Logged in for the first time in a while (it's been a year), and I've been catching up with what has been happening.
At the risk of virtue signalling, as a CIS white woman, third-generation from a country that continues to award me more privileges than those before me, I need to continue to remind myself that my responsibility is to listen rather than talk over others. It’s not about making myself loudest in conversations that aren’t mine but making sure I use my privileges to amplify voices that deserve to be heard.
So when people tell you you're speaking over them, dismissing their experiences, or taking up space that isn’t yours—listen. Learn to sit in discomfort without getting defensive. Being an ally isn’t about proving anything; it’s about ensuring you're continually learning, unlearning, and making space for others without demanding recognition and a gold fucking star.
Also, for those thinking the significance of the confederate flag doesn't go beyond the US and it should be excused...
Concern over racist slurs and imagery in Newport Village
Northern Irish locals fuming after Confederate banner appears alongside D***** T**** flag in small rural town
Army racism apology to black ‘poster girl’ soldier
Grand Ole Opry in Glasgow votes to ban use of Confederate flag
Darlington boy, 14, sentenced for terrorism offences
Signs of hate: Parental guide to far-right codes, symbols and acronyms
Midsomer Murders issues 'racist' warning over Morris Dancer scenes in old episode
These took me less than five minutes to find, and that’s the bare minimum. Surprisingly, Google actually works for more than just figuring out if your favourite Pedro character has been tagged in a 50k slow-burn fic AU involving your dog's groomer. You can find plenty of resources to educate yourself.
TLDR: it's 2025, stop using tired racist imagery and stereotypes. If you get it wrong, own it. No one expects perfection, let's all just be better?
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It seems the universe is intent on throwing you in the path of one Dr. Jack Abbot.
★ status: completed
pairing: jack abbot x gn!reader
warnings etc.: grumpy x sunshine, breaking out the law and order degree, minor mentions of a laceration reader receives, talk of a minor medical procedure, competency kink is itched, this is pretty tame considering my resume
ao3: linked
pairing: dr. jack abbot x gn!reader
word count: 1,411
warnings: nada, unless you don't like the mention of breakfast in bed and crumbs under you feet? no beta, all mistakes are my own
estimated reading time: 8 minutes
summary: it seems the universe is intent on throwing you in the path of dr. jack abbot
ao3: linked
« part three | masterlist »
It was the kind of Saturday morning that couldn’t have been better if you’d tried. The sun was shining and the weather was just warm enough to warrant no gloves; there was nowhere to be, and your phones weren’t lighting up with notifications.
Jack had strolled in the night before after a last-minute shift swap that put him on days. He’d dumped his duffel by your front hall closet and all but collapsed on your sofa. You’d fed him takeout—dumplings—bullied him into a hot shower, then shoved him under your duvet and told him the universe didn’t need either of you for at least twenty-four hours.
It was something short of a miracle really. Especially considering how rare it was for you both to have the same day off together.
Jack worked nights; you didn’t. There had been weeks where you saw more of each other through FaceTime and hospital parking lots than in each other’s apartments. But somehow, you’d made it work—scheduling dates around shifts, court dates, exhaustion and learning how to fall asleep in unfamiliar beds. You’d spent nights at his place, he at yours, both of you working together to find a flow that suited the two of you.
You’d slipped out of bed quietly, a careful slide out from under the sheets, a kiss to his shoulder before sneaking off to the kitchen. Even though Jack was a light sleeper at the best of times—he’d stirred slightly, maybe murmured something into the pillow. Which was a testament to how tired he truly was.
The plan had been a simple one: coffee, eggs, maybe toast. You weren’t much of a cook, but you could handle a simple breakfast.
Mostly.
You padded back to the bedroom with two mugs and a plate balanced in one hand. You placed them carefully on the nightstand, smiling at the sight before you. The tangled sheets, one arm thrown over his eyes, but a sleepy smile on his face.
“Smells good,” he mumbled, voice gravelly from sleep. He pushed himself upright against the headboard, comforter riding low on his hips, curls sticking out from about four different directions.
“Hopefully it tastes good,” you said as you climbed over him to your side of the bed.
“Did you burn anything?” he asked around a bite of toast.
You narrowed your eyes at him as you paused with your knees on either side of him, “It was once.”
He swallowed, “It was more than once.”
You rolled your eyes, “You’re never going to let me live it down, are you?”
He snagged your wrist and reeled you in for a kiss, a slow, unhurried thing that spiralled quickly when his hand slid beneath the hem of your t-shirt. The plate of food nearly met its end right there and then when your elbow struck the side table.
He rolled you both so you were on your back, his lips slow but firm, his hand moving higher, dragging heat across your ribs. You sighed into it, the morning laziness and the morning sun’s warmth seeping into the room created a sweet, golden haze.
“Jack,” you said softly.
“Hm?” he replied, his nose at the crook of your neck.
You didn’t say anything at first—couldn’t say anything. Just let yourself sink into the moment and feel it—the weight of his leg hooked over your hip, the warmth of his skin on yours, the quiet of the room. You felt the warmth of the moment fill you and soak into your bones. You thought—for just a second—that this could just be your favourite kind of morning.
