#Ferrari makes me so patriotic about race cars

[aaron04jpg]

forza ferrari, sempre 🏎️🇮🇹

[formulawolff]

v. heat of the moment - t.w.

pairing: female driver! x toto wolff

word count: 2.9k

warnings: cursing, some mentions of misogyny, a physical altercation, slight physical injury, teasing, banter, YEARNING, there is lots of yearning, toto wanting to rail the absolute shit out of you, power imbalances, age gap, yadayadayada

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“you ready?” 

james peers down, towering over the car as the pit crew flurries around, prepping for the race. 

you shrug, flipping your visor, “is it too patriotic of me to say that i was born ready?” 

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“well i’ll do you one better,” the team principal leans over the car, slapping your helmet a couple of times, “go get ‘em tiger.” 

“way to hype me up.” 

“i think another podium is in the cards,” james’ face hardens, the intensity of the race setting in, “you think you could get us on the podium again?” 

“i don’t know about first. they don’t refer to max as the dutch assassin for nothing,” at least you were realistic, “but i think i could place second or third.” 

“i think we should aim for first.” 

underneath the helmet, the corners of your lips curl into a grin, “i think so too.” 

“i believe in you,” james’ hand finds yours, shaking it, “we all believe in you.” 

the authenticity of his statement sends a slight wave of distress washing over you. 

ever since the night in jeddah, your loyalty was beginning to shift. 

you were starting to seriously consider toto’s offer. 

although you made the verbal commitment to james that you would remain with williams until 2026, a certain team principal was starting to tug at your heartstrings. of course, this team principal didn’t have to try very hard. 

even the slightest smile was enough to send you spiraling. 

the turmoil was enough to keep you up at night, tossing and turning. there was really no legitimate reason you could give james on your departure, other than it was your teenage dream to drive for mercedes. 

you would have to lie through your teeth and attempt to put on this facade that you had always wanted to be with mercedes. you just happened to settle for williams. 

fuck, that really made you the asshole. 

now, here you were. 

day-dreaming about a certain team principal, completely on autopilot. 

yet, that quickly faded as you glance up, watching as the lights blink, that green hue gleaming in the sunlight. 

it was go time. 

now or never. 

the roar of the engines is nearly deafening as it fills the track, blood roaring in your ears as you step on the gas.

for the australian grand prix, you were fifth on the grid. it wasn’t a terrible spot, as you had the opportunity to overtake a few places, which would earn you a podium. 

behind you, was george russell from mercedes, lewis hamilton in seventh. ahead were max, sergio, charles, and carlos. 

overtaking the ferrari boys would be a challenge, but you were more than willing to accept it. if you were able to just overtake carlos, you would be content with fourth. 

even if you weren’t on the podium, those points would be significant. 

closing in on carlos, adrenaline pumped in your veins as your sucked in a breath, james voice flooding your ears on the radio. 

“you got this. go for it.” 

the moment you’re about to step on the gas, a horrendous scraping noise sounds to your left. 

george made contact with your car, sending the two of you flying towards the tarmac. you skid along, bracing for impact as you barrel towards the wall. 

although it was merely seconds, it felt like eternity. 

for a moment, your field of vision goes black. 

yet, you blink, the sun so vivid as it shines through your visor. shaking your head, you groan as you clamber out of the car, scrambling to your feet. 

swiveling your helmet, you make out george. 

that’s when everything started to become tinged with a crimson hue. 

“you bastard!” 

“oh?” george taunts you, “this was my fault?” 

“of course it fucking was!” you march over to the british driver, “learn how to fucking drive the damn car!” 

“learn how to overtake somebody else and we would have never had this fucking problem!” george retaliates, his voice raising with every word. 

you just scoff, deciding to let it go. 

accidents happen. unfortunately for you, it was just part of the job. it may have cost you a podium, gave your car significant damage, and ruined your day, but you had to let it go. it was just a bad day at the office. 

well, more like a fucking awful shit day at the office.

as you suck in a breath, strolling away from george, he decides to goad you on even further, giving one final retort. 

