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theorphicangel · 4 months

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𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬. | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Synopsis: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single, brooding man in possession of a good future in genetics, must be in want of a girlfriend.

Or at least a fake one to get his family off his back.

(college au & fake dating trope ft my favourite grumpy man who doesn't fall first but ends up falling harder. ouch.)

ao3

series | next chapter

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝…𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞?

You’re running late.

But then again…is there ever a day when you’re not running late?

It’s hard to differentiate whether it’s due to the fact that you left all your pre-reading till the last minute or if your alarm forgot to go off or if it was due to you oversleeping for an additional thirty minutes because your roommate had dragged you out last night for the fourth freshers party of the week.

Either way, you’re running late. Your bag is frantically packed with notebooks and random essentials, your laptop is less than half-charged and your socks are mismatched. It’s not the best start that you had imagined for your first week of lectures but as you glance at digits in the corner of your phone, you figure that you don’t even have the time to complain.

The campus is still relatively new to you, and also fucking huge. Groups of people swarm around like insects, trying to find their way around to their own lecture. Glancing down at the map app currently open on your phone, a frown reaches your brows.

It seems like you’re still so far away from the humanities block which is on the other side of campus.

You scroll down, pausing your steps to look for another route. If only there was….

‘Want a shortcut? Press here.’

“Yes fucking please.” you mutter to yourself, clicking the bold button absentmindedly.

—

The muffled sound of a robotic voice announcing your destination perks up your mood entirely as you reach the lecture doors of 202. You made it with just about five minutes to spare and you’ve never felt prouder, not even during all those times when you’ve forgotten to study for exams but had luckily gotten away with pretty decent grades.

Entering the hall, you find most seats are taken, nearly all the rows are unavailable. Scanning around desperately, you find a seat near the back next to a guy mindlessly scrolling on his phone. Hastily, you walk to your desired seat before the rest of the row fills up, and you find that as soon as you have taken your seat, there’s no spare seats left at all.

Taking a deep breath, your anxiety now sits comfortably in the pit of your stomach.

This is how college was supposed to go.

Prepared, calm and on time. You’re so relaxed right now that you’re not even slightly bothered about the percentage of your laptop when you slide it open in front of you, knowing that you have your notebooks in your bag if needed. You take a quick sip of water before the lecture begins and soon all conversations in the room seem to die away slowly.

Those unlucky enough to have found a seat, have to settle with sitting on the steps of the lecture hall. A silent sigh of relief that you are not a part of that majority runs through your body. God, you forget that literature was so oversubscribed.

A hushed silence takes over the room and a steady grin creeps at the corner of your lips as you wait for the professor to start.

“Good morning all, it is nice to see you all bright and early for the first genetics lecture of the year. I know some of you had to clear up clashes with microbiology this morning which may be the reason why we are so oversubscribed today, but we’ll make do, there’s plenty of room for everyone.”

Remember that eager, excited smile that you just had a few moments ago? Yeah, well it just died and here was the funeral. You blink in confusion as the words of the lecture settles into your brain.

Genetics? Microbiology? What the fuck was this professor talking about?

The lecturer drones on at the front of the hall, her voice echoing. “For those of you who don't know already, I'm professor Dr. Michaleson and I’ll be your genetics lecturer for the remainder of the year.”

Oh no. Oh fuck no. Oh hell no.

You look around, scanning the wide room to already see people begin to type away at their laptops. No one else in the room seems to be as confused as you are right now and it’s concerning. Reaching into your coat pocket, you open up your maps app checking your location.

Shit.

You’ve found yourself in the general medical sciences block, not arts and humanities. Zooming in further you find that the humanities block is direct from the building that you’re in right now.

If there was a moment for you to have a breakdown, it would be right now. All of your panicking and frantic packing that you had gone through this morning has now gone completely to waste because you’re not even in the right fucking lecture hall.

You turn towards the person on your left but notice that they’re rapidly typing away as the lecturer proceeds to run over the future modules for the course. Not wanting to bother her, you decide to glance towards your right, to the guy who was once mindlessly scrolling on his phone who has now replaced it with his very own laptop but…he’s not typing away yet.

So you take your chances.

“Hey.” you whisper, trying to keep your panic out of your voice. You lean over a little so that he can hear you.

The man frowns a little, looking towards you.

“What?” His tone is soft like yours, quiet so as not to disrupt other people but you can’t help but notice the annoyed intonation in his voice.

“What lecture are we in right now?” you subtly prompt, quickly noticing the crease between the eyebrows of the stranger sitting next to you. His nose curves up in distaste as if you’ve just asked him whether he thinks the earth is round or flat.

“Please, just answer my question.” you plead gently, reading his expression.

You know he probably takes you for an idiot right now but you just need confirmation so that,

One: You hadn’t just misheard and this was definitely a genetics lecture

And two: If it was a genetic lecture this officially gives your body the right to go into full panic mode right now.

The guy lets out a light sigh before answering, “We’re in genetics right now.”

“Fuck!”

A few heads in the row in front of your glance back at the sound and automatically your cheeks burn up out of embarrassment.

“Why are you asking?” the man sitting beside you questions.

