#douchebag

aight bro, u wanna join da dumbass douchebag revulution, huh? respect, bro, cuz we out here makin gainz an thinkin' less, da right way! imma show u how to turn off ur brain an get swole, bro. no need for smart stuff, just muscles an tank tops. u ready? let’s goo, bro!

step 1: stop thinkin’ so much bro – just focus on liftin

bro, smart thots slow u down. u gotta think less an just lift more. if ur thinkin, u ain't liftin! u need to clear ur head an focus on dem muscles, bro. here’s how u do it:

how to turn ur brain off, bro:

grunt a lot – bro, when u feel a thot creepin up in ur head, just grunt. grunts block out da brain stuff. erry time u grunt, u get a lil dumber but also more swole. more grunts = more gainz.

count wrong – don't worry about counting right, bro. just do like “1… 2… uh… 10!” don’t waste brain energy on numbers, bro. just lift until ur arms feel like noodles. numbers are for nerds.

stare at urself – da more u look at urself flexin, da less u think. mirrors are key, bro. flex in da mirror for 10 mins and u’ll feel da brain fog settlin in. if u ain’t thinkin, ur winnin!

step 2: eat like a dumb bro – food for less thinkin’

bro, smart people eat complicated stuff, but we ain’t needin’ dat. we gotta keep da food simple, so da brain stays off an muscles grow, bro.

simple jock meal plan:

brekfast: 10 egg whites, bro, no yellow stuff, cuz yolk is too complicated. jus crack ‘em an cook ‘em. don’t even think bout it, just eat dem. den drink a protein shake, bro, but don’t think too hard on how much powder u put in, just pour an shake.

lunch: chicken, bro, jus chicken. u don’t need nothin fancy. jus grab some chicken and eat it. da less u think bout flavors, da better. thinkin slows down da gainz.

dinnar: more chicken, or steak if u wanna switch it up. but don’t think too much, bro, steak is jus beef chicken. eat dat, maybe add some broccoli if u feel fancy, but dats it. simple = swole.

snakks: peanut butter, right out da jar, bro. don’t even use a spoon, jus scoop it wit ur hand if u gotta. drink protein shakes whenever u think too much, dat’ll stop da smart thots.

step 3: dress like a jock, bro – look dumb, lift big

bro, ur clothes gotta scream “i don’t think, i just lift.” da right gear stops ur brain from workin' an shows erryone dat ur all about da gainz.

jock bro style:

tank tops: da less shirt, da better, bro. if ur tank ain’t showin’ ur nips, it’s too much. u worked hard for dem muscles, show ‘em off. less shirt = less thots.

short shorts: u gotta show dem legz, bro. even if u don’t work legs much, u wear da short shorts. da shorter, da less brain power u use. simple math, bro.

backwards hat: wear ur hat backwards, always. makes u look more like a badass jock, plus it keeps da brain from overheatin’. dat’s science, bro, trust me.

step 4: act like a jock bro – no thinkin, just doin

bein part of da dumbass douchebag revolution means actin like u own da world, bro. don’t let smart people get in ur way, jus be loud and confident, like errywhere u go is ur gym.

how to act, bro:

flex errywhere: see a mirror? flex. don’t even think twice, just do it. flexin' is like a brain reset, it turns off any smart thots u might accidentally have.

talk bout liftin all da time: bro, if someone tryna talk bout somethin' else, jus say “yo bro, how much u bench tho?” dat’ll stop da convo from gettin smart. always bring it back to da gym, bro. liftin' is life.

grunt loud af: grunt whenever u do stuff, not just in da gym. grunt when u lift, grunt when u open a door, grunt when u stand up. it shows ur serious about bein' a jock bro an it keeps ur brain from thinkin’.

conclusion: welcome to da revolution, bro

oc stuffs,,

Sage (Sick asf keytar plyr, also a Shred-Force oc)

Gremlin (Immortal rabbit doll)

[Thank you so much to everybody who submitted requests! I have nothing close to the bandwidth to get to all of them, so this is going to be my final Be Kind Rewind post for the time being. I’ve got so many other types of stories I’m excited to work on as soon as I’m able, but I do apologize if your request wasn’t selected! Here’s a bit of a long one though, as a finale.

