#clookie

A Thousand Unseen Cuts // Clavookie

TW: self harm

Braden stared down at the double edged razor sitting on his bedside table, a blank expression on his face. There were a lot of thoughts running through his mind, a complete whirlwind of emotions. It didn’t matter how much looksmaxxing he did, he was still the same insecure boy that spent his days scrolling on .org.

There were a few scars on his thighs, nothing really noticeable, the women he slept with never mentioned them because he always made sure to turn the lights down low. But the worst of it was on his upper arm. He used to film gym content, but now he made sure to always have sleeves covering that small portion near his shoulder, rather than showing off his physique half naked in a mirror.

He never took his shirt off during sex anymore. Half of him regretted what he’d done, spending time every time he took a shower staring at them in the mirror. They itched quite a lot, it was rough when he and his friends would be doing a stream and he’d suddenly start scratching at his arm like a lunatic.

The decision was made. Braden picked up the razor, it was a new one, his older one had gotten too dull which was really a nuisance. He thought back to his childhood, before he’d learned about the blackpill, before he’d discovered that stupid looksmaxxing forum that changed his life. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, as he dragged the blade from his wrist, all the way to the end of his forearm, in a quick motion.

The layers of his skin peeled back, blood beginning to trickle out the insicion he’d just made. It wasn’t deep enough. Biting down on his lip, he multi-swiped, his layer of fat now visible. Braden cursed to himself underneath his breath upon realizing that he had hit a vein, blood quickly pooled in the cut and trickled down his arm, dripping messily over his bed.

Strong feelings of paranoia washed over him when it hit him that a bandaid wouldn’t fix this mess. His heart rate anxiously sped up.

What if somebody came in?

I don’t know how to handle a cut this big.

Braden held his hand over it as best as he could, putting pressure on it, blood staining the palm of his hand and his legs. He then tried to hold the pieces of skin back together, but it didn’t do much at all.

Inside his pocket, his phone began to vibrate, indicating that someone was calling him. Braden wiped his hand on his bed and pulled it out, trembling. It was Cookie.

He stared at the caller ID for a moment as it continued to ring, the cut continuing to make a mess everywhere. He answered.

“Cookie?” Braden’s voice unintentionally sounded all shaky.

“Clav, do you wanna go walk around Miami tonight? Holy Dexter reference. But me and Kay are in the city, he just has some shit to do tonight.”

Braden felt awful saying no, but what was he supposed to do? That fear was evident, because if he didn’t get medical attention he could very well pass out, or worse. He didn’t even want to think about the giant, noticeable scar it would leave.

There was silence for a few moments.

“Clav?”

He couldn’t stay silent forever. Braden loved Cookie, and he trusted him, but he had never opened up about the cutting, and he didn’t want to have to make it his problem.

“Cookie, I kind of fucked up and I don’t know what to do right now.”

“Well, what happened?”

Braden paused again before he finally responded,

“I cut myself. Like… deep. I don’t know what to do, I think I hit a vein.”

“Oh, God, Braden, where are you right now?”

Concern filled his tone, and Braden explained that he was just at his house. Cookie began to insist that he was going to come over and take him to a hospital. Braden didn’t exactly want to go to a hospital, but he didn’t have much of a choice here.

——————————

“Braden, are you okay? I’m here now, just hang on for a sec, I’ll clean you up a little bit.” Cookie was kneeling in front of his sitting boyfriend, in between his legs as he started to unravel some gauze.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done this, I’m so cooked.” Braden sighed as Cookie began to wrap up his forearm with the gauze tightly. The blood immediately began to soak through, it wasn’t much of a difference, but he was just trying to help soak up some of the blood before they left.

“I love you, don’t apologize to me, I’m here for you.” Cookie looked up into the other man’s eyes, his gaze full of compassion. He finished bandaging Clav up and then kissed his forearm gently, standing up, towering over him. Braden looked up at Cookie, who placed a hand on his cheek, rubbing his thumb on it, lovingly looking down at his teary-eyed boyfriend. Kissing his forehead, he helped him up to his feet. Braden definitely felt a bit woozy but he could walk.