You hesitate in giving your answer, embarrassed that you had messed up one of the most basic rules of things not to do at university. Now it’s your turn to let out a beaten down sigh.

“I–”

“You’re in the wrong lecture, aren’t you?” the stranger estimates. Clearly based on your mixed expression of disappointment and panic.

You nod silently, rubbing your hands across your face. Internally, you wished that you could go back in time. Back to before you had entered this stupid lecture room, double checking the location or at least had the chance run out before the lecture had started.

“What are you supposed to be in?”

“English Literature.”

The man sitting beside you stifles a laugh and again, a number of heads back to look at the two of you in frustration. He attempts to cover it up with a cough and you notice the way that his cheeks slowly turn to a dusty shade of pink.

“Por dios, what are you doing here?” he whispers. And again you don’t miss the tone of irritation in his voice.

“I–I think I got lost.” you stammer quietly, looking down at your phone. “I’m supposed to be here.” you point at a spot on your phone as you show him. “But I got it messed up.”

“It’s across from this building?”

You nod begrudgingly, before shutting off your phone and laying your head down on the table in surrender.

You stay down for a minute before perking back up. The lecturer is still droning on about god knows what and the man beside you begins to take notes.

Leaning over, you whisper another question.

“How long is this lecture?”

“Two hours.”

Yep, you were screwed.

And it wasn’t like you could get up and leave. Well, you could, but that would mean drawing all the attention from half of the people in the room, disrupting them and causing your entire row to stand up so that you could leave. You think that you’d rather die than be that person.

The man beside you says nothing more, choosing to ignore you and your situation as he types away along with the rest of the people in the hall.

Looks like you have no choice but to buckle yourself in for this ride.

—

Two hours later, you find yourself on level 12 of the world’s hardest game, still without any new literature knowledge but now have a deep insight into what the genetics modules will look like for the next three years as well as having a deep insightful knowledge about prokaryotic and eukaryotic organisms.

That’ll be some useful trivia some day at least.

You sit back watching everyone else pack away. The man beside you glances towards you briefly, he’s packed away too, now waiting for the people in your row to start filing out.

“Thinking about drastically changing your degree to biological sciences?” he asks, a smirk on his face.

You snort as you pack away your laptop, which surprisingly managed to survive the whole lecture.

“I fucking wish.”

“How about next time you check that you’re actually in the right block before stepping into a lecture hall?”

You barely know this man and yet you can feel his judgment, not just now but throughout the whole lecture you’ve felt his continuous side-eye as you died for the 400th time in your game.

“Will do.” you note, hoping to cut this conversation short. “Looks like I’ve got a literature lecture to catch up on.” you mumble to yourself as you begin to walk away, filing out of your row and heading to the doors.

“You what? Ended up at the wrong lecture hall?!”

Burying your head onto your arms, you groan aloud as a non-committal response. Your college roommate and new friend, Lyla, laughs out loud which unfortunately attracts eyes from around the cafe.

You groan, this being the second time that your face has burnt up this morning. “Please don’t make my misery any louder ly’ ”

She wipes at the corner of her eyes, adjusting her glasses. “I'm sorry, m’sorry.” She chokes, spluttering her hot chocolate. “But could you go through exactly what it was that you did again?”

You perk up your head on the table, keeping your eyelids shut. A mumble escapes from your lips.

Lyla cups her ears, teasing you unabashedly. “What was that?”

“Iendedupinageneticslecture.”

“What?”

“I ended up in a genetics lecture!”

And if you thought that her first laugh had been loud enough for the tables near you to hear, her second laugh practically caused the entire cafe to turn their eyes on you.

“This is all your fault by the way.” You pick up your cup of hot coffee and as if your day couldn’t get any worse, you’ve managed to burn your tongue and now you wonder whether there’s any point whatsoever in living on this sadistic earth.

Lyla points at herself, “Me? What did I do?!”

If you–” you lower your voice, cautious of multiple eyes staring at your table. “If you didn’t drag me out last night then maybe I wouldn’t have been so sleep deprived that I could have actually gotten to my proper lecture.”

Lyla snorts, waving her hands around. “Oh, please! Didn’t I get you that number off that guy you liked? Matt, was it?”

“Tom.”

“Right, whatever.” she says, picking up her cup and dipping her tongue into the generous amount of whipped cream and marshmallows that cover her hot chocolate. You stare at your own order in distaste, deeply wishing that you had gotten one too.

The next two weeks following your god awful mishap, you were fine.

From now on you and Lyla had a pact.

No more nights out.

Only up until the halloween season.

With your reading classes and her technology lectures, the two of you found each other up to your necks in assignments and essays along with being forced to help out with Lyla’s little coding club maintenance.

Thankfully you’ve managed to maintain some sort of routine, attending most – if not all – of your lectures both on time and double checking that you were in the right ones. You’ve made a few friends here or there at social events and finally found a job as a barista at the same cafe where Lyla gets her favorite hot chocolate from – and you must admit that they are pretty great.

All in all, college is going pretty great.

You think.

It’s going well in terms that you’ve managed to dodge every single phone call from your mom ever since you got here. Weekly, you’ve been coming up with good excuses and you don’t think that she’s caught on. Yet.

It was something that you had expected to happen once you made the decision to move away, I mean it was only fair, her only child leaving the bird’s nest, what else is she supposed to do?

You did feel guilty, of course you did. You hate lying to your mom but having her call every five minutes is not the reputation that you want to set up for yourself.

You’ll call her at the end of the week.

You swear on it.

- ‘Sorry, I’m in the library right now mom, I’ll call you back later okay? Love you <3’

Sent: 5:34pm

Setting your phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’, you place it next to your laptop, your playlist resuming through your headphones.

Another thing that you were also proud of yourself, was getting in regular study periods in preparation for midterms. Your old self would have been procrastinating right up until the night before the exam but now? You’ve matured. You’ve changed your ways for the better and by getting in some pre-reading of essays and books, you know that you’ll be thanking your future self in the long run if you keep up this mindset.

And this mindset is a great mindset…as long as you don’t get distracted.

You lasted ten minutes.

You had barely gotten through the second page before your attention was taken somewhere else and by somewhere else you mean somebody else. And this particular somebody reminds you of a moment that you are trying so hard to forget. Which is impossible to do when he had just so coincidentally pulled up a chair next to you.

It was him. The guy who you sat next to in the one lecture that we don’t talk about for certain implicit reasons.

On recognising his face, you hope that he doesn’t recognise you. He pulls up a chair beside you, not truly noticing you are until he glances up. You can already sense what he’s about to say. Taking off your headphones you go to speak but he suddenly cuts you off.

“I’m surprised that you didn’t mistake the janitor’s closet for the library then.”

“Oh, you’re funny.” you deadpan.

“I try to be.” he quips, the corners of his lips tilting upright.

Now that your body is not in fight or flight mode, you get a chance to take in this stranger. He’s…attractive. Conventionally. Tall. Awkwardly tall. Looks like one of those gym junkies or you guess that he actually is one based on those muscles on him. And those model cheekbones and naturally tanned skin and bushy eyebrows and soft lips–

“Do I have something on my face or are you just eyeballing me?”

“Neither.” you say, a little too quick for your judgment.

“There’s no shame in admitting the latter.” He prompts, a playful tone in his voice.

“You’re a little bit cocky don’t you think?”

This stranger leans back into his chair a little, raising a brow before dismissing your statement.

“I would disagree.”

“Of course you would, you’re a STEM student.”

The stranger huffs, glancing at you up and down. “At least I’m guaranteed a job as soon as I’m out of here.” He remarks, rummaging through his bag. “Good luck in getting out of your student debt with–” he squints over to one of the closed novels by your side. “Whatever book that you have over there.”

“You mean pride and prejudice?”

He simply shrugs, choosing to ignore you as he pulls out a huge textbook and his laptop.

Your eyes glimpse the front cover, reading ‘Biological Sciences.’ Your face turns to distaste at the thought of having to read that through your own free will.

“Have you read Pride and Prejudice?” you ask, trying to maintain a friendly unbiased tone.

“Never have and never will.”

“You’re missing out.”

“On what?” he scoffs, flicking a page of his massive textbook. It hurts your brain to even think about how much that would even cost. “A bunch of rich upper class Englishmen complain about their problems for a whole 300 pages?”

“Firstly,” you note, slightly offended. “That’s not what happens. Secondly, it’s 400 pages but it’s debatable depending on what version you buy. But when you suddenly get a gun cocked to your head with someone asking you to quote the first line from Pride and Prejudice one day, you’ll be regretting this conversation.”

“I highly doubt that’s even a probable situation.”

“There’s always a few anomalies lying around.” You shrug absentmindedly, flicking through your own novel which you had to complete reading for this week.

“Rarely.”

“But often enough to catch you off-guard.”

This…stranger lets out a sigh heavily through his nose, a sign of which you know means ‘please shut the fuck up.’ He ignores you for the nth time, eyes slightly squinting as he scrolls down, closely reading an article.

That’s it. You’ve lost your concentration. He’s ruined your mood and your mindset.

You begin to pack away, huffing as you place your novel in your bag. You’ll have to get started when you get home it seems.

“Don’t let me spoil your 19th century fun.” he murmurs, scrolling further down on the article.

“I’m going somewhere else, so that I won’t be bothered with your stupid microbiology shit.”

The man huffs, barely acknowledging you as you stand. “Good luck finding another free spot because this place is packed.”

“I’m heading home actually.” you quip, zipping up your bag after placing all your materials.

“Make sure that you don’t accidentally end up in someone else’s dorm–”

“Hilarious.”

You walk away before he can poke another joke at you. Once again, mocking you and you barely know his first name.

You kinda hope you never see him again. Partly because he’s an annoying STEM student but mostly because he reminds you of the excruciating pain that you went through by sitting in a genetics lecture for two hours without a single break.

Key word: kinda.

Reblogs are much appreciated!

let me know / send an ask if you would like to be tagged!

