Tummy tuck for seniors

I bought one on Amazon, I plan to microneedle a belly button and lower stomach scar I have from a tummy tuck (surgery was 2 years ago.) also want to target some stretch marks. I’ll microneedle my face at some point but I don’t have any specific problems with it atm, except for aging (32F)
What do I need to put on after? Is there anything I need to know? I’ve never gotten it done anywhere else before either.
Thanks!

Looking to re-home my 2003 Jeep Wrangler TJ: * Model: 2 door / 2.4L 5-Speed Manual * Mileage: 182,440 Miles * Engine replaced @ 172,100 miles - Only 10k miles! * Transmission replaced @ 182,280 miles - Brand New! * Transfer Case Master Rebuild @ 182,390 miles
Located in North Austin, Texas - right next to Navarro High School (Rundberg & Lamar)
Clean Title on Hand - Well Maintained & Runs Great!
We still drive it so expect mileage to creep up :)
Ready as a daily driver or keep building as a project Jeep: * 5.13 R&P gears & ready for 35” Tires * Tummy Tuck Skid Plate Kit ready for install
Powertrain: * G2 Front and Rear Dana 44 Axles with upgraded 4-Wheel Disc Brakes * ARB Locker with Engine Bay Mounted ARB High Output Onboard Air Compressor * Custom Tom Wood's Drive Shafts with Slip-Yoke Eliminator Kit * Transfer Case Cable Shifter Kit * Teraflex 2Low 2wd Low-Range Shift Sector Kit (Shifter Map Pictured)
Suspension: * 3" Teraflex Suspension Lift * JKS Adjustable UppeLower & Front/Rear Control Arms and Trackbars * Savvy Offroad 1.25" Body Lift Kit - Prep for Tummy Tuck & LS Swap * JKS Swaybar Link Disconnects * OME Steering Stabilizer * Bilstein 5100 Gas Shocks * Heavy Duty Tie Rod & Drag Link Kit
Exterior: * Brand New Bestop Trektop Soft Top and Door Windows * 130W 6" Hella KC Lights w/ Windshield Brackets * Rear Dropdown Tailgate * 33" Goodyear Wrangler MT/Rs w/ Kevlar Sidewall * Teraflex CB Antenna Mount w/ 4' Firestik CB Antenna & Firestik Quick Disconnect * U-Haul Class 3 Towing Hitch * 4-Pin Trailer Hitch Wiring Kit * Front Bumper Bike Rack
Interior: * High Tier Kenwood Excelon Headunit (w/ XM radio & Bluetooth) with Polk Audio and Infinity Speakers * Clean OEM Style Switches for All Accessories * Headunit I-Vault Locking Cover * Rockford Fosgate 4ch Amp Mounted Inside Dash * 80A Fused Battery Connection Under Dash - Ready for Subwoofer Amp or Auxiliary Devices * Under Dash / Hidden Subwoofer Amp Mounting Bracket * Overhead Rollbar CB Mount * 40 Mil Truck Bedlined * Ceramic UV Resistant & Waterproof Coating * Ram Mount Phone Mount * Upper Dash Tray
Extras: * Savvy Offroad Under Armor Modular Skid Plate Kit ($850) * Door Storage Wall Hanger Kit * Flat Tow Bar Kit * Cobra 29 CB Radio (New In Box - Not Pictured) * Trailer Ball Hitch * Extra OEM Front Bumper (Not Pictured) * Many OEM spare parts

Hi y’all! I’m gearing up for my surgery in August. I have a BMI of 34.
When I initially met with my surgeon, we agreed to do the tummy tuck and 360 Lipo as well as Lipo to my chin. He’d mentioned that was already a pretty long surgery (estimated 6 hours) and he doesn’t like to go above 7.
As I’ve been finalizing everything with the patient relations team, I asked them if they could check with the surgeon if I could safely add on arm Lipo and include Renuvion for both my arm and chin. They said that’s fine. But I’m doubting myself a little bit.
I’m going to make sure to hear “this is okay” from my surgeon directly as well as my cardiologist, who will be the person clearing me for surgery. (He’s my primary care physician and I go to him specifically because I have high blood pressure.)
I’d like to hear from everyone else - have you done this many surgeries together? What was your experience?

Hi y’all! I’m gearing up for my surgery in August. I have a BMI of 34.
When I initially met with my surgeon, we agreed to do the tummy tuck and 360 Lipo as well as Lipo to my chin. He’d mentioned that was already a pretty long surgery (estimated 6 hours) and he doesn’t like to go above 7.
As I’ve been finalizing everything with the patient relations team, I asked them if they could check with the surgeon if I could safely add on arm Lipo and include Renuvion for both my arm and chin. They said that’s fine. But I’m doubting myself a little bit.
I’m going to make sure to hear “this is okay” from my surgeon directly as well as my cardiologist, who will be the person clearing me for surgery. (He’s my primary care physician and I go to him specifically because I have high blood pressure.)
I’d like to hear from everyone else - have you done this many surgeries together? What was your experience?

This morning, I received a text from the only other manager in the building asking if I had my pistol in my car. Like a complete moron, I walked back to his office, only to find him with another employee who was clearly about to be fired. He stepped out and quietly asked for my help to escort the dismissed employee from the building, mentioning he was getting bad vibes and the guy had a known "attitude problem."
As we walked him to the front, the fired employee muttered something under his breath and slipped out the side door heading towards the employee parking lot. The other manager then decided it would be a swell idea to leave me alone while he went to deactivate the guy’s building access token and handed me his Glock 17, assuring me, "It's loaded and ready to go."
I quickly checked to confirm a round was chambered, tucked it into the back of my pants, and followed the guy out. He gave me a sideways look, and I tried to de-escalate the situation by saying, "Hey man, I gotta keep eyes on you until you step off the property. Company policy." He mentioned his Uber was on its way, which arrived a few minutes later. After ensuring he left, I returned the pistol to the other manager.
In a follow-up conversation, I learned that it’s pretty common for managers in our company to carry concealed weapons. This was shocking to me as I distinctly remember signing a no-weapons policy during my onboarding.
For context, I work in cybersecurity, DevSecOps, as a manager without a direct team. I'm given the title, pay, and access typical of a mid-level manager because of my subject matter expertise. My employer is a company with over 400 people. Since I’m typically the first one in and out of the office to avoid traffic, I am often the most senior person on-site in the early hours. I didn’t sign up for this, and it is definitely not in my job description.

After spotting what appears to be a UFO, a family ends up besieged in their farmhouse by what seems to be hostile aliens
Clive stared out into the absolute darkness that surrounded the farmhouse, the thick trees of the woods forming long waving black fingers. Leaning against the wooden fence, he took a deep breath of the cold night air.
“Something on your mind?” The voice of his brother only added more weight on the memories dancing through his mind. Richard was taller than Clive as he’d always been, and his tanned, sun-baked skin made him look damn near thirty years older. He gripped little Abigail’s hand in his own, the two making their way down from the dimly lit porch and onto the dirt road where Clive stood.
“Just thinking. ‘Bout the past.” Clive sighed. “How this used to be Henderson Farmhouse. I remember when we would come down here to play as kids. You threw a rock at me.” Clive ran a finger on the long, faded scar down his left cheek.
“Dad, you threw a rock at Uncle Clive?” Little six-year-old Abigail said in an awed voice.
“We were kids, and we had to entertain ourselves somehow. We didn’t have TV back then like we do now, you know.”
“It hurt like s-…a lot.” Clive caught the word in his throat, avoiding Richard’s death glare. In his brother’s eyes, cussing around Abigail was a sin tantamount to murder.
“The past is the past.” Richard cleared his throat. “Why don’t you go back in, Abigail? Go do your drawings before I put you to bed.”
“Aw. I want to hear about throwing rocks.”
“Abigail.”
“Okay, okay dad.” Abigail gave them a cheeky smile and skipped back up the path and into the old farmhouse that was now covered in a worn coat of red paint.
“It’s almost crazy how this is Fletcher Farmhouse now.” Clive said.
“Crazy?”
“That ol’ Robbie Henderson lost his mind and we got to buy this place on the cheap. We’d have run out of money if not for that. Then what would have happened to us? To Abigail?”
“It’s all God’s plan.” Richard slapped him on the shoulder.
“I saw Robbie the other day too. He was outside Mac’s Diner.”
“Still rambling about owls?”
“He managed to catch some nosy journos from out of town on his hook. Started ranting to them about the dumb birds and the farmhouse. I hope he doesn’t come looking for trouble since we took over his spot.”
“Nah. He’s terrified of this spot. Never seen him come within a few miles.”
“Good for us, at least.”
“God’s plan. Don’t come in too late.” Richard squeezed his shoulder and walked back up to the farmhouse, leaving Clive alone with his thoughts once more. He listened to the crickets chirping, the owls hooting, the wind rustling through the leaves, and he stared up at the starlit sky.
Would’ve been better with a bottle of bourbon but their mother hated that stuff. Not a drop of alcohol to be found anywhere in their home.
He took in the cold, calm night for a few minutes more and was about to head back in when a strange high-pitched drone found its way to his ears.
Confused, Clive spun his head on a swivel left and right, up and down, trying to locate the source of the sound. Just as suddenly, a bright object, surrounded by a dazzling Greek streak of light shot past overhead.
Mouth agape, Clive watched as it flew past the farmland edge and into the woods. And then – a loud thud and the sound of snapping trees.
“No goddamn way.” His legs sprung into action, carrying him to the workshed where he seized his hands round a heavy-duty flashlight. Pulling his coat tight around him, he scrambled down the dirt path and hopped the fence into the woods.
Jogging through the woods, guided only by the cone of light surrounded by pitch darkness, Clive hopped over fallen logs and stumbled on scraggly roots, yet he never thought to slow down for a second.
His heart was thudding against his ribs in sheer excitement. It was one of those UFOs, he was sure of it! He’d seen the reports on TV, read about them in magazines. He couldn’t believe his sheer luck that one just showed up on his doorstep. Now he could get a good look at the saucers and the little grey men before the cops got there to cover it all up for the government bigwigs.
As he paused for a second to catch his breath, his vision caught onto a faint green light coming from his right, cutting through the black shadows cast by the tree canopies. Clive’s lips curled into a faint smile as he hurried that way. The light grew brighter and sharper as he drew closer, and after tripping over his hundredth loose stone, he skidded to a stop near the edge of a ‘clearing’. The false clearing had been formed from the toppling of several trees, their trunks broken apart and their branches snapped asunder on the forest ground.
Sat in the middle of it all was a blinding green glow, so bright it hurt to look at. He was sure it was surrounding some sort of UFO, but even peeking through his fingers he couldn’t see a damn thing past the light.
Cursing the glaring radiance, Clive moved along the edge of the clearing, trying to get a better look from another angle. Were strange big-eyed men about to emerge from within? He could hardly control his breathing in sheer anticipation. He took a few more steps and his foot landed awkwardly on a large rock. Nearly tripping, he let out a cuss under his breath and kicked it away. The offending stone sailed through the air, fell into the green glow, and met whatever was inside with a loud metallic clang.
Clive froze, looking with squinted eyes and bated breath at what he was absolutely certain was some sort of spacecraft.
Then the light intensified in his direction, and the UFO made an unholy, deafening screech, and all of Clive’s courage and excitement drained away in a second. He turned tail and fled in the opposite direction immediately.
Running in rough approximation of the farmhouse’s direction, Clive noticed the glow only brightening, almost like a spotlight. He fought off his rising panic, barely avoiding colliding full force with tree trunks.
Suddenly, something seized onto his collar from behind. Clive screamed, whipping around and swinging his heavy flashlight like a club. The assailant released its grip immediately, and Clive followed it up with the flashlight beam to reveal nothing but a pissed-off great horned owl settling in the tree branches above, screeching menacingly at him.
“Scram!” He shouted at it before the sight of the glow had him turning and running once more.
 
Clive kept at a full sprint out of the forest, up the dirt path, and all the way into the house, nearly slamming the front door of its hinges and giving his sister Irene the fright of her life.
“Jesus, Clive, is a tiger on your ass or something?” Irene said as she tried to recover.
“You’ve been out for a while, I was just about to go out to ask what was taking you so long.” Richard said, getting up from the couch and walking over to the out-of-breath Clive as he shot a glare at Irene. “What’s wrong?”
Clive damn near collapsed into the tattered armchair closest to the door, trying to control his panting. Irene shook her head and walked off into the kitchen, while Richard stayed by his side, arms crossed.
“Hope you didn’t wake mom up, or she’ll take our heads off.” He said, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for any signs of her wrath.
“It’s…it’s…” Clive tried to speak, but his heart and breathing felt like they were spiralling completely out of control. His senses felt completely overtuned and he could probably hear every damn sound in the farmhouse.
“Do we have to wake the farmhands?” Irene came back in with a glass of water, which Clive took in his jittery hands.
“I…I saw…in the air…” He tried. Irene rolled her eyes and turned to walk away.
Scratch scratch scratch. Scratch scratch scratch scratch.
“D-do you hear that?” Clive jolted up from his seat, alarm bells sounding in his head.
“It’s from the roof, I think.” Irene said.
“It’s just an owl. They do that stuff from time to time. Abigail says it helps her sleep.” Richard chuckled to himself.
“No, no it’s not,” Clive’s eyes darted to the front door, then to the two windows in the living room, “it’s something that followed me back.”
“Clive, come on,” Richard sighed.
Scratch scratch scratch.
“Richard, trust me. I-I ran out into the woods…saw something I shouldn’t. Now it’s tailed me back here.”
“...is this about the alien stuff you’ve been reading again?” Irene pinched the bridge of her nose.
“I’m serious. It’s not an owl, whatever it is.”
Scratch scratch scratch scratch.
“Look, I’ll go out and shoo it off. You need to calm down.” Richard walked to the front door.
“No!” Clive rushed ahead of him and blocked it with his body. “Just trust me on this.”
His taller brother gripped him on his shoulder with surprising force. “Alright, that’s enough, Clive. You come out with me, and we can stop this charade of yours.”
With that, Richard yanked Clive away from the door and pulled it open with his other hand in one swift motion. He pulled Clive’s reluctant body alongside him until they were off the porch.
Scratch scratch.
Clive looked up, but the roof was engulfed in darkness and he could see nothing. Only the light from the shut windows of his mother’s upstairs bedroom provided a small bit of illumination. Richard bent down, picked up a snapped branch, and chucked it blindly into the roof.
Clive flinched when out of the darkness came the flapping wings of an owl as it flew silently away into the trees.
“See? Just an owl, now knock it off.” Richard slapped him on the back.
Clive let out a deep breath of relief. Had he been overthinking things? He glanced back into the woods, but from this distance there was no spotting the green glow.
 
Clive found himself numbly following Richard back into the farmhouse and up the stairs, sucking in deep breaths as he tried to calm down. His brother made his way to Abigail’s door and turned the knob.
Inside the colourful room filled with pink sheets and colourful foam, Abigail lay on her tummy, scribbling away on papers with her crayons.
“It’s time for bed, Abigail.”
“Aw, but I’m not done yet with my drawing.” She kicked her legs back and forth with a pouting expression.
“You can continue tomorrow, sweetheart.”
“Mom would have let me finish.” She mumbled.
“What was that?”
“I said, can I show Uncle Clive what I’ve done so far?” She rolled up into a sitting position.
“Why not show me?” Richard asked in a teasing voice.
“No, you can only see when I’m done, or you’ll call it ugly. I can only show Uncle Clive and grandma if I’m not done.”
“What about me?” Irene’s voice shouted from downstairs.
Abigail silently shook her head so hard her hair came flying round to cover the front of her face.
“Alright, you can show me the drawing. Privately.” Clive whispered the last word, getting a giggle from Abigail and an eye roll from Richard, who nonetheless turned his back to the room.
Abigail motioned for him to come closer, and so Clive lowered himself onto his knees next to her. With a mischievous smile on her face, she flipped the piece of paper she had been hiding around, and the sight caused the man to flinch immediately.
Drawn in thick and messy black and brown crayon was a simplified owl, with gigantic sunken pools of black for eyes that seemed to drip out over the eye sockets. Its ear tufts seemed to curve and stretch like devil horns.
“Do you like it?” Abigail looked directly into his eyes in anticipation.
“Why did you draw this?” He whispered back.
“It was standing at my window, watching me. It looked cute so I drew it.”
Clive followed her pointing crayon to the open window, beyond it a view of the shadowy night. There was no owl in sight, but he could just barely pick up the hooting calls in the distance.
“Just tonight?”
“Huh? Sometimes in the past few years.” She shrugged.
“Well alright, but let’s shut your windows and get ready for bed alright?” Clive waved Richard in while he got up and shut the windows tight, making sure to lock them and draw the curtains.
 
Clive found himself waiting out in the hallway, lost in thought while Richard finished getting Abigail ready for bed and tucked her in for the night. He knew the great horned owls could be dicks when it came to territory, but perhaps this was something more. After all, a great big and bright UFO had crashed into the forest. Perhaps this had driven the owls towards the farmhouse and made them act weirdly. But that still didn't explain what Abigail said.
His thoughts were dashed by Irene appearing before him with another glass of water in hand.
“Mom hasn’t taken her pills for tonight.” She said, gesturing at the door at the end of the hallway.
“She’s probably still asleep.” Clive shrugged.
“Yeah, I’m going to have to wake her up.” Irene’s expression turned grim.
“Oh boy.” He gulped. “I’ll be downstairs then. Under a table.”
“Jerk.”
Clive couldn’t wipe the grin off his face as he walked to the stairs. He was two steps down when Irene screamed, followed by the sound of shattering glass. He spun around and ran right into his mother’s room, where a terrified Irene met him.
Clive felt his blood freeze in his veins at the sight of his mother. She was sat in her favourite old armchair, unmoving. Long deep claw marks shredded her face into a gory mess, blood pouring down from her wounds and soaking her clothes through in a dark red. He couldn’t move, rooted to the spot until Richard stormed in behind him.
“Mom! No!” He let out a ragged howl and rushed towards her lifeless corpse. Clive felt energy surge through his limbs again and he rushed to the open window. Mom never left the window open at night, one of her superstitions. They weren’t forced open, the lock wasn’t broken. Someone had pulled them open from the outside and gotten in. He looked around, and his eyes caught onto a grey feather on the windowsill. He reached out for it, but a gust of wind rushed in and then out, sweeping it away from his outstretched fingers and into the darkness.
“Irene! Go drive and get the cops!” Richard snatched his car keys from his pocket and chucked them at her. Irene stood trembling on the spot, the keys hitting her on the arm and dropping to the floor. Then she took a deep breath, nodded, and fumbled for the keys on the rug before rushing out.
“She’s dead. Someone killed her. I swear to God, if I catch the bastard…”
“Richard, someone opened the window from the outside.”
“Abigail!” He shot up to his feet.
“I locked her window, don’t worry.” Clive said. Down below, he heard the front door open and saw Irene’s silhouette run into the darkness at a frantic pace. He eyes traced where the dirt path led down to the old road before latching on to the cone of light that flickered on in Irene’s grip.
About halfway down to the car, she screamed.
“Irene?!” Clive called out. Richard rushed over to the window beside him.
The flashlight beam began to wildly trash as she continued screaming at the top of her lungs. The light cut through the darkness erratically, allowing the two of them brief glimpses of dozens of feathered wings and outstretched talons.
“No fucking way.” Richard turned and rushed out of the room, Clive following close behind. He slammed his own door open and pulled a shotgun from his wardrobe. Clive got into his own room and snatched his hunting rifle from the wall rack. As they met in the hallway, little Abigail poked her head out from her door.
“Dad? What’s that screaming? I-I’m scared…”
“Stay in your room, sweetheart.”
“But…”
“Now!” Richard yelled, his voice echoing through the home. He rushed down the stairs two at a time, Clive close behind. The older brother fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the front door, leaving his keys in the lock as he swung open the door and stormed out on the porch. Under the dim porch light, Richard began to yell at the site of the attack. Irene’s screams had turned to agonised moans, the flashlight now slowly rolling on the ground and casting the greyish dull shadows of flapping wings onto the farmhouse walls.
Clive took aim at the rough location and fired a shot, the loud crack of gunfire sending a few owls scattering. Richard stepped out from the porch and began hurrying into the darkness with the shotgun in hand.
“Uncle Clive, what’s happening?” Abigail’s shaky voice came from beside him. Clive looked down, seeing his niece with a plush hugged tightly to her chest, tears brimming in her eyes.
“Abigail, go back inside, please.”
Suddenly, Richard began yelling in panic too. His shotgun fired into the air with a loud blast. The brief flash of light momentarily revealed two owls raking their talons against his eyes.
“Is dad being attacked? Dad?” She charged out past his legs onto the porch.
“Abigail, no!”
Clive reached out to grab at her, but she slipped free from him. The thuds of something landing on the porch roof seized his attention for the moment.
“Abigail, it’s not safe. There’s something on the-” He hadn’t finished when sharp talons reached in from the overhang and crushed the porch light, plunging them into darkness.
“Abigail!” He fumbled in her direction, barely able to see her silhouette from the living room light. Another shotgun blast from Richard. And then something swooped down from the porch roof and seized the young girl by the hair.
She let out a cry of terror as it yanked violently at her. Clive raised his gun and shot above her head, causing the bird to let go and fly up out of sight. Hisses and high-pitched shrieks rang out in unison from the porch roof, and Clive raised his gun and fired a shot through the roof. He couldn’t hear them flap their wings, but the screeches faded into the distance.
Clive stepped out the porch and gripped Abigail tightly by the arm. She whimpered as he pulled her back in towards the porch. Sharp claws then dug into his forehead and drew a yell of pain from him. He batted at the assailant with his rifle, causing it to release its grip.
“Get back!” He demanded into the shadowy night before firing a shot overhead.
Thudding footsteps drew closer, and Richard emerged from the darkness, face soaked in blood. He grabbed both Abigail and Clive and practically shoved them up the porch and into the house. He slammed the front door shut and turned his keys in the lock.
The house was silent save for their frantic breathing.
An owl slammed into the door, clawing at the wood. Richard took a step back and fired his shotgun, punching a splinter-lined hole through the door and sending the bird of prey fleeing.
Clive’s ears were ringing from the deafening gunshot, but he got up to his feet and looked around. An owl emerged silently from the darkness and began to grip at one of the handles of the window. Clive yelled out and fired his rifle, punching through the glass and chasing the owl away. He rubbed his ears, desperately trying to get his hearing back.
He could hear rustling from the next room. He rushed into the kitchen. Two owls pounded at a half-open window. They hissed at him. He responded with a shot from his rifle, sending them flapping quietly into the night. Clive ran over and slammed the windows shut, locking them.
His mom’s windows!
Clive rushed up the stairs, nearly tripping several times. More gunfire rang out from below him. He kicked the door open and rushed in past his mother’s bloodied body. A horned owl sat on the open windowsill, staring deeply at him.
He raised his gun without hesitation.
The owl’s beak stretched open, further than he thought possible. It let out an unholy scream, one he swore was more human than owl. Its eyes seemed to fall away into deep dark voids.
He pulled the trigger, and the owl leapt from the window in a flash. He rushed over and pulled them closed.
“What the fuck was that?” He mumbled to himself.
After checking every room, he descended the steps once more to the living room, where he found Richard hurriedly reloading his shotgun, blood dripping onto the coffee table. Abigail sat curled up and trembling on the couch, hugging her toy rabbit.
“They’re coming for the windows. You can’t hear them flying or see them until they’re right there.” Richard was yelling above his own ringing ears.
“I’ve locked the ones upstairs. They’re pulling them open otherwise.”
“Owls can’t do that.” Richard stared at him, but Clive could tell from his look that he was doubting himself.
“They’re not owls. I saw one of them on mom’s windows. They’re…” He took a deep breath, “they’re aliens.”
“Clive.”
“That one was screaming. They’re aliens wrapped up in a feathery suit or some shit like that.” Clive looked around, peeking into the other rooms as he talked. Not a sign of a bird. “We could have chased them off.”
“But we’re trapped. We can’t go outside. Bastards have perfect night vision. We’re sitting ducks out there.” Richard pulled a handkerchief out and wiped the blood from his face. Deep gashes from the cruel talons lined his forehead and eyebrows. One sliced halfway through his right eyelid. “We have to stay here and wait for day.”
“But Irene…”
“Irene’s dead.” Richard sighed, stopping his reload for a moment, “and if she isn’t then there’s nothing we can do for her.”
“You were the one who sent her out there.” Clive gripped his rifle until his knuckles went white.
“And you were the one who said something followed you back here!” Richard snapped back, pounding a fist on the table.
“Stop it!” Abigail yelled, standing up on the sofa and tossing her plush toy at Clive, who hurriedly caught it in one hand. “Stop fighting!”
Richard and Clive stared at each other, then at her guiltily. Richard resumed his reloading.
“Sorry, Abigail.” Clive said, tossing the toy back to her.
“Yeah, sorry. Clive, I’m not risking Abigail’s life going out there.”
“We should have gotten that landline installed.”
“Yeah well, maybe if they weren’t attempting daylight robbery with those prices.” Richard sighed.
Clive put a hand on his belt and felt nothing. He quickly looked down, finding nothing attached to his belt clip.
“My keys!”
“Your keys?”
“They must have fallen out on the porch in the chaos.” He walked over to the front door and peeked through the shotgun hole. It was too dark on the porch to see anything.
“Forget it, it’s not worth the risk,” Richard said, “get back from the door.”
“I could grab it in one second.” Clive said. He leaned in closer, trying to spot it, but his own head was blocking any light filtering through the hole.
He saw the shadow just a split second before the owl pressed itself against the door and jammed its talons through the opening at Clive’s eyeball. He fell back on his ass just in time, feeling the claws nick at his eyelashes. He pulled the trigger and blasted another hole through the wood. The lack of a thud told him he had missed again. Richard grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back to the centre of the living room.
“Don’t go near the doors and windows. You too, Abigail. Just sit here and wait, okay?” She nodded.
“If you see them come near, then-” Clive saw the brief flutter of wings at the second living room window midway through Richard’s line. Richard immediately raised his shotgun and fired, shattering the window and sending it off.
“Then do that.” He finished.
“You’re going to have to sit here and watch this the whole time then.” Clive raised an eyebrow.
“Help me get the dining table, we’ll block this off.”
 
