#secondary school tutors

[everyday-tuition]

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[hairtusk]

why is it that the second i get a job offer to go into teaching, the feed of every social media account i have turns into "this is the worst time in history to be a teacher, these children are the spawn of satan" ??

[hoperays-song]

The Teens + Homework Help Chart

[fridayyy-13th]

at this rate i might just talk to her after class, or email her this evening. and also my academic advisor as well. i do not feel prepared to take this class :P

[fingertipsmp3]

Living in a small town for pretty much all your life is like being in a sitcom that’s been going on for way too long

[aethenia]

it’s fucking gut wrenching to see girls you went to secondary school posting about men treating them like shit. we’re not friends, we’ve probably never shared more than a few words, but I can picture you as an eleven year old on the first day of school and that breaks my heart.

[tuitioncenterincranbourne]

Tuition Centre Cranbourne

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[fanaticalthings]

I want an AU where after Jason gets brought back to life, he channels his inner rage and turmoil into the academics instead of murder

Talia has like infinite money and a crap ton of influence, so she can absolutely get Jason the best tutors and can easily get him into the most prestigious schools if Jason wanted to (she doesn't need to do that though because Jason's just smart enough to get into them on his own)

The major he chooses? Med.

Why? Because Bruce dropped out of med school.

Jason practically flies through all the secondary education that he needs to catch up on and is already en route to earning his bachelor's AND his master's.

And it'd be so incredibly funny if the way Bruce and Jason reunite in this AU was purely by coincidence.

Bruce (as Brucie Wayne) offers to show up as a guest lecturer at Hudson University (the school Dick attended but dropped out of so double points for Jason), maybe to talk about future career paths and job positions at WE idk

So as Bruce is just wandering around the campus, he randomly bumps into a student and immediately puts on the Brucie act and is all "Oh my, I'm SO sorry, I'm just a klutz haha" only to stop dead silent when he makes eye contact with a very alive, very grown Jason Todd, who also stops dead in his tracks, mouth agape, staring at Bruce like the world's about to end

And before Bruce can get his thoughts straight, Jason just bolts out of there like his life depends on it, and Bruce is just in shambles for the rest of the day.

It doesn't help that the person giving Bruce the tour is all like "Oh yeah, that's Jason, he's one of the heads on our student council haha, anyways, this way, Mr. Wayne." and Bruce is just stood there bluescreening.

----

Alternatively, it'd be kinda funny if this all happened AFTER the events of UTRH where after the final encounter with Bruce and Joker and the whole explosion, Jason's just like "yk what, maybe I'm just gonna turn over a new leaf and pursue a higher education"

So while Gotham's still reeling from the aftermath of Jason's near takeover as the top crime lord and Bruce is still painstakingly trying to figure out where his son went, the whole time Jason's just been chilling on a school campus and Bruce just so happens to bump into his son (who, last time they met, tried to kill Bruce and blew up the building they were all in) and Jason's just all normal-looking with his textbooks and nerdy glasses and Bruce doesn't know whether to scream or cry.

[snaggletoothedbastard]

My tutor is a knob.

For the sake of privacy and convenience, I will be referring to him as Mr Knobhead.

Here's the deal.

A while back, Mr Knobhead decided it would be fun to make our tutor group watch a video. Specifically, this video.

Watch it if you want, but if you don't want to I'll just sum it up quickly: it's a sort of comedy skit from the 80s or 90s about a boy called Kevin who is, of course, played by an adult man. It's Kevin's thirteenth birthday. As soon as he turns thirteen he basically becomes a caveman. He embodies every stereotype that has ever been pinned on teenagers: he's bad-tempered, he's rude to his parents, he won't do as he's told, you get the idea.

I have no idea why Mr Knobhead decided to show us this video. When we saw it we were like "sir what the fuck" and he tried to justify himself by saying "well you know some teenagers really do act like this, especially the ones I interact with". I wonder why.

The reason I'm so upset about this is because I didn't really think about it properly at the time. I was offended, sure, but I didn't realise quite how offended this silly little video would make me until I got older and witnessed more examples of Mr Knobhead having absolutely no respect for his students.

A couple of years ago he would regularly start debates during tutor, usually about the school uniform, which practically every student hates with a burning passion. The rules are quite strict. You have to tuck your shirt in, you have to wear your tie at all times, you have to wear black socks, your skirt can't be more than five centimetres above your knees, your trousers can't even vaguely resemble jeans, your shoes are basically limited to piss-catchers

or these.

If you wear jewellery it can only be one necklace, one bracelet, one ring and/or one pair of earrings; you can't have facial piercings, and your necklace has to be hidden under your shirt, which seems to defeat the point of necklaces but hey ho. If you wear a jumper you can't tuck it into your skirt or trousers, and you have to wear the blazer on top of it.

Basically, it's all very old-fashioned and controlling and pointless.

And these debates are pointless, because Mr Knobhead will dismiss anything the students say, even though he's the one who starts the arguments in the first place. Any time someone makes a valid point he'll either say: "well you're very young so you have a very strong sense of justice and it's expected of you to make bold statements like that" or: "I'm not in charge of this so I can't make any changes".

If I haven't made it clear already, this man is an absolute wanker.

There have been a couple of times in which I felt irritated enough to make a point. The first time, I criticised Mr Knobhead's claim that wearing an office job-type uniform "prepares us for the workplace", which is ridiculous because there are lots of jobs that require different uniforms, and if a student plans to be a doctor, or a builder, it wouldn't be very appropriate for them to come in wearing scrubs, or high-vis and a hard hat. And also, the sixth formers at my school don't wear a uniform. They're allowed to wear whatever they like, even though they are closer to entering the workplace than a great deal of the younger students.