#under no circumstances.#miguel o hara x reader #angel writes #migeul o'hara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara atsv #atsv headcanons #atsv x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut

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teacupthesauceror-blog · 7 months

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There was a post on here once that was like PLEASE USE SERVICES SO WE CAN KEEP FUNDING THEM and it has really helped me to access help from govt bodies and charities. If something is super oversubscribed and my need is low then I'll still skip it, but otherwise I'm like yes well done me keeping this service going by being a number to show to donors

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thedreadvampy · 1 year

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I think there's a huge gap in language when talking about British legislative and social racism bc some of the most overt and unchallenged legislative racism lately is against GRT people and a lot of countries (especially America) do not use the term GRT.

The G in GRT stands for Gypsy (using this bc it's as-self-described, like it's the term the British GRT community uses often) and bc this is for a lot of people exclusively a slur and bc it has a lot of historical weight, people will often object to use of the expanded acronym slash try to correct it to Roma or Rroma.

But the GRT community as a political class and as a group subject to racism includes, but is not synonymous with, Roma, cause it also includes Irish Travelers (who are another large nomadic minority ethnic group, aka Pavee), Scottish, English and Welsh Travelers (a mix of indigenous nomadic groups), and other nomadic peoples in Britain.

In some, but not all, contexts, GRT also includes non-ethnic nomadic communities: New Age Travelers (people living nomadic lifestyles by choice - full-time caravanners or van lifers), Bargees (people living full time in canal boats) and showmen (traveling funfairs and circuses). Not being a specific ethnicity, New Agers and Showmen have a different relationship to racism and marginalisation than Roma and Travelers (a settled Roma or Traveler family are still Roma or Traveler, it's not just a question of lifestyle and community) but obviously anti-Traveler legislation and bias harms everyone living nomadically.

I think (and I'm not GRT and my thoughts should be taken with a truckload of salt, I just feel like it's worth explaining what the terminology actually means) that a lot of the nuance around GRT identity is kind of lost in transnational discourse (particularly with Americans) because. the G bit of GRT has been used as a blanket term for hundreds of years to refer to multiple groups of nomadic peoples in Europe and so there are ethnocultural groups included under that term who aren't Roma but also are GRT and are racialised as GRT.

People racialised within the GRT community (as Roma or Travelers) experience way higher rates of social and economic exclusion than any other ethnogroups in the UK, including if they're settled (living in brick-and-mortar housing, which around 75% of people recorded as GRT do).

Both Roma and Traveler kids are systemically excluded from education (Gypsy/Roma kids are 6x more likely to be suspended from school and 7x as likely to be expelled than the national average, and Traveler kids aren't much better off (4x more likely than average to be suspended and 5x as likely to be expelled)). GRT people face systemic employment discrimination, being 6x more likely than average to be long term unemployed and 1/4 as likely to be offered high-level or management positions. GRT folk have the worst health outcomes of any ethnic group, and consistently report high levels of medical discrimination and trouble accessing healthcare. As a result, GRT infant mortality and maternal death is way higher than average, and GRT life expectancy is 10+ years shorter than average. GRT communities are disproportionately criminalised, settled GRT families have spoken often about having been treated as inherently suspicious on the basis of their ethnicity.

A lot of people write these issues off as being, like, a product of a nomadic/no-fixed-address lifestyle, but a) it's a problem with the system if our social care systems don't account for the fact that some people are nomadic, itinerant or have no fixed address. there is no reason why nomadic life needs to be more dangerous or excluded than settled. but also b) as stated a majority of GRT people included in these figures do have fixed addresses. it is just racism.

Homelessness is also a huge problem in the community, with many landowners refusing to rent land to Travellers, residential camping berths being oversubscribed by something like 10,000%, and significant difficulty accessing affordable housing. The land which is available to Traveling communities is increasingly ringfenced, often specifically with the intention of discouraging nomadic communities.

given that it is. racism. with an exceptionally long and brutal history of genocide, criminalisation and systemic social exclusion. it is also striking how often open, sometimes genocidal, racism against GRT people is handwaved or accepted as normal. anti-GRT legislation is explicitly passed on the regular. people are incredibly comfortable referring to all GRT people as thieves, scroungers, criminals and frauds. I have had literal circular mailings offering to "remove vermin, pests and Gypsies from your land." and yet calling this racism is often treated as an overstatement. Even though it's explicitly ethnically-driven bias, and has deeply entrenched social impacts affecting everyone racialised as GRT regardless of cultural behaviour or lifestyle.

anyway that's what GRT means, it stands for Gypsy/Roma/Traveller and it's an extremely underserved and marginalised racialised group in the UK and Europe. It includes Romani ethnic groups, but also includes non-Roma ethnic groups (like the Pavee) and Roma subgroups (like Sinti). They're united by a common experience of anti-nomadic racism, criminalisation and social exclusion and, as an aggregate group, are consistently among the most directly disadvantaged racial groups in the UK.

#red said #this is my understanding as someone who's not grt but has read up on it a lot #which is to say i may be talking shite #please correct me if you are from a GRT background and I'm fucking up

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itsaspectrumcomic · 16 days

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I am an undiagnosed autistic who is waiting for their assessment I am under 18 so I have the kids one and have been waiting for a year and 3/4 the expectation was 64 weeks, how long did it take you

(It’s ok if you prefer not to say)

I had an adult assessment so I don't know how it is with the kids one, but the expected waiting time for my assessment on the NHS was 2 and 1/2 years. Eventually I decided I couldn't wait that long so I went private and ended up waiting a few months instead (if I hadn't I'd probably still be waiting 🙃). I know that's not an option for a lot of people though - I was lucky to have money saved up.

Unfortunately the system is extremely slow and oversubscribed at the moment so I'm not surprised you've been waiting a long time 😔

#autism diagnosis #autism assessment #ask #chaoslatte #actually autistic #its a spectrum

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elsewhereuniversity · 1 year

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Pinned to the library notice board, written in a monospaced hand:

It’s come to our attention that the Archivist recently gave out the name ‘Null’.

Please Do Not use ‘Null’ as a safe-name; Do Not use ‘TRUE’, ‘FALSE’, or any attempt to run a code-injection attack via your safe-name. These names are fundamentally Not Safe.

Yes, a lot of the departmental databases are necessarily run by people without the skills or experience to recognise or deal with this type of thing. Yes, it is possible to use your safe-name to set your grades to a pass or snag a place in whatever oversubscribed class you had your eye on. Yes, it’s a new twist on the old joke.

People who get Taken sometimes come back. No one has yet been saved from the Data Cleansing Wizard.

Ser get_sName, Fourth Knight of the Relational Table

#submission #ser get_sName #stories #little bobby tables we call him #haha #bulletin

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pilesofnonsense · 10 months

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RQBB 2023 Artist Sign-Ups Open

[ID: Picture of a black banner with the Rusty Quill show logos and a text in white and red that reads Rusty Quill Big Bang 2023]

Please read through the information carefully to understand what will be expected of you as a participant.

The sign-up link is at the end of the post under the spoiler cut!

Schedule for 2023 (all deadlines at 23:00 BST / 5pm CDT):

Artist Sign-ups: July 17th - 23rd

Check-in 2 & Art Draft Deadline: August 20th

Final Fic & Art Due: August 27th

Posting: September 3rd - September 17th

Confirmation e-mails for sign-ups will be sent out after sign-ups close; if you have not received a confirmation by July 26th, please contact us at [email protected]. We ask that you check your email (including the spam folder!) and reply so we can confirm that your registered email address is correct and you still intend to participate.

If you wish to only sign-up as a pinch hitter for the event please e-mail us under [email protected] and let us know the fandoms and ratings you’d be comfortable to pinch hit for and what your Do Not Wants are (if you would be comfortable with pinch hitting M and E rated fics, you confirm that you are over 18).

Participation Requirements:

You must choose whether to join the Big Bang as an artist or writer. You may not do both.

Artists will need somewhere to host their work, so that it can be embedded on AO3.

If you wish to create for M or E rated fics you must be aged over 18.

All participants must read and adhere to the Expected Conduct guidelines (see below).

Art Requirements: At least one fully finished piece of original artwork (traditional or digital colored/shaded drawing or painting, ficbinding, completed cross-stitch or knitting project, etc.) or full podfic. Compilations or arrangements of existing art, such as playlists or moodboards, should not be your primary piece for this challenge, though you are welcome to include them as a bonus (see below).

Please note, we do not accept AI-generated or AI-assisted works, either as main or extra pieces.

We hope that artists, like the writers, will take this opportunity to challenge themselves—whether by attempting an ambitious work in their primary medium, finding new means of creative expression, or sharing an extra tidbit inspired by their work on this project (e.g. sketches, a playlist, a comment about the fic and the process of creating for it, etc.).

If you have any questions about the suitability of your art, please contact the mods.

Art Draft Requirements: Your draft should show significant progress on your piece. For a digital drawing, for example, the minimum would be completed lineart, ready for coloring. For handcrafts, your project should be about halfway done.

As always, if you are unsure what qualifies when it comes to your medium or process, you can contact us!

Maximum Number of Fics per Artist: Initially, each artist will only be able to sign up for 1 fic (they may create as much art for this fic as they like).

Artists who would like to create for more than one fic can indicate this in their sign-up, and will be contacted during matching if this is necessary. You may also sign up as a pinch-hitter to be contacted in the event that another artist drops out.

Matching Process: The artist sign-up will include a list of the anonymised fic summaries. Each artist will select 3 fics which they would be interested in creating for, with additional preferences (favourite show/shows they do not follow, OTPs and NoTPs, Do Not Wants, etc.) indicated in the comment field. Mods will then match writers to artists, taking preferences into account as much as possible.

If fics are oversubscribed or if it is otherwise necessary for matching, they may be removed from the list of eligible fics before the end of artist sign-ups.

If you have an issue with your match, please let the mods know as soon as possible.

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The mods will always account for DNWs within reason; however, attempts to manipulate matches via DNWs or otherwise acting in bad faith will result in the rejection of your sign-up or draft. We are also not private detectives, and will thus not be fielding any requests such as “do not match me with anyone who has ever drawn/written XYZ.” Please keep that in mind when considering whether this event is right for you.

Discord: Writers, artists, and anyone else involved in the event are all welcome to join our Discord for RQ Big Bang chatter! Links will be included in participant confirmation emails; please do not share these links, as they are created to meet our participant numbers.

