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fifty555 · 2 months ago

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ poetry? no, pottery!

a lil’ love between you and little lando norris 💞 with a twist as you’re a ceramist/potterer!

content warning; none! just enjoy the fluffs! ah, there’s a bit of explicit language (i think?), but nothing drastic! enjoy 😽!

summary; childhood friends reconnect after years apart—he’s a formula 1 driver, and you’re a ceramist.

hey, lover! part two here!

Lando Norris was used to his friends teasing him. Whether it was his golfing misadventures, his love for Twitch streams, or his occasional emotional outbursts on team radio, there was always something to make him the subject of banter on and off the grid. But the one thing they had yet to figure out—something that he was genuinely proud of—was the pottery.

It started innocuously enough. A vase here, a decorative bowl there. The other drivers had assumed Lando had simply developed a newfound taste for ceramic art after moving to Monaco. Carlos had even joked once, “You’re just trying to look posh, mate.”

But no one had noticed the small etchings at the back of each piece: a simple ‘Lan’ with a heart. Subtle, personal, and not exactly the kind of thing you’d put on items for sale. That mystery had lingered until one fateful evening when everything unravelled in the most chaotic way imaginable.

It was post-race at Silverstone, and the whole grid had gathered for dinner at a private venue. Spirits were high after a spectacular British Grand Prix, with plenty of laughs and, naturally, plenty of friendly ribbing.

Lando sat beside Oscar, carefully monitoring his phone, knowing full well that at any moment you might call. You were in your apartment in Mexico, finalising details for an art exhibit while simultaneously working on personal pottery commissions. Lando adored how dedicated you were to your craft, even if it often left you so absorbed that you forgot things—like where you’d placed your keys, or, as he was about to find out, something a little more important.

Amid the loud chatter, Lando’s phone buzzed, and your name flashed on the screen. Without thinking, he swiped to answer. “Hey, love,” he greeted, but before he could say anything else, your panicked voice filled the room.

“Lan, I lost my ring! I don’t know where it is!”

Shoot, he forgot about the speaker.

The room fell eerily silent as the unmistakable sound of your frantic cries echoed from the speaker.

Lando froze. His brain short-circuited as he realised his phone was still on speaker. Every single driver at the table—except for Oscar, Alex, and George—was staring at him like he’d just confessed to murder.

“Oh, for fu—” Lando scrambled to turn off the speaker, but not before you continued, “Baby, I don’t know where it is! I can’t even—”

He interrupted, voice strained with embarrassment. “Have you checked the wet clays? That’s usually where you’d lose it.”

The line went quiet for a second as the realisation hit you. “Shit. I’ll go check. Thanks, love. Enjoy your dinner with the boys, bye!” You ended the call abruptly, leaving Lando to deal with the aftermath.

“What the hell was that?” Daniel was the first to break the silence, leaning forward with a grin that practically screamed mischief.

“No, who the fuck was that?” Max followed, his bluntness cutting through the rising chaos like a hot knife through butter.

The room erupted in questions. Pierre was halfway across the table, trying to pry answers from Lando, while Charles was practically yelling over everyone else. Meanwhile, Carlos gave Lando a pointed look. “Mate, don’t tell me you’ve got a secret girlfriend and you’ve been hiding it from me?”

Lando’s cheeks burned as he fumbled to explain. “Look, it’s not a big deal—”

“Not a big deal?!” Charles’ voice reached a pitch that only dogs could hear. “You’ve been holding out on us! Who is she?”

Amidst the chaos, Alex calmly took a sip of his drink and glanced at Charles. “You’ve met her before.”

“I have?” Charles frowned, genuinely confused.

George pulled out his phone, scrolled through his photos, and handed it over. “Here, this’ll jog your memory.”

The photo showed George, Alex, and you at a karting event years ago, laughing over slices of pizza. You were unmistakable, even with the short haircut and boyish charm you used to sport.

And the fact that you used to terrorise Charles on the grid.

Charles’ eyes widened. “You’re telling me that demon is Lando’s—”

“Fiancée,” Lando corrected with a smug grin, cutting him off. “She’s my fiancée.”

If the table had been chaotic before, it was nothing compared to the uproar that followed.

“Fiancée?!” Charles looked moments away from fainting. Pierre had to physically restrain him from climbing over the table.

Max, ever the straight shooter, raised a brow. “How long has this been going on?”

“Since October 2020,” Lando admitted, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms defensively.

“You kept this a secret for three years?” Daniel looked simultaneously impressed and horrified. “And all we got were vases?”