Clive had just finished his dozenth patrol of the upper floor. He made his way back to the living room, where Richard was sitting on the couch, one arm around Abigail and the other around his shotgun.
He couldn’t understand how Richard could sit and wait, when the owl-things could return at any moment. They had in fact tried a few times when Clive had accidentally gotten a little too close to a window, but they fled unscathed when met with a rifle round.
“Nothing this time.” He said. Richard nodded, running his fingers through an exhausted Abigail’s hair.
“We just have to wait five more hours.” Clive said. Did they even have enough ammo for that?
“We’ll make it as long as we stay here. One step into darkness and it could be over with those cursed owls.”
Clive grinded his teeth together as he sat down in the armchair, stretching his legs. Beyond the window to his right, he could hear loud hooting echoing through the air. Then some more, and then more, until it was an entire boisterous choir of owls sounding out in the dark.
“Where are they?” Richard sat up straight. Clive kept an ear out.
“Southwest of the house?”
“Could we take a shot?”
Clive got to his feet, manoeuvring around to the right window in the kitchen, making sure to stay several feet from the glass. He squinted, but he could just barely make out the shapes in the pale starlight. Several dozen owls had gathered, seemingly balanced on thin air before it clicked in Clive’s head.
“They’re all bunched up on the power lines.”
“What for?” Richard asked from the living room.
“I don’t know.” He kept an eye on them, aiming his rifle into the group, trying to line up a silhouette. “I think I can take a shot.”
“Careful.”
He took a deep breath and pressed his finger against the trigger.
A blinding light, almost like the Sun, burnt itself into his vision. He cried out, covering his eyes. It was followed immediately by a loud snapping noise, like the cracking of a whip, and the house plunged into abyssal darkness.
“Oh fuck.” He heard Richard say.
Clive rushed over to the living room, stumbling over a corner. Afterimages swam in the darkness of his vision. All around, he heard the sounds of the owl-things landing on the roof of the house.
“Richard.” He whispered, sticking one free hand out to fumble about. He felt his hand close around Richard’s own and he pulled them together.
“Dad?” Abigail’s voice came from beside them.
“Shh, just stay quiet, sweetheart. Clive, hide now.”
“Hide where? They can see us in the dark.”
“Abigail’s room.” The three of them blindly stumbled around, slowly making their way to the steps and climbing up, trying to make as little sound as possible. The soft hooting from the owls outside surrounded the entire house.
Clive heard the jingling of keys from the porch. He held his breath and stopped moving. Richard nudged him onwards.
The sound of the key sliding into the lock. The click of turning locks. And then the slow squeak of the doorknob being turned. The door being pushed open.
That wasn’t possible. The owls couldn’t have done that. They have no fingers, for God’s sake!
All three of them nearly fell when they reached the top of the stairs and tried to take another step up. Clive tried to breathe as softly as possible. He heard the light taps of talons on the wooden floor of the living room.
He reached a hand out, blindly fumbling on the wall before gripping on to Abigail’s doorknob. He wanted to pull the flashlight out, but that could be suicide.
Once inside, he shut the door.
“Abigail, go under the bed with Uncle Clive.”
“No, dad. I wanna stay with you.” She whispered.
“Richard…”
“Shh. Do as I say.” Clive heard Richard grab something from Abigail’s nightstand. “When you hear the signal, get out however you can and towards your car. You still have your car keys?”
Clive reached into his breast pocket, feeling the familiar metal in his hand. “Yeah.”
“I’ll meet you there. Take care of Abigail.”
“Richard, it’s too dangerous.”
“Just do as I say!” He said in a hushed angry tone. “Be good, sweetheart, and be quiet.”
“Dad, no…”
Clive heard Richard kiss Abigail on the forehead, and then open the bedroom door and tiptoe out. Clive quietly shut it behind him. He grabbed Abigail’s blanket off the bed.
“Abigail, get under the bed.” The young girl wordlessly obeyed, and Clive lay down and dragged himself under the bed, pressing up against Abigail. He pulled the blanket in with them and used it to block as much as he could of them from sight.
“Be very quiet.” He whispered. The two lay chest-down under there. Clive tried to listen, but he couldn’t hear anything. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but the blanket blocked any view from them to the rest of the room.
The doorknob to Abigail’s room turned slowly.
Clive tried to control his breathing. Every time he inhaled, he felt his back dig into the wooden bedframe above. He broke out into a cold sweat and it all seemed to start pooling around his face. He could barely move a limb. He was squeezing Abigail’s hand, trying to keep her quiet.
The door creaked open. Tiny footsteps entered past the doorframe. Then silence. And then he felt something, no, somethings, land on the bed. They were so perfectly silent when they flew. Clive wondered how many of them were in the room. He tried to lift his head a little, but it immediately ground up against the bedframe.
The owls on the bed started ripping up the mattress. They made quiet hisses as each talon tore through the cloth with a ripping noise.
Clive heard one owl land at the bedside. It walked in and pecked at the bedsheet. He held his breath and he felt Abigail press her face into his arm to hide her noises too.
He stared at the blanket. The pecking stopped. And then the owl gripped onto the blanket and crumpled it with a fist. Clive felt his heart beating, his lungs burning, begging for air, but he refused to breathe.
RIIIIINGGG!!!!
It took all of Clive’s effort not to let out a scream as the shrill racket of Abigail’s alarm clock echoed through the house from his mom’s room down the hallway. The owl-thing unclenched the blanket and seemingly took flight, as did all the others on the bed.
That must’ve been the signal Richard meant. Taking a needy deep breath of air, he kicked the blanket out and slithered his way out from under the bed, pulling Abigail along. He thought for a split second and hefted his young niece into his arms as he hurried down the steps, hoping the loud noise would hide his own footfalls. He couldn’t afford to sneak; they could spot him with a glance.
Clive reached the bottom of the steps, rushed through the living room, and out onto the porch, stabilising himself on the railings. His fingers ran against deep gashes cut into them by talons.
Finally, he was on the dirt road, where he broke into a full sprint. Irene’s flashlight was gone, and he hoped he didn’t trip over her corpse. He ran and ran, shoes pounding against the dirt while his heart threatened to break out of his ribcage. Then he slammed into the metal frame of his car, falling over and dropping Abigail.
His fingers nearly fumbled his car key as he unlocked the old worn Mercedes.
“What about dad?”
“Get in first, Abigail.” He grabbed onto her and roughly shoved her in before plugging the key into the ignition and roaring the car to life.
Clive leaned back out of the car, trying to spot his brother. He heard heavy footfalls and angered screeches, and Richard came barreling out of the darkness. His face looked like someone had taken a knife to it, and he jumped straight into the driver’s seat.
“Get in, now!” He barked. Clive pulled the back door open, when he suddenly felt sharp blades impale into the back of his neck. He cried out, smacking the owl away. The bird then lashed out, clawing at his face. He felt its talons skewer one of his eyes, blurring his vision immediately as he screamed and battered at it with his fists. It stumbled onto the roof of the car.
The owl extended its wings and screamed. Its ear tufts sharpened into horns, and its wings seemed to end in massive misshapen fingers. Clive’s hands moved without him even thinking, and he fired point blank at the bird-thing. It fell from the car and landed beside him. Sparks began to shoot from some invisible device tucked round its ‘waist’. Clive watched, stunned, as its form began to shift. Eyes seemed to erupt from beneath its feathery skin, then pop into non-existence. Its wings were melting between natural and horrific mockery appendages. Its face fell away into black void and from within, it vomited out oily feathers in the dozens.
“Clive!” Richard screamed. Suddenly, more claws raked at him and pounded onto the car, and Clive heard the spinning of tires as his car pulled away down the road without him. He saw the silhouettes chasing after it, but all the while they tore chunks of flesh out of him and peeled his skin off.
Clive was screaming as he ran, plunging into the dark woods. He ran and ran, feeling the owls shredding him as he did. He flung himself through thorny foliage, weaved hard through the trees to lose them. Warm blood poured from his arms and neck. He felt himself getting colder and number, but he pushed on. The brutal talons seemed to let up in the tricky terrain, and Clive found himself free from them, though his wounds howled in agony.
He didn’t care. He ran and ran and ran, stumbling through the darkness, feeling the branches cut into him.
The green glow. He could see the green glow again, pulsing faintly now. He scrambled towards it, sometimes tripping and clambering on all fours. Closer and closer until-
He burst into the false clearing. The pale green glow barely hid the bizarre metallic craft before his eyes. It was vaguely spherical, with all sorts of bits and bobs of mechanical parts on it that he couldn’t describe. Yet two antennae of sorts formed into makeshift ear tufts on the top of the craft.
Clive could hardly breathe. He fell to his knees, feeling strength leaking out of his limbs with all his hot blood. He slumped against a tree, taking in the sight. He could barely see, barely move anymore.
There was hooting around him, the calls of the inexorable birds. Slowly he looked up.
Thousands of owls stared down at him, unmoving. The once-starlit sky only held their unforgiving gaze.
   
Author's note: IceOriental123 here! Hope you enjoyed this story!
It was inspired by the Kelly Hopkinsville Encounter, where a family was allegedly besieged by aliens in their farmhouse. Skeptics think they were actually dealing with hostile great horned owls, so, inspired, I meshed this with a previous idea I had of all owls actually being aliens, and created this!
You can check out my other stories in my subreddit at this link.
The subreddit's still WIP but the story list in the link is updated.
Thanks for reading!

The four of us arrive at the fairgrounds via portal-a-potty from the Veil. The carnival is dark and quiet. All the string lights are off and the toy-filled game booths locked shut. The sky is clouded over, hiding the stars. To the East, it’s turning from black to deep blue and purple, the sun is probably moments away from peeking over the horizon.
Dumah holds the latrine door for me, my dirt-based magic copy, and Meredith in Mr. Gin’s body. He doesn’t say a word, and even though he has no face --just a slightly yellowing skull-- he gives off this heavy sadness that I can’t quite put into words. Meredith places a hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t acknowledge it.
We walk in silence through the carnival. Occasionally I spot movement out of the corner of my eye. It’s other people. They pass us without noticing. A heavy-set man in suspenders and big, rubber boots, his arms gripping an awkward-looking box with labels I can’t read. With him are a thin man with a funny, little hat that doesn’t sit right on his head and two ladies in sequined leotards, each holding a cup of steaming liquid I assume is coffee. Adults love their coffee.
Eventually, we reach Madame Gwendolyn’s trailer. There’s a light on inside and the door is shut against the chilly night air. The poster of Felix and Joey has been torn off but the tape remains, each still dutifully holding one of the four corner pieces.
Dumah brushes past us, moving to the front, then turns to look down at me with his empty sockets.
“You can speak.”
I feel the weight lift from inside my throat. Other Lily gives a clearing cough. Meredith practices like she forgot how talking works, making little “me me me me” sounds. She nods Mr. Gin’s head in acknowledgment that her voice is back. This causes it to fall off his neck with a gross, peeling sound and land in the grass with a thump.
“Oh!” she says with a hint of embarrassment. She pivots Mr. Gin’s headless body toward the ground and starts feeling around in the grass while whatever section of her is still inside his head maneuvers his eyes in their sockets to watch. I try to imagine what it must be like to try to control your hands to find your own head when you’re watching from an entirely different angle.
Dumah also watches Meredith blindly groping the ground. “I need to stitch the head back on that body.”
“Yes, please!” says Meredith as Mr. Gin’s hands finally find his face. Watching her ghost move Mr. Gin’s mouth and make it talk gets me thinking... how is she doing that? There’s things called vocal cords that are in a person’s neck that need to be connected in order to make mouth sounds, and I’m pretty sure Mr. Gin’s vocal cords got shredded like parmesan cheese on a delicious pile of spaghetti.
Damn, I’m hungry.
Meredith stands up and holds still while Dumah does his hand magic and welds the head back onto the unappetizing, bloody stump at the top of the neck. When he’s done, you can see that the flesh didn’t go back together quite right, not after two times getting ripped apart, and there’s a funny ring of jagged lumps right above Mr. Gin’s collar bone.
“Did it hurt?” I ask Meredith as she feels the results with his fingers.
“I can’t feel anything.”
“You’re lucky,” I tell her. I remember how badly it hurt when Samael had that thing mend my tummy stab wound. “I got patched up by a lady in black called a flesh-stitcher. It felt like I was burning alive.”
“The Draugr,” Dumah says sadly, “I taught them everything they know. They were meant to be caregivers, but Samael--” his voice cracks at his brother’s name, “--he took them and tossed them in the Pit. Twisted them to cooperate with those ghastly demons, sewing souls into bags of their own flesh and such. I... I never understood the rationale behind it.”
Meredith swallows loudly. “Yeah, that doesn’t sound like fun.”
Dumah seems oblivious to Meredith’s discomfort. He stares into the distance as the first glimmer of sunlight breaches the horizon. His voice becomes a whisper. “It’s not the worst treatment. There’s a certain chamber in one of the lower levels of the Pit that Belphegor has dedicated to boiling feces.” He snaps out of his trance and puts a bony hand on dirt Lily’s head. She looks at me in annoyed confusion. I shrug at her.
“We should get going,” I remind him, mainly trying to save us from any more grisly descriptions of how the Pit works.
Dumah opens the trailer door without knocking and ushers us into the main cabin.
Inside we find Madame Wendy and Mr. Dutch. Madame Wendy sits in a rocking chair, wrapped from head to toe in a big, checkered blanket. She looks like she’s aged another twenty years. Her eyes are closed and she’s snoring, with a bit of drool running down her chin. Mr. Dutch is pacing back and forth in a long coat like cowboys wear in cowboy movies. He’s fidgeting with something underneath it, and when he turns at our arrival, I see it’s one of those shoulder-strapped gun holsters.
“Holy shit!” Mr. Dutch says in a loud, whispered voice, “It’s you! You’re back! In the--” His voice goes up an octave as he looks at Dumah’s bony, Skeletor face. “--flesh. You came back.” He sees me and dirt Lily and his hands start to tremble, reflexively reaching for the gun tucked in his armpit. “You caught him? Samuel?”
“Samael is dead,” says Dumah. There’s grief in his voice that I’ve never heard before, not even moments ago when he was talking about his flesh-stitchers getting used for bad stuff.
Mr. Dutch’s big, hairy brow furrows as he looks at me and my dirt golem. “But there’s two of her again.”
“Yes, that’s part of why we’re here,” Dumah tells him. He turns to acknowledge the two of us standing beside him. “We’re going to get rid of one of them.”
Madame Wendy gives a loud snort that startles all of us except Dumah, but then she mumbles something groggily and continues snoring.
Mr. Dutch pets her head gently. “I gave her a sedative.”
“If you please,” Dumah says, extending his hand out to the man, “relinquish your firearm to our friend here.” He gestures to Meredith and lets his words sink in for a moment. “Before we arrived, we contacted a law enforcement associate of Miss Madwhip who is right now on his way.” His empty sockets burn in dirt Lily’s direction. “We need to give him a show, to tie up all the loose ends.”
Mr. Dutch pulls the gun out of its holster. His hand trembles as he turns it over to Meredith, who plucks it from him and holds it like it’s going to bite her.
“Now, Francis Rutherford Dutch,” Dumah looms over the man in an unthreatening way, “you once offered us your help. To what ends are you willing to go?”
“Any,” the grown man responds, cringing away from Dumah’s towering form. “Whatever you need from me. I will serve you.”
“Even if it means setting aside all earthly possessions and committing yourself, body and soul, to protecting this child?” He waves a hand at me and smacks me in the face by accident since I’m right there and this trailer is cramped with six of us in it.
Mr. Dutch hesitates. I don’t think he was prepared for the question. “What do you mean?”
“We failed, Mr. Dutch,” the angel of death says grimly, “Samael is gone but his machinations have grown fruit. Even as we stand here, unspeakable horrors that haven’t seen the light of day in millennia are loose upon this world. Every nightmare ever imagined. The universe as you knew it is gone.”
“W-w-what?” Mr. Dutch clutches his chest, digging his fingers into the fabric of his shirt. The poor man is either having a heart attack or an alien is about to burst out of his chest. Of course, the way things are now, both seem completely possible. I don’t say this though because he seems to be steadying himself with his other hand and maybe it’s not a heart attack after all, in which case I don’t want to give him one by suggesting that an alien could pop out of him for realsies.
Dumah swats me accidentally with his hand again, right across my eyes.
“Shit!” I hiss.
“Lillian must be protected. From all harm. She is needed in order to send the dream fey back. Without her, well--” he places his phalanges on my noggin like he did to my dirt golem earlier. I feel him tussling my hair. It doesn’t change the soreness in my face from being slapped twice. “--it will be a lot more difficult.”
I can see the gears turning in Mr. Dutch’s meatball. After a minute of awkward silence, he slowly kneels down in front of Dumah, bowing his head. “I-- yes, I accept this responsibility.”
Dawn’s first rays come through the curtains like a spotlight in the middle of a three-ring circus. Particles of dust dance like fairy lights around Mr. Dutch. Only Madame Wendy’s phlegm-caked snoring breaks the mood.
“Then rise, Sir Francis,” Dumah tells the kneeling man, “and prepare yourself for the journey ahead. Pack light.”
“Think Highway to Heaven,” I add, rubbing my nose, “or The Incredible Hulk.”
Mr. Dutch gives me a puzzled look as he stands back up. I don’t think he watches a lot of TV. He leans down and presses his lips gently on Madame Wendy’s sleeping forehead, then without another word, brushes past us toward the door and outside.
After he’s gone, Dumah takes the rocking chair with the sleeping fortune-teller curled up in it and scoots it around so she’s facing the wall. I don’t know what Mr. Dutch gave her but it’s certainly doing its job. The angel of death and silence turns to me and my dirt counterpart.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks both of me.
I clench my jaw “I don’t wanna go back to the foster center.” I look at dirt Lily. She seems distant, not really there. I can’t blame her. Maybe her whole life is flashing before her eyes. My eyes. Could she live a good life if we let her? “Do you?”
She finally feels my stare and glances at me. There’s something glistening in the corner of her eye, but she says nothing, just nods. Then she realizes what she just did and quickly stutters, “I mean no. I don’t either.”
“So be it.” Dumah turns his attention to Meredith who has gone from pinching the gun by its handle between thumb and forefinger to turning it over and over in his hand like some sort of puzzle box. “Meredith, once this is done, I will take you home.”
“Home?” she scrunches up Gin’s forehead. “I’m not staying with Lily and Mr. Dutch?” the realization of what this means suddenly dawns on her and panic fills the eyes her ghost is hiding behind. “No! I don’t want to go! I don’t want to be dead!”
