#Literally put the switch down and cranked up the volume

[numbskullnexus]

Decided to listen to an absolute banger and found what is probably the single most brilliant fucking SV burn and funniest comment I've ever bothered to read

[noses-in-winter]

Jack of All Clits (f/f, nsfw, sneezy lesbian porn cranked up SUPER high)

idk what it is but lately I have been INCAPABLE of writing anything that didn't involve a curvy girl sneezing, receiving sapphic head, and climaxing within a few hundred words of each other. This fic just happens to have all of that! Piper's my horny and perpetually stoned bisexual dumbass and Tourm is @virarushi's hot thicc girlboss gnome OC who sneezes about everything and has not yet had her bi awakening! Tourm is 4'5 and Piper's 5'6 so that's fun. :) Here's some art of her because she's hot! Anyway, to summarize: This is a 2.5k word fic in which Piper's going down on Tourm while she sneezes. They're roommates in grad school and Piper prides herself on being able to deliver bi awakenings.

To reiterate: this is nsfw so please do not interact if you're underage!! just block me!! thanks!! okay enjoooyyyyy ty

(Also to my awesome friends who read this in Discord, I DID add a few more horny details, just sayyin...okay anyway tyyy)

Piper was pretty sure Tourm had never climaxed at the hands (or dick, or mouth, or any combo of those things) of another sentient being. Based on what Piper had learned about her new roommate so far (mostly from asking Alexander), college was the first chance Tourm had ever really had to be away from her family’s rigid expectations and watchful eye. The poor bitch hadn’t ever even had her boob squeezed before! And there was a lotta boob-squeezing real estate there!

Tourm’s lack of preconceived expectations made Piper’s job all the easier. Not that she didn’t like a challenge, of course. But, now she could put all her focus into just getting Tourm to--

“Haah--! F-Fuuuuuuucking Void, Pipes…”

--moan, even if it was not done with near the amount of volume that Piper had anticipated. She expected Tourm’s--

“Mmmhhmm--!” 

--sounds of pleasure to be just as loud and take-charge as her sounds of laughter, anger and annoyance. As Piper had quickly figured out, Tourm was not a throw her head back and cry out with every rock of her hips kind of girl. Would have been hot if she was! But Piper also liked Tourm’s brand of quivering through the arousal, letting out steady moans that evidently came right from the g-spot. That was…actually a lot hotter than the first option. Piper didn’t have to keep an ear out for anyone drawing closer to their room. She could just keep making Tourm squirm. 

“Mmmmhfhhh, fuck. Aah--!”

And, Christ, was it fun to make her squirm.

“Mmmn…MMhmm…Fuck,” Tourm exhaled audibly in a proper English accent that could rival Solara’s. Piper didn’t tease her about it the way she normally might. She simply focused on keeping this pelvis-rolling rhythm going. Piper would have commended Tourm for figuring out the desired beat of her drum, were her tongue not occupied with the shorter coed’s labia. With Tourm’s calves draped over Piper’s shoulders and her hips angled upward, Piper went down on her in a very literal sense. Coupled with two pillows beneath the small of Tourm's back to keep her sex elevated, it made quite the memorable impact. It was Piper's go-to move when someone neeeeeded a good mouthfucking the way Tourm did. Piper prided herself on being able to get hookups to forget aaaaall about sheltered upbringings and disappointed families with the use of her nuclear-powered tongue work. 

Piper’s eyes flickered over to her phone, propped up on Tourm’s bedside table. The stopwatch read: Six minutes and fifteen seconds…sixteen…seventeen…Shit! She was running out of time. Time to pull out the big guns.

Thus far, Piper had been using the tip of her tongue to tease at Tourm’s g-spot. As Tourm evidently grew closer and closer to completion, Piper opted to switch things up a bit. She eased her tongue in farther, just enough to rub the stud of her piercing against the roof of Tourm’s cunt. The warm skin of her g-spot was raised, more than already activated with sensitivity and arousal. Judging by the new way Tourm’s thighs trembled around Piper’s ears, the move felt just as good between her legs as she had hoped. 

Tourm breathed heavily, one hand gripping the blankets beneath her while the other had her fingers tangled in Piper’s hair. She continued to groove against her roommate’s tongue in whatever way she could. “ohhh--ohhhFUUuuuuck, Pi---hi-hhh--?”

Piper wasn’t exactly sure what set Tourm off. Most likely, it was just the fact that Tourm was a gnome that simply existed. No matter the cause of the evident irritation in her nose, the first snag of Tourm’s breath sounded confused, as if she hadn’t realized this was coming. Her voice went a touch high with desperation as her nostrils flared, and then rested again, and then repeated the process to the same beat that she panted in. 

Tourm was sure gearing up for one hell of a sneeze that didn’t seem like there was going to be any attempted cover in sight. Piper couldn’t blame her. She was sure that being eaten out was the only thought and feeling and need in Tourm’s head at the moment. 

Tourm’s budding sneezes had her breath seesawing on beat with Piper’s tongue work urging her into the mattress. Finally, Tourm’s whole cunt clenched around Piper’s tongue as she sneezed at last, a cute “hh’chisshiew!” that Piper was more than used to hearing, along with the seeeeveral that always followed. The release peppered her shirt, bare thighs aaaand Piper with the results. Piper made a little noise of surprise when Tourm, fingers still wound in her hair, wound up pushing her face further against her sex. Immediately, Tourm let out a congested little moan, pelvis rising without her control in an effort to receive more and more and more of Piper’s tongue as she geared up for the next sneeze.

 Piper was happy to keep up, but withdrew from Tourm’s sex for just a moment. “Bless you. Sneeze all you need, babes, okay? Just aim somewhere that’s not me,” she teased lightheartedly.

Tourm took in another fluttery sniffle with a dazed nod, unable to offer even half a joking response. She just barely managed to pull the collar of her oversized sleep shirt over her nose with clumsy fingers as she drew closer— 

“hhih!”

 — and closer--

 “h-hehh—!”

 —to sneezing again. 

“hhhh!’chzsshiew!”

After several moments spent in limbo, Tourm’s hips bucked with yet another sneeze. By the sounds of things, this one came with a deluge of mess that was contained to her shirt. She let out a congested exhale that immediately turned into another heady snag of her breath that led to Tourm sneezing twice more. “sszsschiew--adt’chzsschiew!”

Piper opted to take this opportunity to use her thumbs to ease up the delicate hood that protected Tourm’s clit. Piper dipped her head down to greet it with her lips.  “Good giiiiiirl,” she hummed, voice shifting into a little purr as she praised Tourm’s last-minute success of covering her nose as Piper had instructed. “Bless you…”

Tourm gave a close-mouthed little sound of pleasure that could certainly be described as a whimper. Piper couldn’t tell if that was simply out of the stimulation she had been experiencing for the past (one more glance at the stopwatch) seven minutes and thirty-four seconds, or if that praise had done something hot to her. That could be figured out later. Just a little over two minutes left for Piper to push Tourm over the edge of climax. She could so goddamn do this. 

Tourm sniffled heavily with a murmur that probably had some intelligent meaning behind it, but only sounded like horny gibberish to Piper. The self-proclaimed master of orgasms didn’t ruminate on it long. Through the blond curls between Tourm’s legs, Piper took her clit fully between her lips to suck at. She wasn’t surprised by Tourm’s immediate gasp in response, or the needy buck of her pelvis. Tourm moaned through the fabric of her sleep shirt that she had less and less of a hold on as Piper rocked against her rhythmically with every sneeze…

“chissch!”

 And sneeze. 

“ischhoo!”

And a few more sneezes after that.

“iht’chisshiew! F-fucki’g shi--hihh!—kisschiew! hadt’DJISHiew!”

 Each time she geared up for a new sneeze, Tourm’s back arched up from the bed in a desperate squirm before making her buckle again in what looked like the world’s most effective ab workout. Those sneezes were rapidly starting to get away from her. 

“I’m…” Tourm trailed off, dropping her hand from its place of holding her sleep shirt. She instead used both hands to grip the blankets beneath her. Her shirt remained tented, held up only by her nose. That would be changing once she got a few more sneezes out, Piper was sure. Tourm was no longer capable of giving a fuck about a single thing other than her body’s powerful and simultaneous urges to climax and sneeze, sneeze and climax. “I’m g—gonna …hohhhh, fuuuuck….”

“Gonna what, babe?” Piper hummed during a brief pause in her stimulating efforts. “Cum? Or sneeze?”

Tourm gave one shallow nod, evidently an answer to both. Even though the bottom half of her face was covered by her sleep shirt, Piper could see that next sneeze coming from a mile away. Canted eyebrows, a shuddering inhale, the brief, sudden stillness of Tourm’s legs draped over Piper’s shoulders--

Haaaht--?!”

Oh, this was gonna be messy--

“CHIZSCCHhoo!”

Tourm sneezed. Productively, if the sudden splatter of wetness from the inside of her top gave any indication. Dampness bled through the cotton, turning the plain heather gray t-shirt into more of a slate color in several spots. Tourm snuffled and got a fistful of the shirt, drawing it up to scrub at her itchy nostrils. Piper could only see the underside of Tourm’s tits shifting, quivering along to the movement of the rest of her body, as well as the unsteady rise and fall of her chest. Piper didn’t bless her this time, simply choosing to hum as she tended to Tourm’s clit. This felt nice, apparently, judging by the shivering clench of Tourm’s thighs. Piper needed no further encouragement to keep humming and teasing and sucking until Tourm’s head pressed back into her pillow. The tip of her nose was perfectly perpendicular with the ceiling, reddened nostrils flaring as she came--

“OhhHHHHFFFffuuucuuuccckkkk….”

--hard with a shuddering moan that squeezed Piper’s ears between her thighs. Fuck yeah! She was so gonna win---

Nope. Ten minutes and twenty-eight seconds. Fuck! So close! Piper had nothing to complain about, though. That was fun. And hot. Super, actually fucking hot.

 Unable to properly tend to her clit anymore with how tightly Tourm’s thighs held her, Piper instead moved back down to Tourm’s labia. She delivered a few finalizing strokes with her tongue to Tourm’s heated sex as it pulsed rhythmically with the highs of orgasm. Tourm was quiet for several moments as she collected herself, save for heavy inhales and exhales, before she let out a little noise that sounded like a cross between a moan and a laugh once Piper’s tongue piercing massaged along her…shit, what was that part called? Her fourchette? Something French, Piper remembered, but she didn’t spend long on remembering the name. She simply continued with her tongue’s easy kneading of this evidently pleasurable (and ticklish) spot.

Tourm slowly untensed, legs remaining draped over Piper’s shoulders. Her hips continued to move lazily in response to the stimulation of her fourchette, but in a more relaxed way that suggested she was simply enjoying this little pleasure, even if she was still too sensitive to achieve orgasm again. She sniffled, palming the underside of her overstimulated nose. “Okay…Fuck. I gotta give it to you, Twintails. That…wasn’t bad,” Tourm chuckled, her accent slowly shifting back to that Cockney she always aimed for. She sniffled again, reaching for the box of Kleenex on the nightstand. She drew it closer to her, setting the box on the comforter as she plucked out several tissues. “Guess you’re--sdf! Good at more than just settin’ shit on fire and annoyin’ Moseley with me.” 

Tourm buried her nose into the tissues and delivered the first few seconds of a hardy blow before she was interrupted by another sneeze. Ope--and then two more. Piper gave Tourm’s sex one last parting little lick before easing back, wiping her mouth (and cheeks…and chin...and nose…Jesus, Tourm had been soaked) on her sleeve. She stood, easing Tourm’s legs down from their resting place on her shoulders to retrieve her phone from the nightstand.

 Tourm sniffled into her now-useless tissues, looking up at Piper with cracked, teary eyes. “I win?” she asked with a smirk that promptly collapsed into a sneezy snarl--

“adt'IZSSCHSHuh!”

-- that resulted in another heavy sneeze all down her shirt. Tourm grimaced, making a little noise of disgust as she moved to a sitting position and saw just how thoroughly peppered with sneezes both the inside and outside of her shirt were. “Eugh. Gross.” 

Piper snorted with a little smirk of her own as she started for Tourm’s dresser. “Bless y--”

“’chzsshiew!”

Piper gave an impressed whistle as she opened the top drawer, rifling through Tourm’s various shirts. She didn’t look at Tourm just yet, but it was audible in that grumbled snuffling that that sneeze hadn’t been pretty. Piper couldn’t help an amused little smile to herself as she picked out a new top for Tourm. She unfolded it, giving the garment only a brief look before shaking her head and beginning to fold it again. Way too tight for comfortable sleep. Piper did like this shirt, though. If her tits were half as impressive as Tourm’s, she would have been wearing it every other day. “Bless you, infinity. Get ‘em out, babe.” 

Tourm snorted ticklishly, knuckling at one nostril through her bundle of tissues. She blew her nose and actually managed to finish without being interrupted by a sneeze. “So?” she asked with an amused smirk in her voice. “I won, right?”

Piper rolled her eyes fondly, examining another shirt. Nope. Fabric was way too thin for a chilly April night like this. “Fiiiine. Yeah. Just by, like, twenty seconds, though. I’m sure I would have made it without those several sneezy disruptions, but I’m no sore loser.”

“Hah!” came Tourm’s little snicker. “You owe me fift--sdff! Ugh…F-fihh--hihh! I--”

Tourm sneezed behind Piper’s back, another productive sound that had her groaning again in the aftermath. Once Piper turned back around, a perfect sleep shirt in hand, Tourm was already pulling her messy top off. She removed her shirt the way a guy might, Piper noticed, pulling it up from the back. She wiped her nose with it before giving it a lazy toss to the carpet. Tourm leaned back slightly in bed, supporting herself with both hands as she sniffled. Piper, the slut she was, could do absolutely nothing but stare at the way the evidence of all of those sneezes just made Tourm’s tits shimmer in the lamplight. And then how they--

“Hhh--! hadt’DJISHiew!”

--bounced with another heady, uncovered sneeze that simply provided the same glitter-esque shine to her chest. She let out a stuffy exhale in the aftermath that sent a bolt of horny lightning down Piper’s spine. That…really had sounded like another moan, hadn’t it?

Damn it. She wanted to make her moan again. 

“Double or nothing.” 

Tourm looked at her with a cocked eyebrow, tits settling after that shivery sneeze. “Huh?” Piper didn’t even hand Tourm the new top, simply tossing it to a cluttered desk. She made her way back to Tourm’s bed and took her by the bicep with one hand lightly enough that Tourm could move away if she wasn’t into it. “Lemme try again,” she said, more of a command than a request. “Double or nothing if I can do it in eight.” 

Judging by Tourm’s expression, she very much was into this. Piper took this as a cue to ease her free hand to cup Tourm’s warm, damp tit. Tourm evidently couldn’t help a quivering little exhale, lashes fluttering as Piper thumbed her nipple. Just as Piper would expect her to, though, Tourm immediately shifted her look into one of cockiness rather than the evident need that was there.  “You’re on.”

[bookishbarnowl]

“I’m a person!”

The intimidation technique didn’t seem to phase the cocky teen. He smirked. “Techno, you gotta show me what’s wrong,” he goaded.

Break his leg, the AI suggested, but he blocked that out. He refused to play charades with the pint-sized terror.

In a post-apocalyptic world where the remaining survivors live in secure underground bases, Techno is a metal heart among dozens of warm, beating ones. That doesn't stop him from embracing his humanity, but it also means he has a few weaknesses others don't.

Warnings: Mild dehumanization (resolved)

Relationships: Technoblade & Tommy, Techno & Tommy & Wilbur

Word Count: 1,849

Ao3 Link: Here

Here’s a Wingdings translator if anyone wants to follow what Techno’s saying, but don’t feel like you need to, it’s not really plot relevant. Almost all of it is him threatening Tommy. :)

https://lingojam.com/WingdingsTranslator

Technoblade stormed down the hallway, mechanical limbs pounding against the floor of the bunker with resounding clangs as he stopped bothering to lighten his footsteps. Stealth was not a priority right now. He cranked up the volume on his voicebox, uncaring that no one could currently understand him. He was sick and tired of his Tommy’s ridiculous pranks, and changing his language settings while he was recharging was the last straw.

“❄︎□︎❍︎❍︎⍓︎!” he roared in his default android language, slamming doors open and shut as he searched. Other personnel quickly caught on to his current temper and promptly got out of his way, retreating to the parts of the base he’d already searched.

Yeah, faster, the broken AI jeered in the back of his head, spurring him on. He growled and tried to ignore it, but picked up the pace anyway. He was done.

He finally found Tommy and Wilbur in the latter’s bedroom, playing a video game together and bickering happily. He flung open the door with a bang and grabbed the remote, turning the TV off as they both yelled indignantly.

“✡︎□︎◆︎🕯︎♎︎ ♌︎♏︎⧫︎⧫︎♏︎❒︎ ♐︎♓︎⌧︎ ⧫︎♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ❒︎♓︎♑︎♒︎⧫︎ ■︎□︎⬥︎,” he snapped at Tommy, positively radiating anger.

The intimidation technique didn’t seem to phase the cocky teen. He smirked. “Aww, Techno, I can’t understand you. What exactly is the matter?”

“👍︎◆︎⧫︎ ⧫︎♒︎♏︎ ♍︎❒︎♋︎◻︎📪︎ ♓︎⧫︎🕯︎⬧︎ ■︎□︎⧫︎ ♐︎◆︎■︎■︎⍓︎📬︎ ✋︎🕯︎❍︎ ♎︎□︎■︎♏︎.” he replied, his face darkening. He wasn’t going to negotiate.

“Techno, you gotta show me what’s wrong,” Tommy goaded.

Break his leg, the AI suggested, but he blocked it out.

“✋︎ ❒︎♏︎♐︎◆︎⬧︎♏︎📬︎ 🕈︎♏︎ ♌︎□︎⧫︎♒︎ 🙵■︎□︎⬥︎ ⬥︎♒︎♋︎⧫︎🕯︎⬧︎ ⬥︎❒︎□︎■︎♑︎ ♋︎■︎♎︎ ⍓︎□︎◆︎ ♋︎❒︎♏︎ ♑︎□︎♓︎■︎♑︎ ⧫︎□︎ ⬧︎⬥︎♓︎⧫︎♍︎♒︎ ♓︎⧫︎ ♌︎♋︎♍︎🙵 □︎❒︎ ⬧︎□︎ ♒︎♏︎●︎◻︎ ❍︎♏︎-” he broke off, gritting his teeth and distractedly registering the AI trying to convince him to commit a war crime. He crossed his arms, resentment and fury pooling in his stomach. He was not playing charades with the pint-sized terror.

Wilbur was looking back and forth between the two of them, observant enough to piece together the situation. He was also partially fluent in the android tongue, enough to probably pick up one or two keywords in Techno’s rapid-fire speech.

“⬧︎ ◻︎ ♏︎ ♏︎ ♍︎ ♒︎ ⬧︎ ⧫︎ ◆︎ ♍︎ 🙵,” Techno enunciated clearly in his direction, slow enough that he could pick it up, then switched back into his regular talking speed. “❄︎□︎❍︎❍︎⍓︎ ✋︎ ♋︎❍︎ ♎︎♏︎♋︎♎︎ ⬧︎♏︎❒︎♓︎□︎◆︎⬧︎📬︎ ❄︎♒︎♓︎⬧︎ ♓︎⬧︎ ■︎□︎⧫︎ ♐︎◆︎■︎■︎⍓︎.”

“Voice… trapped? Stuck?” Wilbur translated. “And something about death? I heard the word Tommy…” He rounded on his brother. “What did you do to him?”

Tommy was trying hard not to laugh, which only made Techno feel worse. “It was just a prank,” he defended. “Isn’t it hilarious? Go on, try and say something else,” he prodded.

Techno didn’t move, mouth stubbornly shut. Some of his anger was eating away into humiliation, which he was sure was the worst emotion in existence. He quashed the feeling and tried to get back to being infuriated.

Oooh, someone’s embarrassed, the AI mocked. Scared, even? Ah, and there’s the helplessness.

Sometimes the voice cut deeper than it had any right to. Techno growled again, the sound rumbling menacingly through his entire body as he determinedly refused to dwell on those statements. He fixed Tommy with a glare that would have most people in the base quivering in fear, but he had the audacity to grin back at him.

“Techno, you’ve gotta ask me for help if you want it fixed,” he taunted, standing up with a hand on his hip as Wilbur looked torn. “The great Blade’s gotta admit he needs help.”

That was the tipping point for Techno.

“G̵͙͊ẽ̷̮t̵̜̽ ̶̬̆r̵͉͐i̸ḑ̴͂ ̶̧̂ō̷̜f̷ ̵̼͘t̷̑h̶̽is ̵͎̾n̸̠͑o̷̦͘w̸̠̃,” he snarled, brute forcing his way through the sloppily installed language blockers in sheer rage. His eyes flashed red and the claws stored in his finger joints slid out against his will, the voice in his head cackling as oily tears started leaking from his eye sockets.

Wilbur’s eyes widened and he jumped up, grabbing a screwdriver off of the desk and cautiously approaching the crying android. Tommy looked taken aback, his expression dissolving into something more sheepish.

“⚐︎ ■︎ ❍︎ ⍓︎ ♌︎ ♋︎ ♍︎ 🙵,” Techno instructed Wilbur carefully, directing him to the detachable panel on his lower back. He closed his eyes and tried to get a grip on his emotions, retracting his claws and silencing his snickering commentator.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Tommy sputtered, backpedaling.

“Then get over here and fix it,” Wilbur told him severely. The teen hung his head and came over to help Wilbur get the panel off, revealing the computer screen embedded into the metal there that Tommy had used to hack into Techno.

Techno shivered as he felt the two of them start going through the code looking for Tommy’s software, exceptionally conscious that they literally had his entire being at their fingertips. A few malicious clicks, and he could be altered in any number of ways.

Phil had tried to help him update the security on his data so things like that wouldn’t be possible, but his system seemed to vehemently reject any permanent alterations to his code and always did a system reboot afterwards to purge the new protections. He suspected the busted AI he shared a headspace with was behind it. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to care about short-term add-ons like the one Tommy had undoubtedly used.

He trusted both of them. He did, and no amount of pranks would change that. If he didn’t they wouldn’t be behind him right now, painstakingly removing the last traces of the language blocker. But sometimes they went too far. He felt used and taken advantage of. And that was not okay with him.

As soon as they got his back panel reattached, he left, ignoring their worried questions about if he was okay or not. He needed some time alone, and there was only one place no one would want to follow him.

He made his way to the airlock and grabbed a pack, slinging it over his shoulders and grabbing a blaster off the rack on the wall. Pulling a shield down over his face, he punched his code into the computer by the exit and signed himself out, then allowed the airlock to seal behind him.

The huge door slid open with a hiss in front of him, letting him out into the wasteland. The face shield protected him from the dust particles the inexhaustible wind dragged across every surface, and his metal body meant he didn’t have to deal with an oxygen tank or protective suit like the rest of the residents in the base. He scanned the area around the base with a keen eye, clipped his blaster to his hip, and set off into the desert.

He didn’t go far, barely beyond the next hill, but it was enough to make him feel like he was the only one in the world, which was what he wanted.

Lonely, lonely, lonely, the AI chanted in his head, and he pushed it away. Solitude helped him think.

But his peace didn’t last very long. The sound of clumsy footsteps stumbling through the dirt reached his ears, and he bowed his head and internally groaned. Someone had come after him, and it sure didn’t sound like Phil. A few more seconds of waiting would tell him which of the two less tolerable options he’d gotten. He considered running farther away, certain he could outdistance whichever it was, but if it was Tommy he’d just doggedly follow. And Wilbur would feel hurt. So he stayed put.

Leave him behind, the voice commanded. Shut up, he told it.

Sure enough, a moment later Tommy all but tripped over the crest of the hill and joined him at the bottom with a little help from gravity, breathing hard through the oxygen mask and making a vain attempt to brush the sheen of sweat off a brow covered by his helmet.

“These suits are so awkward to walk in,” he started, voice coming through the speakers in the aforementioned suit with a slightly tinny distortion. It was obviously an attempt to break the ice, though a pretty terrible one since Techno had no need for the bulky garments. He took the bait anyway, might as well get this over with.

“You were still pigheaded enough to come after me in one,” he replied.

“Well, uh, Wilbur put me up to it, y’know, and Big Man TommyInnit’s never one to back down from a challenge, eh?”

“Did you at least sign out a firearm before you left?”

“Nah. Who’s gonna mess with these guns?” he cracked, flexing non-existent arm muscles. Not that you could tell through the suit. The thick fabric made even someone like Phil, one of their best scouts, look like they’d rolled in marshmallows. The corner of Techno’s lip twitched in spite of himself.

Heh, Lonely Man thinks the Stupid Child is funny- He shoved it back again. Get some more creative insults, he thought.

“If you get jumped by a monster I will laugh at your corpse,” he warned.

“You wouldn’t, you love me too much,” Tommy sniggered, punching his shoulder.

“You’re right, I do,” he responded, unexpectedly serious.

The change in mood was not lost on Tommy, and his laugh quieted. “I love you too, man,” he returned. “I’m, um, really sorry about earlier. That was too far.”

“It was,” Techno agreed noncommittally.

“I shouldn’t mess with your code.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I’m not going to stop playing pranks on you.”

He sighed. “I knew my expectations were too high.”

“But I won’t hack you again.”

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the apology. “Messin' with living code is a serious invasion of privacy.”

“Yeah,” Tommy whispered, guilt heavy on his tone. “But I wouldn’t hurt you, you know that right?”

“Of course I do,” he reassured him. He was rarely the one to initiate physical contact, but this time he made an exception, leaning over for a one-armed hug. Tommy leaned into him, but his personality wouldn’t let the silence continue for long.

“So whaddya say we go back and make Wilbur wish he’d never sent me out to reunite the dream duo?” he blurted, grin wide and looking like it had never left.

Techno didn’t bother hiding the upward quirk of his lip this time. “Let’s go beat up a nerd.”

[good-things-do-happen-dean]

In response to your birthday post, I'd love a dean/cas/benny story!

omg so sorry this took so long! hope you enjoy and thanks for sending this in!! ❤️ (i never know if these are long enough to justify a read more but i put one anyway...)

They decide to go sailing. Well, they decide to drive past New Orleans to the Louisiana coast to rent a boat, which in their hunting days would have meant a solid fifteen hours on the road if they legged it (and Dean did most of the driving). Now it means a couple of leisurely days with a stop overnight in a slightly less crappy motel and lots of switching off.

It’s been a while since they went anywhere farther than a grocery or a library run. Since Cas went fully human, he’s needed to feel grounded. There’s been a lot of Cas ending up outside, socks tucked neatly into his shoes, toes dug into the grass, dirt under his fingernails. There’s been a lot of Benny or Dean or Benny and Dean pressing Cas firmly against the wall of the shower or their mattress or the bed of Cas’s crappy truck. Sometimes it’s for sex, sure, but mostly it’s so Cas doesn’t feel like he’s...untethered.

So when Cas says “let’s go sailing” in the bright sunlight of a summer afternoon, Benny (from under the shade of his umbrella) and Dean (from behind his worn paperback) say “yes.”

Dean takes first shift behind the wheel in the morning with Cas in the passenger seat next to him and Benny stretched out in the back to avoid the worst of the sun. For the first time in months, Cas rolls down the window and rests his wrist there, feeling the wind on his outstretched hand. Benny reaches up to squeeze Cas’s shoulder and Dean takes his other hand and they drive like that for a while, connected, something soft but bright playing quietly on the radio.

After lunch, it’s Cas’s turn to drive, with Dean up front since it’s still sunny enough to be irritating for Benny. To Dean’s (only partially pretend) dismay, Cas is a stickler for the “driver picks the music” rule, like he always is, so the oldies channel becomes top 40 and Benny and Cas sing along to everything. Dean grumbles and pretends to frown until Taylor Swift comes on and Cas cranks the volume all the way up with a wide, knowing grin.

Then after dinner, Benny drives with Dean next to him, and Cas settles into the back with a book until the sunset fades to twilight and his eyes slip closed. They don’t go for too much longer after that. Dean spots the sign for a little bed and breakfast in Shreveport just off the interstate.

It ends up being an early night, even though the driving wasn’t bad, and they curl together in bed (with Cas in the middle like always), dropping off one by one. And it ends up being a leisurely morning. Benny slips out of bed early to get plates for Cas and Dean since there’s no way Cas will be up in time. Except, when he gets back, Cas is actually awake and so is Dean and the room is full of soft sounds and slow movements in the hazy light filtered through the gauzy curtains for a while. Breakfast is cold, but they don’t mind.

Dean’s first at the wheel again late that morning. Benny and Cas spend the morning trading stories about sailing, which means vampirate adventures from Benny (mildly exaggerated for storytelling purposes) and, apparently, the living conditions of the animals on the ark from Cas (entirely true for the purposes of turning Dean’s biblical knowledge even more on its head if that’s possible).

They get to the dock early that evening when the sun is just going low and golden. Benny’s slathered in sunscreen with his cap pulled low. Since Dean’s knowledge of boats is pretty much the stories he’s heard from Benny and Cas plus Garth’s old house boat, Benny shows him the ropes (literally). As soon as they get out on the water, Cas is up at the bow, face turned to the setting sun, arms stretched out on the railing.

After a while, Benny lets Dean try his hand at steering and joins Cas, slipping an arm around his waist and hooking his chin over Cas’s shoulder. Cas leans his head against Benny’s and lets out a pleased little sigh. Dean snaps a picture of the two of them standing there in the setting sun against a breathtaking backdrop of reds and oranges and purples. Then he can’t help himself and grins and says, “King of the world, Cas?”

So Cas flips him off over his shoulder. Which makes Benny laugh and then they’re all laughing and the evening fades into deep blue twilight.

[yesloverboy]

She’s Thunderstorms (Billy Hargrove x Reader) Part 2

Part 1

SUMMARY: Despite the fact that you continue to reject his advances, Billy refuses to let you get away that easy. Halloween is approaching and, after a month of chasing after you, Billy decides it’s finally time to take matters into his own hands. 

word count: 4,242

[Warnings: swearing, smoking, mild kidnapping, smut in the future but none for now.]

NOTE: Wowee zowee, we’re back at it for the month y’all. I really wanted to finish the entirety of this series before Halloween but alas, life gets in the way. This series is a favorite of mine and, as always, let me know what you think!

tags: colsonbakersnoseringmain, @lululovesgwtw, @kingbouji3, @speedmetalqueen​, @billysgodcomplex​, @all-time-otaku​

 You stare down at the blank composition book in front of you, feeling as though you don’t recognize yourself. English is your favorite class of the day, but nothing could will the words out of your mind and onto the pulpy, white pages. You don’t dare even hold your pen for fear of writing Billy, Billy, Billy until it runs out of ink. 

 The last class of the day goes by in the blink of an eye. After your run-in with Billy, and about a thousand confused looks from Jonathan, you’re unable to focus on anything but the memory of Billy’s lips grazing your skin. Initially, you were infuriated by the way he touched you, but now your anger had twisted itself into something that felt a lot more like anxiety. That level of closeness stirred something inside of you toxic and volatile to the tough outer shell you’d spent all of your time cultivating. The threat of vulnerability leaves your skin burning red hot with irritation as a bitter taste settles onto your tongue. 

 The final bell lets out one last screech, and you reluctantly pull yourself from the safety of your desk, lagging behind the rush of sneakers and brightly colored backpacks that flood the halls. Your stomach churns uneasily with the knowledge that you inevitably have to pass by Billy’s steel blue Camaro before facing the walk home. As you trudge across the tiles and past the rows of lockers, your boots kick up piles of Carol’s neon orange flyers like dead autumn leaves.

 As you step out into the crispness of the afternoon, you fantasize about being able to waltz past Hargrove and go home to your trusty record collection. All you want is to be alone and return to your regularly scheduled programming of getting lost in your thoughts– yearning to focus on anything but the events of the afternoon. Unfortunately for you, Billy seems to have other plans. You feel his eyes burn into you as you walk in his general direction, trying to look as if you didn’t know he parked next to the school’s only exit every single day.

 “There’s my favorite girl!” Billy booms, ensuring that the entire parking lot can hear him, “Did you miss me?”

 Reluctantly, you stop and turn to face him, not wanting to give your peers a reason to stay behind and ogle at the two of you. “Well, distance makes the heart grow fonder and I assure you, Hargrove– it has not been long enough.”

 “Now baby,” he says, stepping in front of you with a patronizing stare, “don’t be like that.”

 “Is there any particular reason why you feel entitled to my attention, or were you just dropped on your head so many times that you can’t remember how much I don’t like you?” you snap, allowing the exhaustion of a long day get the better of you.

 In all honesty, you aren’t sure why you’re being so defensive. Typically, Hargrove’s antics were annoying at best, but something about the way his touch made you feel has put your smart mouth into overdrive.

 Billy winces a little and places the cigarette that was resting behind his ear in between his teeth. “Goddamn you’re mean,” he hisses, the flame of his lighter catching the end of the cigarette with a soft crackle.

 “Oh I’m mean?” a bitter laugh escapes your lips at the sheer ridiculousness of the concept, “I’ve literally seen your kid sister and her friends tremble at the sight of you– unless, of course, you expect me to believe you’re blind and stupid.”

 “Ouch, princess,” he tuts, clutching onto his muscular chest as if his heart were spilling onto the gravel at your feet, “All I want to do is take you to a movie or somethin’ and you’re still insisting on being a cold-hearted bitch.”

 “We’re dishing out compliments now, too, Hargrove? Please, don’t quit while you’re ahead.”

 Billy lets out a hearty laugh, shamelessly enamoured by your unrelenting wit and stubbornness. His sapphire eyes glisten in the afternoon light as he studies you, cigarette still dangling between his lips. Once the two of you had started bantering, most of the students decided waiting around to watch wasn’t worth the effort anymore. Now the lot is nearly empty, leaving only you, Billy, and the occasional after school club member passing through. 

 “Look,” Billy starts again, taking a wide step towards you, “what would it take to make you go out with me? Hmm?” 

 Refusing to be intimidated by Billy’s blatant disregard for personal space, you keep your feet firmly grounded to the spot. “Listen, Hargrove, I wouldn’t go to a movie with you even if you picked me up and dragged me there yourself.”

 Billy’s eyes flutter from your face to the ground, his thick eyebrows furrowed together in concentration. As he plucks the cigarette from his lips and tosses it to the ground, you think for a moment that maybe your words finally penetrated that thick skull of his.

 “Alright, princess,” he huffs, pausing momentarily to crack his knuckles, “have it your way.”

 Billy is crouched beneath you before you even get the chance to process his words, thick arms wrapping around your legs and tossing you over his shoulder as if you weighed nothing at all. The bookbag on your shoulders slides downward at the sudden motion, jamming the corner of your algebra textbook directly into the back of your skull.

 Squealing in aggravation, you begin to pound your fists into Billy’s back and thrash harshly against his grip. “Put me down you fucking psycho!”

 “What’s with all the whining, princess?” Billy tuts as he carries your squirming form around to the passenger side of his car, “I’m just doing what you said.”

 Billy tosses you in the passenger’s seat, smirk never faltering as he secures the child lock on the door. You hit the leather with a growl, tossing your bookbag somewhere in the backseat while frantically clamoring against the jammed door handle. Just as you feel the lock begin to give, Billy is already seated comfortably in the driver’s seat with his finger firmly pressed against the lock button by his window.

 You turn to Billy, blood boiling from the pit of your stomach as your face goes flush with a mixture of anger and disbelief. “This is kidnapping, Billy! You do know that, right?”

 “It’s not kidnapping if you told me to do it,” he states matter-of-factly. Billy turns the key in the ignition, the Camaro roaring to life with such ferocity that the engine’s rumble vibrates directly through the leather soles of your boots. As utterly insane as Billy is acting, you can’t stop the thrill of the moment from strangling your heart and chasing your pulse down to the tips of your fingers.

 Running a hand through your hair, you watch through the window as the last few stragglers of the day gape at the sight of you driving off with Billy Hargrove. “Well, at least there’s more than one person who saw me while I’m still alive,” you grumble, not caring whether or not Billy actually hears you.

 “Do you actually think that’s what this is?” Billy laughs, “That I’m going to kill you?”

 “It’s hard to say, Billy, considering I have no fucking clue why you even bother at all.”

 As Billy pulls out of the school’s parking lot and onto the main road, you can hear the faint sound of him chuckling under his breath.

 “Something funny?” you ask, the question leaving your lips in the form of a demand. Billy flexes his hand atop the steering wheel, shaking his head with an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

 “I was just thinking–”

“You? Thinking? Somebody alert the press,” you interject, unable to resist the opportunity of hassling Billy just a little bit more.

 “I was thinking,” he reiterates, raising his voice for emphasis, “that if I wanted to kill you, I most likely wouldn’t have literally dragged you into my car at the very last place that the both of us were last seen. Don’t you agree, princess?”

 It would appear that you have something of a brain after all. Congratulations!” you reply, taming your nervous energy by rifling through the cassette collection in Billy’s glove box. Your fingertips settle on Mötley Crüe’s, Shout at the Devil, tape and you feel the warmth of familiarity settling in your chest. The feelings you have for the boy next to you may be confusing, but your love for music still remains the same as it ever was.

Billy takes his gaze off the road for just a moment and bats his eyelashes at you knowingly. “Oh, but that’s not all I was thinking about.”

 You feed the tape inside of the stereo, quite literally tuning Billy out by cranking up the volume and rolling down your window. The biting chill of October floods the Camaro, ruddying your cheeks and moving in chills down the neck of your sweater. Houses become more sparse as rows of corn invade your view and, before you can ask Billy where the hell you’re headed, he’s already switching off the stereo.

 “Seriously, Hargrove? That was the only part of being kidnapped that I was actually enjoying.”

 “But that’s just it, baby,” he slaps your denim clad thigh playfully, “you didn’t call me Hargrove last time– you called me Billy.” 

 Despite the cold stream of air seeping in from the outside, your face flushes red hot at Billy’s observation. Billy has never been just Billy to you– no, he’s always Hargrove. First names are for friends and last names are for demands; however, Billy seems to exist somewhere in between. Although, that space in between seemed to be closing more and more with each passing second you spent with him– making you wonder what would’ve happened between the two of you if you hadn’t always been the one to walk away.

 “That, uh, is your name– isn’t it?” you flounder, awkwardly shifting in the passenger’s seat to fish a flattened carton of cigarettes from your back pocket.

 Billy passes his shiny silver lighter to you, and you find your hand instinctively accepting it without so much as a second thought. “I always knew you were the smartest girl in Hawkins,” Billy teases, his foot weighing down the gas pedal just a little more as the two of you speed even further into the countryside.

 “Where are we going in such a hurry, anyhow?” you huff, refusing to meet his arrogant smile with your cheeks still ablaze.

 “We’re going to see a movie, but we have to get there before it’s too dark.”

 “Why? The Starcourt Mall is back that way, and I’m pretty sure their theater doesn’t give a shit if it’s dark or not, doofus,” you retort, punctuating your insult with a few heavy puffs of your cigarette. You think that, if you’re lucky, you might be able to smoke your lungs into submission before you and Billy ever reach your destination.

 “Yeah well everyone in this garbage town knows that the drive-in is still way better than that commercial theater, doofus. Besides, they’re showing a movie I think you’ll really dig.”

 “How would you know if I’m gonna dig it or not?” ask, brow furrowing in confusion. 

 “Let’s just say our little birdy from earlier has an even bigger mouth than you thought, sweetheart.”

 You stare at Billy slack-jawed, unsure of what he’s talking about until your conversation with Carol suddenly comes into view. When she pulled you aside earlier that day you mentioned watching a bloody movie with Byers, but you have no idea how Billy could have possibly heard. As a matter of fact, when Carol pulled you aside, he hadn’t even stepped outside yet.  

 “But, Carol she didn’t–?” you utter, but are quickly stopped by the change in Billy’s demeanor.

 In an instant, the once confident Billy begins to squirm uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. His posture still radiates control, but the way that his eyes are suddenly trained on the road after fifteen minutes of glancing over at you tells a different story.

 Is Billy Hargrove embarrassed?

 “Wait,” you start, unable to contain the shit-eating grin that is now stretching across your face, “did you ask Carol about me?”

 “I, uh– may have run into her after free period, yeah,” Billy tugs at his golden curls, sharp jaw flexing in frustration as a touch of pink colors his cheeks.

 If there is one thing you know for sure about Billy Hargrove, it’s that he’s a smash and pass kind of guy. Every other girl he’d come into contact with since the dawn of puberty hadn’t meant a single, solitary thing to him. They were a notch on his bedpost– another babe for the body count.

 Billy didn’t ask about girl’s favorite movies or stalk them for weeks on end, but now he’s doing it for you. At first you thought he was bull-headed, blatantly refusing to be bested by the new girl on the block. But now– maybe, just maybe, Billy Hargrove is sweet on you after all.

 “So, you’re telling me that you, Billy Hargrove– the Billy Hargrove –asked Carol about what she thought would be a good date idea?” you giggle, the teasing tone in your voice almost sounding flattered.

 Billy grips the steering wheel with white knuckles, “Well who the fuck was I supposed to ask, princess? Byers? He isn’t exactly a talker.”

 “Oh sure, Hargrove, blame it on Jonathan,” you guffaw, unable to resist giving Billy’s free arm a gentle slap.

 With a cheshire grin, you move to prop your feet on the dashboard of the Camaro, eliciting a sharp swat on the ankles from Billy’s free hand. “You’re a handful, you know that?” he huffs, the butt of a burned out cigarette still trapped in his clenched teeth.

 “Don’t I know it,” you wink as you crank up this stereo once again, this time with no protest from your captor.

...

 During the remainder of your journey to the drive-in, you found out that you and Billy actually had far more in common than you were willing to give him credit for. A quick rifle through his tape collection showed that his taste in music was phenomenal. Mötley Crüe, Led Zeppelin, The Clash, Slayer, Metallica, Venom– he had it all. Granted, you were quick to inform him that he was missing out on the likes of The Runaways and Siouxsie and the Banshees, but there was always time to fix that. Assuming, that is, you actually wanted to see him after this.

 Shockingly, even the one book Billy could remember reading was one of your favorites. He was swift to credit his love for The Man in the Iron Mask on account of his mother reading it to him as a kid, but you could tell he was holding back. At the mention of his mother, your eyes couldn’t help but fixate on the way he gripped the gold pendant of Mary around his neck with white knuckles. You understand it’s probably best not to ask why.

 There’s a pain in your chest, knowing that his bravado is just a red-hot, candy coating for whatever he was hiding beneath. Much like a jawbreaker, Billy is sugary sweet and difficult to digest– but even hard candy has to melt. To your dismay, you realize you aren’t sure how many layers the kid’s got left.

 After a few moments of surprisingly comfortable silence, Billy makes a gentle left turn off of the main road and onto a side street that flanks the forest’s edge.  “Are we there yet?” you grumble, mostly to yourself.

 Billy huffs and attempts to light another cigarette, one hand on the wheel and the other clutching his boxy, silver lighter. “You’re real impatient, you know that?”

 “Tell me about it, stud,” you sneer, doing your best to mock Sandy’s sultry voice. “Remember what I said about dishing out compliments so early in the game, Billy.”

 “Yeah, yeah, yeah…” he mumbles, unable to conceal the impish smile that dances on his face the minute you utter his first name. While Billy is usually cocky and arrogant, there’s something about that smile he shares with you that almost makes him seem boyish– maybe even happy.

 For a moment, you think it might even be cute. The thought alone is enough to make you wrinkle your nose.

 Just as you’re about to make another quip about Billy secretly driving out into the middle of nowhere to murder you, the road turns to gravel and fans out into a clearing in the woods. The flattened landscape looks like it may have been a cornfield once, but had now become bulldozed and scorched to nothing long ago. There’s just enough space for several rows of cars to pack in tightly, with a sunny yellow concession stand tucked away in the corner. Overhead is a large projector screen, its white surface colored with an animation of personified movie snacks marching in a merry line. You had to give it to him, Billy found a hidden gem.

 “How did you even find this place?” you wonder, awestruck eyes dancing from the scene before you to Billy’s suntanned face.

 “Well, you know what they say sweetheart,” Billy smirks as he pulls up to the center of the second row, “all the best things on this planet are just outside of Hawkins.”

 “Duh,” you chide, immediately digging around Billy’s car for yet another cigarette to burn through. Finding Billy’s carton of Pall Malls in the cupholder you look up at him with pleading eyes, “May I?”

 “Anything for you princess,” he grins, “Speaking of, what kinda snacks does a girl like you get at the movies?”

 Lighting up one of Billy’s cigarettes, you take a pensive drag and kick your feet up on the dashboard. Giggling you watch Billy fight off the inevitable cringe that twists his smile at the sight of your dirty boots on his prized car. Surprisingly, he saves you the grief of delivering yet another dismissive smack to your legs.

 “Promise not to poison me?”

 Billy just rolls his eyes, “Promise not to be such a bitch?”

 You mouth falls open in mock surprise as you pretend to be offended, but Billy can see the smile that threatens to pull your face wide open. He just gives you a pointed look and throws a hand on his hip, making it more than apparent that he’s not backing down on this one. In his defense, you could kind of be a bitch sometimes.

 “Fine,” you concede, “I’ll take popcorn–Oh! And Twizzlers, if you can find them.”

 “Back in a flash,” Billy pulls himself out of the Camaro and dusts the nonexistent dust off of his jeans. Just as you think he’s about to leave you for the concession stand, he leans back in and places a firm peck on your cheek. The kiss is quick, but the impression of his lips burns a hole through your skin.

 With a noise of disgust, you push Billy away hard enough to make him smack his head against the interior roof of the Camaro. Feeling a blush betraying your face, you immediately began to rub your hands against where Billy made contact with your cheekbone.

 “Do you wanna get yourself killed, Hargrove?”

 “Worth it!” Billy laughs, a ring-clad hand rubbing the back of his head as he struts off to the concession booth.

 You stare at your boots on the dashboard, watching idly as the sun begins to lose its golden glow to the silvery dip of the horizon line. All the while you wonder about Billy and why it is exactly that he rubs you the wrong way so fiercely. Here you are, in a position that most girls at Hawkins High would only dream of, and yet you feel hesitant. It is almost as if you still don’t trust the fact that the most popular boy in this podunk town could actually like a girl like you. Or maybe, just maybe, you were afraid to let him.

 Billy returns shortly with a striped carton of popcorn and a plastic package of Twizzlers crinkling beneath the crook of his arm. “Well then, pretty girl” he sighs, bending down slightly to dip his head into the open drivers side window, “Why don’t we take this party to the hood of the car? I think I’ve got a blanket in the back.”

 After assessing the confused furrow in your brow, Billy continues, “Just think of it as my way of keeping good on my promise of ‘no funny stuff’.”

 “Oh he has thoughts and he’s considerate?” you feign a romantic sigh as you step out of the Camaro, pausing only to shove the glowing cherry of your cigarette into the decaying earth. “Remind my dad to write up the dowry, would ya?”

 Billy, all too accustomed to your jests, simply sets the snacks down on the hood and fishes a southwestern style quilt out of his backseat. The bright orange and yellow tones are in stark contrast with the gloomy midwestern sky, and you can’t help but wonder if this is another fragment of Billy’s old life. A life where there may have been far more to look forward to than a drive-in date with the only girl in town that can hardly stand the sight of him.

 After the blanket is spread out to Billy’s liking, he sits on the hood of his car and reclines backward so that he can better reach the popcorn as it rests against the windshield.  

 “Come on, now,” Billy smiles, pearly white teeth sinking into a handful of of bright yellow popcorn, “I don’t bite unless you want me to.”

 “Jesus Christ, Hargrove, give it a rest already. You’ve already got me here, there’s no reason to keep up the act.”

 Billy’s perfect brows knit together in mild aggravation at your accusatory tone, “Act? What fucking act?”

 “Please,” you insist, propping yourself up high enough on the car’s hood for your feet to dangle carelessly above the ground, “You’re human, Billy. I know you can’t be Casanova all the time.”

 Taking another fistful of popcorn from its carton, Billy points the candy striped box in your direction. It’s obvious that he doesn’t care to entertain your theory, but also doesn’t want to fight about it right now. You decide it’s enough and gladly oblige, taking a small pile of the buttery snack for yourself.

 “So,” you take a piece of popcorn between your fingers contemplatively, “what’s the flick called anyway?”

 “Fright Night,” Billy answers cooly. When he watches your eyes light up in unbridled excitement, Billy’s chest swells with a wave of pride.

 “You picked this out all on your own?” you scoff, knowing full well that, while Carol may have tipped him off, his informant would never have been able to make such a good film recommendation.

 Billy shrugs, “What can I say? You’re not the only one in Hawkins that likes heavy metal and horror, even if you try to be.”

 You launch the piece of popcorn you had been holding at Billy, watching triumphantly as it sticks to one of his sandy curls. “I guess that makes two of us, then.”

 Billy swats blindly at his hair and, for the first time, a genuine laugh bubbles up from his chest and hangs warmly in the chilled autumn. The flush of his cheeks is hot like an indian summer, and for a moment you swear that you’d never felt so warm. Biting your lip, you see something soft in the way that Billy averts his eyes from yours, fixating instead on the snacks in his lap and the vibrant colors of the blanket beneath your jean-clad thighs. For all the harassment you had endured since you moved to Hawkins, it’s nice to know him like this– for bits and pieces of the boy he is, not the man he’s pretending to be.

 It isn’t long before Billy’s gruff voice shakes you from your thoughts and brings you back to earth. “See something you like, space cadet?”

 “Oh please, if I ever–” you start, but are quickly interrupted by the sound of the film’s opening credits flashing blood red across the projector screen. Try as you may to shoot Billy an icy glare he melts right through it with a satisfied smirk, cocking a brow knowingly as if to say, I won this round.

 With an irritated huff, you scoot back towards the windshield to see the screen better, inevitably rubbing shoulders with King Billy in the process. Despite the fact that Billy could probably spare you some room on the car’s hood, he doesn’t move a muscle. Instead, his sapphire eyes remain trained on the screen in front of him, the flashing bursts of color glistening in his irises like an independence day sky. Your heart strangles out a nervous thump in your chest as a lump rises painfully to the back of your throat.

 Oh fuck, you think as your hands knit nervous circles through the sleeves of your sweater. You had your suspicions about the feelings you’d been experiencing around Billy lately, and chasing the movement of the film through Billy’s eyes rather than on screen told you everything you were afraid to hear– you like him.  

Masterlist

Part 3 (coming soon)

[rebelrecovery]

Book Notes:

This one is one of the better quit lit books I’ve read - Belle writes with blunt honesty, and I love the way she envisions the alcoholic voice in her head as a big bad wolf rather than a wine witch.  

Below are the parts that were most helpful for me... 

I thought, I can’t start drinking now, there isn’t enough. Not enough for what? To fade out. To be numb. Because despite what I may have said, I never wanted one glass of wine with dinner. I wanted three glasses. What’s the point in one glass? And despite what I may have said, I never drank because I liked the taste. [...] I drank to get fuzzy. I wanted to be slightly numb, to take the edge off. I spent a lot of time taking the edge off and then trying to maintain the edge taken off, but I usually ran into problems of sobering up too quickly, or drinking too much. There was no magic formula for edge-off-ness. I tried to find it. I tried having beer before wine, I tried eating first, I tried drinking on an empty stomach. There may have been a four-minute window of edge-off-ness and then I spent the rest of the night trying to find the four-minute window again.

I never want to do this again. I never want to wake up in the middle of the night both wishing I was dead and hoping I’m not dying. Let me not vomit, please, and I promise I will cut back on the drinking. I never want to feel this bad, feel so hopeless, alone, scared, dark. I am definitely drinking too much. I should face that. I should stop drinking for a week, take a break. I’ll start tomorrow. After the work party. After vacation. Next week. After the birthday. The first of the month. On a Monday. I promise. 

I had tried to stop drinking plenty of times on my own, but never managed to quit for more than a couple of days. Usually I’d declare my sobriety in the morning and then open a bottle of wine by 6 p.m. that same night. Then I’d quit again the next morning. No wine for one day. For two days. Then the voice would start. Is it time yet? You can drink now. Celebrate sobriety with a glass or two. You’ve done well. You are going to break this non-drinking stretch anyway, so you might as well drink now. Drink tonight and quit later. What about now. Is it time to drink yet? Fuck it, I’m going to drink, this is ridiculous. I’ve already quit for a week. Let’s celebrate sobriety with some alcohol.

If alcohol was in the house, it spoke to me, then I drank it. Even if I didn’t really enjoy it. I was drinking because it was the thing I did. No enjoyment. No taste. No feeling except for exhaustion. Like a hammer banging on my head. Did you ever try buying a case of wine, thinking that if it was around all the time you’d feel less compulsive about it, and drink less? Ha. Really. Who was I kidding? With a case of wine in the house, I drank more. Of course I did. We never had a wine collection or a wine rack or a wine cellar or a liquor cabinet either. Alcohol didn’t last long enough to be collected or displayed or shared.]

I had lots of drinking rules and guidelines for myself, and over time, bit by bit, I broke all of my rules. I’m only going to drink on special occasions or when socializing. Only on weekends.” But of course, you and I both know that only drinking on weekends is tricky. Because what about Sunday night? Is Sunday part of the weekend? What about Thursday? Maybe the weekend is four days long. Maybe it is, in fact, most of the week. Controlled drinking is not very successful—you know this already because you’ve tried it. If we have to control our drinking, it means that our natural, default tendency is to have one, and then another, and then another. Any plan we make is very difficult, if not impossible, to adhere to. You tried moderation. You did. You maybe didn’t call it moderation. You tried making rules for yourself. When you realized that you were drinking more than you wanted to, before you ever saw this book, you did things like alternating every second glass with water, or switching from hard stuff to beer, or trying to skip days. You tried to drink only on weekends, or only have one, or only . . . or only . . . or only.

Normal drinkers measure their alcohol consumption like I measure my corn on the cob consumption—which is to say, not at all. Just like I have days without corn, normal drinkers have plenty of days without alcohol but they’re not keeping track. I don’t pay attention to whether you are getting more corn than me, and a normal drinker fills up glasses around her without worrying about who’s getting how much. And yes, it’s true that corn on the cob is my favourite of all summer things to eat, but I have never planned days around when I can eat it. I have never gone out at 11 p.m. to get more corn. I’ve never worried about running out of corn.

A ‘bottom’ in the sober world describes the point where you quit drinking. If you have a ‘high bottom’ then you quit when your problems were smaller. Poor concentration, missed deadlines, an inability to take advantage of new opportunities, procrastination, crappy sleep, many days of feeling ill. A ‘low bottom’ is where the micro problems have grown into larger holes, and might include health, relationship, money, or legal issues. My high bottom looks like this: drink with dinner, and after, plan to drink less, continue to drink the same amount, try to quit for a month and manage nine days, start again, not keep my promises to myself. Wonder what the hell is wrong with me. Suffer with crappy sleep, extra pounds, wasted money.

If alcohol is an elevator that only goes down, the goal is to step off, not to ride down any more. Stop drinking now. Start feeling better now. I stepped off early. But I’m not naive. I know where that elevator was going. If I stopped ‘before there was a problem’ then I was fucking lucky, plain and simple. Because even stopping where I did, it was hard to do. Really hard.

The “Drink Now” voice, which I call Wolfie, will say anything to get us to drink. Nothing is off-limits. Wolfie hits below the belt. Wolfie talks smack. Wolfie with a megaphone said to me: You’ve had a long, crazy day. Have a drink. You’ll just have one. It will take the edge off. You have blown this whole thing out of proportion. You need to cut back, not quit. A hundred fucking days? You’ll never make it anyway. 

I knew I had a very loud Wolfie “Drink Now” voice in my head that insisted that a glass of wine with dinner was normal. I also knew that there was another very quiet, very tiny mouse-like voice, that said: You have to stop. You know what this internal conflict is like. 

I felt moderately stable until something happened, like if I got frustrated, or mad, or sad, or bored, or if something good happened and I had to celebrate. I had completely maladaptive coping strategies. I didn’t have the skills to try anything else to feel better because—duh—I’d been using wine as my only coping mechanism. I’d overused wine as a feel-better tool for so long that I literally couldn’t remember one single thing I could do instead to ease my mood.

Booze isn’t a solution to a problem. It’s a very temporary pause button (manhole cover) with horrendous consequences. It’d be like turning to heroin. It isn’t the right solution for the problem. It gets between me and my life, between me and you, between me and serving, between me and fun. It affects my weight, my sleep, my enthusiasm. It blunts, fills, numbs, fills time, expands into the space allowed. Adds nothing, feels bad, sad, argumentative, irritated. Isn’t the real me. My life has so much MORE good stuff in it when the wine is gone. There’s nothing to escape from, it isn’t bad here, there’s joy and beauty and ease here. Don’t need to ‘go’ anywhere else. 

The voice that is YOU, when you’re 50 days sober, says “I know sometimes I feel like drinking but I’m not going to because I don’t want to have a new Day 1. I’ve done enough drinking in my past. I know that Day 1 is rotten.” The voice that is YOU says: “I want something different and better and I don’t know what that is yet, but I know I want to try this sober thing.” We end up in a place where even if bad shit happens, we do NOT think about drinking.

Picture booze like a Big Wolf With Black Eyes, he represents the voice in your head. Now you have to very calmly starve the wolf. Or better yet, you have to dehydrate him by not giving him anything to drink. At first he’ll be mad at you. “Where’s my drink?” You’ll say: I have all this free time now. I can’t talk to you, Wolfie. I’m running, baking, singing, reading, cleaning, spending time with my kids. I’m paying my taxes, cleaning off my desk, enjoying the weather. The wolf will taunt you. “Everyone else is drinking, why can’t you?” You’ll say: Sorry, Wolfie, can’t hear you. I’m too busy cranking up the volume on my new iPad that I bought with all the money I’ve saved.” The wolf will nearly be dehydrated. He’ll try a few more last-chance, desperate attempts. “You’re broken,” he’ll snarl. “You bitch, you can’t be fixed, you’ll always be a fuck-up, you suck at this, you might as well quit now.” And you’ll say: You want to fight? I’ll win. I’ve got so much more energy now that I’m sleeping through the night. I can outrun you Wolfie. I’m light on my feet now. I’ve got so much more spunk, clearer thinking. I’m planning to take over the world, Wolfie, me and my clear-headed genius. What is that? Sorry I can’t quite hear you. Your voice is so quiet, Wolfie. Are you nearly dehydrated? You’re going to dry up and turn to dust. Puts palm of hand up to lips and blows across the surface. Dust disperses, Wolfie is specks of grey in the air. And then gone.

Being sober is a relief. Quitting drinking is like putting down a backpack of rocks that you’ve been carrying around for a long time. It’s like a deep breath that fills your lungs. Being sober is feeling proud of yourself. Being sober is easier than drinking. Too much of our brain space is used trying to manage alcohol consumption. The “Drink Now” voice is exhausting. All of that time we spend planning to drink—thinking about drinking, wondering how much alcohol there is, trying to figure out how we’re going to get out of that work obligation because we’re hungover—all of that can stop. You have been drowning out who you really are. Literally. Banging yourself on the head with a bottle or two of wine. That’s not you. The real you is in there. Drinking is a way of hiding from who you really are. I can honestly say that being a non-drinker is unicorns and parades compared to drinking.

There is a point in each day when you will most feel like drinking. I call this the witching hours. Typically it’s around dinner time; for me it was 6:00 p.m. to 8:30 p.m. If you were to plot the duration of the witching hours on a graph, the period of time gets predictably shorter and less intense each day. Having a replacement drink is a good idea. Your brain is used to having something to drink at this time of day, so you can plan a lovely replacement drink. I have found that bitter drinks deal with cravings better than sweet drinks.

We are so used to using alcohol as our only treat, that we need to learn new treats. You can have bubble bath, trashy magazines, flowers, oven mitts, bad TV from Netflix, time alone, cheap earrings, or savoury pancakes. Perhaps you’ll plan to have steak every Friday for the first six weeks. And if you don’t eat steak, then substitute salmon or sushi or marinated tofu in that category. You spent money drinking, so you can invest some of those Wolfie dollars to support your sobriety. Here are some examples of things I’ve treated myself to: fuzzy blankets, silver jewelry, deluxe candles, essential oils, chocolate croissants, lovely beads, thrift shopping, craft supplies, gourmet ground coffee, a gorgeous teacup, a bouquet of flowers, a potted basil plant. The largest was a countertop dishwasher. The trick is to either find something that you want but don’t need, or to splurge on a more deluxe version of something you were going to buy anyway. Like shampoo or lipstick. I have always struggled with confidence and my inner critic is a real bitch. The concept of self-care is relatively new to me and these gifts remind me to treat myself kindly.

One of the reasons we drink is in search of an ‘off’ switch: to quiet our brains, to escape responsibilities, to have ‘me’ time. If there are coping strategies that are adaptive (make things better) versus maladaptive (make things worse), then drinking is maladaptive. While it may be an off-switch, it creates many other problems at the same time. 

We are not taught, explicitly, how to deal with uncomfortable feelings, or how to self-soothe. So we reach for available tools, however malformed. Did your parents ever sit you down and have a conversation with you about what you can do if you feel overwhelmed, exhausted, irritated, freaked out, lonely, or depressed? Did they give you strategies and tools to help you with Changing the Channel in Your Head? No. Mine neither. Did they model for you how they dealt with disappointment, their feelings of not fitting in, or how they coped with the occasional overwhelming sense of dread? If they did model for you, was it with something other than cigarettes, alcohol, drugs, or a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken? Did your parents have ‘self-care’ time where they made it clear that they needed to recharge batteries, to unwind. Did they lock themselves in the tub with big mounds of lavender bubble bath and candles? Did your father go for a run when he was feeling stressed, or to delineate the mark between ‘work’ and ‘home’ and did he tell you he was doing this, explicitly, so that you could learn to do the same? No? 

in your first months sober, you will get a crash course in adaptive self-care strategies, whether you want it or not. One of the most important things you will do is learn to strategically avoid ‘overwhelm’—I use this word as a noun, it’s a thing on the horizon, like fog. Your life is like a video game. You can see potential bombs, things advancing, that could blow up and throw you off course. Your job is to navigate them. You don’t walk right into a bomb and hope for the best. You don’t test yourself by repeatedly doing difficult or stressful things. Instead, you ask someone to carpool, you decline social activities, and you simplify meals. Your job is to reduce overwhelm. All around you, there are lists of things to do and when you first quit drinking you are going to take it easy. When you first quit drinking, you are going to remember that being overwhelmed is our number one trigger. You will instead do less. Learn to be slothful. Embrace the art of underachieving.

Here are my top three tools for overwhelm: exercise, tub, and bed. I probably use exercise four times a week, specifically to help with my mood. I’m in the tub anytime I’m feeling antsy, or as my reward at the end of a day of catering. And as far as sleep is concerned, I have been known to go to bed at 7:30 p.m. in early sobriety, because I had no other way of dealing with life. I knew I didn’t want to drink, and I had no idea what else to do except ‘hide’.

When we are drinking, we use alcohol to fix everything—or so we think—and we don’t develop any other self-soothing, comforting, or change-the-channel tools. Turns out—who knew—there are at least 578 other ways to shift how you feel. There are things you’ve done before, perhaps by accident, things that once you remember them, and try them, you think “OK, good, I feel better.” Like when you change the sheets on the bed you feel better. And when you have a nap you feel better. And when you snuggle on the couch with a fluffy blanket and braid your cats’ tails together you feel better. Especially if you add hot chocolate. A change of location works. If you’re at home, go out. If you’re out, go home :) If you’re alone, get with some people. If you’re overwhelmed in a group, hide in the bathroom and read sober blogs on your phone. Yes, really.

I made a list of the ways to change my state. It had 30+ things on it. They included: listen to loud music, play guitar, sing, talk on the phone, write a letter longhand, take a bath with candles, light candles anywhere in the house, clean my desk, clean anything, go for a run, make tea, plan meals, test a recipe, read a magazine, brainstorm with clients, design a new logo, read light fiction, read self-help, make a puzzle, go for a walk, take pictures, go swimming, watch a good movie, go to a concert, go to see a movie at the theatre with popcorn, listen to podcasts, do volunteer work, find an audience and do some kind of public speaking, write in my journal, play cards, explore a new part of the city, go to the art gallery, the museum, write a restaurant review.

If you’re an introvert, or if you’re a non-joiner like I am, then asking for any kind of support or encouragement seems hard. But here’s the truth. The simple act of reaching out might make you feel weak, but it’s actually a sign of strength.

When Wolfie says that being sober sucks and that it’s too much to give up, you can remind him that you are also giving up the following: •  feeling like death in the morning •  waking at 3 a.m. with guilt and dread and horror •  vomiting •  spending dumb money (like money spent in bars, expensive bottles of wine in restaurants, buying rounds for people, impulse shopping online) •  emailing and texting random people •  hooking up with random people •  falling down •  hiding bottles •  arguing with your partner •  alternating stores so they don’t get to know you •  cringing when it’s time to take out the recycling. 

And here are a few of the things that you can focus on instead, the things you GET by being sober: •  you sleep through the night •  your skin looks great •  your health improves •  your marriage improves •  your kids talk to you again •  your family will now take your calls after 6 p.m. •  you can drive the car in the evening •  you have the beginnings of a hobby •  you can read a book and remember it •  you can watch a movie and stay awake for it •  you can actually cook the food in your fridge instead of eating popcorn for dinner •  you lift your head, look around, and feel like things are ‘possible’ •  you feel proud of yourself. 

Keep a short journal of your own, particularly for the first 60 days. By keeping a daily record you can see the grass grow. And you can more clearly identify that some periods of time are shitty but that they don’t last, and they’re followed swiftly by easier days. You can start your journal with this entry. Start with a list of 10 things: 1. The way I drink has affected my ___ 2. And my ___ 3. And my ___ 4. It’s caused problems with ___ 5. And ___ 6. It’s made me feel ___ especially when ___ 7. I nearly had a disaster when ___ 8. And this was just about a disaster too: ___ 9. I’m tired of waking up feeling like ___ 10. People who will be relieved that I am sober:  ___

It’s entirely possible to have sober fun, of course it is :) Those of us who are longer-term sober have plenty of fun. There’s nothing better than waking up without a hangover, without regret, without shame. There’s nothing better than being on a beach and being sober and watching a sunset. There’s nothing better than coming home at the end of a long night, or dancing until 4 a.m., knowing that you had a fabulous time, that you rocked it all without a drink. To think that you need alcohol to have fun is Wolfie talking. You were fun when you were 12 years old. You’ve had hilarious pee-your-pants laughing with your best friend and it didn’t involve alcohol. Wolfie tells you that kind of shit to encourage you to drink, but it’s not true. Can you dance sober? Turns out you can. Who knew.

If you are in prelapse, then you will want to do things right away that might make you feel better. Even if you have to try things mechanically, one after the other. You’ll say “I got enough sleep that didn’t work, had a nap that didn’t work, went for a run that didn’t work.” Then you go on to the next thing. You have a treat, that didn’t work. You watch bad TV, that didn’t work. You read blogs, write in your journal, comment on blogs, listen to audios, email somebody, reach out, go to a meeting, listen to something inspirational—you go through the toolkit. And here’s something that will seem obvious when I say it: If the first tool doesn’t work, it does not mean that the whole thing is hopeless. It means that you go on to the next tool. 

You are more likely to be successful if you: •  Reach out for support. It’s hard. Do it anyway. •  Sign up to have a sober penpal. Email your penpal every day. •  Share real stuff, don’t exaggerate, and don’t leave things out. Be truly honest with at least one person in your life about your booze stuff. •  Reach out instead of drink, cry instead of drink, walk instead, email me frustrated instead (the people who don’t email are more likely to get alone in their head with Wolfie who will always say that drinking is a good idea). •  Remember that successful treaters do MUCH better. It’s shocking how much better they do. Once you figure out the self-care treat thing, you’ll find this whole sober experience to be much easier. If you resist treats, don’t understand them, don’t think they apply to you, then I worry about you (see below). •  Get enough support, load on a lot to begin and then ease off as time goes by and you feel stable. Be cautious. Don’t fuck with sober momentum. •  Tell on Wolfie—share when you’re having weird thoughts, externalize the voice, tell on your inner addict. •  Read stuff that supports you and turn away from what doesn’t. You don’t read about moderation, you don’t read blogs that get under your skin, you turn away from people who repeatedly relapse if that makes you feel wobbly. •  Protect your sobriety, avoid situations and people that may trigger you. Your sobriety is a like a little chick that can easily get squished in traffic.

Write in a journal every day for your first 30 days sober, no matter what (can be private, or anonymous on a blog, doesn’t matter).

Read sober blogs at least one hour a day, every day.

Rethink your evening routine

Have a bath/shower every evening, early, so that it sets the mood for the rest of the night.

Plan and purchase replacement drinks that you can have during the witching hours. Bitter is better.

Schedule something to coincide with Wolfie time

Get yourself daily treats for the first two weeks, and then something every two days thereafter.

Get as much sleep as humanly possible. Take naps. You will need a lot more sleep than you anticipate.

Go to bed every time you feel crappy, when you feel you’re about to drink, or when you are agitated and need a time-out. Bed is a good, safe place to hide.

Sober first. If you push yourself too hard, and load on too many goals at once, Wolfie comes in with “this is all too hard.”

Pretend, for a while, that you’re sick, that you have the flu, that you need to take good care of you—very, very good care.

Try to do some kind of physical exercise every day, even if it’s only for 10 minutes

Rent/stream new TV shows and movies as your sober treats, that you can watch only if sober.

Give up any ideas of a clean and tidy house for now.

Please know that crying is totally normal, required, and necessary.

Take pictures of things that you’re grateful for now that you’re sober. It can be simple things like a good cup of coffee, the view from the window, your girls playing dress-up. You can do a sober photo project.

Avoid overwhelm as much as possible. In fact, strive for “underwhelm” and engage in some truly slothful behaviours. It’s OK to be in your jammies watching a show on your iPad. You’re sober. Sometimes bed-snuggle time is required.

Pet your cat, dog, or horse. You know already that this makes you feel better.

Listen to sober audio and podcasts. Find specific topics or episodes that resonate with you. Listen to them on repeat.

Accept that sober motivation is like deodorant: it needs to be reapplied every day. Stop feeling like you should be able to do this if you ‘try harder’. You will need to ‘try different’.

Ask for help.

Accept help.

Ask for and listen to advice from other successfully sober people.

See irritating people as people with struggles. We were irritating too. We were dealing with stuff that other people couldn’t see. Drop your shoulders and see that woman as lonely, or hurt, or needy. She’s not trying intentionally to make you crazy.

Share the nonsensical things that Wolfie tells you—share with another sober person who will truly ‘get it’. Be shocked and then amused that we all hear virtually the same thing.

Find some small activities to do in the evenings to help occupy the empty time. It doesn’t take long for regular life to flow back into the spaces that alcohol consumed, but to begin it’s helpful to have some projects. Decluttering is helpful. It’s cleaning up, from the outside in.

Have something you can wear, some special piece of jewelry, that reminds you that you’re sober and that you’re special. Rub the jewelry. Bestow it with super powers.

Find ONE person that you can be 100% honest with about your drinking, about your thinking, your worries, your struggles, your excitement, and your joy. That might be a counsellor, sober mentor, a coach, sponsor, or a sober friend. You should have at least ONE person who truly gets what it’s like to be you.

Accept that the first time you do everything, it’s going to be a little weird.

When you are facing a shitty hard thing, or a weirdly tempting event (like a staff party), then plan a sober treat you’ll have AFTER you’re home again, safe and sober. Don’t skip this step. Wolfie likes to come in with “where’s my reward” after we do something hard. So you want to remember to have these treats pre-planned.

Be pretty darn proud of yourself.

You have to celebrate your successes. No one is coming in to do this for you. It’s you. It’s up to you.

Walk out of your office, cross the street, have a cry, get a take-out coffee and a pastry, call it a sober treat, email me that you’re doing OK, and then go back to work. Even if you remove yourself ‘briefly’ from whatever situation is making you feel crazy, you can give yourself some time to settle and feel better.

Find tools that work and keep using them. Don’t drift from your sober supports. You know how people stop taking their blood pressure medication as soon as they feel better? Whatever you’re doing is working, so keep doing it. 

Know that Wolfie wants to get us alone in our head, where he can say: “Drinking seems like a good idea. You can probably have one.” Resist this kind of wolfie-solo-nonsense-manipulation by reaching out, telling on your inner addict. Wolfie is a bully and hates it when we share.

What you’re doing is for YOU. Your partner is on their own road. You can do what’s best for you.

[prorevenge]

Loud, messy, and generally annoying roommate learns his lesson

So I had a roommate over this last summer, as we subleased an apartment in my hometown from a friend of my roommate's who was traveling for the summer. It worked out perfectly, because he was able to give us a cheap enough rent that I could work a factory job in town and still save enough money to put towards tuition for the next year of college.

Now for a little backstory. This friend of mine, we'll call him "Alex", for privacy. I don't like the guy, but I'll still respect his privacy. I use the term "friend" fairly loosely, as we come from a small town (about 5,000 people), so everyone knew everyone, and Alex and I graduated together. We never hung out together outside of the classes and extracurriculars we had together, but I had never had any issues with the guy before this.

So, fast forward to the first week of living together. All was ok at first, some minor annoyances, but nothing major. However as time went on, things started to pile up. Literally, and figuratively. It started with some minor annoyances. We're both guitarists, and would occasionally play together. I'd been playing consistently for about a decade at this point, he'd been playing on and off for a few years. However, when we started living together, he started playing more, probably motivated by seeing how much I played. Nice, right?

Well the biggest problem with this was that he worked the 3rd shift at the same factory (midnight-7am) and I worked the first shift (7am-3:30). So he would play his guitar in his room (right next to mine) at all hours of the night while I was trying to sleep. His typical routine was to crash as soon as he got home, sleep until 3 or 4, (usually he was awake by the time I got home, but not always) make himself food, and then divide the time between then to either play video games with his friends online, or play guitar. Loudly. I typically tried to be in bed by 9, but was almost always woken up either by his guitar, him screaming loudly during a League match, or him clambering loudly around the apartment to get ready for work. I swear it sounded like he was wrestling Macho Man Randy Savage himself in the living room and kitchen at 11:30 at night every night. On top of all of this, he would have his girlfriend over occasionally, as well as other girls I'm assuming he had met on Tinder (as I saw him swiping through occasionally). And the walls between our rooms were very, very thin. I had many conversations with him to try and explain that the noise was bothering me, but he responded with "Sorry dude, just get carried away sometimes. Have you tried headphones?" (yes, that's an exact quote, and yes I had tried headphones, but to no avail. They were too uncomfortable to sleep in). I was exhausted at work every day, relying on the Monster they sold in the break room every day to get me through (so yes, I do blame him for my current addiction to monster). So like I said, things started to pile up, figuratively in that regard, and it was getting old.

On the literal side of things, Alex was a slob, and his things would LITERALLY start to pile up. He'd leave his change of clothes in the living room when he'd change before work and wouldn't pick them up for a week at a time. His room started to smell, and soon, so did he. I don't think I saw him take out the trash in his room once, and I would constantly have to enter his den of despair to retrieve dirty dishes, as he liked to eat in his room while watching anime or playing League, and just leave the dishes on his nightstand. I also started noticing food items going missing from the fridge. Again, I approached him about it, and again, was given an apology and a promise to clean up. But that promise remained unfulfilled. The last straw finally came around mid June.

At work, there are small lockers that employee's can use to store their things. They aren't assigned, so it's a first come first serve basis. You write your name on a sticker and put it on an empty locker, and you are responsible for getting a lock for the locker. I got a simple padlock with a combination, and took the last available locker, recently vacated as one of the employee's got moved to a different assembly department within the factory. I gave Alex the combination and told him he could share it with me so long as he didn't mess with my stuff. Things in there started to pile up as well. Mainly work gloves and safety glasses, as he would put them in there at the end of his shift, and then forget and just get new ones. Our factory handed out gloves and safety glasses for free, so I'm sure he never thought anything of it.

This was just another minor annoyance until one day I left my wallet in my storage locker, and didn't realize until the next day, as I was on my way to work and stopped for gas, and didn't have my card to pay for it. No biggie, this has happened before. I get to work, and as I'm walking in, Alex is walking out. After my shift, I grab my wallet and go to get gas when I notice there's $60 in cash missing from my wallet. I know this because it was money I had set aside to go to a concert later that summer (the last Warped Tour, bittersweet, I know). I went home and confronted him about this when he woke me up clambering around in the kitchen again, and he denied it (of course), even though he's the only one with the combination to my lock. So I decided I was done. Over the next week, I tried to think of a plan, and had a eureka moment when my boss asked me to switch to second shift for a few weeks while another coworker from that shift was taking advantage her years of accumulated vacation days. Perfect.

Finally, ON TO THE REVENGE.

I started with small, reasonable things, like not washing the dishes, hiding the few that were mine in my room, and washing them and putting them away as I used them. The apartment had its own washer and dryer, but the guy we were renting from took his laundry supplies with him, asking him to use our own. Fine by me, I had bought the detergent and dryer sheets anyways. I promptly moved those back into my room as well, and started only doing my own laundry. At work, I had made a new friend who agreed to let me stow my wallet, keys, and phone in his locker during the work day, as I was now temporarily on second shift and my things were usually gone by the time he came in for his shift. Alex's laundry started to pile up. By the look (and smell) of it, he was rewearing clothes several times without washing them. I have no idea what he started using for dishes, I can only hope he wasn't eating off of the gross used ones. He never came and talked to me, and I'm not sure if it was out of laziness or if it was because he knew he didn't have a leg to stand on. But sadly, the smell just kept getting worse, and my efforts seemed to just accelerate his degradation into grossness. But I still had one more card to play.

See, the best thing for me about moving to second shift was that I would now come home at midnight and be able to sleep peacefully while he was gone. When he came home at 7, I would be waking up to start my day. And start my day, I did. First thing I did was make myself some breakfast. Usually a nice fruit smoothie in the blender, the loudest appliance in the kitchen. I would then go into my room, crank up the volume on my amp and jam out to some music, singing along to Mayday Parade, All Time Low, Sum 41, and a myriad of other bands I was listening to at the time in preparation for Warped Tour. I'm not a bad singer by any means, but I'm no Jason Lancaster. I would also occasionally invite my then-girlfriend over during that time, and we were, by no means, quiet. This seemed to be the last straw for Alex now. He stopped me one afternoon before I left for work, and asked me to keep it down while he slept, as it made it hard for him to focus and stay awake at work.

I responded in my most fake-sincere voice, "Sorry dude, I guess I just get carried away. Wanna borrow my headphones?" After a few more days of noise, I think he got the memo. He bought his own laundry detergent and dish soap, and slowly worked his way through the massive pile of shit in his cesspool of a room. By the time I switched back to first shift, he was the quietest, and most considerate roommate ever. However, the smell didn't leave the room, and I was concerned, so I called the friend we were renting from to ask if he had a carpet shampooer I could use to get the smell out. It was at this point the friend told me that this wasn't the first time this had happened, and apparently Alex had rented the apartment the previous summer as well, and the friend came home to find it filthy. Lucky for Alex, the person he was sharing the apartment with left to go back to school early for a university job orientation, and the friend came home to find Alex trying to clean the last of the apartment, blaming the smell and the messiness on the roommate who had left. The friend started to put it together and thanked me for letting him know, and that he would take care of the smell when he got back, but I insisted.

The Pièce De Résistance came when I sacrificed a couple hours of sleep to go into work while he was on the assembly line, grab his phone (which he kept unlocked) from the locker that still had my padlock on it, and found very incriminating text messages from the various other girls he had probably brought back to the apartment. I screenshotted them, send them to myself, and then deleted the evidence that could trace back to me. When I got home, I sent them all to his girlfriend, another girl I had graduated high school with, and that I was ACTUALLY friends with. I also sent screenshots to his "Tinderella's", who's numbers were in the screenshots of the texts under the contact names. And that was the end of that.

Alex was no longer allowed to stay at that friends apartment, but hopefully I taught him to respect his roommates. Because after sharing an apartment with him, with my own separate bedroom, I can't imagine having to share a dorm with him. As for his girlfriend, she dumped him immediately, and Alex spent less and less time at our apartment for that last month, probably going to his Tinder girls' places instead. In retrospect, I should have found a way to mess with his Tinder to stop him from getting matches, but I'm not sure what I could have done, and I think I made the poor guy suffer enough.

Anyways, sorry for the length, I'm not the best at condensing stories. I have a few other, more juicy revenge stories I'd be happy to post another day, I just had to deal with a roommate conflict earlier today (I'm an RA) and it reminded me of this situation. So I hope you enjoyed!

(source) story by (/u/LeoDGTV)

[omgilostmyshoe]

Writing Challenge Day 4: mirror

TW: not very detailed, but still a description of body dysphoria. 

Gods, why it had to be so cold all the time? I really needed to invest in some sweaters, and warm socks, and probably a fluffiest, thickest coat I could find. On second thought, no fluff, it's probably made of actual animals here, and that if I was lucky those animals didn't talk at some point in time.

And I really needed to get up off the ice cold floor. "All very good points, darling, I would give you a pat on the head for them, but that would look weird and we have rather unpleasant company at the moment", - and as if heard Leanan, the creepiest laugh of all the laughs rattled around me, bouncing off the walls in sinister echo. Definitely a good queue to get moving and not being a glaringly helpless danger bait, chilling on the... literal ice?

No wonder that the floor felt so cold I mused, catching my reflection in glassy surface stretching as far as I could see. Which was not very far, room I woke up in was barely three meters from wall to wall. And those were also made of shiny reflective ice, making me think of the disturbing - and frigid - labyrinths of warped mirrors that were popular in fairs and amusement parks. "Your people go to them for fun? Truly? I will never understand humans..." - said Leanan, emphasizing his bewilderment with a dramatic sigh, but I just snorted, not even thinking of arguing. "You and me both, buddy, you and me both... This one though is especially creepy. Let's find what we need and get out. Fast."

That was obviously easier said than done. My first guess about a labyrinth was unhelpfully accurate one, and with no real way to tell one corridor from the other with them being virtually identical I just knew I was getting horribly lost. On occasion that sinister laughter echoed again, sometimes closer or further away, taunting me, but otherwise there was no sound, no reply to my calls for the twins or our new companions.

The chill coming from the walls and the floor in waves seemed to seep right into my bones and thoughts, and probably fogging my eyesight or maybe the mirrors themselves, because I kept catching something wrong in the reflections more and more with everyone I passed. My hair, or height, or figure, my posture, or walk... It was distorting and swaying, and there it is, that damned laugh again!

"Oh, would you come out already?! What's so fucking funny?!"

I snapped and Leanan tsked disapprovingly, but at least that frankly terrifying cackling stopped, almost as if clipped, it was so sudden. Instead, insinuating but somehow off-putting voice from behind ringed out, startling me, - "You, of course, little one. You are funny."

I swirled to see, to fight, but there was only my reflection, or, well, reflections - multiple, but one of them, at the corner of my eye smiled at me, vicious and hateful only to melt to my frightened expression the second I turned to it fully. And then it was like the witch decided to crank this twisted game up a notch or more like eleven notches, and everywhere I looked, but always just out of reach, my own face kept smirking at me, or laughing, or sneering in disgust. And sometimes it wasn't even my face I kept seeing.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire...." - the voice sing-songed, but this time it was not the voice of the witch. It was female still, but the sound of it cut deeper than any insult she could've ever thrown at me. Because that voice was mine. It was weird, listening it from outside perspective, like in the echo on the phone or a recording, but it was even worse because of it - disconnected and wrong and embarrassing. "You're so funny, little girl, thinking you're fooling anybody with your lies."

This time I caught the source of the sound, caught the reflection... Mine. Of course it was mine, there was nobody else here, nobody beside me, as always, and... "Hey, there, darling, let's not panic too much, shall we? I am still here and definitely not a nobody".

But Leanan's words quickly got drowned by the rush of blood in my ears, and even more so when I took in the sight in the next mirror I stumbled to on shaking legs. No. No. No, no, no...

It was beating in my head on repeat, but the reflection did not lie, it couldn't, right? It was true, just as it was all the years before. There I was, looking at myself with terror-stricken face, which was just like it always was. All narrow and elegant and female. I could see the little wrinkles on my eyelids - the first ones to appear, and that disgustingly boring hair color again, and marks on the cheeks that never healed properly, and my body was...

There was a chocked sobbing sound and I realized it was me making it, but the reflection didn't show fear anymore, it formed in disinterested examination, only to switch again - disgusted smirk now.

So I ran. It was pure instinct - and where it came down to it, I always chose flight instead of fight, every single time. Running from my problems, from my parents, from my friends and school, from myself... Always easier than to face it, is it, no matter how much it hurt in the end. Because it did, but right now, the taunting, distorting visions still beckoning me from every mirror hurt so much more. I couldn't breathe, couldn't cry, only run and run and run in futile hope to find an end to this nightmare, or at least a moment of quiet, to reassure myself it wasn't true, I was still how I was supposed to be, and not how I had a misfortune of being born.

Truthfully, it was a miracle I made it this far without slipping, when my trembling legs finally gave out on me and I crumpled on the floor in a sobbing heap. I didn't care, didn't even really registered the sharp pain in my wrists when I landed, just wanted the tormenting me voices to stop their incessant attacks. "Stop, please stop!.." - I begged and begged, but there was only more insults, how I'm a liar, a pretender, out for attention, weak and pathetic, aren't worse the air I breath, and... - "STOP!"

My voice ringed out with desperate power and suddenly there was only blissful, sweet silence. It enveloped me like a safe blanket - warm and comforting, drawing more shuddering breath out of me, while I tried to collect my scattering thoughts. As if through some thick fog I heard Leanan, panicked and almost yelling by the time I was able to acknowledge him again. "Oh, thank Spirits! Don't speak, darling. Just concentrate on breathing for now. I tried snapping you out of it, but the enchantment is too strong for me, I'm sorry. Even your rather ingenious silence bubble or whatever you wish to call it will not last long, you'll have to get out of here quickly."

With every second passing, my panicked frenzy slowly abated, revealing more and more pain and strains my body sustained. A rather pitiful and unsuccessful attempt at moving my right wrist made me almost certain it was broken - it felt like somebody was ripping it off when I tried to change positions. However the silence was still there and it was more now, not just calming, but... energizing. An unfamiliar, indescribable sensation of something flowing through me, in me, reassuring and empowering, enough for a shaky and sluggish, but a assent nonetheless.

The countless jabs and insults were still fresh in my memory, but relentless encouraging banter from Leanan was going and going and kept it at bay, at least for now, and also thankfully prevented me from walking into walls with timely directions. Apparently the whole horror show was an elaborate security enchantment, meant to drive intruders insane with their worst fears projected through mirrors - an ingenious idea for sure, one I would be even more impressed by if it wasn't just used on me. "Silence bubble" - totally coming up with a better name for it when I have the time - was currently shielding me from the worst of it, effectively cutting off, no, devouring even all the sounds around me. Keeping eyes closed on the other hand canceled out the visual component. "Our only grace in all of this is the fact, that such powerful magics require immense amounts of power, so nobody can keep it up for long, and once broken, they take time to regenerate. And while you were... distracted, I was able to map out our corner of this wretched place. A little further and we should either get out entirely or find another section."

Leanan kept chatting, now, that I was a little more sane switching to more pressing issues. Like finding our friends and hopefully saving them before they lose their minds completely. "That is the plan, darling, so keep walking. I really hate to harry you right now, but the time is of the essence..." - it was like accursed spell has heard him, because there it was again - a barely there murmur in my ear, indecipherable for now, but gaining in volume. The cold, that I almost forgot at this point was returning  along with it, but I refused to slow my steps, jogging with eyes shut tight, praying that the only voice I wanted to hear right now - my resident ghost' one - will not lead me astray...

And then it was suddenly gone - the pressure in my head, the freezing chill, the tormenting whispers - all of it. Almost like a string snapping the enchantment was clearly gone, and with it went my barely holding bubble. But now it would have been more of hindrance than anything, I needed to hear to find my friends. I had to be there for them, to manage it somehow - through the fear still thundering in my veins, through the pain and anxiety. Just this ones... I had to fight.

[dipulb3]

2020 Volvo XC90 T8 review: Energetic, efficient and pretty extravagant

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2020 Volvo XC90 T8 review: Energetic, efficient and pretty extravagant

Especially in range-topping Inscription trim, the Volvo XC90 is one of the nicest three-row utility vehicles available today, with elegant design, impeccable quality and more refinement than a white-tie gala. The XC90 T8 builds on those laurels with an advanced powertrain that’s not only incredibly potent and refined, it’s impressively efficient to boot.

Like

Interminable interior silence

Powerful drivetrain

Gorgeous interior

Solid efficiency

Don’t Like

Quirky Sensus infotainment system

The ride could be a touch better

Uninspired steering

Providing an advertised 18 miles of electric-only range is an 11.6-kilowatt-hour lithium-ion battery pack. This vehicle’s standard TurboCord allows you to charge it from 110- or 220-volt household outlets. Hook it to a standard 110-volt socket and it will take all night to charge. Tap into a 220-volt power source, however, and Volvo claims it can be fully juiced in as little as 2.5 hours. Thanks to its J1772-style connector, you can easily plug your XC90 into public charging stations for on-the-go replenishment.

Once its battery pack is depleted, the XC90 operates as a standard hybrid, which means it’s still impressively economical, returning an EPA-estimated 27 miles per gallon combined. When driving like a sane person and fully utilizing that electric-only range, I was able to average around 34 mpg during my time with this vehicle.

As in other Volvos, a turbo-and-supercharged four-cylinder engine is nestled under the hood. Displacing 2.0-liters and matched to an eight-speed automatic transmission, this unit delivers 313 horsepower and 295 pound-feet of torque, though it’s not working alone. A crankshaft-mounted starter-generator throws an additional 111 lb-ft of torque into the mix, while a separate, rear-mounted motor spins the aft tires, providing both all-wheel drive and 87 extra horses. Add everything up and the XC90 T8’s drivetrain is rated at 400 hp and 472 lb-ft, figures that compare favorably to the Volvo’s major rival, the Lincoln Aviator Grand Touring plug-in hybrid. The Lincoln is endowed with 494 hp and 630 lb-ft of torque, plus it offers an electric-only driving range of 21 miles. Other plug-in competitors include the Land Rover Range Rover Sport PHEV and the Porsche Cayenne E-Hybrid.