Your noses bumped as he kissed you again. You laughed; it was a small one caught between his mouth and yours. His hand was under the waistband of your pyjamas now, warm and confident, fingertips grazing—
He froze.
“Jack,” you moaned, arching into him to encourage him to continue.
“Wait,” he turned his head, sniffed the air. “Do you smell smoke?”
You pulled back, somewhat confused, “What?”
You blinked. Then you smelled it, the acrid, smoky scent of burnt food.
“Shit,” you bolted, springing off the mattress, sock-clad feet sliding across the hardwood while Jack watched you go.
The kitchen was a haze of smoke, and now the pulse of a shrieking fire alarm. The pan on the stove had blackened, and the remaining eggs no longer resembled eggs. Tendrils of smoke curled up from the offending pan, and you grabbed the handle with a flimsy potholder, yelping as you flung it into the sink and turned on the faucet. The sudden hiss of water on scorched metal just added steam to the already choking atmosphere.
You looked for something to wave the smoke from the screaming fire alarm. The first thing you saw was the cutting board you’d used to cut the bread on. Pulling it from the counter sent a shower of crumbs to the floor that stuck to the bottom of your feet as you stood waving the cutting board under the fire alarm to try and silence the thing by moving the smoke away from the sensor.
“Jesus,” came Jack’s voice behind you. You turned to see him in the doorway, rubbing one eye, his gait off—he’d clearly thrown his prosthetic on in a hurry. He braced a hand against the doorframe, adjusting it with a practiced motion and a wince. “What the hell happened?”
He moved to the window that you had overlooked, and threw it open with a snap and propped it open wide. Then he opened the doors to your tiny balcony. Cool air rushed in, dragging the worst of the smoke out in the process.
You were still attempting to wave the chopping board when Jack stepped beside you and gently took it from your hands, fighting a roll of his eyes as he placed it down and resumed chasing the smoke with a dish towel instead.
“I’ve got this,” he said.
You both were silent while the fire alarm raged on.
Then, the alarm finally stopped.
With the smoke dispersed, Jack threw the dish towel over his shoulder and turned to look at you—eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable.
“Someone should really supervise you.”
You screwed up your nose, you knew it would be a hard fight of denial considering the state of your kitchen… and the events of the last several months.
“In my defence—”
“Counsellor, I would think twice about pitching a defence here.”
You opened your mouth.
He gave you a knowing look with a raised brow, as if daring you to continue.
You stared back.
Jack turned slowly and looked around the smoke-filled kitchen.
Then, after a pause, “How you have made it this far in life without taking yourself out is astounding.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, but a smirk played at your lips as you stepped in closer.
“What?” he asked, eyeing you cautiously.
“I’m thinking,” you replied with a casual shrug.
He let out a bark of laughter as he shook his head, “That’s never ended well.”
You lifted an eyebrow. “Well, I was going to suggest something that had both of us horizontal, but if you want to be like that…”
Your words trailed off with a nonchalant smirk. He pulled you to him by the back of your shirt and buried his face in the crook of your neck.
“Hmm…” he kissed just below your jaw, “well, I am afraid to leave you unsupervised at this point.”
You rolled your eyes, “I’m fully capable.”
“I beg to differ.”
You kissed him.
He didn’t resist.
Your hands slipped around his waist, fingers cold from the window’s chilly draft, sliding just beneath the hem of his shirt. Jack groaned faintly against your mouth, then pulled back just enough to murmur, “You’re not using this as a distraction technique.”
“It’s working though, isn’t it?”
He sighed, long-suffering, even as his arms tightened around your waist.
The kitchen still smelled like burnt eggs, the whole plan for breakfast in bed was a disaster, and you were pretty sure what was irritating the soles of your feet was toast crumbs—but Jack was here, warm and solid in your arms, and for now, everything else could wait.
“Come back to bed,” you said, stealing one more kiss before you took his hands in yours.
Jack didn’t argue. He just kissed you again and walked you backwards to your bedroom.
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“Perhaps most of all, though, you deserve to be okay. You deserve to know that a day in which you can just barely get out of bed because you are sad, or sick, or simply not ready to see the outside is not the end of the world. You deserve to know that moments of weakness do not make you fundamentally weak, only fundamentally human, and that sometimes we’re not going to be effusively happy, and that is okay.”
i am silently rooting for all of you, all the time. even if we have not spoken, even if we barely know each other, know that i see you, i hear you, and i am rooting for you. it’s so easy to go about life feeling isolated and alone, but know that i am always rooting for you and the things that you hold dear to you. i do not mean it in a shallow or facetious way, clearly, i can’t ever know all your good days and bad days, but know that i am sending a silent wish to whoever is listening that things go well. there is always someone rooting for you, on the good and bad days and everything in between.
My advice for having a good time in fandom is simple: ignore everyone’s opinions, block literally anyone who bums you out for even ten seconds, and make friends with actual freaks
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sometimes you reblog something because you personally want it on your blog. and some other times you reblog something as if you were scattering bird feed on ur porch and hiding behind the window to look out for the beautiful bird (beloved mutual) who will no doubt come peck at it
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming