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413 posts
Appeal Update: I Am Tired Of Red Tape And BureaucraticCopy/Paste Replies
Appeal Update: I am Tired of Red Tape and Bureaucratic Copy/Paste Replies
Things were going great. The staff was helpful and kind. The people I spoke to were patient and understanding, wishing to assist me as I moved along with the appeal process. I was contacted by an employee named Elisabetta who asked for the pertinent information on the post in question, so that it could be forwarded to the moderators, who apparently are a branch called Tumblr Trust & Safety (didn’t know that before).
Even if the ruling came back to stand as it was, I was going to be okay with it, provided I could get a proper explanation for it.
...
Guess what I got, instead, despite my specific request when I linked said information in my reply to Elisabetta?
That’s right, folks, I won a whopping corporate email! A copy and paste standard draft to all users that has no explanation, no specifics, other than the direction to go right back to the guidelines and FAQ support post! It was going so well. I was talking to real people. I felt like I was being heard, understood, and given a chance to present my case. I even told them I wouldn’t be mad if the ruling still stood, so long as they could explain to me why.
I’m a stickler for rules. I don’t like breaking them. If I mess up, I try to do better. But I can’t be expected to do that if I don’t get an explanation for what was so wrong in the original post!
Here’s what Trust and Safety had to say:
Hello, We’ve reviewed your classification appeal. After careful review, we are unable to restore this content because it is considered adult under our Community Guidelines, located here: https://www.tumblr.com/policy/en/community. For more information about what is and isn’t adult, please see our FAQ support post or the Tumblr Help Center. Thank you, Tumblr Trust & Safety
So, yeah, I’m kinda pissed and tired. I’ve been trying to get an explanation from the very beginning, ever since it was marked adult in the first place. I’ve been patient as my ticket has run up the pipeline. I’ve been patient as they’ve reviewed and processed. And though it took a couple of days before the ticket could be picked up by the help desk, that’s perfectly understandable, given the number of users on Tumblr and the fact that we had the Coronavirus pandemic to worry about (and still do). The people I talked to leading up to the review were professional, helpful, and wanted me to feel heard.
And they did that right. I did feel heard. A little peeved once or twice, but heard, with a knowledge that they were doing their best to help me with my problem.
And I’m grateful they were willing to review the image again after the first appeal and how fast it was sent back to me. I really am.
But then, after specifically asking them to tell me what was wrong with the post, really wrong with it, in the event the ruling still stood, I got that piece of garbage up there!
I’m not a dunce. I’m not stupid. I’m a college graduate who majored in English. I can comprehend guidelines easily. What I can’t comprehend is the process and justification which the moderators used to lead to the ruling standing, because that’s not in the guidelines.
And I’ve let them know that in no uncertain terms with the reply email I just sent today. I just want someone to tell me what was wrong in the image, and how that wrong thing violated guidelines. If genitalia or breasts were showing, or a sexual act were being performed, I would understand, because that’s against the guidelines. It’s clearly stated to be against guidelines.
But I didn’t see that in my image at all. And if the piece that I think is responsible for the ruling is indeed the culprit, I’d like to hear it from the moderators directly for how it violated those guidelines. Where was the sex? Where was the nudity/exposed genitalia or breasts? Was this portion of the picture too borderline, and thus decided to be deemed adult for the sake of being safe, rather than sorry? (seriously, some decisions can really be that close, and I understand that and can respect it.)
Tell me, so I can learn and not repeat the mistake. That’s all I ask, @staff. I don’t think it’s asking too much.
Here’s hoping I can finally get that explanation in the next reply.
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More Posts from Omnitf
Credit to @fitaestheticguys for this image. I got it from his blog.
As usual, if you want to help me earn a living writing these kinds of stories/scripts (and just writing in general), please subscribe to my Patreon. For just $3 a month, you get access to unique muscle, hypnosis, and transformation stories that you won’t find anywhere else on the web. You may also find the occasional hypnosis script, and will have the right to request certain story ideas and scripts to be written and posted for your viewing pleasure.