I pointed this out to Mr Knobhead, and he didn't really have much of an argument for it. He kind of just said, "well yeah they don't have to wear a uniform because some people aren't going to need to wear a uniform for their job". Which literally contradicts his other argument.

The second time was about a year later (and we were still having the same old boring conversation). I mentioned to Mr Knobhead that I have sensory issues, and I have had to ask the school for permission to take my tie off, because it's a clip-on tie and in order to wear it I have to do up the top button of my shirt, which makes it really tight around my neck. This once caused me to have a meltdown, which is what prompted my parents to contact the school and ask them to make an exception for me. I said this to Mr Knobhead and his response was: "would you wear a tie if you had to do it for a job?"

No? I wouldn't? Not if I could help it?? The fact that I can't wear my tie for most of the time I'm in school should have answered his question. If there are jobs that make people wear ties I'm going to avoid them like the plague.

I would rather break the rules and get in trouble for it than have an easily-avoided meltdown. Because meltdowns are scary and painful and exhausting, and could potentially cause me to injure myself or someone else, whereas breaking one rule is only going to get me a telling-off from a teacher. Which is obviously not pleasant, but it's better than a fucking meltdown.

And I'm not the only one breaking the rules. Probably more than half the school does it. Because we're beyond the point of caring.

What's really ironic is that the adults who essentially just take the piss out of young people are not stopping us from acting like their "stereotypical teenagers". They're practically encouraging it. If you refuse to show us basic respect, we are going to get angry. We are going to retaliate. You can't expect us to be goody two-shoes golden children when you make out we're all dickheads that don't deserve to be taken seriously or have our needs met.

If you treat us like criminals, we might as well act accordingly.

[prokopetz]

I think a lot of the skepticism and derision toward the idea of "gifted kid burnout" stems from the fact that a lot of folks have no idea what the gifted track in most high schools actually looks like; they've got this mental image, possibly informed by popular media depictions, of "gifted kids" as a privileged group of students who get to go on extra field trips, monopolise the teachers' attention in class, and constantly be told how special they are, but who are otherwise treated identically to all the other kids.

In practice, the gifted track in most high schools – most North American high schools, at any rate – has the same problem as any other educational program: the need to adhere to published metrics. These programs exist for the benefit of students only insofar as those benefits can empirically be measured, which leads to several common outcomes:

Students on the gifted track being afforded fewer choices regarding elective classes – often to the extent of having no choices at all – in order to stream the highest-performing students into the subjects that are most valuable in terms of boosting institutional metrics.

Students on the gifted tracking receiving restricted access to educational resources such as tutoring because it's perceived as a waste of funding. In many cases, gifted students are not only denied access to tutoring, but expected to serve as volunteer tutors and teaching assistants themselves, effectively becoming a source of unpaid educational labour for the schools they attend.

Students on the gifted track being assigned considerably more homework, often literally doubling their workload in an environment where homework loads are already routinely high enough that kids have difficulty finding time to eat and sleep, simply because you get more measurable academic performance data that way.

The upshot is that the gifted track is often less about fun perks and constant praise, and more about receiving less freedom, fewer resources, and heavier workloads than one's peers, getting strong-armed into providing unpaid labour to the school on top of it, and constantly being told one should be grateful for it – and that's without touching on the fact that the unspoken secondary purpose of many gifted programs is to serve as a quarantine for all the neurodivergent kids the school couldn't find an excuse to institutionalise or expel.

Like, shit, there's a reason kids on the gifted track exhibit elevated rates of alcoholism and substance abuse compared to general student populations. That doesn't arise in a vacuum!

(To be clear, I'm not saying that people graduating from high school and immediately having an existential crisis upon realising they're not special after all isn't a thing that happens, but in my experience that's more usually something that happens to the kids who were on the football team, and reframing it as a nerd culture thing is really weird.)

[hairtusk]

What job (I’m nosy)

if they offer it to me, academic mentoring in english literature !!

[katsu28]

Hi, I really like your writing! I had an idea for a fic with Lando. He left school really young (he got tutored privately afterwards according to wikipedia) and mayhaps that could make him feel insecure or something along those lines if he has a significant other that is in university, maybe studying to get a bachelors or masters degree. School is not everything and does not accurately measure intelligence or anything else but it is still a standard that most people hold and compare themselves too. It's something that I know all to well, which is where this idea came from. Whatever you do with it thank for reading it!💖

thank you for trusting me with your idea <3

lando norris x reader, r is in an unspecified master's program, 1.5k.

Lando loves how smart you are.

He tells you all the time. When you’re stressed from the intensity of your master’s program, nervous about an exam, or most of the time, just randomly. He’s proud of you for taking on something he definitely doesn’t have the brains for, and for absolutely crushing it so far. 

He left school before even completing his GCSEs in year 10, just so he could focus on racing full time—a decision he’d never regret, but always wondered about.

What would his life have looked like if he hadn’t devoted it to pursuing a career in racing? Would he have finished secondary school? Made it to university?

He doesn’t even know what he would’ve studied. 

Granted, he was never really good at school to begin with, but things could’ve changed. Now don’t get him wrong, he would never change a thing, but that didn’t mean he never thought about what might’ve been. 

So yes, Lando loves how smart you are, but if he’s being honest with himself, it does make him feel a little insecure about his own intellect.

