#needle stopper

[prettylilthingptrns]

Another day, another needle minder, lol! These babies will be going up sometime today on Etsy! Keep your eyes peeled and check out the ones currently in stock :) They double as cute magnets too ;)

All hand made by myself and many are hand drawn with colored pencils, some are printable shrink plastic designs, then sealed both front and back with UV resin to help ensure sturdiness and longevity :) Finished with a neodymium magnet to keep your needle safe!

[elenadoeslife]

knitting truly feels a little bit like magic 💕

[ub-sessed]

I've started my second Hecla hat, hoping to incorporate what I learned making the first one. Realized tonight that I can use sewing clips as needle stoppers!

Rubber bands work too, but not as well with this enormous yarn (Bernat Forever Fleece, which is super bulky).

[shelynite]

Well that's not helpful >:/

[sparklecryptid]

Once again trying on shirts/sweaters while they are on the needles is the most nerve wracking thing

[queeranarchism]

I'm seeing a worrying post about single/multi-use HRT vials going around. Please read this Queer Doc article instead.

The most important parts of this article are:

Check the ingredients. Vials without preservatives are intended to be thrown out after 1 use. Vials with preservatives are intended to be thrown out after 28 days.

Wash your hands, clean the table and disinfect injection surfaces (vial stopper, your injection site.)

Don’t let the needle or the rubber stopper of the vial touch contaminated surfaces.

Don’t re-use needles.

I would like to add:

In Europe you may also get single-use vials that are completely glass with a top that needs to be broken to access the medication. There is NO safe way to use these for multi-dosing.

Within the DIY community, you will find larger vials that people use for months. This caries extra risk but unfortunately a lot of people don't have much choice. Be extra diligent about hygiene and safety if you re-use vials for longer, understand that you've got more risk and do not do it if you are immunocompromised. Please consider changing your vial every 4 months if at all possible.

If you do get an infection you need to go to a doctor. Seriously. An infection deeper under the skin can not work itself to the surface and has a risk of entering the blood stream and becoming sepsis. This can kill you. Trans people will tell you that they had an infection and they were fine. They were lucky. You may be unlucky. Go to a doctor.

Normal injections often cause pain and a warm bump or hard spot at the injection site, with symptoms increasing during the first 24 hours and gradually getting less after that. Symptoms of infection are: pain, heat or a bump that continue to increase after 48 hour, oozing of liquid from the injection site hours/days after injection, fever, a rash spreading from the injection sight. If you get these symptoms go to a doctor.

Store your injection bottles, packaged syringes and needles in a dry, clean location, keep them away from food items. The packaging isn't fool-proof. If there is dirt on the package, do not trust the inside of the package. If the package is broken, do not trust the inside of the package.

Check the ingredients of your vial for allergies. Injections are oil-based and that oil can be peanut-oil, soy-oil and other things that people might have an allergic reaction to. If you have allergies, know which oil you're putting into your body.

[spawnofvulcan-knits]

These corks are still hangin’ on!!!

Corks = good stoppers

Bought these from BeakersWorld on Etsy.

[gin-juice-tonic]

I didn't get to do my t shot last night because the needle ripped a giant chunk out of the rubber stopper of the testosterone vial which renders the whole vial contaminated which means I have to get and pay for a new one which i have to wait a few days for because the pharmacy has to order it because they never keep any in stock and also I got my period just now so that's cool

[arsenic-catnep]

AU where there's no monsters and the Winchester's are just drifters/serial killers.

Dean helping Sam shoot up.

And instead of demon blood, Sam is addicted to heroin.

Dean taking off his belt to wrap it around Sam's bicep.

Filling the needle.

He's got the cap in his mouth.

Sam is having withdrawals.

Sam whimpering when the needle pierces his skin

The look on Sam's face when Dean pushes the syringe stopper and the drugs flood Sam's veins. It's orgasmic. Dean wants to see more of it.

Dean def gets laced shit so his baby brother stays addicted and complacent

I just really love icky Dean doing whatever he can to manipulate Sam and keep him all to himself

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Diabolical 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, extreme profanity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Billy Butcher

Summary: your neighbours has some strange friends.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The reverberation of copper ripples through the air. You nearly slip under the water as you jolt. You grip the edges of the tub and sit up. Another crash thunders and you scowl. Your peace is shattered. 