“You’re already dead, child. I’m sorry. Remember that your family is waiting to be with you again, on the fields of light.”
Meredith drops the gun to the floor. “But this is my family!” She tramps Gin’s body over and wraps his arms around me tightly. I can feel him shaking. “I want to be here! I want to be here with you!”
I squeeze Meredith, trying to ignore the fact that I’m actually hugging Mr. Gin who earlier tried to murder me and in fact stabbed what he thought was me with a knife and made that version of me bleed out. No, this isn't him. This is Meredith. This is her in my arms. These are her arms around me. This is her body, wracked with sobs, hugging me close.
“You are with me,” I tell her. “You always will be.”
I feel added pressure to the side. My dirt golem has joined the hug. She stares at me, emotionless. I don’t say anything but she has successfully made this moment even more awkward. Kudos, me.
Meredith finally straightens up and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. Snot runs out of her nose. “Always,” she whispers, looking down at the two of me, “thank you for being my friend.”
My mouth twitches in one of those half smiles for just a second. “Thank you for being mine.”
When we finally step back out of Madame Wendy’s trailer, the fairground is alive and bustling. No customers yet, just the carnival people getting everything set up for another day and night of festivities. The dew that collected on the field overnight has turned to mist and coils around everything like Dumah’s black fog only white. Speaking of which, I wonder what happened with the police being called in regard to Dumah nearly ripping a man’s tongue out of his head, or the disappearance of Felix Clay and Mr. Gin. Then I realize I don’t even know what day it is or how much time has passed. Are they missing me at the foster center? Is there one of those police APB things out on me?
Dumah takes each of us aside privately. First, he talks to Meredith. I don’t know what he tells her, and I can’t read it on the face of dead Mr. Gin. She spends most of the conversation looking at Felix’s gun that was handed back to her, but at one point she looks up at me. She can’t seem to hold eye contact though, and quickly looks down again.
When it’s Dirt Lily’s turn, she spends the conversation with her arms crossed and a frown on her face. I know what she’s thinking: that it’s not fair that she has to die. But really, she should be grateful that she got to live to begin with. I know from her perspective she’s always been alive, just as from my perspective I’ve always been the living one. I can’t imagine being told that I was only brought to life hours ago and everything I remember is someone else’s memories.
Then comes my turn.
“Lily,” says Dumah as we walk behind Madame Wendy’s trailer, “I... I’m sorry.”
“Okay.”
“We pride ourselves on being so above everything, without fear. But we’re not above it. And we’re not without fear.”
“This is a terrible pep talk.”
“I’ll leave the pep talk to Paschar. I can only ruminate on the facts. The fact is, there are things in the Veil that were locked away because even in dreams they posed a danger. Now, they are here. They could be watching us as I say this.”
I look around, but we’re alone. Off in the distance, I can just make out Dirt Lily busying herself with the claw machine. She doesn’t have any quarters, so I can only imagine what she’s doing. Probably what I would be doing: pursing her lips and fidgeting with the machine’s joystick.
Dumah continues. “If I could, I would have marked Mr. Dutch as my totem bearer. Then, I could help you even from beyond the Veil. But the risk is too great, and the totem system is flawed.”
Don’t I know it.
“You find them.” Dumah points at me, then at himself. “I will reap them. I will tear this new flesh off them and scatter their essences across the void like ashes.”
“What about her?” I nod in my dirt golem’s direction. “Will it hurt when--”
“No. You won’t feel a thing.”
That’s the most I get in the way of comfort from our conversation.
It’s another half hour before Detective Guthrie finally arrives. Or maybe it’s ten minutes. I’m a real bad judge of time after so much of it spent in the Veil.
I don’t notice him at first; he’s just another shadow of a person in the fog. But I quickly realize it’s him when I notice how cautious he is in his approach. Other, regular folk, just walk by with barely a glance in my golem’s direction. But not Guthrie. His right arm is outstretched away from his body and he’s got his standard issue police pistol in his hand. Silently, he approaches the little girl fumbling with the claw machine, unaware that another set of eyes watches him from nearby in the cab of a rusty, beat-up pickup truck. My eyes. Well, mine and Mr. Dutch.
“Are you scared?” asks Mr. Dutch.
I watch the tall shadow of Detective Guthrie. “Yes. But I’m also tired of being scared all the time.”
“At least you know there’s something more.” My new guardian tries his best to give me comfort. He’s going to have a lot to learn, and it’s going to be me that has to teach it all to him. “My biggest fear has always been that when I die, there’d be nothing. You know? That’s it. End of story. But you, and this... all of this... it’s given me something I never realized I’d lost: hope.”
Off in the distance, dirt Lily turns. Guthrie must have called out to her. Or maybe she just knew. I don’t know how much of me is truly in there. Would I have turned without his voice? Would I have the strength to turn, knowing that my death was waiting for me? I feel like I would keep tugging on that joystick, trying to make the claw machine work even though I knew it’s not made of magic. What’s different about her? She is me, and yet she’s not.
Guthrie holsters his gun and opens his arms. She goes to him. I wonder what he’s saying to her. Maybe he’s giving her a lecture on running away. Maybe he’s telling her how much trouble she’s in. Maybe, just maybe, he’s telling her that it’s going to be alright. “It’s going to be okay, Lily. Let me get you home.”
I look at Mr. Dutch. His eyes are glued on the events unfolding in front of us. Personally, I don’t want to watch what happens next.
“Have you ever killed someone?” I ask.
His eyes take on that distant, faraway look where he’s not seeing Guthrie and dirt Lily anymore, he’s seeing something from his past. “Yeah, I’ve killed people.” He doesn’t elaborate. I don’t press him for more information. In my meatball, the angel radio static clears and I see everything: his tours of duty in a country called Vietnam, the flashes of faces at night with flares overhead, explosions... so many explosions, and the nights he’s woken up alone, drenched in sweat.
“Madwhip!”
Gin’s voice breaks the silence of the increasingly foggy morning. I instinctively look up at hearing someone call my name. Meredith comes out of her hiding spot between several nearby game booths. She raises the gun. My dirt golem turns to meet her fate. Guthrie hesitates, confused. I feel my heart race. Don’t do it, Guthrie, don’t try to save me.
The flash and the crack of the gun are simultaneous. I recall a vision I had earlier at the fair. I see part of it come true as the bullet shears away a section of other me’s face. I don’t see it clearly, just the dark spray of blood and other stuff. One shot, right in the head. Not bad for a ghost in the body of a twice-decapitated dead man who’s never fired a gun before.
“NO!” Guthrie shouts. He drops and rolls like a professional, drawing his gun and unloading it into Gin’s corpse. There’s a dozen loud pops as Meredith does her best to pretend it hurts. After the last shot, she drops like a sack of potatoes without a dramatic flourish like cowboys do in cowboy movies. Guthrie rushes over and kicks the gun away, then reloads his pistol and sweeps around, searching the area for anyone else. Eventually, he runs back to my body and starts cradling it in his arms.
“Oh God, somebody help!”
“Sorry, Guthrie,” I whisper, “but Lily Madwhip must die.”
Other people are already running to the scene. They crowd around the detective and the two bodies like seagulls fighting over a scrap of bread. I wish they’d move so I can see. I didn’t want to watch but now I can’t look away. No, forget that... this is morbid.
“Let’s get out of here before we’re noticed.”
Dutch turns the engine over in his pickup. The vehicle looks like a piece of shit but that much seems to be in decent shape. He backs us out slowly, quietly, with the headlights off, trying not to draw attention. Ahead of us, the dark shapes of the people melt into the fog. Goodbye, Guthrie. Goodbye, dirt Lily.
Goodbye, Meredith.
A lone shadow stands closer than the rest. He watches us go, his head concealed by his thick robe. He raises one hand before he too vanishes into the gray.
We merge onto the highway and leave Topsfield behind us. Dutch tries turning on the radio, but the antenna must be busted because the reception is terrible. Ultimately, he decides to turn it off and starts singing a song to himself about whether or not someone has ever seen rain. I sit quietly and ponder where in the world you’d have to live to have never seen rain. Even the desert sees rain. Maybe somewhere really cold like Antarctica, where all they get is snow. I wonder if Dutch knows another song called, “Do You Live in Antarctica?”
It’s an hour later and we stop at a gas station in a town called Shrewsbury. Dutch pulls a wad of dollar bills out of his back pocket and thumbs through them. After counting them to himself (there were thirty three), he looks at me with a hint of embarrassment and says, “I’ll be right back.” He gets out and walks toward the little store by the pumps.
“Sir Francis!” I call, leaning across the cab to talk to him through the open window.
He turns. “Yeah?”
“Buy three of those scratch-off lottery tickets with the little hot air balloons on them.”
He does a half double-take. That’s where you start to do a double-take but then realize the person you’re talking to can see the future and is in cahoots with angels and you should probably do what they say.
“Yes ma’am.”
He walks in, the door ringing its little bell as he opens it, leaving me to think about how many shrews have to be buried in one place before they name the entire town Shrewsbury. Twenty-five hundred dollars is a lot of money. We’ll need it to get by. For starters, I’ll need some new clothes. I’ve been wearing these for at least a couple days now. They’re peed in, and probably covered in enough criminal evidence to put me away for life.
I pop the glovebox. Inside I find the usual junk, as well as a small spiral notepad and a barely functioning ballpoint pen attached to a broken chain with the name of a bank on it. I use it to practice my new signature. Alexandra Maverick. I write it a dozen times, filling the page, while I wait for Dutch to return.

Sounds a bit high in my opinion, but am wondering what others think

Hi! Looking for recommendations for surgeons in São Paulo! Looking to get a tummy tuck, breast lift, and breast augmentation.
Thank you!

THIS STORY TAKES A BDSM-INCESTY STORY AND TURNS IT TRANS! Dale hated his stepmom and caught her cheating. He blackmailed her into becoming his sex slave. The problem is—she grew to love it and now he's fallen in love with her. What will happen when Dad returns and learns what's happened between his son and his new wife??????
It was a perfect Friday morning as Mom and I lay together on the master bed. I had planned continue her overt slavery until Dad returned from his extended business trip tomorrow, but I had essentially released her from it only a few days after my old school chums and I had taken turns degrading her all night long.
The thing was, she seemed to love whatever nasty things we made her do, so it was no longer as hot as it had been. That night climaxed with the three of us pissing on her in the bathtub while she dildoed herself for us, and she had a massive orgasm.
More than that, I had fallen in love with my stepmother as much as she seemed to have fallen in love with me. Ever since then, she had gladly fucked whenever I wanted, did whatever I wanted, dressed as sexy as I wanted, and in general treated me like a Master or a king.
She’d become addicted to presenting herself as sexy as possible, both to turn me on but also because it turned her on. Every night she climbed into bed wearing a scandalous three-piece lingerie set: a garter belt with seamed stockings, a shelf bra that nestled but fully exposed most of her tits and her usually-hard nipples, and crotchless panties so I had instant access to her pussy and asshole.
My dick and my mouth spent much time down there.
Mom had just finished sucking off my morning erection and eating my jizz, which she shared with me. Ever since I freed her, she often made it part of the blowjob. I had to admit my own cum tasted sexy.
“You know, I had this whole list of degrading things I was going to do you before I changed my mind,” I said offhandedly after a kiss.
Her interest perked up. “Like what? We could still try them!”
“Well, that first night with Jake and Ted, when we peed all over you and then we made you suck the last drops of piss out of our dicks? I had been thinking of making you drink the whole thing. Use you like…”
“Like a urinal, Master?”
“You don’t have to call me that. I told you. Anyway, yeah.”
“And I told you, I like the way it sounds. You are the master of my heart, my darling Dale.” She bent down and kissed my cock before she looked me in the eyes. “Anyway… I’d like to try that with you.”
“You’re the most exciting woman in the world to me.” I heaved a sigh. “I only wish Dad would never come home.”
“At least we got an extra month!”
Dad had called a few days after that first orgy to say he was very sorry but his job demanded an extra month out of the country. Helen and I had celebrated with a long fuck in the backyard hot tub.
I bit my lip. “Maybe we should tell him we’re in love and it’s all my fault. And… I don’t know. Help me make up a story.”
She looked at me sadly, warily. “The story is going to be worse than you think. I missed my period last week. I bought a test kit last night and I used it just before you woke. I was going to tell you after we got up, but maybe now is the time. I'm pregnant with your baby, Dale. I hope you’re not angry.”
The emotions hit me like a football pile-up, everything from I’m too young to how deeply I loved my stepmom and how close it would bring us together. In the end that was what won out. I’d do anything—
“What the hell is this!” My father’s voice thundered in the room.
What happened next was a blur, but I remember Mom crying out in terror, Dad yelling, him pulling a gun out from the closet, a struggle, a loud bang, and a sharp pain on the side of my head just before I blacked out. My last thought was fear for my beloved Helen.
I came to sometime later. Helen was in fevered activity, stuffing three big suitcases on the bed. One was loaded with jewelry, cash from the floor safe, Dad’s guns, the others with designer dresses, shoes and handbags worth hundreds of thousands.
“He-Helen,” I gasped.
She stopped packing and came over to hug me fiercely. “Thank God you’re okay, my love,” she wept.
We clung together for long minutes until I asked what happened.
“I will tell you in a minute, baby. But right now I need to know something.” She went over a laptop PC on the dresser that I recognized as Dad’s. “I need your social security number.”
“What? Why, Mom?”
“Please! Just tell me!”
As she typed it in, she explained that I’d fought to take away his gun during the struggle and it had gone off. It killed him. She was transferring as much money as she could into a Mexican bank account near a city where she had relatives. It was the only way we could be free, she said. Or we could risk a murder trial here.
“But it was an accident!”
She hammered in some final keyboard strokes and exhaled in relief. She turned to me with dismay. “We’ve been fucking behind his back for almost two months. I’m carrying your child! If we wipe your prints off the gun it only looks worse. And when your friends tell in open court what you made me do, no jury will believe a thing you say.”
I suddenly felt like I might puke. “Oh… fuck!”
“Get anything you must have. Don’t worry about clothes, I’ll take care of that later. We have all the money we need for a new life.”
In a daze, I grabbed a few keepsakes, some cool boots I liked and a dozen books I wanted to have. We stashed it all in her Jaguar’s trunk and hit the I-5 for the Mexican border. She said not to worry: she’d help me learn all the Spanish I’d need and she’d make sure I’d have everything I wanted after we got there.
We were about an hour out of Tijuana and it was dark when she pulled over to a store for snacks and something to drink. She handed me an open bottle of icy, Mexican-brand Coke. Ten minutes after I drank it, I could no longer keep my eyes open. I passed out.
The nightmare seemed to go on forever—the worst kind where you feel like you’re almost awake but you can’t wake up—bizarre dreams mixed flashes of reality. It was accompanied by pains all over my body, especially my face and a tightness across my chest. At times I sensed that someone was feeding me with a spoon.
I woke with a start in a bright, cheery bedroom with strange bird songs out the window and the smell of Mexican cooking nearby. I tried to sit up and found I was handcuffed to the frame of a hospital bed.
“What the fuck!” I spouted.
Helen appeared a minute later, grinning over me. “Welcome to your new life, Dalia. This will be so much fun!”
“Where am I? Why do I feel so strange and achy? And what the fuck is this this?” I tugged the handcuff.
“It’s so much easier to show you.” She called toward the door. “Mom, I need a hand in here.”
A beautiful Mexican woman, a total MILF somewhere north of forty-years-old, glided into the room. It was then that I noticed they both wore white silk tunics that barely reached past their shapely asses and through which bra-less tits poked hard nipples.
As Helen reached down to my chest, I saw a wide elastic bandage cinched down where I felt a tight, heavy sensation. A hiss of Velcro exposed two very large, round breasts. As I looked at them and gasped, the two women held up and tilted a full length mirror.
I’m a girl with a dick!
Save my pubes and from my eyebrows on up, all the hair had been removed from my body. I had stripper-sized breasts and a slender waistline. My face was utterly smooth, as though no beard was below the skin. It was shaped differently that it was before—it was a girl’s face!
I screamed and passed out. When I came to, Helen explained I’d been kept sedated for the past three weeks while various doctors and specialists had visited here and I’d been taken to a nearby private clinic with an operating room.
“You’ve been getting electrolysis every day to remove your beard and body hair, waxing for your legs and arms. Obviously, you’ve had breast implants. The same surgeon did sort of a tummy tuck and removed the bottom floating ribs to give you an hourglass figure. A cosmetic surgeon made your nose and forehead much more womanly. Plus a filler to give you those fuckable lips! And of course the hair extensions until yours grows out.”
“Why would you do this to me?”
“You’re wanted for murder back in Los Angeles, darling. Not to mention you transferred ten million of your father’s money to a bank in the Cayman Islands. They’ll never find you now that you look like this!”
“You said you were transferring the money to Mexico!”
“I lied. I lied about being pregnant too.”
I gasped again. “You fucking—witch! Why?”
Her smirk was replaced by icy calm. “I can’t slap you until your face heals, but I have a long memory and other punishments.” Then she turned cheery again. “I did it to make you easier to manipulate. I also lied about when your father was coming home. I wanted him to catch us because I knew he’d go for the gun.”
“You planned his murder!”
“And I transferred your fingerprints to that gun that we left behind. If you even try to go to the authorities then will see only a tranny slut who’s the prime suspect in a highly sexual patricide case.”
“Why did you go through all of this? And turn me into this?”
“Tradition. My mama and I have a long history of selecting weak males, beguiling and making them love us. Then we force-transition to give us pliable sex slaves we can use to make more money.” She indicated the Latina MILF. “Dalia, meet Dolores Reina. Dalia’s your new name, by the way.”
She gave Dolores a deep, tongue-heavy kiss as she caressed her ass through the white silk. Helen caught me gaping and broke the kiss. She winked at me. “She’s my stepmom. A real hottie, isn’t she? She did to my dad what I did to yours.”
She cinched my new breasts back down with the binder, explaining it had to stay on until they fully healed. Now that I was conscious I could take over the exercise to keep them from turning painfully hard.
"Your face and tits are too sensitive to play with right now, but I can appropriately break you into slavery, anyway.”
“If you think I’m going to do a fucking thing you—OW!”
I cried out as she seized my balls and squeezed them. As I recovered from the pain she strapped a collar around my neck. It looked much like a dog collar and it had a rectangular plastic box that lay on the back of my neck underneath my hair extensions.
She held up a remote control and pushed the button briefly, making me scream from the electric shock on my neck. It was then a simple matter for them to guide me to their basement dungeon and lock my head and wrists into old-fashioned stocks that bent me over. Ankle cuffs on the floor spread my legs wide apart.
Helen held up a dildo ten inches long and two inches wide. “Here’s where I turn you into a real girl, Dalia.” She stripped off her tunic, exposing her stunning body. Her stepmom handed her a dildo harness.
“Please don’t, Mom!” I cried. The tears stung my lip-filler injection sites. “You don’t need to do this!”
Her smile turned wicked. “Of course I do, baby. It’s payback for what you did to me. Besides, I know that very soon you will come to beg for it, and not just for this toy. Real cock!”
I stared straight ahead in despair, waiting for them to take my anal cherry. That’s when I saw the wall in front of me and the one to my side was mirrored. I was shocked to see just how much mine was now the body of a sexy girl. I’d already been slender with shapely legs, but the big breasts and my new waistline—and my face—made me a sexpot.
I can’t believe my cock is tingling from this!
Dolores was now also naked and so intensely beautiful, looking like an even hotter version of 1960s sex symbol Raquel Welch, with bigger tits and ass. She smiled kindly she stepped up holding a bottle of sex lubricant and coating her finger.
“I specialize in mariconas. What you gringos call ‘sissies.’ I just love turning boys into slutty girls, Dalia.” She softly kissed my lips. “If you relax and give into this, it won’t hurt at all, baby.”
I couldn’t help moaning as she massaged my asshole with a slick digit, especially as she eased her forefinger all the way inside my now-horny butt. My cock got instantly hard. Within a few minutes she’d worked three fingers up into my rectal muscle. It gave me a boner as hard as I ever got and made me whimper like a sex-starved slut.
“Make your voice higher, sexy Dalia,” the Mexican MILF coaxed. “You are now a beautiful, sexy girl. You should sound like one!”
She purposefully grazed and jabbed my prostate, building a deep ache in my groin. My voice got higher as my P-gasm built, and I felt the precum flow down my straining cock shaft. Then it hit like a huge wave. I cried out like a girl in ecstasy.
“Your daughter is ready for you, mija,” the MILF said.
I actually wiggled my butt in anticipation as I felt Mom’s hands cup my ass. I couldn’t help doing it and I wondered why in hell this turned me on so much. Did I have this buried in me? Sure, I sometimes jacked off to shemale porn but always to a fantasy of fucking them. Never—
“Mami will make you a full girl now, Dalia. Try to push it out and it will go right in,” she said and then kissed me.
She was right: the huge dildo slipped right into me. It stung at first and I wanted to beg her to pull it out. Instead, I tried to relax and I breathed into it. Helen fucked me slowly and gently at first, letting me get used to it. I could tell she wanted me to like it, to like being a slut with a dick. She wanted me to like erasing every trace of normal American boy in me.
“Oh, I love that, Mom!” I whined in my new girl voice.
“Call me Mami,” she husked, picking up the speed of her thrusts. “You will learn Spanish quickly for your new life here, mija. That means ‘daughter’ in the informal.”
“Es hora de freír su cerebro,” Dolores chuckled.
Mom laughed. “She said it’s time to fry your brain.”
I wondered what she meant until the exquisite MILF’s lips closed around my leaking cock. Mom battered into me while her mom took me in her throat, sucking me into an explosive orgasm that made me briefly sag in the stocks from erotic exhaustion.
There was a sudden, heavy scent of ass as Mom pulled out of me and put the slippery, fouled dildo in my face. She looked down into my eyes, wondering if she’d have to order me. She didn’t need to. I was her slave now. I gladly opened wide and took it into my mouth.
“Muy bien, mija. Te amo.”
“Very good, daughter,” I purred between licks. “I love you.”
“Muy bien, my sexy girl.”
She pulled the cock away and gave me a deep, penetrating kiss. Her love for me was no act. It both heartened and worried me. I truly had no idea who she was or what she was capable of.
You know damn well what she’s capable of. She’s a Black Widow who killed your father, framed you for it, stole all of his money, and turned you into her own shemale sex slave. She could decide to kill you and nobody would ever know.
Yet still my cock stayed rock hard.
“Now we shall see how much you love me, Dalia. Hold her waist, Mami. It’s time to own her fully.”
I could barely breathe from the excitement when she pulled out the huge jar of Vaseline and began coating her right forearm. I had no idea what my ultimate fate was, but I hoped that as long as I went along with whatever perversion she came up with that she’d keep loving me.
What surprised me was how much I looked forward to pleasing her and surrendering to her every whim. It reminded me of those few times I’d gone skydiving and turned my fate over to the universe.
I cried out with joy as her fist slid deep into my rectal meat. My cock throbbed with pleasure and my heart filled with giddiness from the feeling to total abandon, especially as she fondly caressed my girlish ass with her free hand. I heard them whisper and giggle in Spanish, and I hoped they were planning something nasty.
My wish came true a moment later when Dolores dragged over a low table and climbed atop it. She spread her legs and shoved her spread labia in my face. She ordered me to drink.
As her hot piss filled my mouth and I gulped it down in heady exhalation, I reveled in a freedom I would never have known otherwise. I was now a shemale sex slave, a chick with a dick, owned by two sexy, evil women in a rich villa somewhere deep in Mexico, and I had no idea what would happen to me next.
And I didn’t care!
The above story is one I posted in a BDSM erotica sub and it had no sissy/trans elements until this chapter. I don't know where to take it from here. If you'd like to read parts 1 and 2 of this story, here is part 1:

I can’t with this chic anymore…the outright lies and editing to make it look like something it’s NOT! Using her pre-plastic surgery pics then her post ones to slang that TrimFit crap to make money off of those who mostly cannot afford a BBL, tummy tuck, lipo, fat put back into the butt 🤦🏼‍♀️ even the part where she’s taking advantage of other women desperate to make money to live since the COL has increased so much, I even feel bad for those ladies who are becoming mini ARGEEEES! Then there’s the fact that she has real human HAIR EXTENSIONS when she sells grossly overpriced wigs that someone else designed/had made and then she claims she wears them every day 🤮🤮🤮 Her story from about all hour ago! I need to bleach my eyes and candle my ears after every time I watch! And yet again, as a mother myself, if my child was acting out in that way at that age over and over again and I DID NOT CHANGE myself, my actions contributing, or how things are handled, I would stop whatever it was I was doing even take a sabbatical from work if I needed to and put 200% of myself, my time, my resources my everything into trying to repair the damage that’s been caused to the poor child! It may not help, it may take more time then a few weeks…hint hint Scamanda, I sure as hell wouldn’t be going and buying these overpriced on a whim gadgets and gizmos WITHOUT researching properly, then bullshit post all over social media being a fool…and then you wonder why your daughter acts out! She must be so embarrassed by her mother, but argeee seems like the type that relishes in attention of any kind. I don’t know Scamanda personally, but over the past 3 years watching this train wreck, and just from her social media presents alone, I’m guessing there’s an issue there! And this is aside from how she rips everybody off, including me thousands and thousands of dollars, OPEN YOUR EYES YOU SELF ABSORBED HUMAN BEING!!!! Enough with the boo-hoo poor, me I’m struggling everyone, my life is just so hard, I’m trying to support my children, listen to all my sob sorties that happened to me 🤮🤮 grow the F up alreay and take care of your kids’ psyche!! Ok I’m done with my venting rant off the month!!!

Posting this for anyone debating on having an anal skin tag removed. I feel like my doctor did not properly inform me how hard this recovery would be, don’t make this decision on a wim. 3 days ago I went into my doctors office to have him look at what I thought was an external hemorrhoid because that’s what I was told it was for almost 12 years. He told me it was an anal skin tag left behind after a hemorrhoid and that he could take care of it then. He said “I can easily remove it now and you’ll be recovered within 2 weeks” tuh! 2 weeks my ass. That is not the case. He numbed me up and cut it off within 10 mins and put dissolvable stitches. He told me there may be some blood and to only clean it with water. That was it.
When I got home the pain was excruciating. I’ve gone through child birth, had a tummy tuck, multiple other surgeries and this pain was out of this world. I also have a high pain tolerance and it had me in tears at some points. It’s such an intense burning/stinging feeling that is unrelenting! The first few days it feels like someone cut open your butthole and taint and poured hot sauce on it. My doc also didn’t give me any painkillers and just told me to take Tylenol as needed.
By the 3rd day the pain was a little bit better but still really hurt. I work from home and sit in an office chair all day and even just sitting is so uncomfortable. Anything other than laying down is uncomfortable. By the second day I started to have really smelly leakage coming from my butthole. I went back to my doctor to ask him about it and he said everything is healing normally and there’s no sign of infection and that leakage from that area sometimes smells. He also said the leakage may last 2-4 weeks. I’m only on day 4, idk how I’m going to survive this next month. I feel very frustrated and defeated. If I knew the recovery would be this hard, gross and long I would have waited and prepared myself better. Anyone have a similar experience? If so how long did it take for the leakage to stop? When did you feel comfortable to have (vaginal not anal) sex and work out again?

Hiya girlies,
Firstly again CW for AMAB functions, dysphoria-ish, potential reversion, HRT, dosage and changes.
Some questions from an overthinker that might also help others looking for answers! I’ll list the questions first and put some background at the bottom to help. I hope someone can give me an answer because no one seems to be able to, and my care provider is taking far too long to come back to me over it.
Firstly, my shoulders have been aching badly all day. Is that normal, or a sign of reversion? I can’t find any info about it other than in menopausal cis women, which obviously adds to the worry.
Secondly, breast growth and the nipple stopping being as painful to touch. That’s happened and the classic cone shape has started to become a more usual rounded shape. Is that normal too, or again a sign of reversion? My cis female friend did say that the shoulder pain could be from the breast growth changing to a new area.
Thirdly, this is a TW for AMAB downstairs function. I had 4 morning erections (bleh) last week (Wednesday - Saturday) let’s say decreasing in severity. I’m worried that’s a sign of reversion or at least my blockers not working or something. I haven’t had them for a while, or since Saturday, but it really caught me off guard because it’s disgusting (to me).
For context I am on 100mg Spiro and 5mg Oestrogen (gel) daily. I have been on this dose since around January the 20th when it was increased from 100mg Spiro & 4mg E. For whatever reason (caused by the morning e’s) I’ve been worried I’m reverting which has been compounded by aching shoulders, nipples not being as sore, putting some weight on my tummy. I’m at the point where I’m seeing (and it’s not there tbh) that my legs and bum have changed, that my hips have changed, that my shoulders are more muscly, that my biceps are bigger and my face is darker, that my tuck keeps coming undone (even though I’m also sure this isn’t the case). I’ve been on HRT since this time last year although I was on a low dose until September time.
I’m looking for some info or advice from other peoples experiences or knowledge.
Thanksssss

I am a FTM to a beautiful almost 6 month old who has had very clasped thumbs since birth.
He is able to bring his thumbs out somewhat to grasp at toys, but his hands still rest in fisted positions with his thumbs under his fingers against his palms. Fine motor and grasping is obviously a bit hard/clumsy for him as his thumbs get tucked in or get in the way. He rarely pushes up on arms during tummy time as palms are not flat to the ground. Although he can bring them out a bit further now, there are no signs of this resolving anytime soon and I really want to help him the very best that I can.
We have been in PT for couple of months and about to be assessed by an orthopaedic consultant next month. I’m hopeful but something in my gut tells me this maybe isn’t an orthopaedic issue and it could possibly be more neurological.
Looking to see if anyone else’s little one has had any experience with this? Thank you!

Hi 👋🏽 I'm going in for a tummy tuck next month. In the past I've had gastric weight loss surgery and the recovery was a breeze.
My wife has had 3 c sections and recovered quickly with minimal pain.
How is a tummy tuck compared?
Any tips you think I should know before and for post op? Thanks everyone.

