-24s - delivered strong performance for Jeremy Corbyn. BES figures show it might have been partly driven by increased turnout amongst 25-35 year olds. Older voters - over 55s - moved to Tories. pic.twitter.com/Dl7LDAWaiE

— Alan Travis (@alantravis40) 29 January 2018

Turnout among people aged 18-24 probably did not increase, argue researchers. The finding goes against polls published after the election, which had suggested a 16-point jump in turnout among that age group. In fact, the supposed youthquake was barely a tremor, say the authors.

Now, if you are like me and you have no understanding of political statistics whatsoever - Just do what I did and seek help from your local MPs. I mean they should know, they do run the country after all.

I spoke to Alok Sharma, a Conservative MP for Reading West, and asked him: “do you think the youthquake did actually happen?”

Perhaps this topic has been the centre of attention as his response was: 

“Oh, that question again.” He said.

“In terms of the election, voting wise and statistically - no. However, I do think the so-called youthquake had an effect on the election - young people were very vocal about this election in particular. It was more of an emotional involvement with politics because people like you felt victimised. As a conservative I tried everything I can to eliminate that and tried to get opinions from the youth of Reading and speak to them about how we can better Reading” he said.

Mr Sharma wasn’t the only one who shared this sentiment. 

I also spoke to Lord Allen of Kensington, a Labour-supporting member of the House of Lords, he answered the same question and said: “Young people have always been at the centre of everything - they are the future. It’s a very simple concept and I feel like Corbyn understood that very well. Yes - The youthquake might not have happened within the election itself but it certainly happened around it. The fact that 17-year-olds found a potential prime minister as a ‘cool and hip’ figure is unheard of. The 2017 election was one of the first times I have seen young people excited about politics and engaged with it - in a very long time.” 

“I think the youthquake isn’t a myth at all.” He added.

Now, after speaking to these two gentlemen - I was even more confused. 

I had to do a bit more digging (and oh boy is my shovel broken!) - so was the youthquake really a huge part of the election or not?

The BES “no Youthquake” conclusion is based on analyses of data gathered in the BES 2017 national face-to-face survey of 2,194 respondents in 234 constituencies. This works by interviewing the survey respondents in their own homes, which nowadays is difficult to do since response rates have fallen dramatically over time: less than half (46 percent) of those who were originally selected to participate completed an interview.

As pollster Anthony Wells stated in his reflections on the BES team's claim that “researchers like the face-to-face survey because it enables them to check if respondents actually voted at the election. The difficulty in 2017, however, was that only 1,475 of the 2,194 respondents – or 67 percent – were checked.”  In other words, there is no validated report of the voting for nearly one-third of the overall sample. This missing data further compounds the problem of the low response rate.

Another problem concerns the number of young people in the study and how they are distributed across the country. Altogether, there are only 157 respondents aged 18 to 24 in the survey. Nearly half (45 percent) of the 234 constituencies sampled do not have any respondents in this age bracket. This means that for the 197 constituencies for which validated voting data are available, 61 percent do not have any under-25s in the survey. 

So, If you process politics in the same way I do - which is always to have fairness and balance within everything - then surely the survey isn’t even an accurate representation…?

Also, why are we so fixated on the BES survey. Other national surveys indicate young people gave much stronger support for Labour in 2017 than in 2015. The percentage of 18-24-year-olds voting Labour climbed from 43 to 62 percent in the Ipsos-MORI election surveys. 

The Guardian presented statistics after the 2017 election showing that the high turnout was driven by young and minority voters. The results clearly state that more than half of individuals aged between 18-24 voted - that's an increase of 16 percent than the turn out in 2015.

Alex Chalk, the Conservative MP for Cheltenham commented on the rise of young voters and said: “young people were vocal about the election and that shows that their involvement with politics is growing, which makes very happy.”

Whether the stats prove that the youthquake happened or not - it doesn’t really matter because just like that Arabian phrase states, the world really does belong to the youth. The future leaders are today’s learners and they are quickly learning how to get their voices heard. The youthquake did shake the ground in 2017 or as the youth say “the election was shooketh.” To dismiss the available evidence which clearly testifies against the BES survey is teetering on ignorance. There was a widely unexpected and politically consequential “Youthquake” in 2017. Psephologists would be wise to study its nature and causes and consider its possible consequences. 

Already in the early days of 2018, young people around the world are at the forefront of change, Emma Gonzales and the #neveragain movement for example. Gonzales has quickly become a household name, not just in the US but around the World. The powerful young woman’s speech, in support of prohibiting the sales of weapons in the US after 17 students from her school were murdered at the hands of a student with a gun, was inspiring beyond words. She has left us all mesmerised by her sheer passion and determination for change. 

Just like Emma, today’s youth will achieve more than just a “word of the year” they will re-write the course of history.