Thank you so much for your support. Now, without further ado, the post.
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Warning: This is a hypnotic script. Be sure that you will not be driving or operating any heavy machinery when you read this. It is preferable that you do so in a relaxed environment. As I have said in previous hypno posts, I am not a professional hypnotist. You read this script at your own risk, and I am not responsible for the results. However, I assure you that, as in my other scripts, I will include prompts to wake you back up and ensure that you retain your freedom.
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Sand
Curious thing, sand, isn’t it? We never seem to really question it. It’s a fine powdery silicate that grinds between the toes and melts into glass. We enjoy its warmth on a cool day and curse its heat in the dog days of summer. And yet, it has so many uses that we always seem to take for granted. Such tiny particles. So puny. So weak. So still. But it’s always the BIG things that are made from the little things.
Take this scene for instance. You can picture it, can’t you? The surge of the waves as they wash over the shore. The sea breeze blowing over the sand to raise playful eddies or simply to brush the cheeks of the beach goers. Gulls cry and call in the air. And sometimes you can see people building wet sand into castles and sculptures. All those little things bound together, molded into a single purpose by hands that are not their own, wills that are not their own, voices that are not their own.
All made possible by the crashing, whispering, rolling waves. Rolling over the shore. Rolling and absorbing into the sand, the sand that accepts so readily, that gums and clods and clumps at the insistence of the waves. So thirsty to take more. To absorb those waves deeper and deeper. Absorbing with every crash, every whispering sigh.
Absorbing every time.
Absorbing.
Every.
Time.
Time that slows and stills with every breath. Every passing second becoming a minute, an hour, a week, a month, a year, an eternity.
Time that slips through the hourglass so freely, clumps like your thoughts under the crash of the waves. The waves of my words. The building condensation that slips through your walls like the meeting of hot and cold.
The hot sand of your thoughts with the cool, refreshing flow of my words, my waves, rushing over the hourglass. Rushing, whispering, cooling, waiting to quench your thirst. The thirst of the sand. The sand of your thoughts waiting to drink deep and absorb my words.
And though you may not hear everything, condensation still occurs. The distilling of water. The distilling of my waves, my words, my will, forming within those walls, past those barriers, deep, deep within your mind.
Forming and growing and dripping ever so slowly. Slow, like the ebb and flow of the waves. Slow, like the steady trickle of my words, the distilled words, the words that are now seeping, forming, uniting, dripping, dripping, dripping to the sand. The sifting sand of your thoughts. Your thirsty thoughts. So dry. Waiting. Wanting.
You want to hear my voice. You want to let that water in. You want to let it flow over you. You want to hear its whisper as it ebbs and flows. You want to drink deep. So thirsty. So wanting.
Drink deep.
And a droplet begins to slide.
Deeper.
Down the glass it comes. So slowly. So heavy. And yet so refreshing. So clear. So cool and wonderful.
Drink deep.
The sand waits. It wants. You want. You want to drink deep. You want to listen and drink deep.
The droplet meets its fellows. It grows larger. More compelling. So cool. So calming. The promise to relax to stop the flow and merely be. Be silent as my words slip through your brain. Be relaxed as the water flows gently, slowly.
Gently.
Slowly.
Down, down, down.
Down...
Down.......
Down...........
And ... CONTACT.
My words have reached you.
My words have touched you.
My words have absorbed into your sand, the sand that is your thoughts, the thoughts that are even now beginning to clot.
And like a tiny river, the condensation of my words, my deep, refreshing, heavy words, flow along the trail to reach the point of impact. And you absorb them. Your thoughts soak my words up like a sponge. Growing thicker. Growing heavier. Growing sluggish and thick.
So heavy. So clodded.
So very hard to move on their own. But you don’t care. Because you would have to think to care. And all you can do now, all you want to do, is drink my words.
Drink and listen.
Listen and drink.
They are one and the same.
The same as the moisture from the waves that even now is seeping into your mind, into the sand.