“you should have stuck to nascar! maybe then it would have been easier for you to navigate a bloody track!” 

you stop in your tracks, glancing over your shoulder. 

“what did you just fucking say?” 

“you heard me,” george folds his arms over his chest, “you should have stuck to fucking nascar. maybe then that thick skull of yours would have been able to navigate the track! it’s pretty bloody simple you know, just a few left turns!” 

that was the moment when everything truly went dark. 

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“do you know how much today cost us?” 

james is to your right, massaging his temples. however, you can’t quite decipher the emotions plastered across his features.

was he disappointed? furious? you couldn’t tell. 

alex is across from you, chewing on a thumbnail, “i mean, things could have been worse.” 

“we literally had to pry her off of him,” james exhales, groaning slightly, “it’s a mess. that’s what it is. a fucking mess.” 

“i think you guys are forgetting he started it,” you mumble, pressing an ice pack to your jaw, “he told me i should’ve stuck to nascar. i mean, what would you have done in that moment?” 

“walked away? called him a twat or something?” james shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut, “you know i adore you, but you really fucked us over today. my driver getting into a physical altercation with another team was the last thing on my agenda today. yeah, the accident was bad, but that… that was awful.” 

“hey,” alex puts his hands up, “at least i didn’t crash my car.” 

“fuck off,” you shoot him a glare, “also, i wouldn’t call that an accident. it was more like a little skirmish.” 

“you beating his ass wasn’t,” alex points out, his tone laced with a tease, “i gotta admit, that was pretty entertaining to watch.” 

“i taught that bitch one thing today. and it’s that you don’t mess with texas,” a laugh bubbles up in your throat, earning a chuckle from alex in response. 

“what am i going to do with you two?” although he tries to remain stern, you can see a hint of a smile on james’ face. 

“i think i deserve some rest,” raising your arms above your head, you use your hands as a cushion, leaning backwards, “i put in a lot of work today.” 

“yeah,” alex nods, “a lot of work beating that brit’s ass.” 

“do you think he’s scared of me?” 

“i think everyone is,” alex rolls his eyes playfully, “if i was max verstappen, i would be shaking in my boots right now.” 

“okay, okay,” james interjects, “enough from you both. we can discuss this further tomorrow. i’m exhausted.” 

“you weren’t even the one throwing the punches!” alex tosses his hands up in the air, “if anyone if exhausted, it’s probably our wwe superstar over here!” 

“go,” james waves a hand at the two of you, “like i said, we’ll talk more tomorrow. i have to do damage control for the rest of the night. probably well into tomorrow too.” 

“i am sorry,” you clear your throat, rising to your feet. you make eye contact with alex, who is still bearing a mischievous grin, “i guess that australian heat just got to me.” 

“i cannot take you two seriously right now,” james sighs, “go. get some rest.” 

unlike james’ dismissal, you did not have to be told that twice. 

after george’s snide remarks, you caved under the heat of the moment. with emotions running high, you sprung forward at the british driver, shoving him a couple of times. he goaded you on, taunting you to “actually do something about it.” 

of course, you actually did something about it. 

what could you say? it was the american way. 

there was no way in hell you were going to let him off the hook. especially after he demanded that you “go back to nascar.” those comments were completely unnecessary and uncalled for. anyone could admit that. 

so, in response, you knocked him to the ground, throwing a few good punches in before a safety crew member pried you off of him. 

the little “skirmish” with the mercedes driver had taken the formula one world by storm. 

all over social media, there were mixed reactions. many of the comments praised you for not taking anyone’s shit. the others blasted your character, questioning if women truly belonged in formula one if they “let their emotions get the best of them.” 

numerous fans called for your resignation from williams driving, claiming that you had no right to be behind the wheel of a car. 

the fia claimed they would be launching an investigation to determine if there were to be punishments for both drivers. mercedes put out a statement that they would be “thoroughly addressing the incident that occurred with one of their drivers.” 