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By signing up for this event, you agree to do your best to meet the deadlines. If you might need a little more time, please email the mods to explain your situation before the deadline passes. Those who miss deadlines without contacting the mods beforehand may be dropped from the event without further contact.

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#rusty quill gaming #the magnus archives #stellar firma #rusty quill big bang #rqbb2023 #pon mod post #nonsense mod post #rusty quill #big bang

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ukrfeminism · 1 year

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3 minute read

Imagine it. You’re at the end of your tether. Perhaps it’s an undiagnosed or untreated mental health problem, or maybe a financial or family disaster has pushed you to the edge. You do the unthinkable and try to end your life. The police are called, you survive. But because we do not have enough mental health beds in this country, you are sent to prison as a “place of safety” or “for your own protection”.

This is completely legal and happened to six women in three months from May to July 2022. While most of us enjoyed the warmest summer in over 10 years, they were sent to HMP Styal during one of the lowest periods in their lives. This was in addition to seven other women who were sent there solely on mental health grounds.

HMP Bronzefield, another women’s prison, was sent 75 women by the courts between 2021 and 2022, because there were not enough mental health beds in the community. That was more than double the number of women that they received the year before.

The cases above were highlighted by the Independent Monitoring Board’s (IMB) latest report on mental health concerns in women’s prisons, which came out earlier this month. But this awful phenomenon is not a new one. About a year ago, Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Prisons reported concerns to the all party-parliamentary group (APPG) on women in the penal system.

At the time, politicians called for a change to laws that give courts the power to remand people in prison “for their own protection” under the 1976 Bail Act (meaning you can be sent to prison if you are considered a danger to yourself, which could include a suicide attempt).

And now, the the reformed Mental Health Act is set to end the use of prison as a “place of safety” too, which sometimes happens under the 1983 Mental Health Act (this law permits the authorities to put people with severe mental health needs in prison until there is space for them to be admitted to hospital).

That law change cannot come soon enough. There’s no doubt it will make all the difference for women who are not legally “guilty” of any crimes but find themselves in prison because they are mentally unwell.

From oversubscribed healthcare and specialist units at HMP Eastwood Park and HMP Bronzefield, to mentally unwell women who are segregated because the necessary support is not available, and prison staff who are struggling because they are not trained mental health professionals, the IMB report makes it clear that prisons are no place for vulnerable women who need mental health support.

However, the real question is where women with mental health needs will go if they don’t end up in our prisons. Mental health services outside prisons are also oversubscribed. Last year, an 18-year-old woman going through a mental health crisis had to wait eight-and-a-half days in A&E before she got a bed in a psychiatric hospital. Right now, 23 per cent of adults with a mental illness must wait more than three months to start treatment.

To truly break the link between mental health needs and women in prison, we must expand our mental health services on a grand scale.

More than 80 per cent of women in prison told a Justice Inspectorate Survey they had some form of mental health problem (compared with 59 per cent of men). That means people in prison without mental health problems are the minority.

Pavan Dhaliwal, the chief executive of Revolving Doors, a charity that aims to reduce reoffending said: “All evidence points to a clear solution: the end to short prison sentences and instead well-funded, trauma-informed, and personalised support in the community that addresses the root causes of crime.

“Yet, over four years after the Female Offender Strategy’s promise of fewer women entering the criminal justice system and better management of their needs in the community, the Government continues to fall short.”

Women in the prison estate are some of the most vulnerable and overlooked women in our society. I have heard first hand from a woman who had such a difficult and unstable life that prison was the first place she had any semblance of security.

I once interviewed a woman in prison with schizophrenia. When I asked her for examples of kindness she’d received from prison staff, worryingly, her best example was when a nurse had let her miss taking her medicine five times so she could get to her prison job on time.

A woman who served time in prison for murder wrote for iabout witnessing self-harm on a massive scale, and group therapy sessions that left her suicidal. She tried to take her own life during her sentence in 2016.

When asked about her experience of prison and mental health, Natalie* said: “When I was sent to prison, I spent 24 hours in a cell and found myself experiencing an anxiety attack. I rang the alarm bell six times, asking to speak to a healthcare professional, but no one came. It wasn’t until the next morning that a prison officer came to find me in my room. I was on the floor and I hadn’t gotten any sleep because of how distressed I was. Things didn’t get any better during the rest of my sentence. In fact, my mental health just spiralled, and I was in an even worse place than when I came in.

“When you’re having mental health issues before being charged, prison does nothing to help – it just turns your life upside down.”

This is the truth. Whether they are innocent or guilty, women in prison with mental health needs desperately need so much better than what is currently on offer. The question is whether our Government will do anything about it.

Natalie* is an alias

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colemckenzies · 29 days

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the theatre group local to my parents specifically says on its website that it's looking for new members 'in bass/tenor range' and is oversubscribed for 'alto/soprano range' it does NOT mention gender at all. do we think they are just trying to avoid being accused of sexism or do u think my non-binary male-role-preferring ass has a chance.