Braden hated his scars, and he hated the fact that he’d just done this to himself. As if Cookie could read his mind, he said, “I love every part of you, Braden; so much.” As they drove to the hospital, barely hanging onto consciousness, memories of Cookie flashed in his mind, it was peaceful, calmed him down in the midst of this storm.

To say Cookie was relieved as they stitched Braden up would be an understatement, the nurse had informed him that the cut could have done a lot more damage if he hadn’t been brought here in time.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Cookie gently stroked Braden’s hair in the hospital room, the two of them alone in the room as they gazed into each other’s eyes. “Can I just ask… why did you do it?”

Braden didn’t want to cry again, he already felt vulnerable enough tonight. “Um…. It just…. It takes the pain away… y’know?” His voice cracked a bit, he couldn’t stop thinking about his childhood and wondering how he ended up like this; the drugs, the paranoia, the self harm… Nobody would ever really understand him. But there was somebody that even if they didn’t understand, they didn’t judge, and that person was sitting next to him.

“I love you, Demir.” He spoke, smiling a bit.

Sweet as a cookie

paring: Braden Peters x Demir Basceri

cw: baking, kissing, saying I love you, panic attack (very brief and not accurate), having episodes (not accurate either), omegaverse, mentions of ruts.

For some reason “friends with benefits” doesn’t count as dating.

a/n: so I actually forgot about this and wrote it in my notes. Uhh. Yep. So forgive me if there are any mistakes. Thanks @anakqkkacjjsjqjq for beta reading.

“Mami you remind me of something, but I don’t know what it is —”

“Mami you remind me of something, but I don’t know what it is —”

Braden squinted his eyes and pouted his lips at the camera, flirting with himself through the screen of his iPhone 17. Hitting stop on the TikTok record button, he exhaled heavily through his nostrils and his face resumed its previous agitated expression. Something was off. He rewatched what he’d recorded.

“Mami you remind me of something, but I don’t know what it is —”

Good neutral lighting, suntanned skin, hair coiffed precisely, teeth freshly bleached. Maybe he’d gone a little hard with the eyebrow pencil? No, that wasn’t it, he needed that for angularity. Maybe the wall was a bad colour, did the white wash him out? No, high contrast makes the skin look tanner.

“Mami you remind me of something, but I don’t know what it is —”

He looked closer. Was the chain tacky? Of course. But it was tongue-in-cheek, it was ironic, it’s meta. That definitely wasn’t it.

“Mami you remind me —”

The shirt was too tight. Tearing his eyes away from the phone, he looked at his outstretched wrist. The sleeve cuff sat too high on his forearm. Shifting attention, he flipped the bottom of the shirt to read the tag. Hollister, Men’s Small. This was Demir's shirt. A fist banged on the door, punctuating the moment before he had the chance to form an internal reaction.

“Clav, I need to piss, let’s GO! You shit yourself or what?”

Fuck, he forgot Demir was here. How long had he been recording? With one quick stride he clicked back the lock and opened the door. Demir stood in the door frame, face to face.

“Jesus, I thought you fell in,” he cast his gaze downwards to the cheap cloth that clad Braden’s chest, “Is that my shirt?”

“Is it?”

Braden would never have admitted it, but his first summation of Demir had been that he needed to lower his expectations for ascension. Cruel, he knew it. That’s why he hadn’t said it. Weight loss, new wardrobe, maybe a few pointers on body language and a different haircut would all be an improvement. There was structure underneath the flab, he could tell. But the way Demir had spoken about what he dreamed was possible, what Braden could do for him? Frankly, he had dictated internally that Demir needed to be realistic about his maximum potential. Honestly, the promise of making content with a low tier normie, that had been the real draw. Braden was pitiless, the cruelty had never stopped him from relaying stabbing honesty before. But Braden had fallen victim to Demir, someone he could recognise himself in without confronting what that revealed, who he could feel close to without ever surrendering his distance, and Demir had made the unwise decision to let Braden impress him.