meanwhile, williams racing had yet to comment on the matter, remaining silent. 

personally, you felt that the sheer embarrassment from your outburst was enough. you would be the topic of discussion for weeks. your personality, likeness, and every somewhat terrible thing you had ever done would be dissected throughout reddit forums, through tik toks, and through instagram posts. 

surely the fia would remain merciful, but you had your doubts. 

pulling up the hood on your sweatshirt, you make your way in the direction of your motorhome. 

at least that would provide you a space away from all of the chaos that ensued after the race. 

in your pocket, your phone buzzes. 

reluctantly, you fish it out, anticipating your name to be headlining yet another article. instead, it’s a message from mr. wolff.

i’m on my way over. be there in five. 

oh fuck.

toto wolff was the last person you wanted to see. 

especially after today. 

flinging open the door, you trudge into the space, dumping your belongings on the counter. making your way to your room, you flop on the bed, resisting the urge to scream into your pillow. 

not even a minute later, you hear a familiar voice filling the motorhome. 

“don’t tell me you’re hiding from — oh, there you are.” 

“i don’t want to talk about it.” 

“i think we should.” 

his tone is far different than you anticipated. you expected him to be furious, dropping the offer entirely. 

rather, his words are quiet, laced with a softness as he sits on the edge of the bed, placing a tender hand on your back. 

“rough day, huh?” 

“rough is not even the word to describe the absolute shitshow that was today,” your head is still buried in the pillow, your voice muffled, “you have no idea how disappointed i am in myself.” 

“i’m sure,” toto inhales sharply, “i hope you know that what occurred today does not change anything. actually, it’s convinced me that you deserve that mercedes seat even more than i initially thought.” 

“toto,” you lift your head up, “i literally physically assaulted another driver. a driver who happens to belong on your team. i don’t deserve that seat.” 

“well it simply proved to me that you’re more than willing to stand up for what you believe in,” he counters, that gentleness dissolving into firmness, “you don’t take anyone’s shit. i need that energy brought into mercedes.”

“i think if you gave me that seat, george would actually shit himself.”

“don’t fret baby,” a hand finds your hair, fingers smoothing out some strands, “i would be your mediator.”

“are you sure you still want to offer me that seat? do you know how much the media is going to ridicule you?”

“i think i have been ridiculed enough in my time at mercedes,” he shrugs, “what’s a little bit more? if it means i have you, nothing else will matter.”

shifting your weight, you sit up, scooting over a little so that you could be next to toto. leaning your head on his shoulder, you nuzzled into his dress shirt, his arm instinctively wrapping around your frame, “today just fucking sucked.”

“i can only imagine baby,” light kisses pepper your temple, trailing all over the bridge of your nose and the apples of your cheeks, “i could help take your mind off things.”

“i’m sure you could,” your heart skips a beat as his hand squeezes your thigh, “i wish you could just make it all go away.”

“i could definitely do that, sweet girl,” his hand inches further and further up your thigh, fingers tracing circles, “you want me to take care of you?”

yet, as his mouth hovers around your ear, a flash of pain seeps into your skull, causing you to wince. 

“fuck.”

“what’s wrong?” 

“my head hurts,” you whimper, “after i hit the wall, i think i may have passed out for a second. everything went black, i couldn’t see anything.”

“and you didn’t have a medic clear you?” toto presses, and you can’t help but notice the inflections of worry, “baby, you should have had someone look at you.”

“i was more focused on other things,” you mumble, the pain beginning to increase, “fuck.”

“you’re probably just a little banged up from the crash. if your symptoms continue through the morning, we’ll get you checked out.”

“we?”

“well,” he pauses, biting his tongue, “i would say i would take you to our medic, but i think that would raise some eyebrows. make sure you see someone, okay?”

before you know it, toto is to his feet, towering over you on the edge of the bed, “where are your pajamas?”

