RachelCabbit.com (formerly known as Cabbit Corner, and My Hondana) is my website and blog. It focuses mostly on books as reading is my main hobby. I rebranded from a book-specific site to a more personal one – my online name has been RachelCabbit for over a decade now and I felt that I needed a domain name that was flexible to adapt to any change in interest I may have in future.
While focused on books and reading, I will blog about other interests, including languages, anime and cartoons, and writing (original, fanfiction and poetry) but I hope to share my love of all things literary and join the book blogosphere! I may also blog about my personal life – including my battle with Fibromyalgia, Depression and Anxiety, and my journey as a new mother.
I hope you enjoy the revamped blog!
RachelCabbit.com 
I really enjoyed your Titanic fic If You Would Not Deny Me, and I thought I should reach out here as well to let you know that I think you might have been plagiarised. Parts of your fic have been used word for word in a fic by a user called AlwaysMyOriginalSin entitled An Interruption for their first chapter: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33860416?view_full_work=true
Passage from their fic:
Cal, oblivious to her inner turmoil, leaned in and moved his lips onto hers. She was expecting it. She was dreading it, but guilt made her defenceless. She could hear her mother’s voice echoing in the back of her mind.
“We need Cal and the fortune your marriage will bring. If you don’t marry Cal, we are going to be destitute. Do what Cal says. Better to let him have you than to have us end up in the poorhouse with you making our money by being a streetwalker, God forbid.”
Cal lifted her up, kissing her deeply. She hardly returned the kiss for she hadn’t even known how to. Did lips move at all or in a practised fashion? Perhaps it would be something one became accustomed to over time. She was too fearful and in too much inner turmoil to react. Cal seemed not to notice, this was the closest he had ever been to her and he was too aroused to stop now. With hands sweeping below her posterior and her back, in one swoop he lifted her and he carried her over to her bed, placing her down and broke their kiss. His eyes were full of lust. Rose tried to reason to herself. Cal was a good man, wasn’t he? He was a little arrogant, but he did care for her, didn’t he? Maybe she cared for him. Maybe this was what love was? Her mother never showed any particular outward affection for her father when he was alive. Maybe, Rose thought, her own relationship with Cal was the same? Was affection simply saved for the intimacies which should take place in a bedroom; during the times when a woman was supposed to please a man. Rose didn’t know how to please, how to position herself, how to ensure her fiancé would be satisfied. Brief snippets of chatter from inside the ballrooms at home had taught her to simply lay there. It can be pleasurable but most men simply take the lead and do what they need to do. A woman is simply there to sate the man, be beautiful for him and leave an air of mystery about the bedroom and good heavens—never share a bathroom.
Cal began to undress himself quickly and messily before he pulled Rose’s white nightdress over her head and stared for a moment at the curls of red hair that cascaded down over her shoulders mingling with the beautiful diamond necklace, resting on her pale silken skin. Rose glanced ahead, with no intentions of seeing him completely without clothes, not now or perhaps ever. It was terrifying.
His hands roamed her body; Rose closed her eyes and let him get on with it, feeling hot and bothered but not happy. She realised that she was going to lose her virginity before her wedding night. Quite often she had wondered what it would be like, but never had she imagined this. She’d expected some sort of pleasure, but she was feeling only dread and guilt. Cal kissed her and was beginning to get quite flustered. He was panting between kisses. The noise made her feel—odd, like she felt when her eldest uncle had pressed his lips against hers once at Christmas. It wasn’t really anything. Her stomach wasn’t a mass of nerves. Her breasts, pushed against his own bare chest felt—like they always did. Her breathing was normal, her body temperature tepid and even with the knowledge that an attractive man was entirely nude before her, for the first time, she was in fact blasé.