-------

Lando finds you in your workspace when he gets home from padel with Max. 

He’d turned one of his guest rooms into a sort of office slash study space for you when you moved in with him all that time ago, a place where you could get your work done in a quiet environment whenever you needed to. The space itself was one of the smaller rooms, but still bigger than you were used to, and decorated to perfection too. 

A standing desk with an ergonomic chair (better for your neck and back, he’d said, so you weren’t hunched over your books all the time), a smart blackboard on one wall for any necessary brainstorming, a comfy chair in another corner—all overlooking the Monte Carlo cityscape from massive floor to ceiling windows. Everything else has been up to you, but Lando wanted nothing but the best for his smart girl. 

He pads in silently, making his way over to where you're furiously typing at your computer to press a kiss to your cheek. You flinch a little, startled out of your own world at the action. Your eyes fly to his, wide, before your posture relaxes again. 

“Oh, hi! Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” You breathe, giving him a short kiss on the lips this time. 

“Didn’t mean to make you jump like that, darling. My bad,” He chuckles. He leans over your shoulder, squinting at the diagrams on your screen. “What’s that?” 

“Oh, it’s—” You pause, flicking through a few pages of the textbook next to your computer. Your lips twist to the side in thought, and then you smile at him in what he’s sure you meant to be an assuring way. “Nevermind, you probably wouldn’t get it.” 

He knows you don't mean it as a dig or anything, but the brush off ignites a bitter taste on his tongue. And if there’s one thing about Lando, it’s that he feels everything extremely strongly. “Well I’m sorry, not all of us can be geniuses.” 

“Pardon?” You look genuinely stunned at his outburst, at this huge 180 degree turn his mood has taken within the last few seconds.

Then he can't help the words tumbling out of his mouth next. “I get it, alright? ‘Lando doesn't know what I’m talking about, let’s make Lando feel dumb!” 

He storms off before you can process his stinging words, but even then, the anger that had just flared up in him has already dissipated. Lando knows all of it comes from a place of insecurity, that little nagging feeling at the back of his brain telling him that even though he’s happy where he is, happy doing what he does for a living, he could’ve made something different of himself. 

You leave him alone for a while before coming to find him, presumably to let him cool off. He feels awful about what he said now. Honestly, he hadn't even meant to say it out loud, doesn’t know why he said it. It’s not like he meant it. 

A knock from the doorway of the bedroom draws him out of his guilty thoughts, and he looks up to see you hovering just behind the threshold. He hates how you look hesitant to approach him. 

You press your lips into a thin line once his gaze meets yours. “Can we talk about what just happened?” 

“It’s nothing. Just forget I said anything.” 

“It’s obvious you’ve been holding onto those thoughts for a while, so no, Lando, it’s not nothing.” 

“I don’t wanna fight,” He mumbles, eyes glued to his fiddling fingers. You seem to notice his sudden quietness because your expression softens as you cross the room to sit next to him. 

“We’re not fighting. You’ve got something on your mind, and I want to know so I can help,” You reply, shifting to face him. He can tell how you're trying to keep your voice as level as possible. “Please let me help.” 

Lando chews on his bottom lip, unsure. You say you want to help, but he's worried that if he tells you what's really going on, you’ll think it's silly. It is silly, really, him feeling insecure because of how smart you are. But if he doesn't tell you, you’ll think he doesn't trust you, and he does trust you. He trusts you with everything. 

Then you say his name again, softer this time, and you’re looking at him like you’ve done something horrible, and he sighs. 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m not smart enough to be your boyfriend. You get all excited about your research when you talk about it,” He sighs, shrugging clumsily, “and I want to understand it because I wanna be able to get excited about it with you, but I just don’t get it. And it makes me feel stupid.” 

“I didn’t—Lando, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to, I—” 

He shakes his head forcefully, grabbing both your hands in his. “No, that’s not what I meant. You never make me feel stupid. It’s my problem, really. I just…I’m not really known for my brains, yeah? Came to terms with that a while ago.” 

“You’re smart, Lan,” You insist, brows pinching in the middle. “You’re so smart, what’re you even talking about?” 

“We talking about the same person here? I never even finished school. Wasn’t too good at it before I left either.”

“There’s more than one way to be smart, y’know,” You continue. Lando tilts his head curiously, not unlike a puppy would. “You’ve got amazing people skills, you’re creative beyond anything I could’ve dreamed up, you’re well balanced with your emotions. Not to mention the amount of skill and strength it takes to do what you do everyday, at the level you perform at.” 

“No, but that’s different. I could never do what you do, remember all the stuff that you’ve had to.”

“And you think I could do what you do?” You ask, giving a disbelieving chuckle. “Genuinely, if I got put into the cockpit of your car, I wouldn’t even be able to start the bloody thing, let alone drive it the way you can when you’re being bombarded with information from all sides during a race. If you put me in front of a group of reporters, if I had to do even a fraction of the press appearances and sponsorship events you do, I’d probably shit my pants.”

Lando wrinkles his nose in slight disgust. “That’s nasty.” 

“It’s true though! I can’t do half the things you can, but that doesn’t make me any less smart. It just means we’re smart in different ways. So what you never finished school? School isn’t the only way to measure how intelligent you are. And Lando, you’re beyond intelligent.” 

His shoulders sag with the long sigh he releases, and he lists to the side, slumping over onto your lap. “Sorry for lashing out,” He murmurs, cheek pressed against your knee. He rolls over onto his back, gazing up at you with truly apologetic eyes. “I didn’t mean what I said, I was just being a dick.” 