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catb-fics · 3 months

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Forbidden Part 1

I have so many parts to post before I can get up to date with this story! Student/Professor AU. Cliché as fuck I know but it has been so much fun to write 🖤

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: None really for this part… just Van’s skin tight jeans 🤭

Story Masterlist Main Masterlist

"Remember the coursework's due in on Friday. The deadline's 2pm. I won't be accepting any excuses."

You feel your heart sink at your lecturer's words. You'd barely even cobbled together enough material to write a 1000 word report, let alone the mammoth 6000 word essay that needed to be submitted. And it definitely needed to be submitted. You were barely scraping through as it was, teetering on the edge of failure. Another unsatisfactory module mark and your chances of progressing on to the second year were looking pretty bleak.

It's not that you couldn't cope with the content of the BA History course you'd joined the previous year in September. You were certainly bright enough. In fact with your A Level grades you had probably sold yourself short in picking your current university. You'd not chosen it on its academic merits or league table rankings though, you'd blindly followed your boyfriend there who'd bagged himself a full sports scholarship playing football whilst studying Sports Science. What you hadn't banked on was finding him in a compromising position with the student coach of the ladies volleyball team only a month into the first semester.

Things had swiftly gone downhill from there. All of a sudden poring over textbooks in the evening was replaced with downing shots in the Students Union bar. You told yourself you were having fun, you were only young once, it was just the first term, you had plenty of time to buckle down and better your weak grades after Christmas, but unfortunately your first semester exam marks were a harsh wake up call. If you didn't pull your socks up you'd be out of the course and off campus by the time early summer rolled around. And then Professor McCann came on to the scene...

Professor Ryan Evan McCann or 'Van' as he urged the students to call him was a recent addition to the Faculty staff. Fresh from his PhD studies and eager to teach, he'd fast become a firm favourite amongst both staff and students alike. He was friendly, enthusiastic and always took the time to explain the course content thoroughly. But it wasn't just his engaging teaching style which saw his module fast oversubscribed with keen students. He was drop dead gorgeous, and the flurry of excited whispers that had flowed around the lecture theatre when he'd stepped up to the lectern to deliver a short introduction on semester two options day had less to do with real excitement for the subject, and more to do with the tightness of his skinny jeans and his piercing blue eyes. You could practically hear the collective sigh from most of the females in the room... and a few of the males too.

And now here you were, three weeks into the term, your self-made promises of turning over a new leaf looking more and more like empty vows as night after night you ventured out rather than taking your studies seriously. Not even the thought of impressing your attractive professor was enough to tempt you away from two-for-one cocktails at the Union club nights.

In fact he'd been the main reason you'd been out until two in the morning the night before. It had started innocently enough. Loud cheers and cheeky remarks as the usual gang of revellers from your hall of residence had spotted Van and a male colleague enjoying a quiet early evening pint in the corner of a bar in the town centre. You'd struck up banter backwards and forwards across the room until Van had caved and agreed to join you all at the next bar in your planned pub crawl. Pint after pint had been sunk, and soon enough it was impossible to tell exactly who the responsible adult was. You'd all seen another side to Professor McCann, a fun, reckless, impulsive side which only served to make him all the more attractive. If only you'd not had that last cocktail you probably would have been able to restrain yourself.

You cringed internally as you recalled bumping into him as he was coming out of the toilets at the nightclub you'd ended up at. How you'd grabbed the lapels of his shirt and backed him into the wall of the narrow corridor, showering him with compliments which he'd awkwardly rebuffed. If you'd left it at that you probably could have laughed it off, kept your head down for a few lectures and there would have been no harm done, but you hadn't. Spurred on by your drunken state and your worries about flunking the course, you did something bad. Something you weren't going to recover from with a flushed face and an awkward apology.

You'd propositioned him.

One hand flat against the wall, the other toying with his belt buckle before slipping down to firmly caress between his legs as he looked back at you wide-eyed and disbelievingly.

"So... Sir," you'd slurred, voice thick with inebriation. "Is there anything I can do to help me pass your module this semester?"

You'd seen a spark of something in his eyes, but it was only fleeting. He'd quickly recovered, firmly pushing you back, hands on your shoulders, spinning you around so you were now the one against the wall.

"Y/N... you're drunk," he'd stated. "I'd think very carefully about your next actions if I were you or you're going to get yourself into a situation that's beyond your control."

"Ooh... d'ya like being in control then?" You'd giggled, pouting suggestively, reaching for him again.

He'd grabbed your wrists, hard, his grip firm as he pushed them back against the wall. "I mean it. Don't make me do something I'll regret."

His eyes flashed dangerously, boring into you for a long moment before he pushed himself back from the wall, releasing you and then stepping away, muttering that he was leaving.

You let him go.

It was supposed to be a warning, a show of his authority to deter you, but it didn't have the desired effect. In fact it did the exact opposite, and as you stumbled home and into bed that night all you could think of was his hands on your wrists, pinning you back against the wall. How it would feel if his lips had met yours and his body had pressed against you.

You fell asleep that night full of thoughts of him running through your head and woke up just hours later, hungover and restless, your head pounding.

"Come on Y/N, you've got a 9 o' clock lecture. You can't be late again."