“you don’t have to–”

"i want to,” he interrupts, “let me help, okay? you don’t have to do everything yourself, you know that?”

“but i’m used to–”

“and i need you to know that while i’m here, you do not have to worry about that anymore. i’m going to take care you. anything that you need, you’ll get,” he brushes a lock of hair away from your forehead. 

you melt, nearly collapsing under his touch as he caresses your cheek. wrapping your arms around his thigh, you nuzzle into his hip. 

meanwhile, the team principal is about to crumple to his knees at the sight of you. fuck, you were so cute. why were you so goddamn cute?

even after assaulting one of his drivers, you were still pretty damn cute. he was not lying when he said it made you more attractive. 

he needed someone to be that passionate about their team, their driving, and their beliefs. he needed someone who could take a stand against another driver without backing down. he needed someone who didn’t give a fuck. 

he needed you. 

fuck, he needed you. 

in the moments the two of you were apart, he could barely process his thoughts. you were consuming his mind whole. he clung to your words, your voice, so sweet and soft, flooding his ears when you weren’t around. he found himself checking his phone more frequently, in attempts to see if you had responded. 

lately, it seemed every time he thought about racing, his mind brought him to you. 

he was addicted to you. 

“how about some head?” 

your inquiry takes him by surprise, his jaw clenching, heart racing, “oh? does my baby need some?”

“it may help ease my headache,” you glance upwards, the team principal fighting back a groan as filthy fantasies begin to creep into his thoughts. 

the sight of you looking up at him like that? with those lashes framing those stunning eyes? with your lips looking oh so plush? 

fuck, toto felt his knees nearly buckle.

there was no denying he wanted you. he craved you. often.

he desperately ached to feel you, to know what you felt like as he made you his. he yearned to feel that perfect pussy on his tongue as you bucked your hips, crying out for more. he wanted more than anything, to hear you beg. you probably looked oh so pretty when you begged. 

that night in jeddah, you were so fucking wet. you had nearly coated his fingers with it all. and it was all for him? 

“toto,” the way his name fell from your lips was like heaven itself, “will you stay tonight?”

“of course,” he nods, his voice nearly faltering as your hand massages his thigh, “f-fuck.”

“what?” you coo, meeting his gaze once more, “what is it, baby?”

baby. 

he was going to fuck the shit out of you. 

the buzz of a phone in his pocket startles you, earning a flinch. as it rings, the team principal lets out a string of curses, and you infer it was more than likely german. bringing the phone to his ear, he takes a step back, strolling over to the corner of the room. 

sighing, you roll on your side, back facing the team principal. 

the call was only about a minute, yet felt like an eternity.

“don’t tell me you’re pouting over there.”

“maybe i am.”

the bed dips underneath his weight, your heart fluttering as you feel his presence. the team principal is on top of you now, pinning you to the bed. 

“well quit it.”

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taglist: @toldyouitwasamelodrama @nebarious @whoisss @kravitzwhore @prettiest-at-the-party

[weekendwarriorblog]

FORD V FERRARI: ED’s Very Important Thoughts on James Mangold’s Racing Movie

It’s taken me a little longer than usual to write about this movie, maybe because I was so blown away when I first watched it that I really wanted it to sink in before I took the time to do any sort of writing. That doesn’t mean this will be a particularly insightful or intelligent review that might say something new about the movie that hasn’t been said in plenty of other reviews, but if you’re reading this far, you might as well continue, right?

I thought I knew what Ford V Ferrari was going to be from the first time I saw footage at CinemaCon back in April. In fact, the movie works on so many other levels besides the racing scenes, one of the reasons why I wanted to spend a bit more time thinking about it before writing about it.  I never got around to seeing the doc The 24 Hour War, co-directed by Adam Carolla, but it’s a doc that tells the same story using archival footage, something I only realized existed after seeing James Mangold’s film. Fortunately, Mangold has given me enough faith and confidence in his work as a filmmaker that I knew his dramatization would find a way to tell the same story in an equally exciting way, and I was correct.