You hum noncommittally, stroking a hand through his curls. “You’re allowed to have feelings, Lando, it’s alright.” 

“Yeah, but what I said was just mean, and I didn’t—I wasn’t thinking straight. You don’t deserve to be snapped at like that.” 

“Makes up for all the times I’ve snapped at you during exams, so…call it even?” You ask, leaning over him with a soft smile. 

“We’re even.” He lifts his head, craning to reach your lips, and you chuckle a little bit, but meet him halfway in a gentle kiss. 

It’s an I’m sorry kiss, a I forgive you kiss, a I’ll always support you kiss.

A no matter what you say, I’ll love you forever kiss.

This fact, Lando knows for sure, even though a little bit of him still thinks he’s not quite as smart as you.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[alessiasfreckles]

not good, not bad, just different (leah williamson x ADHD!reader)

disclaimer: this is based off of my personal experience of ADHD. this is in no way saying that this is what adhd looks like for everyone!!

a/n: based on this request! i hope you like it, i'm sorry it's so all over the place but that also felt pretty thematic so... hopefully it's okay. i'm planning on doing 1-2 more parts to this! the next part will be about the reader getting diagnosed and coming to terms with their diagnosis + telling the other lionesses about it. also if you're interested in more WLW football based fiction involving ADHD, read Cleat Cute by Meryl Wilsner!

------------

You had always felt… different. Not in a ‘not like other girls’ kind of way, more like an ‘I don’t understand what’s wrong with me’ kind of way. Things just seemed to be so much harder for you than for everybody else. 

As a teenager, you were constantly getting told off by your parents for your messy room and bad grades. You were a smart kid, they said, so why couldn’t you just do your homework and study for tests like everyone else?

You would ask yourself the same thing. Forcing yourself to sit at your desk, staring at your maths textbook, desperately begging your brain to just cooperate, just this once, not understanding why it was so hard to just do the work. 

When your parents would come into your room you would instantly feel a flash of white-hot shame at the state of it. Clothes everywhere, rubbish you’d forgotten about in corners, plates, cups, half empty water bottles. You couldn’t help it, it was like once something was out of your line of sight, you just forgot it existed, like the plate of half-eaten food that you’d put next to the bed at some point and then had absent-mindedly pushed under the bed to get it out of your way. When you found it weeks - okay, months - later, you were so embarrassed by the mould that you secretly threw it away rather than take it downstairs to the kitchen, where anyone could see it. 

You would forget things you knew you should remember, things that anyone else would have remembered, like weekly tutoring sessions that your parents paid for (something they reminded you of when you forgot, yet again). You felt so stupid. It was at the same time, every Wednesday after school, so why couldn’t you remember? 

Or doctor’s appointments, dentist appointments, any kind of appointment really. You would write it into your calendar, set yourself a reminder on the day, set yourself another reminder 30 minutes before, and all that would happen is that you would swipe away the reminder thinking ‘oh, yeah’, and then you’d continue doing whatever you were doing before. It was only when you’d hear the phone ring that you’d instantly know it was about you, about the appointment you’d missed, or maybe it was from school, or maybe something else you’d just completely forgotten about.

And all of that wasn’t even taking your issues with human interaction into account. You’d always struggled to make friends, especially as a girl who liked football. When you hit 9 or 10, the other girls in your class started to grow more interested in talking about boys, or music, or tv. You couldn’t understand what they found so interesting, that they’d rather spend breaks just sitting around chatting to each other when they could be running around playing football, or some other game, or anything more exciting. 

As you got a little older, though, you realised that it was clearly a ‘you’ problem. People at your secondary school were nice, for the most part, but you still struggled to make friends. When you’d accidentally interrupt someone, or start talking too much and too loudly in excitement, or fidget a little too noisily, people would give you looks and whisper to each other about how weird you were. You learned to sit on your hands to stop yourself from clicking a pen or tapping your fingers, to keep quiet to avoid saying the wrong thing or saying it the wrong way. 

Football was a good escape. It was fast-paced enough that you didn’t have time to think about other things, and there was enough going on that your brain wasn’t looking for external stimulation. You’d always been observant, noticing things most people wouldn’t notice, and you used it to your advantage. You were quick with the ball and you seemed to always know where everyone was around you. You were so good, in fact, that you made the England U17 squad - something you’d hoped would make you seem a little cooler at school, but just added to your ‘weirdness’. 

That time was far behind you now, though. Now you were in your twenties and not only played football professionally, having joined Arsenal when you were 19, but also played for the England senior squad, one of the Lionesses. 

That’s not to say that you didn’t still struggle with things. Your apartment was a mess, you lost things constantly, you would still interrupt people and fidget. You had friends though, at least. If anything, people knew what you were like and they loved you for it. It became a running joke on match days that you would inevitably lose your shoes, or your shin pads, or your phone, or that you’d need to borrow a hair bobble from someone. Everything would always show up right as you started to panic, though. Your shoes would be in the bathroom, because you’d been holding them when you went in to go to the toilet before the game like you always did. Your shin pads would be in the pockets of your jacket, one on each side, so you wouldn’t lose them. 

“Looking for this?” Leah would ask, pulling your phone out of her pocket and smiling at the look of relief on your face.

“Yes! Where was it?” 

“On the bus. You left it on your seat,” she explained.

“Huh. That doesn’t sound like me,” you joked.

“Nah, that definitely doesn’t sound like you,” she would say with a wink.

So, yeah. Maybe you had a reputation as the forgetful one, and the messy one, and the chaotic one, and the distracted one. But that was just who you were, right?

---------

Okay, you knew you were here for a reason. There must have been something you were going to get from the prep room, that’s literally the only reason you were there. You mentally went through everything you needed; shoes, on your feet, jacket, wearing it, headphones, in your pocket, water bottle - fuck, that was it! Your bottle!

You grabbed it from the bench where you’d left it and headed back out. On the way you needed to pee, so you quickly went to the bathroom, washed your hands, and went back to the training pitch.

“Did you get your water bottle?” Leah asked, a quizzical look on her face as she looked at your empty hands.

“Fuck,” you sighed. “I had it. Where the fuckety fuck did I put it?”

“Y/n, come on! Training started 5 minutes ago!” one of the trainers called over. You felt a white hot flash of shame in your belly, heat rising to your face.

“Do you want me to help you look for it?” Leah asked.

You shook your head, looking down. “No, it’s fine,” you muttered. “Let’s just start training.”

After training, Kyra came over to you in the changing room. 

“Here,” she said, holding out your bottle. “I found it in the toilets, on the sink.” 

---------

After that you made a list. You stuck it to the inside of your cubby, and every day you would look through it, double checking everything before you left the room. It helped for a while, until you started seeing the list as part of the background and your brain started ignoring it.

When you went to international camp, it got worse. You were away from your routine, in an unfamiliar environment. At least the people you were with was pretty much the same as always. As nice as it was to see everyone though, it was draining, too.

“Y/n? What do you want?” Leah asked. You were on a rare night out, the whole team at a restaurant by the beach together.

“Huh?” you asked, frowning. At a table nearby, people were singing ‘Happy Birthday’, cheering, clapping. On the other side of you, someone was having a conversation - it sounded like they were on a first date, but that didn’t make sense, you were in Spain, they sounded English, why would they be on a first date here? 

“What do you want to order?” Leah asked again, prompting you. The waitress stood there, looking at you expectantly, notepad in her hand. A light flickered somewhere in the corner of your eye.

“Oh, um, I,” you stuttered, looking at the huge menu in front of you. The people on the date were talking about what kind of things they liked to do on holiday, she liked to go sightseeing, he just wanted to relax, at another table a baby started crying, the ice in people’s glasses was clinking, knives and forks were scraping against plates, that song you’d had stuck in your head for days now was still playing on a loop in the back of your head, your leg was bouncing uncontrollably under the table, someone’s nails were tapping against their phone, the man was telling the woman that the whole point of holidays is to relax-

Leah’s hand on your knee made you look up from where you’d zoned out looking at the menu. The waitress was gone. Leah was looking at you with a concerned expression, her hand steady on your knee. 

“Do you want to go outside, get some fresh air?” she asked calmly. 

You nodded wordlessly. 

With a hand on your arm she guided you outside the restaurant, taking you to a nearby bench to sit down. The breeze cooled the sweat on the back of your neck, making you shiver. 

“Are you cold?” Leah asked, reaching for her jacket. 

“No, no, I’m okay,” you said, breathing in deeply. You knew you should just go back inside, suck it up, smile at Leah and say everything was okay, but you just couldn’t yet. You just needed a few more minutes.

You sat there in silence for a minute. It wasn’t a bad silence, but you could tell Leah was giving you space to talk whenever you felt ready. You didn’t want to talk about what had just happened though, you felt too embarrassed about getting overwhelmed like that. Everyone else was fine, it was just you who couldn’t handle it.

“The people at the table next to us, I think they were on a first date,” you said instead, looking at your hands. 

“Yeah?” Leah laughed. 

“Yeah. But, like, why would they be on a first date here? They sounded English, why are they on a first date at a restaurant in Spain?” you asked.

“Huh, I dunno,” Leah mused. “Maybe they’re both on holiday and happened to meet and decided to go on a date?”

“Maybe,” you nodded. After a few seconds of quiet, you sighed. “I’m sorry about all that. I just got… there was just a lot going on.”

Leah squeezed your knee. “It’s okay. It was busy in there, wasn’t it?”

You nodded again. “Yeah. My brain just couldn’t handle it all. All the noises, and the menu- oh, fuck, I didn’t order anything!”

“It’s okay,” Leah chuckled. “I ordered for you.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. A sandwich and chips. If you don’t want it I’m sure someone else will eat it,” she shrugged. 

“I didn’t even notice you ordering for me,” you frowned. “I feel like something’s wrong with me.”

“Wrong with you? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, I- I feel like something is wrong with my brain,” you tried to explain, not knowing how to put it into words.

Leah frowned. 

“It doesn’t matter, I’m making a big deal out of nothing,” you said, suddenly feeling awkward and embarrassed. “Let’s go back inside. Everyone is probably wondering where we are.”

“Wait, y/n, we can stay outside for a little bit longer,” Leah said.

“No, no,” you stood up quickly, not meeting her eyes. “Let’s go. I’m okay, I promise.”

———

It didn’t take long for Leah to corner you the next day, determined to talk to you..

“You seem distracted,” Leah said, sitting down next to you on the bench. “More distracted than usual, I mean.”

“Ha, yeah,” you said. “It’s kind of ironic, actually. I’m distracted because I’m distracted.”

“Right…” she said, frowning. “You’re distracted because you’re thinking about why you’re distracted?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, trying to think of how to word it. “We all know I get distracted easily, right?”