Looming behind Demir, he watched them both in the large bathroom mirror. Demir stood tentatively. He placed two fingers between Demir’s shoulder blades, pressing lightly until his posture straightened. He then placed his hands on Demir’s shoulders, pulling them back to align him. Demir moved accordingly. The gratification was instant, correcting someone and watching them fall into place. Braden found Demir’s responsiveness difficult not to appreciate, a quiet order that soothed his busy mind. Moving now to face his protégé, he tucked Demir’s floppy bangs out of his face. He traced his fingers over his jaw, measuring his mandible and gonial angle with his hands. He abruptly pinched Demir’s cheek and watched him wince. Demir’s skin lacked firmness, the tautness that Braden chased. The last gatherings of fat in his cheeks persisted, clinging unwaveringly to Demir’s face. Braden looked down at his jutting collarbones, then back to his face, today lacking the same definition. Water retention. The puffy appearance irked him. He rubbed Demir’s skin till it stung red, trying to mold his flesh into compliance.

“You’re bloated. What have you been eating?”

“Just what you told me to.”

“Well, your weight has plateaued for 3 weeks.”

Braden placed one hand on Demir’s sternum and the other on his back. He felt his body fill with breath, then exhale with a shallow sigh. He seemed nervous.

“You can lose 7 more pounds,” he concluded, “show me your teeth.”

Demir opened his mouth and exposed his teeth. Clenched and jagged, they had a natural structure, stained yellow, devaluing his face. Was he not using the cream he’d given him? Braden poked at his gums. A small pearl of blood dripped from the tissue. Braden swept it away with his finger. He deduced observationally the consequences of Demir’s urgency.

Now Demir began to take the shape of something people noticed. They were out on the town, streaming. Miami’s bustling streets hummed with Latin music and drunken conversation. Braden gulped down liquid assurance while Demir spoke buoyantly to the digital audience about driving Braden’s new car and the club they were about to dive into. They shimmied their way past bystanders and ushered themselves inside. For a moment Braden saw nothing, darkness blinding him. Then slowly shapes and colour pierced through as his eyes began to adjust. The crowd rolled in ceaseless convolutions, flashing red, blue and purple as the strobes flitted through colours that shone on their skin. Demir had disappeared, but adrenaline fuelled and restless, Braden heard him yelling out lyrics to XO Tour Llif3 along with the masses, and he snorted at the childish sincerity, knowing now that he was close by. When Demir re-entered his vision, a young woman with blonde blow out hair and perky tits had materialised beside him. Demir engaged her, and Breden watched her laugh and make eyes at him while Demir danced in a caricature manner. Braden directed the cameraman towards this sight, and stood behind to watch through the screen without commentary the two bob in and out of frame. She squeezed Demir’s arm to steady herself as the crowd swayed, bumping the two closer. Desire gripped them both at once, and could be felt washing through the camera. She leaned forward and held the nape of his neck to kiss him, and Demir’s hesitance melted away to meet her there.

When the two had first met, Demir disclosed prematurely to Braden his tribulations with the female sex. Tipsy and unthinking, he had lamented to Braden about his chronic virginity and the stubborn indifference women expressed towards him. Braden had lent an empathetic ear, and Demir had seemed relieved to discover his overbearing honesty had not scared him off. Braden set Demir up with a young lady whose loyalties lay more with himself than any desire for the man she was meeting. Demir had called Braden up that night and relayed to him the events of his maiden encounter. Demir had charmed her, wooed her, fucked her according to Braden’s precise advice. Of course he had, Braden had manufactured a home run. He had heard Demir’s anticipatory pauses over the phone, waiting for parts of the story to land. His voice had been a raspy whisper, hushed as to not disturb his sleeping company. Repeating her praises and whimpers, Demir had described the act as if it were foreign to Braden. For a moment Braden had become aware of his own body. Demir had wanted him to know more than he had wanted it. Braden saw Demir as a product of his design, somewhat an appendage by way of intellectual property, and so had included Demir’s budding sexuality as an extension of his own. He had been frigid and celibate, sexually frustrated, but through Braden’s authorship, Demir had ripened into an object of carnal ardour. Once they hung up, Braden had rolled over in his bed. Could Demir tell it was Braden she wanted? He had pondered the effect that may have had on Demir’s experience. He dismissed the thought immediately. Perhaps he should have felt shame.