We meet Christian Bale’s Ken Miles, a cranky British race car driver who doesn’t play by the rules, at an important qualifying race where his car has just been eliminated from racing by officials. Matt Damon’s fellow racer Carroll Shelby offers to placate the angry Miles and gets a wrench thrown at him for his efforts. A year or so later, Miles is running his own car repair shop but having serious money issues. The next time Shelby approaches him, it’s to offer him money to help him design a sportscar for the Ford company to race at Le Mans in 1963, a grueling 24-hour race. Unbeknownst to either of them, Henry Ford II (Tracy Letts) had sent his best man Lee Iacocca (Jon Bernthal) to Italy to negotiate a deal with Enzo Ferrari (Remo Girone) to buy his company so that Ford could get into the sportscar business. That meeting doesn’t end well, and Ferrari’s insults as he sells to another company gets Ford in the type of vengeful mood that could only lead to great innovation. It’s up to Shelby and Miles to work together to design a car that can beat the Ferrari company’s Le Mans winning streak. Although the reason for Miles and Shelby designing this super-car for Ford is primarily for money reasons, it’s just as much about pride and patriotism.  Miles clearly has more to prove as a race car driver who has fallen on hard times.

That’s the set-up, which leads to an exhilarating 2 and a half hours that flies by faster than you might ever expect, and it’s not all racing either. Unlike other movies of this length, the set-up is just as compelling as the actual Le Mans race, and that’s mainly due to the great cast assembled around Bale and Damon.  Very early on in the film, the screenplay – written by Jez and John-Henry Butterworth and Jason Keller – sets up the relationships with Miles’ relationship with his wife (Caitrione Balfe) and son Peter (Noah Jupe), being just as important in telling what is essentially Miles’ story.  As good as Damon is, as always, Bale’s performance as Miles, complete with a constant scowl on his face, is very much what keeps the movie interesting, because there are far more stakes in him winning Le Mans than for Shelby or even Ford. It’s to Bale’s great credit that he is able to make such a cantankerous and frequently unpleasant character as likable as the characteristic charm Damon brings to Shelby.

The movie is based on a true story, so you may already guess how it turns out, but the last hour when it becomes about Miles and Shelby having to fight back against edicts from the Ford Company, in the form of Josh Lucas’ Leo Beebe, Ford’s right hand man.  It’s another interesting level to the film that’s very relevant in terms of people having to fight against the dominance of the corporations. That might be especially ironic when you realize that the corporation releasing this (Fox) was recently bought by an even bigger corporation (Disney), something that’s hard to ignore.

Sure, there’s a ton of machismo in this movie, and it’s a little disturbing that Ford vs. Ferrarijoins the long list of films this year that has failed to “read the room” and all the calls for diversity, since it’s about as much a white man’s story as you can possibly get. That said, it’s not often when I watch a movie where there’s only one prominent female role with an actor I don’t know or have never heard of her. That’s the case with Balfe, and she completely blew me away, playing so well off of Bale with most of her scenes being on the domestic side of things. Noah Jupe is also really great in Shia Labeouf’s Honey Boy(currently in select cities), and he also is given such a wonderful story arc in his relationship with his father.

It might be somewhat obvious by now, but James Mangold is one of the most underrated and underappreciated directors working today, mainly since he rarely remains in the same genre for more than one movie. Even when he did The Wolverine and Logan back-to-back with Hugh Jackman as the title character (of both movies, oddly), they were very different films. As much as Ford vs. Ferrari blew me away in terms of the filming, editing and sound design used to create the Le Mans racing scenes, the domestic side of Miles’ life keeps you just as riveted to the screen.

Ford V Ferrari is not only one of the best movies of the year, but possibly the best movie of Mangold’s brilliant career. It’s a movie I know I’ll be able to watch over and over, if only to marvel at the sheer quality of all aspects of its filmmaking. I already have tickets to rewatch it in IMAX this Friday.

Rating: 9.5/10

[protierras]

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