The blonde nodded. “Yeah, you’re like a magpie or something. You see something shiny, you gotta pick it up. Except the shiny thing is literally anything that catches your attention,” she laughed. 

“Exactly! Well, I was looking some stuff up online, or, no, I saw some stuff online, wait, let me start again,” you said. “My thoughts are moving faster than my mouth. Okay, so, when I was a teenager, I was on tumblr a lot. It was the only social media I really had. And on tumblr I’d see a lot about people with ADHD and autism and about hyperfixating on things. And I’ve always kind of hyperfixated on stuff - I mean, football, obviously, but other stuff too, like how on my days off I’ll binge watch an entire season of a TV show and then not shut up about it for like, a month straight, and then I’ll lose interest and basically never mention it again.”

“Or like when you decided to start playing guitar and bought a guitar and had 2 lessons and then stopped, or like when you got really into gardening for a few weeks and bought all those plants and seeds and books about gardening and then realised it was the wrong time of year for half the things you wanted to plant?” Leah asked, an amused look in her eyes.

“Huh. Yeah, I guess those count too,” you said, frowning. “So, yeah, I hyperfixate on things. And I’ve only ever seen it mentioned together with ADHD and autism. But I always thought wow, that’s so crazy that I do that but I don’t have either of those!”

“I feel like I know where this is going,” Leah smiled. 

“Leah, what if I do have ADHD? I don’t think I have autism, I mean, I might, but I haven’t really looked into it yet, maybe I should-”

“One thing at a time, okay?” she laughed, putting a hand on your arm. “Y/n, we both know I am in no way qualified to tell you if you have ADHD or not. But I know you very well. We’ve known each other for what, 5, 6 years now? And it would not surprise me in the slightest if you have ADHD.”

“Really?” you asked, incredulous. “What makes you say that?”

“You mean, aside from what I just mentioned?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Last night? At the restaurant?” she gently reminded you.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I may have also read up on the topic a bit. I kind of suspected you might have ADHD, but I didn’t want to bring it up until you did,” she explained, not meeting your eyes. You felt something flutter in your stomach at her confession. “Anyway, one of the things I read was that people with ADHD also struggle with overstimulation and sensory issues. Do you think that could be what happened last night?”

“Oh,” you said, suddenly quiet. “Maybe?”

“I’m sorry if I overstepped, I just-”

“No, no, it’s okay! It’s just a lot to take in.” you told her. Your mind was racing, thoughts splitting off into dozens of other thoughts, some fully formed and some nothing more than singular words or phrases. 

You sat together in silence for a few minutes.

“What do I do now?” you asked Leah, your voice small. “I, um, I didn’t think I’d get this far. You’re the first person I’ve told, and I kind of expected you to tell me I’m being silly.”

“I would never say that,” she said, turning to look at you, her eyes fixed on yours. “I wouldn’t say that about something important to you, I promise. And as for what to do now, well, I guess you have a few options. You can keep going as you have been, and do some more research, if you want, and try to figure it out alone. Well, not alone. You’ve got me. Or you could speak to someone, a professional. See if your hunch is right.”

“And then?”

“I dunno, I guess that’s up to you. I suppose they’d be able to help you with coping mechanisms, or put you on medication, if that’s what you wanted,” she shrugs. 

“Medication?” you asked. Your mind was full of pictures of hyperactive kids, bouncing off the walls. You propped your feet up on the bench, pulling your knees in close to your chest. “What if I’m wrong? What if there’s nothing wrong with me and I’m just being dramatic?”

“Then that’s okay, too,” Leah said firmly. “Then you’re just dramatic, but that’s okay, too. I promise.”

You nodded, resting your chin on your knees.

"Would you be able to help me find someone to talk to? I don't know how, or where, or, anything, really," you asked.

"Of course," she said, putting her arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close. "I'll help in any way I can."

[helen-with-an-a]

First Time Crush pt 2

Hi. So it's a little short, but I think it's quite cute. Again, if your name is Ellie, I apologise but it's a very common name for 20-24 yr olds in the UK

Barca Femeni x Reader; OC x Reader

Description: R is trying to text Ellie

Word Count: 1.5k

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3

It had been 3 days. 3 days of you sitting and staring at your phone with Ellie’s number saved in it. It’s not that you didn’t want to text her – you so desperately wanted to text her – it was more that you didn’t know how. You didn’t really do … whatever you were attempting to do. Everyone at Barca knew you didn’t really initiate hangouts or things like that. They were more than happy to sort it all for you. Your birthday meal – Alexia had texted everyone saying when and where to meet; your turn to organise team bonding – Ingrid had taken over for you, telling everyone what to bring and when to turn up at your flat; you wanted to do go exploring on your day off – Ona had created the group chat. It’s not that you didn’t want to; it’s that you just … couldn’t.

“Have you texted your uno amor verdadero yet?” Jana called across the locker room. You blushed heavily, turning your head away from the group. Their eyes fell on you, waiting for a response. Your silence spoke volumes.

“Amiga, it’s been 3 days,” Pina said exacerbated.

“I know,” you said meekly, well aware of how many days it had been

“She’s going to think you don’t like her,” Martina added.

“I know,” you replied even more dejectedly. That was something you really didn’t want to happen. You really liked Ellie. You really, really liked Ellie. You wanted to hold her hand and make her laugh. You wanted to see her smile as you handed her her morning coffee and help her with her Spanish. You wanted her to kiss you on the cheek for good luck like you saw Olga do for Alexia. You wanted her to push your sweaty hair back from your face when you went up to her in the crowd after a match like you saw Mapi do for Ingrid. You wanted her to press a sweet kiss to your lips as she drew you into a congratulatory hug like Cata’s girlfriend did with her.