Now at the club, Braden watched the way the light danced on the gleaming skin of the two faces in front of him, flickering in and out of vision as the horde stirred and churned. Demir slid his hand down to the small of her back and she caressed his chest, mouths open and voracious. When he broke away, Demir spoke inaudibly into her ear, then pulled back a little to read her reaction. His face had formed that imploring look. She giggled coyly. As per Demir’s responsive nature, his cheeks flushed and in seeking her approval, mirrored her expression of yearning. Braden noticed how he’d gripped her hips like he’d told him to.

So this was it, the point where people reacted to the transformation like they had discovered it, like they’d been there at the beginning. Archaeologists posturing alongside their spoils like they’d forged the lot themselves. Braden absorbed the sight, Demir rousing the intrigue previously exclusive to himself. Something he’d actualised, nurtured, sharpened, now moving through the world like it washed up on shore fully formed. Demir, naive and frivolous, acted now through the intrepidness her eyes were providing him, as though he were actually something impressive. Most people never examined their world or themselves long enough to come to any insightful conclusions. Demir, as dynamic and disarming as he was, was plagued by half efforts, and frustratingly, seemed to be unaware of the full extent of this quality. Demir’s vision would wander to things that were lenient, he lived for convenience, he detested challenges. Now his eyes were all over her, eager to satisfy and she responded reciprocatorily. That obliging look written on his agreeable little face, a trace replicate of his willing, dutiful advance the night when Braden misjudged his dosage. Demir had looked at him, and examined him, and had stirred in Braden his poppy bruise; that a curtain had torn that night that may never be repaired. The blonde pulled Demir by the belt out of Braden’s view, stroking his cheek. In a breathy voice, she surely gushed over him. He was entranced. She was easy. You let someone impress you, they'll have you believe anything. Braden patiently awaited Demir to lock eyes with him. Demir didn’t look back.

Braden revved the engine of this rented BMW X7 down the quiet suburban roads of the palm-lined cul-de-sac where Demir was staying. He was flying home to California tomorrow evening. Braden hadn’t asked him how long he’d be gone. He knew that distance had a way of loosening habits, and time made it difficult to return to sources of discomfort. Braden was hard on him, yes. But he never asked him to do anything he wouldn’t do himself. He imagined Demir’s parents. Mr. Basceri, passive and domesticated, would have his new girlfriend tell Demir vaguely that his father was proud of him and concerned for him, and Demir would be none the wiser on which was true and why. Demir’s delicate mother would cry at the sight of him, remind him that he’d nothing to prove and try to reconcile this visitor she saw before her with her son that had left her 4 months ago. Demir, stricken by the comfort of familiarity and Braden’s contrast highlighted by their separation, would let the bliss swallow him like the sheets on his old childhood bed, warm and painless. But still, Braden had learned Demir wouldn’t dare look at himself without a clear voice in his head to ease his worries and help him to compartmentalise them. No one had ever believed in Demir the way Braden had, no one had ever truly invested in him, it was completely reasonable to expect he would do him the fucking decency of develivering on consistancy.

As they pulled up to the rented condo, Braden turned off the engine and the pair sat motionless for a moment. Demir smiled at his phone, texting her. He ran his hand through his own dark hair. Braden studied him for a moment longer. Demir’s face now registered stillness. He looked at Braden. His eyes were clear, he’d always look right at you. Braden didn’t ruminate on it any longer. Demir would always feel the draw back to the place that had first shown him what he was worth. Braden reached out and gave Demir’s back one firm pat, then unbunched the back of his collar, which was about as fond as his emotionally stunted attributes would allow for at this moment. Demir laughed dotingly, smiled back reverently and returned the gesture. Braden heard that little rasp in Demir’s voice. He left the car wordlessly, uncharacteristically, perhaps to content him. They both accepted there was nothing that needed to be said.