Candles, music, a book, and a steaming bath. It's a perfect night. Or it was. 

You wait and listen. Silence. You let yourself back and reach for the novel on your bath table. Another egregious cacophony has you splashing yourself with water.   

You growl and slide the table out of the way as you stand. You grab your towel as water slakes off of you. You pay no mind to the mess that puddles below each step as the thrashing continues.  

You storm across the apartment, sliding dangerously on the hardwood, and you put your eye to the peephole. The man grins, as if he can see you and shakes the box in his hands. The metal echoes again. 

How dare he? It's almost nine in the evening! You tear open the door, your hand clasped around the knot of your towel, and you snarl. 

"Must you make so much noise?" 

He cackles at you as he hugs the box of cymbals and bells. "Eh, I'm just doin' good ole Hughie a favour. He's been talkin' 'bout getting into drumming so's I say Hughie, I know a guy. Can get you everything you need." 

"I don't...care." You bluster. "Should you even have those in a box? There are bags meant for that." 

"Who cares? You just bang on the things anyhow. Well, then," he turns to the door behind him. "Seems like my pal isn't in." He drops the box and the raucous clamour makes you groan. "I'll just leave 'em here for him. Buddy that I am." He spins back to face you. "And you can get back to listening to Bach and drinking your oolong." He makes a motion which could be tipping a cup or something more heinous. "Your majesty." 

You furrow your brow and roll your eyes. "All I asked for was a bit of decency. It wasn't any sort of insult but I see to you, any thought of being kind is offensive." 

"Talkin' to me about being decent and you're stood out here in a dish towel," he scoffs. 

"I--" you look down, remembering yourself. You move to hide behind the door. "Well, you disturbed me--" 

"You are disturbed, ain't ya, sweetheart?" 

You sneer. "Fine, whatever. I'll make sure Hugh gets his drums." 

"Hugh?" He chuckles. "You are something." 

"Good night, sir." You back up and close the door. Your certain to lock it too.  

His laughter keens through and friction brushes up the other side. "It's Butcher, not sir, love." He taps and you flinch, "have yourself a good night, won't ya? Don't think of me too much." 

You huff and have a mind to open the door again. Not, that’s only what he wants. You retreat and trod back to the bathroom. The water’s tepid and the scent of the candles grows overwhelming. You shut off the music and pull the stopper. So much for relaxing. 

The tension needles across your shoulder. You blow out the wicks and snatch your book from the table. You go to your room and flip on the bedside lamp. You put the novel on your pillow and pull on a night gown.  

You recline and crack open the book. A long honk blares from outside. That’s not unusual but what is, is the successive short toots that follow, almost in a rhythm. You try to ignore it. The honks vary, long, short, soft, loud. You realise the offender is doing a rather poor job of honking out Beethoven.  

You know exactly the culprit and you won’t let him know you’re bothered. Let him waste his own energy not yours. Besides, if he had any sort of nuance, he’d realise you don’t sit around and listen to classical. You appreciate vintage music but you’re not pretentious. You simply have your tastes. Nothing wrong with that. 

You lay back and your eyes gloss over the words without reading. You may not want to give him the satisfaction but it doesn't mean it’s not working. Several rereads of the same paragraph have you fed up. You sink down and drop the book. 

You stare at the ceiling and sigh. You can’t even put on a movie or music. You won’t be able to hear it. 

As if on cue, silence. You exhale. Thank god. 

An engine rumbles and you hear it steer down the alley outside. You hear the tires crawling just below your window. Another wall of sound rises and has you nearly jumping out of your skin. Heavy metal pumps through the wall and has you gritting your teeth. 

It’s him. That imbecile. 

[leighsartworks216]

Knitting Hands

Zayne x gn!Reader

Sometimes you be knitting when you have chronic joint pain and wish a certain doctor was there to help soothe the ache

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, established relationship, knitting

Word Count: 821

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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The metal needles click quietly against each other. Gentle scrapes as you draw the needle through the stitches. Alongside it is the occasional turn of a page. The soft thwip, the whisper of fingers sliding along the page, the transfer from one side to the next.

The silence should be suffocating. It should be unbearable. There was a time when it used to be. Back then, neither of you really knew how to handle the silence, assuming your own expectations from past relationships or the advice of others (friends, colleagues, and movie characters alike).