“She’s probably waiting for you to text her,” Bruna added.

“I know,” you said so quietly it was barely audible. They really weren’t helping you at the moment. To them, it was simple – a pretty girl you liked gave you her number, so why weren’t you using it?

Social anxiety has plagued you since you first interacted with peers your age. At nursery, you hung behind your parent’s legs as the other children ran wild. In primary school, you were fine doing keepy-uppies by yourself all break and lunch. In secondary school, you were hardly ever there, often being taught by the academy tutors instead, so you never had to make friends. On the field, you thrived; you were cool, calm, and collected. Football was predictable; football had a routine; football had patterns to figure out and break down. People did not. People did strange things like wear your England jersey to tour club games; people broke from their patterns of wearing said jersey that threw you off; people held your hand and wrote their number on their arm; people did unexpected things.

“You have to text her,” Vicky sighed. God, even a child had more experience in this type of things than you did.

“I know,” you mouthed – the sound not coming out. You felt your eyes sting, and you willed yourself not to cry. It was so silly, crying over texting someone. Ellie had told you to text her. She was awaiting your message. Ellie wanted you to text her.

“Per la merda, give it here.” Patri said after a few too many moments of silence. She snatched your phone from your bag without waiting for a response. They had chosen their time to question you well, having waited until the older girls were out of the changing room to go for lunch so they couldn’t be scolded as they began their interrogation.

“No, Patri,” you begged. You knew exactly what she was going to do, and it was exactly what you didn’t want. You wanted to do this by yourself, not have someone take over again. You needed to step up and do this. But every time you clicked on Ellie’s contact, you froze—the paralysing fear taking over once again.

“Sí, Patri.” She smiled, running back to her little group with your phone as they typed away. You floundered; what could you do? They severely outnumbered you. And your go-to protectors – Alexia, Ingrid, Irene, Paños – were all out of the room and likely wouldn’t be coming to look for you for a good 10 to 20 minutes yet. As your mind spiralled into chaos, thinking about all the possible things that could go wrong with them texting Ellie, you missed Alexia and Ingrid slipping back into the room.

It was obvious what was happening. You were almost in tears, clutching onto the bench so tightly your knuckles were white – and a little group stood in a tight circle, eyes flicking back to you occasionally as they whispered and giggled to each other. They loved you like you were their little sister – they could annoy the shit out of you, teasing and causing small meaningless arguments like they would with their actual sisters. But if they saw anyone else doing it – this meant war.

“Qué está pasando?” Alexia shouted. It would have been comical had you not been so upset. Patri’s head snapped up; Alexia could see the colour draining despite standing by the door.

“Å kjære. Kom hit,” Ingrid rushed to your side, pulling your trembling form into her body before glaring daggers at the group in the corner.

“Patricia Guijarro,” Alexia’s voice was ominous. “Vine aquí.” Patri gulped; Alexia wasn’t supposed to back this soon. “Per què cariño pràcticament plora?” She was speaking in Catalan, so you couldn’t understand her very well, but you recognised ‘cariño’ and knew you were the topic of that conversation. Patri’s response was a flood of rapid Catalan, the two of them descending into a harsh argument. It made you even more stressed – you didn’t mean to be the cause of a rift within the team. All because you couldn’t text a girl who willingly gave you her number when you hadn’t even asked.

“Relax, Kjæreste. Everything is fine.�� Ingrid soothed, sensing your increasing agitation.

The angry voices eventually died as Patri came to stand before you. She waited for you to look at her – expecting to see your watery eyes and wobbling lip. When you didn’t emerge from Ingrid’s chest, even long after the socially acceptable time limit, Patri could tell they may have fucked up a little.

“Um … lo siento, pensábamos que te estábamos ayudando,” you didn’t look like you had even heard her. She tried again, in English this time, hoping that maybe you just didn’t understand her (her English comprehension dipped considerably when she felt any extreme emotion).

“I’m … we’re … really, really sorry, chica. We thought we were helping—we don’t want this opportunity to disappear for you. I’m so, so sorry.” You heard her the first time, but it was nice to hear her say it in English, too. You lifted your head from Ingrid’s neck, straightened a little, and adjusted your top.

“It’s …” You were going to tell her that it was fine—that she hadn’t technically done anything wrong. But Alexia and Ingrid both shuffled a little, letting you know their displeasure and that everything was not fine. “Thank you,” you settled on—giving Patri a weak smile and nodding at the others, all sheepishly standing as far away from you as possible in the small room.

You were going to speak again when your phone buzzed.

Y/N: Hi. This is Y/N. I absolutely loved talking to you the other day at the match and wondered if you wanted to continue it? Maybe over coffee? I know a few places that sell good stuff and aren’t too busy.

Ellie: Nice try. Ik this isn’t Y/N – my guess is Pina, Bruna or Patri. My girl definitely can’t ask me out like that. But tell her, yes, I would like to go out for coffee with her tho. After ur next home game? xxx

Her girl? You liked the sound of that. You took a deep breath and typed your response.

Y/N: Hi

Y/N: Yes pls to the coffee

You waited a little before rushing to add,

Y/N: It’s actually me now btw

Ellie: Ik – my girl txts exactly as she talks x

You blushed, the world around you fading into obscurity as you texted. You missed the soft smiles and caring looks the others gave each other. You sighed happily, looking up to see all eyes were on you again.