The Ghost In My Arms // Clavicular x Cookie King (Clavookie)

Trigger warning: munting, death

(I don’t condone any of this, it’s a fanFICTION, so if this isn’t your thing, keep scrolling.)

When Braden had left, the fact had never fully settled within hisself. The first phone call he’d gotten that night, breaking the news, left him speechless. He thought something had been off when it had been a few days since Braden had gone live, or posted anything for that matter…..

Something just felt wrong. Cookie didn’t have any proof to confirm his suspicions that something was wrong with his friend; they hadn’t even seen each other in person for a while. Actually, Clavicular was the one who’d helped Cookie lose weight. A calorie deficit was always easier said than done, but when he was doing it for someone he loved…

Cookie had never admitted it to himself until about a month ago. Those late nights he would scroll through Clav’s Instagram fan accounts, or just camp on his livestreams. He was such a confident guy, that was part of the reason Cookie was so addicted to him: his confidence.

They were closer friends than most people really knew; their texts dated back months, they talked every day, even if it wasn’t much, especially lately, which was due to the fact Clav livestreamed so often. However, once in a while, Braden would shoot Cookie a few texts back and forth while he was live, which was appreciated.

It was times like those that Cookie found himself dwelling upon, because March 26th, 2026, he found out that Clavicular had died two days prior from an overdose. He was unsure what he’d actually overdosed on, but that didn’t matter, his heart was shattered into a thousand pieces.

Cookie didn’t post for weeks.

Fans were commenting, concerned about his mental health. The news of Clavicular’s passing was also released to the public on the 26th. There were also a bunch of people online who openly shipped the two, and people had begun joking in Cookie’s comment sections, teasing him about his friend’s passing.

Every night was spent crying, Cookie was rapidly losing weight, could hardly get himself to eat anymore. He used to eat for comfort, but after meeting Clavicular, everything had changed; and now that he was gone, Cookie wasn’t the same, silly guy he used to be.

One night, things had changed. Cookie hadn’t touched his meds in a week. ‘Fuck it, what’s the point.’ He’d told himself.

Fuck his psychiatrist, fuck his therapist, he needed Clavicular.

How long had it been since he’d slept? Cookie hadn’t been counting anymore, he knew that it was at least twenty four hours, but he was obsessed with rewatching old clips of Clavicular.

That smile, that hair… his jawline… he was so cute, and Cookie couldn’t take it anymore, he physically couldn’t take it.

He unzipped his pants, the only light in his dark room from the open laptop on his bed, displaying one of Clavicular’s older streams. Already semi-hard, Cookie pumped some lotion onto himself. The first few strokes were heavenly, he didn’t moan, just bit down on his lip and smiled stupidly to himself.

In that moment while he jerked off, he began to get lost in thought. His friend was gone. Braden was gone. Clavicular was gone. The moment he finished, he knew that the sadness would come creeping back in. And then a thought hit him, something so disgusting that he couldn’t believe it.

‘Go to his grave and fuck him.’

Cookie stopped touching himself completely and blinked a few times in disbelief. His cock throbbed desperately beneath his hand and he dwelled on it for a moment. If it was an intrusive thought, he would’ve quickly brushed it away. But then a few minutes later, he found himself sneaking out into his car, having thrown an oversized hoodie over himself to hopefully hide the erection in his shorts.

His mind was racing as he drove, it’d begun to sprinkle, his fingers finding the level for the windshield wipers to flick them on. Cookie squinted, his bright lights barely doing him any good as the rain picked up.

‘This is insane, what am I doing?’

He continued to think about his decisions, yet, he didn’t stop driving…

Finally, the GPS gave him the final instruction, and he pulled into a parking lot. Thank God the rain died down as he drove into a space and shut the engine off. His cock was doing the talking now, so he didn’t even bother grabbing an umbrella.