Hello again! If anyone could take time to read this part of my book and give me any feedback (please be brutally honest) I would very much appreciate it!
CHAPTER 2
​
‘Sorry. Excuse me. Oh, I’m so sorry.’ I kept bumping into people as I tried my best to weave through the crowd of people towards Betty. Every time I touched someone, some nerve in my brain made my whole body recoil. I've always hated huge gatherings, mostly because I became painfully aware of all the germs spreading through the air. After the pandemic and everything started to go back to ‘normal’, being hygienic was engraved in my mind so deeply that I still wore masks on an airplane. While the pandemic was terrible, I can’t help but wish it had continued for longer, the world wide lock down. For one, Taylor might release a new album like she did Folklore and Evermore, the two sisters, number two lockdown was amazing looking back on it. I slept in, logged onto my computer, did school work for a couple hours, then invested time into learning about human anatomy, which had been a long time interest of mine. I even tried sewing, emphasis on tried. The bonus was that I wasn’t around people and my social anxiety was on long rest, no one to judge me, no lack of self confidence. Just being me in my family's house.
So many people are here. All dressed up, and so close to each other. Imagine all the germs spreading through the air., all the colds that will be passed on. A chill went through my spine as I went spiraling about germs. My mind was telling me to get out of there, I powered through it using the self control I taught myself whenever I was in the kitchen. Don’t think about it, just clutch your palms, it’ll be alright. As my nails were pressing into my sweaty palms, I quickened my pace towards Betty.
‘Hey! Look who’s come down from the heavens, in her own flesh and blood’ Betty smiled, turning around as I walked towards her with open arms. We embraced for a second, her warmth flowing into me. She tucked one of her golden cruels behind her ears as her smile lit up the room. As I was standing next to her I realized just how perfect the white dress made her seem, she had the perfect hair, the perfect shape, perfect hands, perfect everything. While my dress made me look like a completely fat, broke person, who just got out of bed. As I folded my arms across my stomach to at least try and cover my shame. Betty asked, ‘‘What made you decide to come join us?’ in a sarcastic tone, just like always. Snapping me out of my self hate sprial, which happens a lot more than I’d like to admit.
‘You know, just letting some people catch up, up in heaven of course.’ Betty raised an eyebrow, her eyes flickered up to where I was standing a couple minutes ago. From down here you could only see the elegant guardrails and the flower carvings on them. The beautiful marble made it seem like it was in a fantasy world. What a jackpot, the best place we’ve ever gotten to host the senior prom in. Betty rolled her eyes, unable to see my two student council colleges making out.
‘Anyways, this prom is amazing! You really pulled it off Hazel.’ Betty said as she patted me on the back. ‘We need to get you the recognition you deserve.’ My face went pale, more attention, probably not the best idea for my already germaphobic mind.
‘NO!’ I begged her, ‘PLEASE NO!’
‘Sorry I can’t hear you, over this music!’ Betty headed towards the stage and grabbed the mic. Oh no, I need to get out of hear. Before I could head through the door to the fresh air I heard my name being called out. I froze.
‘Everybody, let's give a big round of applause to the one and only Hazel McCaffery for this amazing prom.’ Betty pointed towards me, ‘The girl right there, heading straight for the door. Where are you going Haze?’ Nobody calls me Haze anymore, she knows I despise that nickname. I felt hands patting me on my back, my shoulders tensed up as the touch of their fingers lingered. More and more people started patting me on the back or shaking my hand saying a drunken ‘Thanks!’ or “Best prom ever!’ Which is weird since we didn’t even bring any alcohol, but then again this was high school.
My mind was on overdrive trying to figure out what had just happened. My hands started shaking as I yelled ‘Thank you everyone for showing up!’ which was met with a big cheer from the crowd. Betty appeared next to me with a red plastic cup in her hand. The liquid inside didn’t look like punch.
‘You know I may not be sober but you don’t look that good Haze.’ Betty said with a lopsided smile. She was right. I was not okay, I needed to get out of here fast. I felt the bile seeping up my throat..
‘I’ll be right back.’ I said, feeling slightly dizzy, ‘I’m just going to go outside.’ I started to make a run for the door. Behind me I heard Betty hyping up the party, as always. I had just made it to the bushes outside the mansion when I finally threw up, germs really do make me sick to my stomach. I looked up into the party from the window, it looked so messy, so dangerous. Then again, there were so many laughs carried out into the wind. I couldn’t help but smile. This is what all those long nights had come to, maybe it really will go down as one of the best proms in history by the school's books. Then again nobody really ever tried, so did it really even have a real challenge. Was it really that much of an achievement?
Three years ago
‘What are you smiling about, Miss know it all?’ Jack asked, pacing with me down the hallway. His smile was contagious. I looked up at him, come I’ll show you. I led him to the library and sat down at one of the desks that was hidden behind one of the book shelves.The familiar scent of books filled the air, this has been one of my favorite places in the entire school. Besides the basketball court, but lately I’ve been spending more and more time practicing basketball than spending time in the library. Chole had been pushing me to spend more time with the team, practice my free throws and three pointers. Even though I’m nowhere near the best player on the team, I know that Chole just wants everyone to be in shape.The team has been doing so much better since she implemented those afterschool practices, so I guess they were working.
I took out my computer and put it on the desk. Jack looked confused. He was fidgeting with his hands staring at the back of my laptop.
‘You dragged me to the library to show me your laptop?’ he chuckled, my eyes glued to the screen. I opened the college board website and pulled out my scores. I motioned for him to move his chair to the other side of the table next to me. He did so, with an annoyed expression painted on his face. As he came closer the glowing 1,450 was on the screen.
‘The best the school has ever seen.’ I said proudly, reciting word for word what Mrs. O’Donald had said to me earlier. I was filled with a sense of pride, a sense of accomplishment. That all that hard work had paid off in the end. The numbers 1,450 shone brightly on the screen. He shrugged, just shrugged. I was waiting for the congrats, amazing job! You're so talented! Or his usual, I got higher than you! I looked at his face trying to find some trace of emotion on his face but it was lacking.
‘Compared to what?’ he murmured as he got up, grabbed his backpack, and headed for the exit.
‘Hey wait! I was just teasing! I’m sorry if I crossed a line!’ I whispered, adding as much remorse in my voice as I could. I don’t know if he knew it was forced or he just didn't care he kept going, slamming the door in my face.
I slowly wandered back to the desk and gathered my things, his words replaying in my head. ‘Compared to what/’ What were the other scores like, was it really that good of a score. It was probably because everyone else who’d gone through this school wasn’t trying. It was just luck that I got that score. With that locked in my mind, I headed out of the library and to my next class. Little did I know that was the last time I was ever on speaking terms with Jack, at least until last month.
***
I was sitting on the ground outside the party with my back to the wall, just taking in the fresh air. It felt so refreshing to replace the old with the new, the old, mostly contaminated by my unhygienic class, with the new, natural air. The smell of grass and alcohol made its way to me. My two worlds combined. My friends and family, the exposed and innocent. My two personas, my coping mechanism. Whenever I’m in a new environment I always try to twist myself, change my personality to fit in. Sometimes they mix and that ends in a scolding from my mom. Whenever I try to enjoy something the punishments come right up to my door.
I blink back the warm tears forming on my eyelids. I shouldn’t be crying after a success like this. It’ll look great on my college application and help me get into a good school, hopefully far away from Florida, away from my mom. That can’t be all too life can it? Get into a good college, work your ass off so that way you can pay for food and rent, and then just die. What about the adventure, the joy? Of course Mom always made it clear that money was at the top of the hierarchy of life. As mom always says, ‘Money buys happiness, the more you have the better. So go get A’s my little girl.’ The thing is that I’m not a little girl anymore, she just won’t expect that. Everyone I know makes excuses for her, it’s become a part of my daily routine. I’ll say mom doesn’t give me any freedom and my dad will say ‘she just loves you’ or my friends will say ‘that’s what having a mom is like.’
The tears persist as my mind goes to more dark places.

So like the title says I’m 24 days post op from an extended fluer-de-lis tummy tuck. I’m thrilled with the results I can see and my surgeon says I’m incredibly lucky that I’m not experiencing major swelling; just some swelling above the incision and some general puffiness in my abdomen. (Knock on wood it stays that way. 🤞🏼)
Anyway my surgeon is a great doctor but kinda unhelpful in the aftercare/recovery instructions department. So I was looking for some advice from other people who have gone through this about a couple of things.
1.) At my post op appointment last week my surgeon told me I was cleared to start getting back to normal and recommended easing into things which I’ve been trying my best to do. Most things feel okay; I can stand up without a problem and walking feels good. The main problem I’m having right now is with sitting. I can make it about 15 minutes before the pressure in my abdomen builds to the point of discomfort. I’m still wearing my compression binder and I’ve tried different chairs and pads to no avail. Does anyone have any suggestions to make sitting less uncomfortable?
2.) The other thing my surgeon cleared me to do is switch my compression binder to Spanx “or something like that.” I’ve been looking at them but there are so many different brands and types of garments. Does anyone have any recommendations?
Thank you in advance for any suggestions or advice you can share.

Hello everyone, I'm on day 12 of my mini tummy tuck and liposuction (without muscle repair). I still have bruises around my belly button and some parts of my belly. For the past 3 days, I haven't been able to sleep well; I'm wide awake at night and experiencing breathlessness during the night and in the morning. Has anyone else experienced these symptoms?

I got bariatrics surgery which has resulted in extra skin on my stomach and deflated boob's. Any recommendations in tijuana

All they do is buy coconut oil, jojoba oil and olive oil and mix it together with 5 essential oils (peppermint, ylang ylang, lemon, orange and lavender). That's it. What on their farm is producing these items? Why do they act like their product are coming from the farm? It's coming from Costco; they literally say it on tiktok.
They say it can be used for "bug repellent, tick repellant, fading scars and stretch marks (note: it doesn't even have any vitamin e in it) moisturizer, lube, massage oil, makeup remover, anti-frizz, shave oil, after shower, leather conditioner, wood conditioner, sunburns, rashes, skin conditions and much more". Which seems insane, it's not healing anything except maybe dry skin and it probably makes for a regular massage oil so idk why they're always touting it as the end all be all of everything.
They apparently "learned all of this from their customers" so why did they even start making it to begin with?
Also, absolutely nothing will ever get rid of stretch marks except maybe a tummy tuck or some Hollywood laser beam shit. But anyway vitamin e is what helps healing but they have absolutely none of it in their product. Essential oils don't do anything except smell good and poison pets when used improperly (aka for "medicinal reasons" or diffusing it). I can literally make this product right now in my own home.
Side note: I do use a combination of oils like this for my cuticles and some skincare. I'm obsessed with my nails, I have natural nails and I take really good care of them so I use cuticle oil a million times a day. I make my own cuticle oil now because it's cheaper and I know exactly how much of each product I'm using. I use three main oils and some essential oils. However, I can buy a bottle cuticle oil of 70,000 IU vitamin e with jojoba, almond, avocado, apricot, rosehip and lavender oils for the same price on amazon. Seems like more bang for your buck and Encompass Oil is some overhyped cockamamie.
Edit to add: Someone commented on their Costco video saying they thought they made their oil from scratch. They replied, "We make the product from scratch, not the Olive and coconut oil 😁"
Like the product is all the Costco shit mixed together. That's not really "from scratch". I could see if they produced those 5 essential oils but it doesn't seem like they produce those either.
Sorry another edit: another commenter on the Costco tiktok said that they were "given 3 months to live in 2016 due to sever SLE attacking my organs. It saved my life."
One more edit: I left a comment on the red flag post of some things I think are either outright red flags or not great flags at the least