“Ayyyyyy,” Patri cheered.

“Cariño tiene novia” Alexia sang happily, reaching around Ingrid to pinch at your pink cheeks.

“Ingrid, make them stop.” You muttered as you watched the younger girls dance around singing about how they got you a girlfriend.

“No chance, kjære.” She smiled, bringing you into a gentle hug. “Just wait until Maps and Lucy hear about this.”

I hope you liked it <3<3<3

[cheriladycl01]

Paparazzi - Lando Norris x UniStudent! Reader

Plot: you are a university student in the UK, and the Paparazzi manage to find out where you go and stalk you due to rumors surfacing about.

It was a pretty shit day at university for you, you were a third year law student who had just come back from an amazing placement with Mercedes as part of their legal counsel.

You'd had so much fun and had worked really closely with Lewis and George. It also was the first year that you were able to travel from the last half of one season, to the 3/4 of the next season.

He was a driver for McLaren, his job and you being a student meant that you guys didn't see each other as much as you'd like.

You had been dating for the good part of 4 years now having met in secondary school and stayed as friends even when he left the school. When you started on your A-levels and he was progressing in his driving career he asked you to be his girlfriend.

Now he was in Formula One and you were about to be graduating university. It had however been difficult, the transition of being with Lando pretty much everyday, and now not seeing him was killing you.

It had taken a tole on you, you had dark circles under your eyes, your nose was red from the cold. Your class hadn't been great either and tears were starting to brim your eyes. You just wanted to get home and cry it out in private.

Lando: Hey Babe, its Thursday so media day today and McLaren are busy! Call me later, love you lots!

The text made more tears brim in your eyes until you heard the snap of a camera. Next you saw the flash.

Your eyes dart up seeing the 5 or 6 people with cameras behind you, following you. You pick up your pace, going towards your specific building on campus where you could hide out with your personal tutor until they left you alone.

You walk into the building into a flurry of students walking around the building pulling the hood of Lando's hoodie up. You make your way to a back stairwell that was quieter than the main one and made your way up the 5 flights of stairs to where your personal tutors room was.

"Michael?" you ask entering the room, nobody was there so you sat on the small little sofa he had at the side of his office. You pull the work bench closer to you, placing your laptop and book down before getting on with some work for your Intellectual Property Module.

Minutes later Michael comes in, a shocked look on his face as he observes you.

"Y/N what are you doing here?" he asks walking past you and taking a seat at his desk, sipping from the takeaway coffee he had just brought.

"I had Paps come onto campus again. And i've had a bit of a shit day" you mumble looking at the email from Lewis asking you to do some research for him if you had any free time.

"Well, you know my door is always open for you"

"That's why i let myself in" you grin at him, already feeling better. He spoke to you for about an hour, while he was doing his own research and marking behind his computer.

"I think its safe to say they've left now" he admits engrossed in something on his computer.

"How'd you know?"

"There's articles already up, some of these headlines. Oh lord they are ridiculous" Michael admits scrolling down on his mouse wheel looking further.

"Huh?" you ask before looking online under your name.

Lando Norris Girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N, Seen Crying On University Campus After Breakup Report Y/N Y/L/N Seen On Campus Crying Is There Tension Between Lando Norris and Y/N Y/L/N On Her First Absent Race Of The Season Lando Norris Cheats On Girlfriend - Her Reaction Is Heartbreaking!

"I'm just going to go home. I don't have the energy to read any of these. Thank you for letting me stay" you admit, packing up your bag and nodding in a goodbye to your personal tutor.

As you exit the building and make your way to the carpark where your Mercedes-AMG SL 63 sat, courtesy of your time at Mercedes for the last year. You now still work for them, but from the Brackley and part-time around your degree.

You get in and let out a long sigh, you pull away getting onto the road driving back to yours and Lando's apartment which was about a 30 minute drive away.

Lando started to call you, the ringtone blaring through the car speakers that your phone was connected to. You hit accept on the screen, your eyes only momentarily wavering from the road.

"Y/N baby, what's up. The articles and the photos of you! You look so sad, what's going on?" he immediately starts grilling you like you'd expected him to when he would eventually see the articles.

"Sorry, I'm in the car right now! I just had a shitty say at uni and i really fucking miss you" you breathe out happy to finally admit it. It was the end of October now and you'd been back at university for a month.

"I know baby, you still planning to come out for the last race, in Abu Dhabi?" he offers, it sounds like he's busy and like he's walking around the McLaren garage. He did say it was media day...

"Erm, ill let you go. Its like midnight there and you have a big day with practice tomorrow" you say, he starts to stay something but you interrupt before he can.

"I love you, goodnight" you say to prompt him.

"Goodnight, ill see you soon" he sighs, he also sounded tired just like you.

You drove the rest of the way home, pulling up in the underground carpark and just sitting there for a few minutes taking in some breaths.

You eventually get out the car and head into yours and Lando's apartment. The apartment was always clean because either you were here or your parents were kind enough to house sit while you and Lando were away.

You did your normal routine for when Lando wasn't here, which was go to the gym, go back and shower, cook food eat food and go to sleep.

You never really had any motivation for anything when he wasn't around.

The next day was a free day from uni, you went to the Mercedes team, everyone could tell that something was up with you. They chose not to say anything and just let you get through your shift. You'd had a cute Good morning text from Lando, asking if you'd slept well and if you'd eaten.

You'd replied, saying yes to both and that you were just catching up on his free practices and that he had really good times, as you'd expected.

But part of you just longed for him to come home.