“Wait,” Carlos interjected, pointing a finger at Lando. “The pottery—don’t tell me that’s her doing?”

Lando smirked, finally finding his footing in the conversation. “Actually, most of it’s hers. But I helped with a few pieces.”

“Explains the hearts,” Pierre muttered, earning a round of laughter.

Meanwhile, back in your studio, you’d found the missing engagement ring embedded in a chunk of wet clay. You snapped a quick photo of your clay-covered hands, the ring perched delicately on your finger, and sent it to Lando with the message: Found it. Your forgetfulness is rubbing off on me.

Lando responded with a selfie of his own, a defeated look on his face, and the message: The cat’s out of the bag.

You could only laugh, imagining the absolute carnage he was dealing with at dinner.

Now, the question is, how did you guys meet?

Well, let’s take a trip down memory lane, yes?

It started at a karting track in Guildford when they were both nine years old. Lando was already making waves on the circuit, a scrappy kid with untamed curls and an infectious grin. You, on the other hand, were a quiet but fiercely competitive racer, constantly being told you’d never make it because you were a girl.

That day, your paths crossed in the most cliché yet heartwarming way. You’d crashed during qualifying and sat on the sidelines, fuming as you inspected the damaged kart. Lando, fresh off his own session, wandered over with a bag of gummy bears and an awkward grin.

“Want one?” he asked, holding the bag out to you.

You glanced up, unimpressed. “Unless it fixes my kart, no thanks.”

“It doesn’t,” he admitted, plopping one into his mouth, “but they’re good for sulking.”

Reluctantly, you took one. That was all it took. From that day forward, you became friends—rivals on the track, co-conspirators off it. The karting world was small, and you often found yourselves travelling the same circuits, sharing snacks, and occasionally teaming up to prank the other kids.

But all good things come to an end, and for Lando, the end came when you abruptly quit karting at twelve. One day you were there, racing alongside him, and the next, you were gone. No explanations, no goodbyes—just a void where his fiercest rival and closest friend had been.

Years passed. Lando threw himself into racing, climbing the ranks to Formula 1, but he never stopped wondering what had happened to you. He’d hear whispers—something about pottery, about you exchanging one love for another—but nothing concrete.

Then, in 2020, he walked into a pop-up art gallery in London and froze. There, amidst a sea of ceramic sculptures, was a name he hadn’t seen in years: yours. And standing by a display of hand-thrown vases, chatting animatedly with a small group of people, was you.

Lando hesitated, heart pounding as he watched you laugh, looking so effortlessly radiant it hurt. He was a world-famous F1 driver now, but at that moment, he felt like the same awkward boy offering gummy bears to his angry rival.

Finally, he worked up the courage to approach you. “Hey,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Nice vases.”

You turned, your eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, as if no time had passed at all, you grinned. “Nice curls.”

The conversation flowed as easily as it always had. Over coffee the next day, you explained why you’d quit karting. Your parents had pulled you out, worried about the pressure and the toxic environment you were facing as a girl in a male-dominated sport. You’d turned to pottery as an outlet and never looked back.

“I missed it, though,” you admitted, stirring your latte. “I missed racing. I missed… you.”

Lando’s heart clenched. “I missed you too.”

The transition from friendship to romance was seamless, almost inevitable. But given Lando’s high-profile career, you both agreed to keep the relationship private. It wasn’t easy. There were stolen weekends in Monaco, secret visits to your studio in between London and Mexico, and countless moments when you had to play it cool in public, even as your heart raced every time you saw him.

The secrecy was worth it, though. For three years, you built a world of your own, filled with laughter, late-night phone calls, and the kind of love that felt steady and enduring.

The proposal came during a quiet evening at your studio. You’d been working on a commission, hands covered in clay, when Lando appeared in the doorway, looking unusually nervous.

“What’s up?” you asked, wiping your hands on a rag.

He hesitated, then held out a small, unassuming box. “I, uh, thought we could make this official.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. “Lando Norris, are you asking me to marry you in the middle of my studio while I’m covered in clay?”

He grinned, the familiar boyish charm shining through. “Well, I figured it’s where you’re happiest.”

You couldn’t argue with that. Laughing, you took the box, opened it, and saw the ring—simple, elegant, and unmistakably you. Tears filled your eyes as you nodded. “Yes.”

For a while, life went on as usual. You returned to your pottery, Lando to his racing, and your engagement remained a secret known only to close family and a few trusted friends. But secrets have a way of slipping out, and yours did during that fateful post-Silverstone dinner.

By the time Lando returned home to Monaco, the internet was ablaze. He’d soft-launched your engagement on Instagram with a series of photos: your clay-covered hands holding the ring, more of you holding your ring in defeat after possibly losing it, and a final shot of the infamous ‘Lan ♥’ signature on one of your vases.

The caption read: ladies and gents, the chronicles of my fiancée losing her ring. she says that my forgetfulness is rubbing off on her apparently but she sadly chose to say yes to me ��.

The response was overwhelming. Fans went wild over the reveal, speculating about your relationship timeline and falling in love with the wholesome chaos of it all.

Despite the initial embarrassment, Lando wouldn’t change a thing. Sure, Charles might never let him live it down, and Daniel would probably bring up the ‘wet clay incident’ at every opportunity, but none of it mattered.

As he watched you work on your latest piece, the soft hum of music filling the studio, he felt a sense of peace he rarely found anywhere else. You glanced over your shoulder, catching him staring, and flashed him a smile that made his heart skip a beat.

“Back to work, Mr. Norris,” you teased, pointing at the pottery wheel.

He grinned, sliding into the seat beside you. “Yes, ma’am.”

If this was what forever looked like, Lando was more than ready for it.

Because in the end, every gummy bear, every secret, and every chaotic dinner had been worth it.

i hope you guys liked it 🥹 tbh, this was originally a gift for my friend to motivate her but now she wants to actually marry him… i take no part in that declaration.

also, this y’all man 🤨☝🏻 damn, he’s okay, i guess.

i’m still very new here, so, there’s some things i absolutely know nothing about… BUT, i’ll get through it ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-!! i love y’all, strangers ‘round the internet 💌 MWAH!

#f1 x reader #lando norris x reader #pottery #ceramics #x reader #i don’t even know what i’m doing yall #send help #feeding your delusions with love and kindness #f1 fic #I DONT WHAT TO TAG 😭#fifty’s fics 🐇

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starry-bi-sky · 4 months ago

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Blood Blossom Au: Baby's First Commissioner Meeting :)

TL:DR This Post: Danny (orphan) gets poisoned with blood blossom extract by Vlad. He runs away from him and ends up under the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman! Starry is loudly pushing her batdad agenda.

(Also known as "Late At Night, When The Nightingale Sings" on my ao3!)

This was a fun rough idea I've been sitting on for weeks, thinking about how Commissioner Gordon and Nightingale's first meeting might go.

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Commissioner Gordon likes to think that he's adjusting to the new normal of Gotham very well, -- the new normal being grown men running around dressed like bats, in military-grade strength body armor, committing acts of vigilantism, -- and slowly, little by little, he was no longer being surprised when this new normal pops up out of the shadows like the world's most terrifying daisy. His shaving lifespan thanks him for it.

....

The kid is a surprise though.

Granted, he seemed to be a surprise to the Bat too.

There's been a string of murders lately, -- which, in Gotham, is kind of like saying there's been another storm during monsoon season. And there's just been another; in some dilapidated building down in south Gotham, with the broken, boarded-up windows and mildew-crawling walls to match. The victim is a man in his thirties, multiple gunshot wounds to the chest, left in the center of the room for the blood to pool out around him.

The place is already secured when he arrives, the building swarmed with officers and the forensic detectives. The Bat emerges shortly after he does -- or, he might've been here the whole time, hiding someplace dark and shadowy. For his own sanity, Gordon doesn't think about it too hard.

The kid is a surprise, and he appears like a bolt of lightning.

He shows up in the middle of a conversation Gordon is having with the Bat.

A whistle, sharp and loud, slicing through the air, meant for open air rather than a confined space. Gordon's ears pierce and protest the sound, and the solemn, murmured chatter floating through the room abruptly cuts off like the swing of a gavel. As he turns towards the sound -- as they all do -- he swears, up and down, that he sees Batman's shoulders jump, just slightly.

At the source, perched on the window, is a boy. A boy in a gray-blue scarf and an oversized black hoodie, one that hangs off his frame and has ace bandages wrapped around the wrists in some attempt to cinch the sleeves. The hood is up, big like the rest of it, and threatens to swallow the upper half of the boy's face whole in the fabric. What upper half Gordon can see, is smeared with some kind of opaque, black face paint. He's holding onto the side of the frame with one hand, on his hip is a grappling hook. A familiar grappling hook.

Gordon has multiple questions, and his officers tense up.