Your best friend and room-mate Lizzie had appeared at your bedside, holding a glass of water in one hand and a couple of paracetamol in her other open palm. You'd raised your head stiffly, blinking at the harsh sunlight and groaning before sinking your head back down into your pillow face-first.

"Y/N!" she'd grumbled, louder this time. "Hangover or not, you're gonna be in so much trouble if you don't go to McCann's lecture."

The sound of his name reverberated around your head, bringing to mind images of you blatantly throwing yourself at him the previous night. You considered just pulling the covers up over your head and blocking out the day, but you knew Lizzie was right. If Van decided to fail you then you were out, no second chances. If you even still had a place on the course after your shameful behaviour.

You'd grudgingly dragged yourself out of bed, dutifully swallowing the painkillers and the entire glass of water, then slunk off to the shower.

You'd kept your head down, quite literally, for the whole of your two hour lecture. If it had been any other academic up there presenting the material you would surely have dozed off by now, but you weren't going to miss a second of Van. It captivated you how he commanded every student's attention, his obvious enthusiasm shining through as he animatedly delivered the lecture. And what's more, despite being out until the early hours on a brutal pub crawl like you were, he didn't look hungover at all. In fact he looked fresh as a daisy and even more devastatingly handsome than normal. How the fuck did he even do that?

"Remember the coursework's due in on Friday. The deadline's 2pm. I won't be accepting any excuses."

So here you are, fuzzy-headed and shame-faced, trying to keep your head down as you merge into the steady stream of students as they file out of the lecture room. A sigh of relief is waiting with the big inhale you've taken as you step past Van, eyes fixed firmly on the carpet as you notice his boots in your peripheral vision. You’re nearly there, the threshold of the doorway just inches away...

"Y/N... I'd like a word please."

It isn’t a question. You don’t have a choice. You stop in your tracks, letting the remaining students slip past you, waiting until the last one walks through the exit and the door’s closed behind them.

It’s quiet in the room, stiflingly so, and it makes your heart pound with a raw kind of nervousness as you turn slowly, eventually looking up at Van as you come to a stop facing him.

You’re expecting him to look stern and disappointed in you, a disapproving glare to show that you've let him and yourself down, so when you clock the slight smirk simmering at the edge of his lips you’re taken aback. Your cheeks flush a deep shade of scarlet as he holds you locked in his gaze.

"How's the head?"

You giggle girlishly, overcome with a shyness that doesn’t usually afflict you, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. "Oh, it's... errr... it's... I've been better I suppose... Look... about last night..."

You tail off, see his eyebrows raise expectantly as he cocks his head to look at you, his smirk widening. He knows you’re mortified and he’s thoroughly enjoying this. This is how he’s going to punish you, but you deserve to squirm. You suppose a touch of humiliation is a small price to pay for your actions. Especially as trying to bribe your way into an academic's pants to get an honours degree is grounds for an instant expulsion.

You carry on awkwardly, stumbling over your words, tongue-tied and pathetic. "I'm... really sorry. I was just... drunk... I... errr... I didn't really mean it."

"So what did you mean Y/N? Do you want to enlighten me?"

He takes a step towards you and you counter it, then another and another and then you feel your back hit the wall. You take a deep breath, holding it, your mind scrambling for a fitting response.

"I just... I... I don't know..."

"You thought you'd just suck my cock and I'd award you a First? Is that it?"

This hits you like a slap in the face and you let your exhale go quickly, your mouth falling agape.

It’s the way he says it, matter-of-factly like you’re discussing a mundane topic and not a sexual act in payment for your success. He isn’t flustered in the slightest, in fact he looks calm and collected. In control. It makes your heart race and that wild, wayward part of you come to life. The part that takes chances and doesn’t conform.

You look at him right back, a challenge you aren’t backing down from.

"And what if I was? What then?"

A spark lights in his eyes and he isn’t hiding it this time, it simmers there with a tension that you feel in every fibre of your being as your nerve endings bristle with electricity.

"Well... I couldn't just leave it ignored. You'd need to be punished of course."

His words light a fire between your legs as a dark part of you stirs and comes to life. Your pulse races and your breathing deepens.

"Van..." you begin, but your words don't come.

They catch in your throat as he leans in, one hand flat on the wall and the other rising up, two of his fingers trailing gently down your jaw. You swallow deeply, anticipation thick in the air as his fingers come to rest on your chin, tipping your head back so you have no choice but to look up at him.

"It's not Van to you, it's Sir... You got that?"

"Yes... Sir..."

It comes out like a whisper, breathy and full of desire. His lips curl up into a devilish smile as he looks down on you. There’s a long moment where you just look at each other, your heart thudding hard in your chest, your fingers twitching at your sides as you long to reach out for him, tangle your fingers in his hair, grasp at his hips as you push your own against him. Anything... anything to satisfy the ache between your thighs.

But it isn’t happening. He steps back, eyes still on you as he backs up, watching you carefully.

"Don't be late for my lecture tomorrow... or there will be consequences."

Then you watch as he turns and walks away, pushing through the door without so much as a look behind him, leaving you there breathless and wanting, coiled tightly like a spring.

#forbidden #catfish and the bottlemen #van mccann #van mccann x reader #au fanfic #vanfic

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