This is a gay-to-straight story. If you’re not into that, feel free to keep scrolling, but I bet you'll like it anyway. Read my G2S ethos here.]

You eagerly rip open your Be Kind Rewind delivery and a die falls into your hand. Oh yeah, their weird promotion thing. You toss it on the coffee table, not noticing that it lands on 5. You’re too busy pulling out the Jersey Shore tape you ordered, excited to have access to one of your favorite guilty pleasures and use it as research for a particularly manly role you’re hoping to score, which could finally break you out of being typecast as awkward and effeminate.

As you push the tape into your TV’s built-in VCR (that you could have sworn wasn’t there when you bought it), you realize it’s already at the end credits, so you hit rewind. While you wait for the tape to be ready, you decide to run your lines some more.

“Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?” you say, cringing at how utterly wrong those words sound coming out of your mouth. You sound like a nervous pre-teen at a school dance, not the overconfident douchebag that the part requires.

You clear your throat and repeat the line, trying to artificially deepen your voice when you say it.

“Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?” you say, your throat tingling as it delivers the words in a perfectly sultry, slurred bass, with a hint of a New Jersey accent. Holy shit! You nailed it!

“Hell yeah, bro!” you shout, pumping your fist, too excited to notice the uncharacteristic slang you unconsciously used. You decide to see if you can replicate the voice for the other lines on your sides, and each word comes out perfectly.

“You’re looking fly, my man,” you say, dapping up an invisible buddy. Fuck yeah, that line sounded even more perfect than the last one! The deep tones of your voice echo through the empty room. You don’t even notice as the color leaches from your pants and they grow baggy and thin. However, you can’t help but be aware of the cold sensation slithering across the back of your neck, wrapping around the front to form a tight circle that feels like a necklace chain. A golden metal knot at the end of the loop seems to be stretching the circle with its weight, pulling it down toward your shirt collar.

It never makes it to your collar. The neckline of your shirt begins to scoop lower and lower as the knot progresses downward, the crew neck becoming a V, expanding into a deep V, and eventually stretching into a drooping U that leaves your shirt loose and baggy, practically exposing your nipples. The necklace and the shirt seem to be racing toward your navel, and the shirt wins. The necklace gives up somewhere around your chest, the knot unfurling into a golden cross that rests between your slightly toned pecs. Conversely, your shirt collar goes all the way down to the bottom, splitting the fabric in two as the color fades to black and the edges sprout rows of metallic teeth, becoming a zipper.

Now, you consider yourself plenty attractive, but you still feel self conscious and exposed with your entire torso hanging out, even if you’re completely at a loss to understand how this is even happening. You link the zipper together and pull on the tab, trying to cover yourself with the strange new garment that has appeared on your body. But something stops you from zipping up too far past your belly button. You suppose you’re subconsciously afraid of getting your hand anywhere near the magical necklace that suddenly appeared on you. Sure, that must be it.

However, thinking of the necklace makes you freak out a bit, so you decide to try and take it off. When you reach up to unclasp it, your fingers thrum with energy and you feel a sudden urge to keep rehearsing your lines. Yeah… Maybe the getup will help you embrace the character.

“When you look like I do, bro, you don’t gotta fuck with dating apps,” you say. Although you were still perturbed, this line also came out perfectly. You decide to lean into whatever strange thing is happening because, even if it’s fucked up, you’re definitely getting this part. In fact, you’re even starting to move like your character. You just scratched your chest by reaching under the hem of your hoodie and exposing a strip of your abdomen in the process.

You repeat the line, hooking your thumbs under the open part of your zipper, flaunting your chest. As the last word rings out in a perfect, reverberating tone, your chest swells with pride. No, wait, it’s just plain swelling. Your toned chest becomes downright swole, like someone has taken a bicycle pump to your pecs. Six bulging abs surface from your stomach beneath them, forming neat rows while your biceps and quads inflate to twice their previous size.

Although the hoodie now clings more tightly to your expanding mass, you can still see your belly button if you look down. That’s how you notice the tribal tattoo inking its way in a curlicue pattern around your navel, licks of inking flame forming the shape of the Sun. You chuckle deeply. Thinking about the solar system, you laugh at the fact that this tattoo makes it seem like the world revolves around your abs. Hell, you think, if you had abs like that, you’d probably agree. Wait a minute… For whatever reason, you DO have abs like that. Fuck…

You walk over to the mirror, admiring your new physique. You flex, enjoying how your muscles bulge, even through your clothes. You’re flooded with a surge of confidence and you rub your crotch, thinking about how hot you look.

A deep tan color emanates from the tattoo around your belly button, engulfing your old skin tone in an orangey brown, spreading over your legs, chest, back, and even face. You give a little smirk, embracing the newfound changes. You notice that the expression is one your face has never made before. It’s contemptuous, commanding.

You’re an actor. You need to hone your craft. You try out a few more expressions that you’ve seen on sleazy guys at bars. Condescending. Seductive. Proud. Angry. Each one looks completely new on your face, yet perfect, probably because your bone structure has been quietly shifting to give you high cheekbones and a sharp jaw.

You rub your bulging muscles one more time, annoyed by how much hair covers them. You’d have to wax at least once a week if you wanted to show off this definition properly. However, as you rub, there is less and less hair rustling between your fingers. You lift up your hands to see baby-smooth patches of skin beneath where they rested. Enthused, you scrub your hands up and down your body, the hair vanishing like marker from a dry-erase board. Once, you’re done, you admire your perfectly smooth and shiny figure.

However, that hair as has to go SOMEwhere, as it turns out. Your armpits, which were feeling more and more resistance as you moved your hands, are now bristling with jet black hair. You lift up one arm and give a tentative sniff, your nose flooding with a ripe musk. You try to swipe the hair away with your hand, but it won’t budge. You shrug. Nothing a little Axe body spray won’t fix.

That thought surprises you, because you’re pretty sure you use a different type of deodorant. However, you suddenly can’t remember the brand. And the mist of Axe floating around the room certainly suggests you use it all the time. Oh well. Chalk it up as one more weird thing about this afternoon.

The hair growth as clearly also affected the top of your head. Your hair is growing out into haphazard spikes that jut from the top of your head, forming tapered cones that begin to shine as if they’ve been coated in a year’s worth of gel.

You look… ridiculous? No. Douchey? No. Fucking hot? Hell yeah, bro.

You return to your script, fiddling with your hair to give it the perfect spiky muss at the back.

“Bros before hoes, dude! You know that!” It sounds like your character really believes that line as it comes out of your mouth. And why wouldn’t he? Hoes might be a good distraction for a night of fun, but bros are for life. Your memories of dancing the night away at gay clubs begin to morph. You’re still dancing with a group of men, but now they’re all spray-tanned, juiced-up Jersey Shore rejects rather than fashionable young gays. And you’re still rocking a half-chub in your memory, but it’s from watching a female go-go dancer shaking her moneymaker on a platform, rather than you grinding up against some cute twink or other.

You groan deeply as the memory tugs against the core of your identity. You look hot now, and you’re gonna get the role, but you don’t want to lose EVERYTHING. But it’s too late. It feels like your mind is expanding, but not in a Limitless kind of way. Instead, each individual thought you have becomes much, much bigger, taking up more brain space than it used to. Your memories of ex-boyfriends, Pride parades, and anything even remotely gay begin to circle the drain of your cerebellum, washed away by just a few base urges. Partying. Playing beach volleyball. Hitting on chicks.

You grab your script again to recite a few more lines, but the words start swimming in front of your face. It’s not that you can’t read. It’s just that, suddenly, reading is the last thing in the world you want to be doing. A sudden craving for beer pops into your head. It's the biggest thought yet. It shoves almost everything else out, and you drop the paper on the ground, where it vanishes into thin air while the room around you transforms into a beachside cabana.

You emerge into the dusty sunset of the Jersey Shore, admiring a few hot babes in bikinis who wander by while you make your way to the store. You lift up your shirt to show off your abs to a few of the hottest ones.

You pick up two six-packs of beer at the store and, why the fuck not, a pack of condoms, along with some other snacks and supplies. You decide to hit up the clothing store on the way back for some new threads, because your impulses are ruling you like never before. As you head to the checkout, you spot the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. You almost drop your beer, she’s so hot. Your dick is already stiffening as you say, “Hey baby, why don’t you bring that fine ass over here?”