Martinez puffs up, brows furrowing as his face shapes into a frown. Shoulders rolling back. "You can't be here, kid--"

The reaction is immediate, like a spark to gunpowder, the boy yanks his fingers from his mouth and his mouth twists into a scowl. Head snapping over to Officer Martinez, his hood manages to stay on but Gordon swears that as he bares his teeth, the glint makes them look sharper than they should be. His voice is rasp and quiet and harsh; snappish in its hissing; "Put a fuckin sock in it, Martinez. I'm not stayin."

Martinez reels back, and the boy immediately veers his attention off him. Like a switch, his demeanor drops. Despite half his face being covered, his mouth twists into a cringing, apologetic smile. Slanted and off-beat, embarrassed. It'd be disarming if this wasn't Gotham, and if he didn't just hiss at Martinez like he was about to bite his head off.

"Sorry." He whispers, voice deceptively polite and softer now. Gordon has to strain his ears to hear him. "I was looking for him."

He points his finger towards-- Gordon? No, Gordon follows the direction, and finds himself looking at -- the Bat.

The Bat, who always looks stiff as a pole, now looks even stiffer. Somehow. Well, the explains the grappling hook attached to the boy's waist.

"What are you doing here?" The Bat says, gruff and unable to completely smother the stumble of surprise in his tone.

The boy still holds a sheepish smile, and slips off the window ledge. His feet hit the creaky boards with a near-silent thud, the Batman finds his feet and rapidly begins crossing the room.

Gordon notes the slight tremble in the boy's legs as he straightens. He adjusts his scarf, which droops close to his knees now that he's standing, and slings a backpack -- how long has had that? -- off his shoulders. When the Bat reaches his side, he does as he always does, and looms over the boy like a spectre. A threatening mass of shadows cloaked in all-consuming black. Standing next to him, the boy looks teeny in comparison.

The Bat is a man who terrifies even the most hardened criminals, Gordon has seen grown men shiver in fear at the mention of his name. And yet when the boy looks up at him, he doesn't even flinch.

Instead, his sheepish smile melts away like ice under the sun, holding only traces of his previous embarrassment. It remains as a shadow on his face, a small upturn at the corners of his mouth. The boy pushes his hood back just enough to reveal glinting, ice-flint eyes surrounded in tar-black face paint. He holds the backpack up with one arm. "You forgot this."

#I have never seen Batman (2022) so really I'm just using battinson and crew as templates for my fic. but hey what else is new lol #dpxdc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc #dpxdc crossover #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc fic #dpxdc au #dp x dc au #dpxdc fanfic #i dont know shit about detective work or true crime so forgive me for any bad terminology or incorrect procedure for how these things work #just a fun rough idea for how i imagined gordon's first meeting with nightingale goes LMAO. im sticking to the idea that danny doesn't #officially join the field for a *while* due to more than just health reasons. so his first appearances are brief and usually to give B smth #danny: im only here as express delivery for vader's little brother over there. yall stay safe tho.#bruce: *kill bill sirens bass-boosted* ohmygodwhatishedoinghere #batman: how did you get here... | danny: you have so many spare grappling hooks it was pr easy to just grab one and go #also danny is whispering on purpose because he doesn't have his ghost form to fall back on as a secret identity. so he *is* actually taking #extra steps to keep his identity safe. and people usually sound different when they're whispering. he also has personal beef with #office martinez despite the fact that they've never met. Danny's HEARD of his ass. he hATES his ass.#Martinez: *to batman* freak | danny: im going to Bite Him. | batman (reluctantly): hmr. please don't. | danny: im going for his shins #Martinez and Nightingale have this whole thing going on between the two of them. danny WILL slap a sticky note on Martinez's back that says #'asshole' on it and its the one spot square on his spine that martinez can't reach.#someone: why are you beefing with like. an actual 12 year old | martinez: HE'S A LITTLE RAT. THAT'S WHY. he's here to torment me #battinson: *did you grapple the whole way here* | danny: yah. it was kinda fun. i would've gotten here faster but i kept having to stop #battinson: *hnnn* im driving you back | danny:.. are you sure? | battinson already pulling him out of the room: y e s #i've been thinking about this for literally WEEKS. what did bruce forget? good question! i'll figure that out if or when i get to this #danny has Issues behind the word freak so its like a mini beserker button for him regardless of who the word is aimed at lol. lmao #martinez calls batman a freak once while nightingale is within range and its just the doom ost as danny simply Disappears from sight #like oops. you are now. In Danger. rip couldn't be me.#blood blossom au

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