#thermal club

[coimbrabertone]

Indycar at Thermal

So, Thermal happened. For those who don't know, the NTT Indycar Series had a non-points exhibition, vaguely all-stary race at the Thermal Club, a private racing club in southern California. This was billed as the "$1 Million Challenge" for ironic reasons that I'll get to in a moment. Anyway, for the event, the field was split in half with two ten-minute heat races, the top six cars transferring from each heat into a final. In the twenty lap, twelve car final, the drivers would race for $500,000, because they couldn't even get that part right.

The first heat race was pretty good, with drama off the start leading to Romain Grosjean getting spun out and collecting Rinus Veekay, while Indycar legend Scott Dixon was penalized out of contention for starting it. Felix Rosenqvist led, but Scott McLaughlin was hunting him down at the end.

The second heat was a bit more mixed. The Chip Ganassi Racing cars of Alex Palou and Marcus Armstrong controlled the pace, but the McLarens put on a show fighting for the final transfer spot. Callum Ilott filling in in the #6 started just outside the transfer spot, but then got swallowed up by his teammates, Alexander Rossi and Pato O'Ward. Rossi and O'Ward proceeded to put on a show fighting for the sixth and final transfer slot, with Alex winning out in the end. CGR's pace was ominous, but McLaren kept it entertaining.

Then the race hit rock bottom with the first half of the feature race. The $1 Million race was twenty laps, but it was divided into two ten lap halves, with a ten-minute break in the middle, and drivers weren't allowed to change tyres in the middle. Knowing that, the teams figured that they would just save their tyres in the first half knowing the field would bunch up for the second half, meaning they'd have more tyre to attack with in the second half. So, on a long, twisty road course without many passing opportunities, we had to watch the drivers one by one decide that they couldn't push any further so they should just save for the second half. Colton Herta was the first to do it, then Agustin Canapino, then Alexander Rossi...soon enough, everyone all the way up to Graham Rahal in seventh was driving seconds off the pace saving their tyres.

Then we get to the ten-minute break with the NBC commentators practically pleading with the viewers that the race was going to get better in the second half. Alex Palou finished lap ten, and then the race just kept going because Pietro Fittipaldi was evidently underfueled and it took him about three minutes to cross the finish line. Then, in a strange, quiet mid-race break where nothing else seemed to be happening, Graham Rahal retired with a technical issue and Pietro Fittipaldi was disqualified for not having enough fuel. The fun, all-for-money, twelve car all-star race was down to just ten cars.

Nevertheless...the second half was better. Alexander Rossi pushed his way up the field, clashed with Josef Newgarden, and both went wide while Colton Herta went underneath them both for the position. Cars were actually racing now! Herta charging up the field and Rossi hanging on a few cars behind made it look like this saving strategy might actually amount to something after all...only for Alex Palou to dominate the race anyway. This was better, but for most of the fans, the damage was already done.

Indycar twitter was dominated by people talking about this race being a terrible mistake, rock bottom of Roger Penske's series ownership, and a horrid waste of time. Me? My reaction was mostly to just disassociate and laugh at the trainwreck. I love Indycar, I want Indycar to do well, I love Indycar so much I'm writing a novel-length fic about it on AO3, so it sucks to see a dud of an event like this. The worst part in my opinion is that we're stuck with this being the most recent race for a month, because the Long Beach Grand Prix isn't until April 21st.

It's been a rough offseason as an Indycar fan, and seeing an uncharacteristically dull St. Pete race where Josef Newgarden dominated following by this confused little Thermal Club event where reigning champ Palou came out on top...it's not great. I just hope Long Beach brings a return to normalcy, with good, hard, unpredictable American open wheel racing...in a month.

[justanothergreb]

I'm sorry, Angela works for Marcus now?! This makes me very happy!

[liliansknox]

most unrealistic part of heaven's secret: requiem is mc not freezing in the siberian winter with these outfits.

[sexyfootylover]

Noni Madueke in Thermal underwear

[jack-doohan]

x

[bring-subaru-back-to-wrc]

thermal was quite good except for:

first half of the final 12. There was no racing because everyone was saving tires. Need to fix the final heat race format if they do this again (and i hope they do it again!)

Fittipaldi being dq for fuel load :( he was doing so well until the team screwed up

Top three had pretty big gaps between them at the end. New tires for both halves of the final would probably solve the only real issues this event had

Palou is too good. I mean. He didnt break a sweat at any point of the weekend. Flawless driving. But it meant there wasnt much racing for the win. He was just too far ahead. Positive for palou, negative for us viewers

Positives:

Incredible passes and battles from 3rd down

There was a jump!!! I was just joking they should add jumps in indycar and boom, theres a bump that pumps all 4 tires off the ground into a turn!

[oneblckcoffee]

jhr #77 out in the first lap🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

[dailyindycar]

indycar Done in the desert. Check out all the combined results from day 2 from the #ThermalClubTest.

[chaossurvives]

What a waste of time

[automundoarg]

Agustín Canapino largará 8° en la primera manga del IndyCar en Thermal Club

El arrecifeño terminó detrás de su compañero Romain Grosjean. Ahora deberá quedar entre los seis primeros de la serie para pasar a la final.

El IndyCar realizó las pruebas de clasificación de la carrera sin puntos que tiene como escenario The Thermal Club, un complejo residencial ubicado en California que tiene una pista de 4,8 kilómetros. El Juncos Hollinger Racing logró una gran actuación al colocar a sus dos autos en el Top 10. El referente del equipo de Ricardo Juncos y Brad Hollinger fue el francés Romain Grosjean, quien se ubicó…

[luveline]

hiyaa girlyy!! so i have a fic request and it's totally fine if you don't want to write / don't feel comfortable reading or doing it: and also, i'm not sure if someone thought of this yet, but how about spencer just being friends with a stripper. like their are murders ongoing abt strippers and spencer sees reader at one of the crime scènes and everybody's shocked since their sooo sweet and comfortable together? (and bonus point if she wears his jacket or something since it's cold)

thank you for your request! if you have more requests for this pairing please send them my way!

"I tried to call you!" 

Hotch looks up from his phone at the shout. He'd been texting Jessica one handed in an attempt to tell her and Jack that he won't be home tonight, and he isn't usually easily startled, but he isn't expecting you to talk to him. Or call him. 

He blinks back his fatigue —you're obviously not talking to him. You're almost nondescript in your hoodie, but Hotch isn't confident you're wearing any pants, or underwear. It was a rush job to bring everyone out from the club, and you and the rest of the dancers stand on the sidewalk in various states of undress. 

"Can we get some jackets, please?" Hotch asks, turning back to the beat cops standing by. "Thermal blankets? Anything?" 

When he turns back, Spencer's not where he was. Hotch casts his gaze back to you near the club doors, your hair messed up from the scuffle but your face intricate and untouched, just as pretty as the rest of your fellow dancers, and doubly so as you throw your arms around Spencer Reid's tall shoulders. 

"I'm so glad you're okay," Spencer says, squeezing you hard, your heels lifting off of the rain-sullied sidewalk. "I told you to stay home!" 

"I can't stay home, Spencer. How would I make money?" 

"I'll pay for the hours you miss, I told you that, too." 

"Baby, you couldn't afford it," you tease lightly, setting back down. Your hand immediately rises to Spencer's cheek, your painted nails scratching delicately at his skin. "I've missed you. Where have you been?" 

"California, then Albuquerque." 

"Killing bad guys?" 

Hotch doesn't consider Spencer a lonely guy, and he doesn't think he'd ever be collected enough to enter a strip club, and yet. There he is, hugging and checking over a stripper with as much care and tenderness as he'd show any member of the team. And judging by your smile, you're enamoured with him. Whether romantically or otherwise is anyone's guess. 

Morgan's, apparently. "Sorry, I'm sorry, does Reid have a girlfriend? Like, a…?" 

"You can say stripper," Emily says, though she's similarly nonplussed. "I mean, there's no way. Right?" 

"They're just friends," JJ says. 

The team turns to her in betrayal. Clearly, JJ knew about this and said nothing, and Hotch has things to do but this is so thoroughly bizarre that he gives himself five minutes of curiosity; he lets the others berate her for answers. 

"Come on, JJ! When did this happen? How did this happen?" Emily asks, her voice dropping to a scandalised whisper. 

In the background, Spencer peels out of his jacket that barely fits around your shoulders. You wear it anyhow, wrapping your arm through his and leaning on his shoulder. "Thanks, Dr. Reid." 

"I really wish you'd stay home when I tell you too." He rubs your arm amicably. 

"Her old boss was a typical heavy-handed sleaze," JJ explains, voice soft with sympathy. "Spence said he used to see her at the grocery store with bruises. She stayed with him for a few days and found a new club… He said she can smile through anything, even a broken wrist." 

Hotch understands. This part of Virginia pretends to be better than it is, and while you seem happy enough now in your profession, he knows it can't be easy. Spencer did for you what he would've done for anyone. You've clearly seen the good in him, treating him with a real and easy affection, adoring through shivers as you look up at him and ask, "Are you eating enough? You look tired." 

"I'm exhausted worrying about you. You're exhausting. Like, where are the sweatpants I got you? You'll get hypothermia." 

"I was trying not to get murdered. You're lucky I grabbed the hoodie." You turn to the team, as though you've known they were watching the entire time. "You wanna introduce me to your friends?" you ask. Hotch detects a hint of insecurity under all your bubbly sweetness. 

Spencer laughs loudly, ushering you forward with a hand on your shoulder. "Don't chicken out this time." 

"Don't embarrass me in front of the special agents!" you whisper.��

"I'm a special agent." 

"No, you're a doctor. He's a special agent." Your gaze narrows in on Hotch. "Hi, you're the boss, huh?" You eye his naked marriage finger briefly, and he knows you're kidding, but he still has to fight to stay expressionless as you continue, "How come handsome guys like you don't ever wanna see me dance?" 

Hotch puts out his hand. "Aaron Hotchner. It's nice to meet you." 

You shake his hand, though you stay as close to Spencer as you can manage without stepping on his shoes. "Right. Too respectful. It's really nice to meet you too, Agent Hotchner. Can you catch the bad guy soon? I'll end up on Spencer's cough again if I don't make rent." 

Morgan opens his mouth and Hotch promptly shuts him down with a raised hand. "We will. You have my word." 

[blueiscoool]

1,800-Year-Old Roman Carved Head and Gem Discovered at Hadrian's Wall

Archaeologists excavating a site near Hadrian's Wall have discovered a wealth of Roman artefacts including carved heads, gems and mysterious ritual platforms.

Archaeologists have found several exciting millennia-old Roman artefacts near Hadrian’s Wall in Scotland.

The findings, which are estimated as being around 1,800 years old, include an exquisite gem that depicts Silvanus, God of the countryside, and a meticulously crafted ring with an inset gem depicting a rat munching merrily on a poppy seed.

A team of volunteer archaeologists in England have unearthed the intricately carved head of a statue believed to depict an ancient Roman empress. The discovery was made at the site of a Roman bathhouse, the largest known building on Hadrian’s Wall, located near Carlisle Cricket Club.

The head, measuring 18cm by 13cm, is remarkably detailed and finely crafted, surpassing the quality of two larger monument heads discovered at the same site earlier this year. Experts believe the head, which depicts a woman wearing a headdress resembling those favored by Empress Julia Domna, dates back to the same period as the bathhouse.

“It refers more to the Classical Roman style of sculpture,” said lead archaeologist Frank Giecco. While the identity of the woman depicted remains unconfirmed, the headdress offers a tantalizing clue. Julia Domna, wife of Emperor Septimius Severus, popularized this particular style of headdress during her reign.

This latest find adds to the impressive collection of over 4,000 artifacts recovered since excavations began in 2021. The site, initially thought to be solely a bathhouse, has revealed itself to be a multifaceted complex.

“It looks like thermal baths, a collection of disparate offices, religious and social spaces, recreational spaces and administrative spaces,” said Giecco, who expressed amazement at the volume and value of the discoveries.

[tossawary]

Thinking about a comedic "Star Wars" fic premise that could be either DinLuke or BobaLuke, not as an "OTP happily ever after" thing for either pairing, more as a series of ill-conceived hook-ups that everyone involved wishes were a little less emotionally complicated, actually.

Because the basic (been done before, I'm sure) premise of "I fucked a 19yo in Mos Eisley's only gay bar, that's kind of embarassing for me..." -> "I hate it when a past hook-up becomes a- MULTI-MILLION CREDIT bounty??? What the hell??? He killed HOW MANY people???" -> "Oh, fuck me, he's DARTH VADER'S SON!!!" works for either Boba or Din.

The flavor of the fic is of course extremely different for each pairing. Boba Fett is much more of an asshole, especially at this point in time, but he also has a lot of really interesting connections to Luke's past / family (Boba is SWEATING during his later meetings with Darth Vader). (He fucked a Jedi??? He fucked ANAKIN SKYWALKER'S kid??? Darth Vader is Skywalker??? Shit.) So, that has the potential to go to angstier places. DinLuke is just more likely to happen in the first place and also keep happening, because Din is less of a bastard and, you know, not canonically working for Jabba the Hutt or Darth fucking Vader.

(They're both 10+ years older than Luke, so you can make terrible helmeted daddy issues jokes about this silly situation either way.)