Now, it's welcoming. It's warm.

When your thoughts slow and the world comes back into focus, you can rely on the slow inhale and exhale of Zayne's breath. You can look over and see him reading. It’s a book you recommended to him after relentlessly teasing him about needing to branch out from medical texts. Sometimes, he'll even look up at you, too, with a grin reserved only for you.

Your world is brought back into focus now by the strain on your hands and fingers. You slot the right needle into a stitch on the left, wrap the yarn around it, and hook it on, dropping the old stitch. Repeat verbatim until you reach the desired length.

It's not a difficult project - a simple scarf, built with rows and rows of knit stitches that fade between different shades of blue. The only issue is the size of the needles you work with. They're smaller than you're used to, requiring more precision than your normal set. But this yarn was just too pretty to pass up, you simply had to use it.

The clicking of the needles gets slower, but more forceful, as you get through this row and to the end. Your left hand is beginning to severely cramp by the time you transfer the last stitch over. It creaks and tenses as you place silicone stoppers onto the ends of the needles to keep the project from slipping off.

Similarly, Zayne slots a bookmark neatly into his novel and sets it aside. He takes one of your hands in his before you can even set your needles down in your lap, massaging the sore tendons and muscles with practiced fingers.

You lean your head on his shoulder, watching as his thumbs press into your palm.

"You should take more breaks," he says, speaking low to avoid breaking the atmosphere. He rubs along the sections of your fingers, easing out the lingering tension there. "It won't all unravel if you take a second to rest."

You let out a pleased hum. The soft knit of his sweater caresses your cheek as you nuzzle further into him, closing your eyes and basking in his care. "And what if it does?"

He sets the first hand down and lifts the other. He goes through the same movements as before. "Then you can make it all over again, with well-rested hands."

Since when were you this tired? It seems like the longer you stay there, resting against Zayne, the heavier your eyes become and the foggier your brain gets. You stifle a yawn. "How's the book?"

"I like it," he answers. He kisses your head knowingly, setting this hand back in your lap. He doesn't pull away, and you twine your fingers together in your lap. He draws them closer to his leg. "The main character acts a lot like me, doesn't he?"

"Ah, you noticed?"

"Is that why you recommended it?"

You shake your head lazily against him. "No, I thought you'd like the plot." Your words are beginning to slur together.

He hums thoughtfully as he rests his cheek on your head. Your mind feels as though it is floating on water. Bobbing in the waves, lost to the rest of the world.

"We should get you to bed," he suggests, "before you fall asleep here."

You rub mindlessly at the ring on his finger. "If I did, you'd carry me anyway."

"Mhm. Is that what you want?"

"Hm?"

"For me to carry you?" Zayne smiles to himself. There is a special kind of sweetness in watching his beloved fall asleep. The way your brain slows down, uncomprehending, as you give in. The fight you put up trying to speak until the very end, until you can't anymore. The way your body unconsciously clings to him, ever pulling him closer. It's an honor, truly.

"Hmmm, maybe."

He kisses your head, almost as though apologizing for having to let go of your hands. You let him go. You sit back up, sort of, and let your hands sit limply in your lap. The couch shifts as he sits forward and moves your knitting project aside. He makes sure the silicone stoppers are on there well, ensuring it won't all unravel in the night.

He's pretty sure you're fast asleep when he stands and lifts you in his arms.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko

[elenadoeslife]

I treated myself to a set of -interchangeable- metal 3.0 knitting needles and cute pink needle stoppers in the shape of tulips 🌷

[rathenarts]

I just realised that if you have a set of interchangeable circular needles, you can take one pair of tips, split them and attach each tip to a different cable, put stopper caps on the other ends, and then you have the functional equivalent of a really long pair of straight needles. If you are knitting something very wide, turns out this is actually much easier than trying to knit flat on a single circular needle. 💡🧶

[brain-rot-central]

Would you be interested to do fanfic with Astarion getting a massage and maybe kisses ober his scars?

Scars

Tav gives Astarion a back massage. Thing is, Astarion isn't entirely used to giving up his back.

I sat on this for a long bit. Thank you for the prompt! 💗

Warnings: trauma mention, abuse mention, brief depiction of abuse

"I'm not so sure this is a good idea, love."