Time has started to slow. It is slowing the more you absorb. The more you absorb, the deeper you go. The deeper you go, the slower your thoughts become. The slower the hourglass trickles. Deeper and slower as we count down from ten. And when we finish counting down, the hourglass will stop.
Your thoughts will stop.
You will stop thinking.
And you will wait. Wait for those hands to shape your thoughts into something different, something new. My hands. My voice. Quenching your thirst. Molding, directing, sculpting you into something new.
And you want that. Because my words are your water.
And you must absorb the water.
TEN.
The words are seeping into your mind. Seeping as the moisture spreads and binds those little grains, those various thoughts, into something larger. Something that begins to cling to the glass. Not because it is scared, but because it wants more. It wants to stay.
NINE.
To stay and focus to stay and listen as my words drip and slide and spread. Spreading, like the slogging stiffness that is gradually consuming your thoughts, consuming your head.
EIGHT.
Slower and slower. Deeper and deeper. The grains are running less and less through the neck as the water continues to trickle and seep down. Deep down.
SEVEN.
Down the slope. Down the edge. Clotting. Slogging. Slowing. Stopping up the neck. Stopping the flow of thought, the flow of consciousness.
SIX.
The sieve-like nature of the sand works against you now as the water pools deeper, lower, surrounding the dry sand in a layer of wet, a layer of water, a layer of my words waiting to seep deeper and deeper.
FIVE.
To quench the thirst.
FOUR.
Wetter and wetter. Thicker and thicker.
THREE.
Binding into an heavy glob, a sodden mass that must stay. Must listen. Must be molded.
TWO.
Molded by the flow. Molded by my words .Because the sand cannot move on its own. It does not want to. It wants to absorb. It wants to be sculpted. It wants to be shaped, because it cannot move on its own. Every thought, every grain, bound into a solid mass by my words, my will, my will that is now overtaking yours, consuming yours, transforming your thoughts from so many grains to a dull dark cement that only I can move, only I can shape.
ONE.
No more flow.
No more thought.
When I reach zero, the hourglass will stop. The glass will break. And your thoughts will pour into my hands to be molded, to be shaped, to become whatever I will.
Because that is what you want. That is what you need.
Your will is my will. Your thoughts are my thoughts.
I think for you.
I choose for you.
And that is what you want. You want what I say. You do what I say. Because I shape your thoughts.
Obey.
I mold your thoughts.
Listen.
With my words.
Obey.
keeping you bound.
Listen.
Quenching the thirst.
Obey.
The thirst to LISTEN and OBEY.
Because it is time for the hourglass to stop.
ZERO.
Time to obey.
You are mine to mold and command as I see fit.
I can shape you, shape your thoughts, shape your very being.
In this state, you are mine. And you will acknowledge this now by saying so. If there are others around you, you may whisper it under your breath. I merely require acknowledgement.
And you will acknowledge.
You will comply.
You will obey.
And you will do so now.
The waves of my words, my will, shape and scatter your thoughts as I see fit.
But I am not heartless. I know that there may be some desires you bore once before I brought you to this state of emptiness, of obedience, of blissful nothingness. So, here is what we’re going to do.
I am going to plant a trigger in you, a trigger that only works for me. That trigger is: Omni says it’s time to sculpt.
You will remember this trigger. And when it is used, you will verify that you have entered trance by responding with: I am ready to be sculpted.
Repeat it.
...
Good. This trigger will remain in those who wish or consent to be molded by me of their own free will after this session is complete. Remember, the trigger is:
Omni says it’s time to sculpt.
If you desire to be molded by me in your conscious state, then when you wake from trance, you will like this post and reblog it with the comment: I am ready to be sculpted, Omni. You may then message me privately to discuss the nature of this sculpting. I reserve the right to refuse, and you will respect that right, should I choose to exercise it.