Because I enjoy fic premises based on how funny they are to me personally, I settled on both of these pairings. It's too funny to imagine Boba ("I'm too fucking old for this shit") Fett and Din ("The helmet has to stay ON during sex") Djarin having a "WAIT, HIM TOO???" moment in the middle of a firefight between Luke's little rebel friends and a bunch of other bounty hunters sent after them by Luke's shitty Sith Lord dad.

And Luke's friends, in between shooting at all of these competing bounty hunters, are like, "How do you already have TWO bounty hunter EXES out for your ass??? I thought you were only 20? 21?? And that you never even left Tatooine before you joined the Rebellion???" And Luke can only be like, "I lived near a spaceport, okay??? I'm SORRY that the only good club was in a wretched hive of scum and villainy called MOS EISLEY!"

Han Solo, pressed up against some crates for cover: "Look, kid, the criminal underworld doesn't have a lot of hard rules, but some things are just common sense... Don't fuck bounty hunters!!!"

Luke, sitting beside him: "Do we really have to do this now?"

Leia, on Luke's other side, leaning in as she pulls out a thermal detonator: "Who RAISED you??? Didn't anyone ever tell you never to sleep with Mandalorians???"

Luke: "Why would your parents even think to warn you about that?"

[blues824]

Sebek cuddling besides you in bed cause crocodiles are cold blooded and he’s been out in the snow all day. He wraps himself around you and traps you in his arms. You can’t bring yourself to adjust because he’s shivering and he’s just freezing. Your body heat is just the right amount of heat for him!!! All he needs is to hold you in his arms <333

Screaming, crying, squealing, giggling, kicking my feet as I lay on my stomach. Gender-neutral reader

Sebek Zigvolt

As we all know, Sebek prefers a warmer climate and thus likes to hang about in the Botanical Gardens. However, the Science Club was meeting up, and Sebek didn’t know if he was going to make it all the way to his dorm room at Diasomnia in the snow storm. So, his next best bet was with you at Ramshackle. After all, in this snow, you probably had a fire going.

It was a bit embarrassing for him, but he knew that you were very likely to take him in. Knocking, he noticed that he was shivering, which was definitely not a good sign. You opened the door and were immediately wrapped in a tight and slightly uncomfortable embrace. You felt his trembles and tremors, and he felt as cold as death.

“Sebby, are you alright?” You tried to ask, and you felt him nod his head.

Reaching around to close the door, you waddled back to the living room, the knight still holding you, before you made him let go. You quickly grabbed a blanket and ushered him to your bedroom, helping him strip off his layers until he was in just his thermals. Poor thing was shaking like a leaf, so you quickly got rid of your jacket as well and plopped yourself on top of him when he laid on your bed. Then, you pulled the blanket over the two of you so that it could trap your body heat.

“Thank you… Prefect,” You could hear his teeth chattering, and you just smiled up at him in return.

“Looks like I’m your knight in shining armor, huh?” You joked. Taking his now-ungloved hand into yours, you could feel his skin start to warm up. Then, you felt him wrap himself around you, arms and legs. He had never been this openly affectionate towards you, even in private.

To be fair, you both had only recently started courting each other, so it wasn’t expected to show physical affection just yet. Plus, it wasn’t his love language at all, which you came to understand. However, you also knew that he needed to be warm at all times, so there was that as well.

His breath slowed, meaning he had fallen asleep. Readjusting your position was out of the question, as he was a very light sleeper due to his training. Comfort was at the bottom of your priority list, however, because he looked too cute sleeping anyway. He looked at peace, shivering every once in a while, and a rare moment of quiet fell upon you both.

Then, you fell asleep not long after.

[jack-doohan]

x

[p0orbaby]

The Day The Music Died

summary: some people have to grow up before their time. At 17, you're already juggling a career, school, and a toxic secret. It's a heavy load for anyone, but for you, it's life.

warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, heavy themes; allusions to sexual assault/prostitution, drugs and alcohol, bullying

a/n: very loosely based off this request. it's a heavy one so please don't read if any of the warnings may make you uncomfortable

word count: 1.1k

-

School.

Them.

Training.

Homework.

Match day.

Recovery.

Homework.

Him.

You were tired. So so tired. But that’s what happens when you spread yourself too thin. And because it was your own fault you couldn’t complain. No one was forcing you to do this.

Football was already enough. At only 17 you were a starter for both club and country. So what was the point in school and exams and qualifications? The point is that nothing is permanent. Ever. No matter what anyone says, permanence isn’t certain. You have to have other avenues. Just in case.

Despite it all, you need the distraction. Football from exams and exams from, everything else.

The light in the attic bedroom is on when you get home. You cut the engine of your car, lean back against the headrest and sigh into the night. You helped your team get to a cup final tonight, you should be happy.

But the light in the attic bedroom is making you nervous.

-

“How is your revision prep going?”

You pull the sleeves of your thermals down over your hands when the wind picks up. Lia does the same. You think you’d both be used to the weather by now.

Your scoff travels in the breeze, “I’m up to my eyeballs in cue cards”

Lia offers a sympathetic smile. “I hear you,” she replies, her voice carrying a hint of understanding. “It’s tough juggling everything, but you’re doing great. Sleeping okay?”

No.

“Never better”. Her eyes narrow at you. It was a trick question, you realise. She can’t have missed the dark circles under your eyes. The consistent yawns you try to hide. “I’m fine, I promise”

-

Your skin itches. It always does after. That dirty feeling of shame and embarrassment. When belts are buckled and knees are tucked under chins.

Voices are muffled through the door. Not quite loud enough to hear what’s being said, but you can guess. Same time next week.

You kick yourself for growing up.

You fall asleep in the attic.

-

“You missed a pen yesterday”

You freeze as you step out of the cubicle. Your path to the sinks blocked by three of your least favourite people.

“Things happen” you mutter, your eyes fixed on the cracked tiles beneath your feet, unwilling to meet their eyes.

But the trio only laughs in your face, their cackling echoing cruelly in the cramped confines of the toilet. Layers of makeup crack under the force of their mirth, revealing the hollow emptiness beneath. The stench of cigarettes on their breath makes your stomach churn. You need to get to chemistry.

One of them steps forward, their gaze cold and calculating. “Should get fucking dropped,” they sneer, their words like a slap to the face.

Another one joins in. “And to think you play for our country? Pathetic,” they jeer, their words like a dagger aimed straight at your heart.

You feel the sting of tears threatening to spill over, but you refuse to let them see your pain. With a shaky breath, you push past them, their laughter following you like a sinister shadow. Chemistry. English. Training.

You hoped the attic stayed dark tonight.

-

“What’s all this?” You ask, eyes wide as you enter the changing rooms.

Banners and balloons adorn the walls, and your teammates gather around with smiles on their faces. Lia steps forward, a small cake in her hands, and presents it to you with a warm smile.

“What’s all this?” you ask, your voice barely discernible over the cheers and party poppers.

Lia’s smile widens, and she gestures to the decorations around the room. “It’s for you,” she says, her tone gentle yet filled with genuine affection. “Happy birthday”

You feel a lump form in your throat as you take in the scene before you. Despite everything, despite the challenges you face both on and off the field, your teammates have gone out of their way to make your birthday special. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over as you realise just how much this means to you.

“Thank you,” you manage to choke out, your voice thick with emotion. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

Lia steps forward and pulls you into a tight hug, her warmth enveloping you like a comforting embrace. “You don’t have to say anything,” she whispers, her words a soothing balm to your already shattered soul.

-

“You did good tonight”

Your brother's words are slurred as he enters the room and slumps into the chair in the corner.

“Thanks,” you mutter, your eyes fixed on the floor as you try to make yourself as small as possible.

But your brother doesn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he doesn’t care. He leans back in the chair, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated, and takes a swig from the bottle in his hand.

“You did good tonight,” he repeats, his words slurred and disjointed, his gaze unfocused as he stares off into the distance.

“There’s almost enough money,” he mutters, his speech slurred and disjointed. “I’m getting somewhere.”

You try to block out his words, to retreat into the safety of your own thoughts, but his voice is like a relentless tide, crashing against the walls of your mind with relentless force. You know better than to believe his lies, to put any stock in his hollow promises of success and prosperity. And yet, here you are, forced to listen to his drug-fueled delusions once again.

“I’m telling you,” he continues, his words becoming increasingly animated as he gestures wildly with his hands. “Once I make this deal, we’ll be set for life. No more worries, no more struggles. Just endless riches and success”

You take a deep breath, trying to push down the rising tide of frustration that threatens to overwhelm you. “You know, I could help you,” you offer tentatively, your voice laced with desperation. “I earn enough for both of us. Whatever you need, I can cover it”

But instead of gratitude, your brother’s eyes narrow, suspicion clouding his features. “What, you think I need your charity?” he snaps, his voice tinged with bitterness. “You think I can’t take care of myself?”

You recoil at the venom in his tone, the hurt evident in his words cutting you to the core. “No, I just…” you falter, struggling to find the right words to explain yourself.

But your brother cuts you off with a dismissive wave of his hand, his attention already drifting elsewhere. “Forget it,” he mutters, his voice growing distant as he sinks deeper into his drug-induced haze.

Happy birthday to you.