Astarion lay prone on his bedroll, his head tilted to the side. He's not looking at Tav necessarily, just in their general direction as sparks of anticipation jolt through his body. He eyes the bottle of oil within Tav's hands as they uncork the stopper.

"You don't always have to be the one giving, Astarion," Tav says as they pour the viscous fluid out into the palm of one hand. They place the bottle down onto the ground, reapplying the cork. "Sometimes it's nice just to take."

"Yes, but-"

"Do you want me to leave?" Tav interrupts, rubbing their palms together to warm the oil.

Astarion finally looks at Tav, furrowing his brow in doubt. "N-no, I don't. Just..." his voice trails off, gaze wandering to the flap of his tent. It ripples gently with the passing breeze. "Go easy over my back, please," he pleads. "It's... sensitive."

In more ways than one.

Tav nods, shifting closer to Astarion's form. "Of course," they agree, leaning over to plant a kiss on the back of his neck. Astarion shivers under them as their hands find the small of his back. "You let me know if it's too much, 'kay?"

With a sigh, Astarion nods, resting his face against the comforting fabric of his shirt. Tav starts slow, rubbing delicate circles into the dimples of his lower back with their thumbs. Their fingers hang over his hips, which, Astarion admits silently to himself, is oddly comforting. He imagines Tav holding him, guiding his hips to where they want him to be. Much more intimate than Astarion could have ever imagined. Pleasurable, even.

He's so used to being grabbed, pushed, and forced into positions. Hurried encounters with those who cared not for his pleasure, that it came secondary or not at all. Astarion keeps waiting for the moment where Tav hoists him up and slots him roughly against their crotch, waiting for the inevitable painful sting of being pried open without warning.

But it never comes.

Astarion can feel their crotch against the cleft of his arse, Tav straddling his hips for their own leverage, yet this position is unusually sensual. Tav's hands begin traveling up the sides of his torso and they lean further into him, pushing Astarion's hips further into the ground below him. The pressure of his center meeting the bedroll causes his arousal to stir, twitching softly to life as he haphazardly grinds his hips further into the deerskin below, chasing the sensation again and again.

Soft moans escape Astarion's lips as Tav kisses the midline of his back, applying light pressure to the muscles encircling his ribs as their hands glide over the delicate pale skin. "Is it okay if I touch them?" Tav asks quietly against his back.

His scars, they mean. They want to massage his scars.

Astarion's eyes focus again on the opening of his tent, flap blowing in the wind as another breeze blows past. When he closes his eyes, he imagines himself back in the kennels, lying on the cold stone floor beneath him in a similar position. Cazador is behind him, needle in hand, bringing the blade down hard into the vulnerable skin of his back. Astarion screams, or at least he remembers the feeling of screaming, as he relives the searing pain of his flesh being carved out. He claws at the stone floor as Cazador continues, voice failing him as the blade dances across his skin. Cazador chuckles darkly, telling Astarion revisions are to be made.

Astarion.

His head swims with nervous energy, though a small voice breaks through his concentration.

Astarion!

His eyes snap open, returning focus to his tent. Astarion becomes mildly aware of the hand over his mouth and he tries to control his labored breathing.

"Are you alright? You started screaming out of no where." Tav releases their hand from around his mouth and sits back. "Sorry, but I had to do something, lest the entire camp come running..." Tav sits back on his feet for a bit, silence passing over them both. "Did you want to stop?" they suggest. "It's okay if-"

"No, I'm fine," clarifies Astarion. "Sorry, dear. My mind was elsewhere for a moment."

"...Cazador?" Tav asks, quietly.

Astarion doesn't respond immediately. Moments pass before he slowly nods his head. He hears Tav sigh over his shoulder as they resume their place over the backs of his thighs.

"I have no sharp objects, aside from a nail or two," they say in reassurance. "All I'm trying to do is help you feel more at ease. I promise."

"I don't doubt that," Astarion admits. "This is just... different, for me." He gasps as he feels Tav's hands on his lower back again. "I... usually don't give people my back."

Their hands travel higher, and Tav feels the minute shakes of anticipation rumbling through Astarion's frame. Astarion sucks in a sharp breath and they move between his shoulder blades, tracing each indentation of the scars with their fingertips. They use the palms of their hands to place pressure on the muscles deep below, a soft moan of relief escaping Astarion as he eases into the touch.