When I bring you out of trance, you will be your full former self. Your faculties will be yours, and you will be under no compulsion of any kind. Your will will be your own again. Your thoughts yours to choose and shape. You will not be bound to me in service. You will be your same self, except perhaps feeling a little better rested and relaxed, perhaps even a little happier. And in the event that you truly desire to be molded by me when you are conscious, you will feel the desire to follow the instructions I listed previously.
Now, for those who do not desire to be molded, but still sincerely enjoyed this script, you will like this submission and leave a comment.
That comment will begin with: Time has resumed.
You may then add whatever you wish in addition to it, whether it be constructive criticism or a discussion of the experience, or something, or nothing. It is up to you.
I also encourage you to reblog this script, but you are under no compulsion to do so, and may do so or not as you wish. And in the event you do choose to reblog, you are not under compulsion to follow the instructions of those who desire to be molded.
This next instruction is for all of you.
When you wake, if you sincerely desire it, and only if you really desire it of your own free will and have the financial means to support it while still living comfortably, you will scroll to the link embedded at the top of this post and subscribe to my patreon.
You will also follow my tumblr, assuming that is what you really desire.
Take the time to understand and incorporate the instructions that apply to you from the trigger to this point. Read through them again, if you must, to make sure that you remember and execute them properly. When you are certain you understand and remember what to do, you will continue to follow the script below.
...
Now then, it’s time to wake up. So, when I *SNAP!* my fingers on the count of TEN, just like that, you are going to come back to consciousness. This time, we’re counting up from zero.
ONE.
The sun is shining. The sand is beginning to harden as the heat wicks the moisture away.
TWO.
The wind is whipping at the remainder of the moisture, blowing the hot air radiating from the sun to speed the process.
THREE.
Some grains are beginning to fall away. The droplets are long since gone.
FOUR.
Thoughts unclogging. Mind beginning to think clearly again as the flow of consciousness resumes.
FIVE.
The condensation has disappeared from the glass, and the hourglass is repaired. It awaits the sand.
SIX.
The darkness is flowing away as the hardened clods break apart into glistening golden grains again.
SEVEN.
The grains are flowing back into the hourglass. The surf resumes its harmless pounding as it retreats.
EIGHT.
The sand flows easily through the neck of the glass, ensuring proper flow of thought, letting you resume where you left off before trance.
NINE.
You are almost there. On the next count, I’ll snap my fingers, and you will be fully awake and fully restored. You will follow the instructions you choose to obey of your own free will, having all autonomy restored to you with your consciousness.
Ready?
And...
TEN.
*SNAP!*
This was written by an old friend, and it is incredibly well done for characterization. Please read it, and please follow him. He has created such wonderful character and worlds.
A Prayer To Raven [CHAPTER 2]
e enCOMMANDER: Wings of Desolation, I beseech thee, keep my aim true, my men strong, with your wings watching over them and your eyes aimed at our enemies. By this offering of kin, I call you; may the blood of your fellows feed your lust and keep you at our side–
RAVEN: You dare invoke me for your pathetic slaughter? You dare misname me? You dare to kill my eyes and my wings in your world in an attempt to appease me?
COMMANDER: You’re–you’re real.
RAVEN: I am not what you call me by. Your ignorance stinks like carrion. Do not call upon me again, or you will regret it even more than you will. And do not raise your hand against another bird, or I will make the bloodiest war you can imagine look like a daydream.
COMMANDER: But–but you answered my call. You’re the god of war, aren’t you?
RAVEN: …
RAVEN: Let me tell you a story, stupid boy.
–
Once upon a time, there were no men, only gods. They lost themselves in what they thought was progress, blood-drunk on wargames until they forgot the rules, forgot that they were even games. Back then, there were gods for anything. Gods of the pebbles beneath your paws scratching against each other on the surf. Gods of the last sweet bite of apple before the winter. Gods of the tiny furry things buried into their burrows and praying the owl does not hear them.
There was a god then too. They called him Raven. He was not a powerful god, but he was not a tiny one. He was a god of the ruin and the cycle and the natural end of things being brought by any means necessary. His wings were the shadows that slept beneath the bright red maple leaves after they blanketed the ground, and his eye was the burning, setting sun on the horizon, moments before it slips below and night comes. His talons held in their grasp countless trinkets of things that were no longer.
You forgot yourselves eventually. All of you did, except for Raven, and except for Wolf. Now you feared me just as much as you loved him, for he was new life and passion and love and beauty and the feeling of being alive in a hunt, and I was the knowledge that one day you will not be the one who is hunting. And your progress means that you cannot accept that all things end. Nothing is special. Nothing is sacred. And so you lied to yourselves and told your stories of my wings as sweeping shadowy death over innocent lives, selfish as a magpie, hoarding souls and bloody hearts in my endless talons.
You were wrong. I am none of those things. I will never be anything but what I am.
–
RAVEN: Do not call upon my name again.
COMMANDER: Where…what do I do now?
RAVEN: You will go and bury what remains of your men, and then you will join them. All things end. And, here, and now, your war is lost.
Guess What I Just Found Out?
You know that picture I reblogged for Endemic Evolution Chapter 6?
The one the moderators decided to say was too adult because something in my post was deemed adult under their guidelines?
I went back to the original poster’s link for the image in question.
And guess what?
It’s still there.
It’s not flagged.
Which means that I wasn’t censored for the image.
I was censored for written content in CLEAR VIOLATION of Tumblr’s own guidelines.
Tumblr is at fault. They broke their own guidelines.
So here’s how it’s going to go down. I’m going to make a new post tomorrow morning when I won’t have to worry about whatever moderators thought they could get away with censoring my written work, which said writing is clearly covered as NOT BEING CONSIDERED PORNOGRAPHIC by their OWN GUIDELINES, using the original image by copying the link and pasting it. Then I’ll copy the text to make the new post. Finally, I will delete the original post.
Of course, I’ll credit the original poster of the image in question as the source material.
But, yeah. Tumblr or whatever moderators were responsible for this censorship, y’all screwed up big time. And if I were of a mind to and had the funds, I could drag you all to court for it to prove my case. And I’m confident I’d win.
So do me a favor, moderators. Get off my back, and trust my judgement. Or barring that, actually TALK TO ME about what violated, how, and why, instead of FREAKING STONEWALLING ME or pointing me back to guidelines that clearly don’t answer my questions sufficiently! Honestly, why else do you think I contacted the help desk in the first place?
Rant over. Victory party shall commence tomorrow morning when y’all get to read the chapter again and I breathe life once more into a series that has long been in hibernation.
Omni out!
Credit to @heavy-package for this image.
If you enjoy my work, please follow me here on tumblr and join my Patreon, so I can keep producing more of these scripts and stories full time. Just one to three dollars a month from each of you will go a long way to helping me pay expenses, so I can make more of the content you love on a regular basis.
Please, help me make this dream a reality. I really want to write full-time.
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WARNING: This is a hypnotic script designed to trigger a previous tranced state. If you wish this script to be effective, use the first induction. Then you can come back to follow my script here. Disclaimer: I am not a professional hypnotist. I take no responsibility for any potential effects this script may have on you. You read at your own risk. I design them to allow the reader to return to their original states and retain their free will, but it is up to each individual how they react to hypnosis and what prompts they may or may not choose to internalize and actualize in their day-to-day lives. DO NOT operate any heavy machinery or drive while you are in trance. That is incredibly dangerous. You have been warned.
This script is geared more toward adults. While there is no inappropriate content, I advise minors to be careful and avoid this until you’re older and more informed about hypnosis and its effects.
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Staycation (Beach Bum Fantasy Female Tanning + Male beach bro)
Well, hello again, and welcome back. I know you’ve probably been having a rough time lately. Being stuck indoors can be so boring after a while, I know. People long to go out, get some sun, take a walk, take a break.
Or maybe a vacation?
No need to fear. We all want to be able to bum around without having to worry about things like work or sickness or weather. Fortunately, you have me here to help you achieve that desire.
And you won’t even have to leave your home.
Would you like that, my friend?
Excellent. Then here’s what you need to do. I want you to find a place to sit back, relax, and just listen to my voice. Read the words as they scroll across your screen, and your eyes trace them left to right.
Left.
To right.
Left.
To right.
Back.
and forth.
Just....
like....
This....
And keep
that motion
going.
...
going....
...
going.
Just like that swell, that whorl in your brain that spreads the dizziness that even now is encroaching on you.
But you must...
keep...
reading.
Reading as the whorl ebbs and flows.
Ebbs.
And flows.
Just like...
The crashing...
foamy...
waves of the beach.
Imagine that warm sun
beating...
beating...
beating...
on your skin.
The tingle.
The pulsing.
The lulling....
Lulling...
Like the waves.
Rocking.
Crashing.
Pulling.
Seeping.
Seeping.
Seeping....
Seeping,
like my words.
Seeping...
Deeper...
And deeper....
Lower...
And lower....
Slower...
and...
slower....
...
...
...
You can almost feel it, can’t you?
...
That warm, relaxing tingle....
All over your body....
Spreading, like the gentle foam....
dragging...
pulling...
deeper and deeper...
into the sand.
The wet sand.
So relaxing...
Like a heavy
warm
blanket.
Sinking...
being....
There is no danger.
No fear.
Just pure
mindless
relaxation.
Slipping...
Seeping...
Down and down.
Down and down.
Down and down.
Ten.
The waves washing over you.
So warm.
Nine.
Absorbing my words.
As they wash.
As they dig.
into the sand.
Eight.
Wet sand.
Heavy sand.
So heavy.
Like...
your...
mind.
Seven.
You can feel it.
Molding.
Imprinting.
So...
Impressionable....
Six.
Malleable.
Five.
Sculptable.....
Needing more...
More...
More to absorb.
More to seep.
More to wash and drift away.
Drift...
Drifting...
on the eddies.
The surging sea...
My voice....
Four.
My words.
Three.
Pulling...
Leading....
Deep into the sand.
Two.
The blanket of sand.
One.
One with the sand.
The sand of your mind.
So full...
So heavy...
Waiting...
Ripe...
wanting....
You want...
My voice....
You know...
My voice....
Digging into your head....
Digging into your mind....
Digging....
Massaging....
Sculpting....
Because wet sand must be sculpted.
Wiggle those toes.
You feel it, don’t you?
So heavy....
So dull....
So dense....
Sinking into it...
Part of it....
One with it....
Absorbing every word I say.
Trickling down....
Down....
Down....
Down.....
To ZERO
...
...
...
OMNI SAYS IT’S TIME TO SCULPT.
Good. You responded well.
Your mind is mine to shape.
Mine to mold.
Mine to control.
Mind control....
Mind control....
MY control.
Now, listen closely. You remember the whorl. Remember the pull of those waves.
Think back to them again.
Think back to that sensation of water dragging over your skin and feet.
Think back to a time of hot, hot summer sun.
Feel that heat.
Feel it on your skin. Not burning, but pleasant.
Not hurtful, but perfect to get that ideal tan.
Tan like the sand.
Rich...
Golden....
On your skin.
...
You feel that sun seeping into you. And it is good. You see waves. You hear the gulls calling in time, but you do not heed them. You only heed my voice, my words, the words that are the waves seeping into your mind, into the sand, into this world that we are crafting together.
This is to be your vacation.
And a beach as gorgeous as this, so warm, so perfect and peaceful, deserves a perfect match.
A perfect match...
A perfect match....
What could match better than a muscular, toned, tanned beach bum?
That is what people do at the beach.
They bum.
They enjoy the sun’s rays. They live for the surf, the swim, the sun.
The calming lull of the waves crashing and seeping and calling, commanding.
Commanding you to change.
Commanding you to fit.
You will fit this paradise.
Feel it now. As your clothes slowly disappear.
Fading...
Fading...
Evaporating in the sun’s rays.
Because the sun is meant for the skin.
Shining on your chest, your shoulders, your face....
Warm and peaceful. Waiting to help you.
Waiting to dry you off when I finish sculpting you.
Sculpting as your shirt finishes fading away to reveal your chest. If you are a girl, you will be wearing the appropriate swimwear. Either a bikini or a one-piece suit.
If you are a man, your chest will remain bared to the world, regardless of its state. And as your pants slowly begin to fade from the waist down, your upper body begins to change.
A perfect beach requires a perfect beach bod.
Fat is melting away.
Peeled.
Chiseled.
Carved.
Until there is only the ideal shape for you.
Whether it be thin or well-built.
Your body will be fit for the beach.
All cares of the outside world will fade.
Just ... enjoying the lull of the waves. The sun on your face.
Your skin tanning.
And all the while, more and more, a voice is niggling at the back of your mind.
My voice.
My waves.
Seeping.
And they are saying something that is becoming more and more true with each passing moment.
They are saying:
You are the perfect beach bum.
Women, enjoy the sunbathing as you bask in the warmth. Lay down somewhere soft. Soft, like the sand. And enjoy. Luxuriate. After all, why should you worry? Your body is perfect. More and more perfect. The perfect beach bum.
You deserve to enjoy the warmth as the heat bakes away your worries and cares, soothing aching joints and muscles. Relaxing knots and tension.
Relax.
And enjoy as the rest of your clothing is baked away to reveal your body in its full glory. With a beautiful swim suit. The calming sea breeze carrying that familiar scent that you have longed for. Relax in it. And enjoy it. You are on your vacation. This is your special place.
And you will relax and enjoy it as I turn to address the males, ready to hear and follow the moment I add you back again.
Now, men, I speak to you.
My waves are calling the same command.
The same order.
The same truth.
You are the perfect beach bum.
Feel your bodies toning as the fat disappears to be replaced. Your skin swollen with toned muscle.
And the more exposed you become to the sun, the faster your clothing disappears, until your pants are gone.
And what remains ... is a beautiful, comfortable speedo.
And the longer you stand in that sun’s exposure, you feel an urge rising.
An urge as inexorable as the waves of the ocean. Brushing your thighs. Your calves. Your back and torso in equal measure with the sun.
You cannot stop it.
You cannot resist it.
Not forever.
And why would you want to?
For this command, this urge, is instinctual in all beach bums.
You want to strut. You want to show off.
And you will.
You will start to now.
Even just walking or shuffling will suffice.
Because the more you do it, the more your bodies will build to reflect that perfect beach bum figure.
Swelling with muscle.
Swelling with tone.
Swelling with confidence.
Swelling to fit that perfect beach bum build.
Because you are the perfect beach bum.
Flex, beach bum.
Smile, beach bum.
Good beach bum.
...
A good male beach bum is comfortable with his body.
A good male beach bum is confident.
A good male beach bum follows what is expected of him.
Expected to act like a beach bum. Talk like a beach bum. To be a beach bum in all ways.
And that means being a bro.
Because a male beach bum is a beach bro.
Their bodies do the thinking.
Their bodies do the driving.
Their bodies driven by instinct.
Driven by my voice.
Directed by my voice.
As thinking gets fuzzy.
A perpetual haze of welling testosterone fit to overflowing.
Because a perfect beach bum has a perfect beach bulge.
Growing bigger and bigger.
Swelling in the crotch as your thoughts of stress, of worry, of work, dissipate.
They are consumed. Consumed by your beach bum bulge. Filling you with strength, with pleasure, with that need to just laugh and be a good beach bum, bro.
Be a beach bum, bro.
Tan, bro.
Swole, bro.
Hung and dumb, bro....
Enthusiastic.
Happy.
A party animal.
You welcome anyone to the party with open arms.
Always with the same greeting. Always welcoming a new bro to be a beach bum, just like you.
And you greet them by saying, “Waddup, bro?”
