181,739 assignments delivered: and we’re still here for you.
Info: 1673 words (7 pages) Blog
Published: 10 Oct 2025
We’ve been doing this work since 2003. For the last few years we’ve said we’d helped “25,000+ students,” and we haven’t updated that figure in a long while. Today, we pulled the records properly.
There are 49,639 customers in our database. Within that, 181,739 real assignments have been delivered. If you look at those completed orders and count the people behind them once each, that’s 49,639 students who have trusted us at least once and quite often, more than once. Every one of those numbers is a night someone didn’t feel alone, a deadline that stopped feeling impossible, a degree that got back on track.
This isn’t an advert. It’s a record of what we see, and why the work still exists despite the criticism, the headlines, and the attempts to legislate it out of sight. If a service like ours keeps being used, it’s because something upstream isn’t working for everyone.
The students we meet, in real life.
We hear the same story from different corners of the world. The University brochure promised a “world‑class experience”. The reality is lectures delivered at speed, feedback that says “be more critical” without explaining how, no support with language gaps and an assumption that the expectations of British academic writing are already understood.
Many international students can hold a conversation about complex theory and research without breaking a sweat; the barrier is getting ideas down in a way a marker will accept, in a second language, within limited time, often while carrying visa pressure and the higher financial stakes of international fees. It isn’t about laziness; it’s about being admitted to a system that rarely teaches its own unwritten rules and seldom has the capacity to coach them patiently. A system that is happy to relax admission criteria for higher-paying international students, only to fail them down the line with a chronic lack of support.
We hear about executive function, working memory, and the hidden labour of “getting started.” A student with ADHD who understands their topic deeply can still spend hours stuck at the first paragraph because the task-switching and structuring overhead is enormous.
A student with dyslexia may draft strong arguments but burn out wrestling with the surface presentation. Autistic students tell us the ambiguity of some briefs is paralysing. “Reasonable adjustments” exist on paper but it’s a box-ticking exercise: but they are uneven in practice; timelines and marking systems are not designed around how different brains work. Many of these students aren’t asking for an easy road – just a clear one.
Cost of living has turned term time into shift time. The timetable rarely notices. We’ve spoken to carers who take children to school, stack a split shift, commute, and then try to think clearly at midnight. There are bus drivers on foundation courses, health care assistants on nights, retail staff closing at 11pm and opening again at 7. The work is not “too hard”; the day is too short to cram in studying, supporting a family and keeping the lights on. Academic life often assumes spare hours that simply don’t exist.
We see instability – house moves mid‑term, damp flats that make laptops fail, shared rooms and shared desks, weeks where money dictates whether travel to campus is even possible because food and power is so damn expensive. Deadlines don’t flex for any of that. When someone pays for a model answer, part of what they are buying is borrowed time: a scaffold that compresses the hours needed to get from blank page to something coherent.
Anxiety and depression are not rare blips; they’re background weather for many. Waiting lists are long. Energy and concentration come and go. Some feedback lands like a verdict rather than guidance. The need is not for “motivation tips” but for realistic scaffolding and pace – ways to keep moving when the engine misfires.
None of this is theoretical to us. It’s what we hear on the phone, read in order notes, and see in the shape of the work that’s asked for.
What people ask for (and why)
Across 181,739 assignments, the brief ultimately is ‘show me what good looks like for this task’, or ‘help me see the path from question to finished thing.’
We do standard essays and reports where the problem isn’t content but structure and pace: how to move from a reading list to a defensible argument within 2,500 words, not 25,000.
We help with dissertations and theses that need scaffolding: turning a topic into a question, a question into a method, and a method into chapters that actually add up. Sometimes it’s a literature review framework; sometimes it’s a demonstration of how results could be written up clearly.
We help with data and analysis across psychology, nursing, business and engineering (and many more subjects): cleaned datasets with transparent assumptions; worked examples showing how to go from test choice to interpretation so the student can repeat the process on their own data.
Our writers are there to help with professional and practice‑based work for nursing, social work, education, business: case analyses, reflective pieces, policy briefs – often the genres that are least taught and most heavily marked.
We produce MBA and management projects that blend research with practice: scoping, options, recommendations, and – crucially – what an “executive summary” actually looks like when it earns its name.
And we’re there for presentations and decks where the barrier is translating analysis into something that communicates in 10 slides without collapsing under its own weight.
What’s striking is how often a single, well‑built example unblocks someone. Once an invisible standard is made visible, the next steps follow. That’s not cheating; that’s pedagogy by demonstration (with plenty of educational theory to prove it – we learn best by example). It’s the kind of detailed, one‑to‑one modelling good supervisors do when they have the time. Many simply don’t.
Why a service like this persists
If universities consistently admitted diverse cohorts and then resourced the teaching, pastoral and skills support to match, the demand for companies like ours would shrink. We believe that. We’ve said it out loud for years.
But look at those numbers again: 49,639 distinct students behind 181,739 real assignments. That’s not a quirk of marketing or a pocket of misconduct; it’s a signal. Students wouldn’t keep seeking external scaffolding if internal scaffolding were available, accessible, and humane.
We’ve survived policy shifts, public condemnation and the whack‑a‑mole cycles of detection technology because the underlying conditions haven’t changed enough. Massified higher education invites in students with different strengths and circumstances, then teaches as if everyone learns the same way, at the same pace, in the same spare time. It measures performance with high‑stakes, front‑loaded tasks and offers help that is either too generic, too thinly spread, or too hard to access when it’s needed most.
We’re still surviving post Skills and Post-16 Education Act 2022: a ill-thought piece of legislation that even the Government doesn’t understand. “Essay mills to be banned”, their Skills Minister said. It didn’t blanket-ban essay mills; although it did inadvertently criminalise all paid AI services (more about that another day).
We’re not blind to the ethical grey. We refuse to celebrate work being handed in verbatim – we’ve published a detailed fair use policy from day one and we urge students to follow it. But we also refuse the cartoon version of reality where needing structured exemplars equals moral failure. In our experience, most orders are acts of continuance – ways to stay enrolled, to meet a gate that wasn’t designed for the person standing at it.
How we try to show up
We’re a company, but we’re also a collection of people, many academics, who’ve taught in crowded seminars, marked at 2am, and sat with students who are bright and burnt out. That background shapes how we work.
We build model answers as scaffolds, not shortcuts. We write them as if a diligent marker will read them, with sources, reasoning and limitations laid bare. The aim is not to replace effort but to direct it.
We favour transparency over theatre: explicit assumptions in finance models, commented code in analyses, signposted structure in essays, and – where relevant – alternatives and trade‑offs, because most real assignments aren’t single‑solution puzzles.
We pay attention to cognitive load. Clear documents are kinder documents. If a student is already juggling two jobs and a diagnosis, the last thing they need is a dense, high‑context exemplar that hides the method behind the polish and overly complex jargon.
We listen. The most valuable line in any brief is often the one that explains the context you won’t see on a marking criteria: night shifts, caring responsibilities, a recent move, a first in family to attend university. Those lines change how we build.
We don’t always get it right, but with more than 1,800 verified reviews and a rating of 4.4/5, most often we do. We are still learning how to better support neurodiverse learners in the way we structure work. We are still learning how to make exemplars that teach as well as they impress.
A word of gratitude
Thank you to the 49,639 who put their trust in us when the situation called for it. Trust is not an entitlement; it is earned, one brief at a time. We don’t take it lightly.
If higher education becomes more humane – if support becomes timely, specific and scaled; if assessment rewards learning rather than endurance; if international, neurodiverse, working‑class and working‑hours students get the help and understanding that they really need – we will be glad to do less of this work. Until then, we will keep doing the quiet, careful part we can do: make invisible standards visible, reduce unnecessary struggle, and give people a fair chance to show what they know.
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