"...I only want to make you feel good, Astarion," Tav coos above him, dragging their hands back up the length of his spine. They rub along the outlines of each scapula, digging their thumbs into hard knots of muscles. Tav circles them gently, huffing out a quick laugh as they feel the tension beginning to melt away from Astarion's frame.

His head is swimming in euphoric pleasure. His arousal has stirred back to life, but not due to lust. No, this is simply because his entire body feels good, so so good. Astarion feels himself loosening under Tav's ministrations. It dawns on him that he never gave thought to how tensely he held himself together. Another soft moan escapes his lips as Tav leans over again to kiss the back of his neck. The position pushes his half-hard cock further into the bedroll, his entire body instinctively curling upward, into Tav. He leans his head toward one side, granting them better access to his neck.

"Does it feel good?" they ask, littering chaste kissing along the side of Astarion's neck.

Astarion moans as Tav's hands run up and down the sides of his ribs again. "Y-yes," he gasps. "P-please continue."

The massage turns intimate again; Tav kissing down Astarion's back as their hands settle along his narrow hips. Astarion knows there won't be physical intimacy; he's not quite ready for that yet, but by the gods if this isn't close.

Tav works at his back for what feels like a tenday before finally sliding off. "How was that?" they ask, lightly brushing the backs of their fingers over his skin.

Astarion turns over, arousal flagging enough to not raise any uncomfortable suspicion. Though, could he blush, his face would be absolutely flushed. His eyes are heavy, his mouth hangs open. "Wonderful," he admits. "I would very much like to do that again."

Tav leans over and smiles, capturing Astarion's lips between his own. "Then again we shall."

[femperor]

I've done a number of things with my HRT that any medical professional would call an unnecessary risk. I've poked myself multiple times with the same needle, looking for a spot with fewer nerve endings to do the injection. I've continued to draw estrogen from a bottle after pieces of the rubber stopper broke off and fell into it. I've used a needle that was shorter than recommended because the pharmacy gave me the wrong kind. Once, I fished a needle out of my sharps container while I was waiting for my next paycheck.

From a strictly scientific viewpoint, HRT is life-saving. We cannot find the harm that the opposition claims it does to a body, and we cannot prove the existence of the soul they claim is being tainted. The rational decision then, would be to ensure easy access to HRT and the methods of dosing them. Give trans people the option to live in the science-supported world, and to act squarely off of evidence and studies. These facts lie at odds with personally-held beliefs that are subjected onto the world. Trans people then have to navigate a world of truths and a world of lies in order to obtain whatever HRT is available to them.

The average trans person believes in the science surrounding HRT. Most also internalize the anti-trans beliefs of the world around them. When you swim in an ocean, the salt water sinks into your clothes and tries to work its way into your skin. Deny these beliefs, reject them entirely. Your skin is still wet. A better future for trans people would be to not make swimming necessary for transition. But until that day, we keep ourselves afloat.

Surrounded by water that wants to drown us, we begin relying on new beliefs, ones that are direct responses to the ocean below. Staying above water indefinitely is next to impossible; instead I found a way to breathe below the surface. The enemies of transgenderism mythologize HRT to restrict it from trans people. Trans people mythologize themselves to justify their right to access. We know the ocean exists and that we have to live in it. We fashion ourselves as sea serpents, or mermaids, or pirates cursed to continue navigating the seas long after they perished. Becoming the monsters that maps warn good honest sailors about.

And when you put this much effort into creating a self beyond the scope of documented indisputable fact, just for the ability to ask your therapist to recommend an endocrinologist or to make that grey market purchase. It's harder to follow every rule that medical experts suggest. I know my doctor's only concern is mitigating risks that have a small chance for terrible consequences. But regardless of the gills I have, I'm tired from swimming. I can't let errant , minor facts finish me off when I've gone this far fighting other people's opinions.

[ub-sessed]

A friend bought me the Knitter's Pride Day & Nite set, which I have been wanting since it came out in 2022!

I didn't have room in my needle binder for another page, so I ordered a second one:

So now I have the tips in one binder and my cables and stoppers in the other.

At some point I will do a proper review of the Day & Nite set, but for now I will just say that I am very happy with them.