If you are excited to see the man you know, then you can use another variation, such as, “Bro!” or, “Welcome to the party, bro!” But there will always be bro somewhere in your address.
Because you are a perfect beach bum bro.
Tell me. What are you, bro?
...
How do you greet me, bro?
...
Why can’t you stop flexing and showing off, bro?
...
That’s right, beach bum. Good bro.
And when you laugh, that beach bum bulge will drop your voice deeper and deeper. Lower and lower. Until it’s nothing more than a dull, husky chuckle.
Huhuhuh....
Husky chuckle.
Huhuhuh....
Husky ... chuckle....
Good beach bum.
Good bro.
Let me hear it one more time.
Good.
Now, we tie it all together. Because a beach bum bro like you is so happy to enjoy the sunny beach. So happy to relax in this place that I made especially for you. It’s only right for you to thank me, isn’t it?
You forgot to?
Well, that’s okay. You can do it now. Silly bro.
Just say, “Waddup, bro? Thanks for making me a perfect beach bum, bro. I love being a big dumb beach bum bro, bro.” And then you will laugh that same laugh.
Like a good dumb beach bum bro.
Because at this time, in this place, that is what you are.
Relaxed.
Dumb.
Buff.
Carefree.
With no need to worry about any stresses out of this space.
Good beach bum.
Flex, beach bum.
Show off, beach bum.
And let the sun bake you into perfect form.
Baked and hardened into this perfect male beach bum bro.
Good bro.
...
Now, I speak to all of you beach bums, both male and female. Whether you’re tanning, building sand castles, swimming, or something else, I want you to listen.
Listen to me.
Listen to my voice.
You will remain in and enjoy this state for the next half hour, unless other duties in the real world are more important and call you away.
You know what those important things are, even in this state.
And you will address those important duties as your normal self.
Then, if you wish, you may return to this world, this state, again to finish your vacation as a perfect beach bum.
You will keep track of that time. Whether you use an alarm or a wristwatch or some other means is up to you, but you will keep track.
And when the half hour expires, you will return from your vacation on the beach.
You will wake, and you will return to your original states, save for any anxiety or negative emotions and sensations you were harboring before. Those were let go of at the beach. You will have a clean slate to do with as you please. And a relaxed body and mind to go into whatever task or duty you may need to do.
If you wish to enter this state again, you need only say, “I need a vacation, Omni,” out loud, and you will return to beach bumming. This can only be performed once per day at most. You will not abuse it.
Now, before I go to let you enjoy this state, I need you to do something for me.
If you sincerely enjoyed this experience, you will like this post.
If you were tranced and want to share this with others, you will reblog this post.
When you reblog, if you are female, you will type, “I am a perfect beach bum” as a part of the post.
If you are male, you will type, “I’m a perfect beach bum, bro. Huhuhuh....” as part of your post.
If you are not following my blog already, and wish to of your own free will, then you will do so as soon as possible. If you do not have a tumblr account of your own, but still wish to follow me, you will get a tumblr account and do so, provided you are allowed to legally and have the means to do so.
Lastly, if you wish to see more of these hypnosis scripts and other content, and you can afford to do so, and sincerely wish to of your own free will without coercion or any influence induced by trance, you will pledge to my patreon.
With these orders given, it’s time for me to go.
Enjoy your vacation, my friends.
Rest assured, we will be seeing each other again soon.
Weird Religious Joke that Popped into my Head
Demon: I am Legion, for we are many!
Unknown Entity: I am religion, and we are many more.
For the briefest of moments, the fabric of the world flickers behind this entity, and with this stripping comes the revelation of god after god, pantheon after pantheon from every race and culture that has ever existed or has yet to exist. Their number is beyond counting, for with them lies their various heavenly hosts and adherents who have passed into paradise. Even those deities whose purpose is to punish stand within the throng, accompanied by their adherents and subjects, sharpening their swords or otherwise bringing their powers and glory or miasma and malevolence to bear.
Demon: *wets themself* Oh, Sh--.