The rain was warm against his legs as he stepped out of the car, closing and locking the door. The gravesite wasn’t too far from here; he’d been when they had lowered the casket into the ground. Grass had just barely began growing over the dirt.

Cookie stared down at the grave for a moment, putting his hood down, rain pellets hitting his head.

‘Braden Eric Peters’

‘2005-2026’

Letting in a breathy exhale, Cookie dropped down to his knees and pulled his shorts and boxers down. His knees were soaked in mud, as were his hands, as he got onto all fours after whipping his hard-on out.

He lowered himself down further and stuck his cock into the wet dirt, letting out a groan as he slowly thrusted himself in and out. Cookie wasn’t thinking about the possibility of infections from this, nor was he thinking about being caught and arrested. This felt good, really good. He kept picturing the boy smiling, he pictured the few times that they’d kissed… but no. It wasn’t enough.

There was barely time to think about it, Cookie had begun to dig at the dirt with his hands, desperate to reach the casket. He only got so far before realizing this wasn’t practical, and managed to find a shovel in a nearby shed, which was coincidentally left unlocked.

He wasn’t watching the time, in fact, his level of horniness was probably making the operation go a lot faster.

Cookie stood in the grave, now next to the visible casket. “Oh God, Braden….” He spoke softly, tracing his fingers along the side of it before he started to pry as hard as possible. It wasn’t easy at all, it took a lot of effort, but finally, the casket popped open.

Braden’s lifeless body lay there, arms folded all proper over his chest, his eyes shut. His skin was pale, he looked to be decaying a bit, but to Cookie, he was still just as handsome as the last day he’d seen him alive.

“I missed you so much.”

A tear from his eye dropped down onto Clav as he began to stroke his hair. But his emotions were quickly forgotten about as he remembered the real reason he was here. Cookie got on top of Braden and began to hump him. It felt even better than fucking the dirt he was buried in, but it wasn’t enough…

Standing back up briefly, Cookie flipped the body over, and pulled down his pants and boxers. He didn’t know the specifics of what was done to a corpse before it was buried, but hoped that his asshole would still be in tact. He could’ve breathed a sigh of relief when he found out that it in fact, was.

He wasted no time starting to slide himself inside of the boy’s tight hole, his rock hard cock slick with pre-cum. The paranoia was still fresh in his mind, he wasn’t so much worried about getting caught, but moreso worried that he wouldn’t be able to finish.

His thighs tensed eagerly upon his entire length being inside of Braden. He began to thrust in and out, balls slapping against his ass, the sound was muffled due to the rain falling on the two of them. Cookie had convinced himself that his needs were top priority right now.

And then, an idea popped into his head. It was an idea so repulsive that Cookie couldn’t believe it didn’t make him go soft. He’d read about this thing online called ‘munting.’ Usually it involved three people, one of which was a corpse, but obviously there was nobody else here, so he would have to make due.

Sliding himself back out, Cookie flipped the body back over and lowered himself onto Clav’s stomach, steadying himself with his hands on his chest. His heart anxiously began to race as he started jumping up and down, placing his entire weight on the boy below him. He could practically feel Braden’s insides, it wasn’t the best feeling, but Demir wanted all of him…

‘I’m not going hard enough….’ He thought to himself, his jumps becoming far more rough and meaningful.

“Agh, come on!” He whispered to himself in frustration.

One more jump, loaded with pressure and weight.

A disgusting sound was heard as stomach acid squirted out of Braden’s mouth, his stomach literally deflating below his body. His eyes bulged out as well, giving him a creepy sort of appearance. He was in this too deep and knew he couldn’t just stop now…

He began to jump up and down on the man’s stomach again, more stomach acid pouring from his mouth and pooling in the casket next to him. Cookie was sure that he must have been breaking Clav’s ribs from how much pressure he was putting. After another jump, something slimy slithered out of his mouth. For a minute, he thought it was a slug or something that’d gotten in there, but upon closer inspection Cookie saw that it most definitely was an organ.

Leaning down, he sniffed the liquid around Clav’s mouth, before closing in and licking a strip of it off. To say it tasted rotten would be an understatement. But Cookie’s cock was enjoying every bit of this.

“We’re together…. I only ever wanted us to be one.”

This chapter goes Cookie, then Clav

“Yo Clav, you hear me good bro?”

"Yeah, Cookie, I hear you. How's Cali? They treating you right out there?"

"Uh-huh, yes sir. My mom says hi by the way. I think she's got a little crush on you!"

"Ha, really? Pass on my regards."

"Tsk man why you smilin'? I hear you smilin' bro, ew!"

"Yeah, well....."

"Shut the fuck up!"

"Nah, my bad, my bad."

"Been a minu-—"

"What's that, Cookie?"

"I said it's been a minute."

"Yeah."

"You holding Miami down out there without me?"

"As well as I can."

"Ooooo, Clav, you modest now? Have I been gone so long you decided to develop a conscience?"

"Shut up, you retard."

"Ha ha, I thought as much."

"How is everyone anyways, how's your old man?"

"Yeah, you know, he's good bro, he is who he is."

"Something wrong?"

"Yeah, nah, nah, I'm good, I'm just like – I don't know, I'm like – I've just been kinda depressed recently. Like, I've not been sleeping that great and shit."

"Why? What about?"

"I dunno man, just stuff, like, nothing particularly."

"Right."

"Anyways, how are you dude? I've been keeping on top of the peptides and supplements like you wanted, you know. It's been, like, mega hard to go to the gym without someone keeping me on track, my form is probably so crappy now."

"Really?"

"Getting up in the morning is difficult if I'm honest, I wake up at, like, 3pm most days. Funny how that's like, what, 6pm for you? I dunno though, I feel like I work better with someone standing over me. Like, I was sayin' to my dad that you'd be all like 'you can sleep when you're dead' and shit, and he was like 'well this Clav guy shouldn't be the reason you're getting up or not.'"

"Heh heh."

"Nah, but like, how are you?"

"Yeah, I'm doing good. What ever happened to that girl? What was her name?"

"Who?"

"That girl from the club a few weeks back, when you were here? You two tongued each other like fuckin' animals, don't act like you don't know who I'm talking about, Demir."

"Oh, Josie?"

"Yeah, yeah, Josie. Whatever happened to that?"

"Yeah, no, she actually got a boyfriend, like, midway through our talking stage. Posted up on her story with some 6 '2 chadlite."

"Ah, okay. You didn't tell me that. Weird bitch. Perfect for you though. Yeah, you gotta learn how to keep them sweet, Cookie, or they'll trade you in for the higher specs model."

"Your girl is loyal until Clav walks in, huh?"

"That was your girl bro!? My bad, my bad G."

"Tsk, shut up."

"You're not actually upset about her."

"Well, yeah, kinda."

"Demir, man, stand up."

"Yeah ok, I know. It's just like, I'm not like you, man. I feel things more than I'd like to. I wanna have a girl, bro. I'm not tryin' to pump and dump eternally the way you do. I want to have an actual girlfriend who I could care abou—"

"---who says I don't care?"

"I just mean it's like nothing affects you."

"I don't announce everything I feel and think."

"Yeah, nah, I mean that's a good thing though, right? You're just really, like, analytical or something. Like, your head is clearer."

"Analytical."

"Yeah. I didn't mean anything by it."

"I know."

'Are you mad?"

"Don't ask another man if he's mad, Cookie. So what if he's mad? If he wants you to know, you'll know. I'm fine, Cookie, I'm not mad at you."

"Bet."

"So you're depressed again."

"Um, yeah, I think. It got kinda bad when I got home. I think it's my diet. I've sort of slipped slightly and I think the crap is getting to my head, like the food dyes and shit? I ate two packets of ramen for dinner yesterday and then, when I read the back of the packet, I was kinda freaking out cuz of all the added shit. Like, I really shouldn't be eating this."

"All that diet shit is cope, Cookie. You're depressed because you have neurotransmitter imbalances and your dad was never hard on you as a child, ok?"

"The food stuff doesn't help though! I was up till, like, 3am the other night reading about how some food dyes are linked to behavioral issues and can damage your DNA. That shit is real man, it's all from studies. I saw it on PubMed. "

"Look, suit yourself, but I'm telling you, a packet of ramen now and then, or a monster at the gym, is so far from your issue, Demir. I assure you, they're not responsible."

"It was two packets. They're, like, 400 calories each. Plus sodium phosphate, palm oil, 4 grams of salt. You can't tell me it doesn't contribute."

"Then don't eat it. Did you have a chance to talk with your doctor yet?"

"Yeah... He was asking me where all this was coming from, about getting off the SSRIs and shit."

"And what did you say?"

"Like you had said, just that I feel as though they are interfering with my hormones... he thought I should stay on them."

"Well of course he does, Cookie. That's his job. These guys are salesmen, ok? They sell you pills that make you sicker, to sell you pills to fix that sickness, only to sell you more pills cuz those ones made you sicker again."

"I mean, he had his reasons to put me on them."

"How old were you when you were prescribed?"

"About 17 or 18 I think."

"Ok, so think of who you were back then. Completely lost, bipolar as fuck and about 50 pounds heavier than you are now. That's the version of Demir that he saw when he gave you those, but that's not who you are anymore, is it?"

"I mean, I guess not, no. I don't know that I'm happier now though, Clav."

"What have they done for you, Cookie, because if they've not made you happier, then why are you still taking them?"

"Cuz they, like, I mean I don't get as worked up as I used to. But they can sort of make me feel disconnected, like a supporting character in my own life or something."

"The over-prescription of Americans was the worst thing to ever happen to our society. Reliance on artificial stability. Come a certain point, you need to rely on your own regulation. Of course, they'll sell you on the superiority of the drugs that only they sell, right? That's the real tragedy. Demir, you still there?"

"Yeah, man, I'm here."

"Chemical straight jackets, Demir, neurological warfare."

"Mhm"

"They want you docile, stagnant, all of it. That's why they push this fuckin' soy based, libtard, mega-cucked bullshit agenda. 'Course there's a place for medical enhancement. I'm not anti-science, obviously. But they don't want you to hack the system. Amphetamines, steroids and shit? They don't change you fundamentally, they amplify what you already have. The next generation of humanity will be constructed, democratised. No more genetic lottery. Designer babies, purged of disabilities, only the smartest, strongest. Transhumanist, hyperreal. There's a gold rush, Cookie. We are the pioneers. That crap that they peddle? Its sole purpose is to smooth your edges, flatten you. I don't want to tell you what to do. I'm just letting you know how I see it."

"Yeah, I know. I just, like...."

"Like what?"

"I dunno man, it's just, I've been on them for so long now, it's like I'm afraid of who I am without them."

"Do you not hear how that sounds?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's bad, I know."

"Well if you know it's bad, why are you hesitant? You know I don't tell people to do things, Cookie. Why should anyone be afraid of their nature? You think I'd have got anywhere if that had been me? Yeah sure, I moped as a teen. That's what you do when you're a teenager. But when you're a man, Cookie, when you're a man, you stop moping, you stop living in fear, letting your mom and big pharma and fuckin' Reddit tell you how to feel about yourself. Ok? You there?"

"Mhm"

"So then say something, I can't see what you're thinking over the fuckin' phone."

"Ok, Jesus..."

"Stop it Demir. I didn't mean it like that."

"Ok."

"Right."

"I don't even know how to get off them, cuz from the conversation I had with him, I don't think my doctor is gonna, like, help me or anything."

"You can ask me, Demir."

"Tsk, don't be a dick."

"Always ask for what you want plainly. Don't beat around the bush.  Attitude is everything. Now, I'm gonna have to take a few days to do some research, but I'll text you a rough outline on how we're gonna taper when I've worked it out, and we can adjust it if needed when you come out to Miami, ok?"

"I don't want to put that burden on you though."

"Who would I be without weight on my back."

"I'm so tired man, I think I gotta call it a night."

"Yeah sure. Night, Cookie."