This Volvo’s got enough kibbles ‘n bits to hit 60 mph in the mid-5-second range, and it feels every bit that quick. Smooth and nearly silent, its electric motors provide a wallop of low-end torque to get things moving, though the engine is practically as refined. Incredibly quiet and nearly vibration free, Volvo’s 2.0-liter is an absolute gem. In fact, the same could be said about this entire powertrain, which is so seamless you won’t even realize it’s a hybrid. In comparison, the Aviator Grand Touring is nowhere near as nicely calibrated, herking and jerking at odd times. 

Plug-in XC90s come with about half a dozen driving modes. These adjust its steering feel, braking performance, climate control system and more. Hybrid is the standard mode, which operates this vehicle as, you guessed it, a regular hybrid. The gasoline engine and electric motors work together to deliver good performance and efficiency. Click the elegant little roller switch on the center console over to Pure, and the XC90 will run solely on electricity, though there is a caveat. This setting further enhances efficiency by putting the climate control system in eco mode and lowering the air suspension, if equipped. What’s the catch? Well, in Pure mode the gasoline engine will kick on in certain situations, such as when you request more power than the electric motors can provide or if you exceed 78 mph. Avoid flat-footing the accelerator or ripping down the interstate and you will have no trouble keeping this Volvo running purely off the battery.

Underway, the XC90’s interior is tomb-like in its silence. Even at highway speeds this vehicle remains almost eerily hushed, which is ideal for the available Bowers and Wilkins sound system, a $3,200 extra. Crystal clear yet pounding, you can crank the volume up without any distortion or junky rattling sounds to detract from your favorite tunes.

This Volvo’s steering has some heft to it, but it’s regrettably uninvolving no matter which driving mode you select. Fortunately, the brake pedal feels natural, seamlessly switching from regenerative to friction braking as needed. It’s completely transparent and nicely weighted, being neither mushy nor grabby.

This powertrain is smooth, potent and economical. What more could you ask for?

Craig Cole/Roadshow

My top-shelf Inscription model is equipped with optional 21-inch wheels, an $800 extra. These rollers look great, but I don’t necessarily recommend them. Even when fitted with the available $1,800 height-adjustable air suspension, my XC90’s ride is not quite as smooth as it should be. No, it’s not brutal by any means, but there is a bit more impact harshness than I’d like, probably because those wheels are so heavy.

That slightly clopping ride is not the end of the world, but there are a couple other annoyances worth mentioning. For instance, those beautiful, leather-wrapped sun visors do not extend to cover the width of the front windows, a curious safety omission. This is a vehicle that will sound an alarm if you so much as have a dirty thought, but shielding taller drivers’ eyes from glare isn’t important? The XC90’s standard automatic high beams are not good… at all. On multiple occasions while driving at night I noticed the system switching on when a car was right in front of me and the beams failing to dip when oncoming traffic got much too close. Eventually, I just stopped using this feature. Finally, my tester is fitted with a crystalline shifter, which looks like a little piece of art mounted to the center console, though you still have to double-click it to select the gear you want, which is kind of silly.

Naturally, the XC90 T8 includes plenty of other driver-assistance technologies like blind-spot monitoring, automatic emergency braking and rear cross-traffic alert, to name a few. They all work well, including Pilot Assist, the automaker’s name for adaptive cruise control with lane centering. On the interstate at higher speeds, this system is rock solid, keeping the XC90 locked in the middle of its lane while smoothly adjusting speed to match surrounding traffic. Curiously, it’s far less confidence inspiring on two-lane roads, where it can ping-pong from one lane marker to the other. 

There are far worse places to spend time than the XC90’s cabin.

Craig Cole/Roadshow

If you like lots of swiping and scrolling, you’ll probably love Volvo’s Sensus Connect infotainment system. This is not the worst multimedia offering available today, not by a long shot, but neither is it my favorite since it can lag from time to time and the menus are pretty confusing. I actually had to search the owner’s manual because I couldn’t remember how to save radio presets and it’s not obvious how you do that. At least there’s plenty of real estate on the 9-inch screen and Apple CarPlay and Android Auto are included.

As I alluded to earlier, the rest of this Volvo’s cabin is stunning. The overall design is super clean and elegant. The Nappa-leather upholstery is probably the nicest you’ll find this side of a Rolls-Royce and there’s lovely stitching everywhere. My tester’s gray-hued, open-pore ash-wood trim is beautiful to look at and touch.

Comfort in the XC90 is a bit of a mixed bag. The front chairs are absolutely throne-like, heated, ventilated, adjustable in more ways than you can count, and they’re even able to give you a massage. The second-row buckets are a bit on the narrow side and not nearly as cushy as the fronts, plus they’re quite difficult to tilt and slide for accessing the third row. Speaking of the XC90’s aft-most accommodations, they’re a tight squeeze for adults, which is no surprise, but oddly enough the lower cushion is at an excellent height and provides plenty of support, something that’s very unusual in this segment.

See? I told you the XC90 T8 was beautiful. 

Craig Cole/Roadshow

The 2020 Volvo XC90 T8 is offered in three trims: entry-level Momentum, midrange R-Design and top-shelf Inscription. The base price is around $68,000, though my tester drove off the assembly line in Gothenburg, Sweden with an MSRP of $86,790, a total that includes a rather modest destination charge of $995 and $18,295 in options. If you crave this Volvo’s subtle design, tasteful interior and pleasant demeanor but are unwilling or unable to shell out nearly 90 grand don’t fret. You can get a non-hybrid T5 front-wheel-drive variant for about $50,000, which should deliver much of the same fundamental excellence if not quite as much opulence.

This Volvo is an absolutely lovely piece of work, one of the best of its breed available today. Luxury may be antithetical to environmentalism, but the XC90’s plug-in powertrain goes a long way to improving both the driving dynamics and, more importantly, fuel efficiency.

[yardmasterz1]

Choosing The Best Whole House Fan 2020

Cool down fast with a high efficiency whole home fan. If you’re like me, you absolutely hate running the air conditioning even during the hottest months of the year, because you can virtually watch the meter ticking off dollar bills as you try to keep your home cool.  Unfortunately,  air conditioning and the high electric bill that comes with it are a part of life for most of the country.  There are also potential health repercussions from using traditional air conditioning units.  The air that is used is recirculated and never vented, so any dust or contaminates are blown back through your house, over and over again.

With a whole house fan, the air is drawn in from the outside.  This keeps cooler, fresh air circulating through your home while the fan is running.  The fan sucks out the warm air and blows it into the attic space or out a roof vent.  These fans come in multiple sizes that will work in just about any home.  They use considerably less electricity than an A/C unit, so you will not only cool your home down efficiently, but also save some money on your monthly electric bill.   I’ve reviewed over a dozen whole house fans and put together a list of the top performers.  This is a solid investment for your home, but you definitely want to get the best unit for your budget.

Comparing The Top Whole House Fans

# Preview Product Price 1 QuietCool QC CL-3100 Original Classic Fan Model $799.00 See Lowest Price 2 QA-Deluxe 4800(R) Whole House Fan | Includes 1-Speed Wireless Remote Control & Timer | R-5... $1,352.03 See Lowest Price 3 Centric Air 3.4A Whole House Fan with R-10 Power Actuated Cold Weather Damper| 3242 CFM (HVI-916)... $1,823.00 See Lowest Price 4 QuietCool QC CL-2250 Original Classic Fan Model $649.00 $576.94 See Lowest Price 5 Tamarack Insulated Whole House Fan - 1150 CFM, 70 Watts, Model Number HV1000 $605.00 See Lowest Price

  #1 QuietCool QC CL-3100 Original Classic Fan Model

My top pick goes to the QuietCool QC CL-3100 fan system.  This unit features a self contained duct system that hangs in your attic to provide less sound and noise vibration when the fan is running.  You can choose from 1,464 CFM air flow up to a whopping 6,924 CMF depending on the size of your home.

This model features barometric pressurized gravity dampers which close automatically when the fan air flow stops.  This ensures that you don’t let heat escape back into your home from the attic or lose cool air into the attic.

The CL-3100 can handle a home up to approximately 1,600 sq/ft and with the high efficiency motor, you get amazing cooling performance and less energy usage.  Definitely put this QuietCool home fan at the top of your list.

#2 QA-4800(R) Whole House Fan

QA Deluxe Fans makes some amazingly high quality products and these fans are beasts when it comes to moving hot air out of your house and sucking in cool air from outside.  The 4800 model we tested can handle up to 2600 sq/ft single story homes or 3400 sq/ft two story homes.  It can literally cut your A/C bill by up to 90% in some cases.  This fan is perfect if you live in an area that has very hot days, but cooler evenings.  Flip this fan on before dark and feel the immediate cool down as the cooler air is drawn in and the hot air expelled through the attic.

Installation of the 4800 fan is very straightforward.  In about 90 minutes you can have this whole home fan mounted and hooked into your existing attic electric.  One nice feature of the design is that the QA fans are built to fit between 16″ and 24″ joists, which means you won’t need to do any extra framing before you mount the fan.

This fan runs on 120v and weighs approximately 60 pounds, so you will probably need an extra set of hands to help you get the unit into the attic for mounting.  At just 54dB, this fan is extremely quiet for the size.

#3 Centric Air 3.4A Fan Power Actuated Cold Weather Damper

#3 on my list is the Centric Air 3.4 attic fan.  The only reason this fan didn’t rank higher was because the price tag is a little high, but you definitely get a high quality fan unit for what you pay.  This fan comes with power actuated weather dampers and a 2 speed wireless remote control, which is so nice because it means you don’t have to install a timer switch on the wall.

This fan uses 382 watts of power and can run for pennies on the hour.  Much less than your current A/C system.  This fan is rated for over 40,000 hours of use and is up to 30% more efficient and powerful than other industrial fans in this price range.

One of the things that keeps this fan operating so quietly is that it it’s not belt driven, like other attic fans.  The direct drive keeps the noise down and the energy savings up.

Installation is relatively easy as well.  The most difficult part is running the electrical to the fan unit, but if you’re not comfortable with this as a DIY project, you can definitely hire an electrician to run the wiring and it shouldn’t cost a ton.  The fan weighs about 65lbs, so you’ll need some help getting it into the attic.

Wait until a hot evening when you crank this fan on and feel the cool air being pulled in from outside.  You’ll wonder why you took so long to install a quality whole house fan.

#4 QuietCool QC CL-2250 Original Classic Fan Model

  I ended up including another one of the Quiet Cool fans on my recommended top 5 list because it’s a slightly smaller model than the 3100 I listed in the #1 spot and it’s less expensive as well.  The QC CL-2250 produces approximately 2,280 CFM of air movement which is absolutely perfect for homes in the 1,100 sq/ft range.

Just like the other Quiet Cool models, the 2250 features the patented self contained duct system which really helps keep the sound volume down from inside the house.  Sound can be further dampened by using the approved strap hanger system for the fan unit, which eliminates excessive vibration into the house structure.  You should notice very little, if any sound inside the house when the fan is at full power.

This is the original classic fan line from QC which first came out in 2003.  They’ve been making advanced home ventilation systems for over 15 years and are by far the most popular when it comes to whole home fan cooling.

The fan motor operates on low voltage and amperage, keeping electricity usage to a minimum and reducing your electrical bills.  This unit also features a 10 year warranty, so if you have any issues at all in the first 10 years, you are 100% covered.  This alone makes the QuietCool fan worth picking up.

#5 Tamarack HV1000 Insulated 1150 CFM

  Last, but definitely not least on the list is the Tamarack HV1000 insulated fan system that produces up to 1,150 CFM at 70 Watts of power.

This is a slightly different fan setup from the others I reviewed, as it doesn’t have the duct work with the fan at the end.  This unit mounts right to your ceiling joists in the attic and the fans point directly down into the house.  The main benefit of this is that it takes up less space in the attic.  It also is more compact and weighs about half of the bigger duct fans.

If your home is in the 1,100 sq/ft range, this is the size fan you want.  Tamarack makes larger units as well for bigger homes.  Even if you have a bigger house and decide to install this model, you will still get plenty of cooling performance, you will just need to run the fan longer to cool the entire home.

The HV1000 uses minimal power, keeping the bills low and is very quiet during full power usage.  Installation is very simple, especially if you already have an available power outlet near the installation location of your attic.

Price point is also reasonable at nearly half the cost of similar sized duct style home fans.  I would definitely put this on your list of fans to consider, especially if you have a moderate sized home that doesn’t requite a massive fan to cool it down.

Your Home Fan Buyer’s Guide

Whole home fans are a major investment for any homeowner. The larger the home the larger the investment. Therefore purchasing a home fan that meets all of their requirements and is high is it going to be quality enough to last for many years is a must . I want to help educate you and give you all of the knowledge you need to purchase the right whole house fan that will work perfectly in your home.

Well you could very easily go to the local hardware store to purchase one of these fans and have it work just fine, there are still a few things that you should know about and consider before making a purchase. The size of your house is the number one factor in determining which whole home fan you should purchase. The quality of the fan itself is the next most important thing.

Be sure to take your time and read all of the specs. that I provided on the product listings above. This will ensure that you get the right fan for your home and the cooling you need.

What you need to know about whole home fans

While there are many different types of fans you can install in your attic not all of them are as efficient for cooling your home as others. Roof fans and Gable fans do a good job of venting your attic space, however they don’t do a good job a cooling your actual living space. This is where a whole house fan gets the job done better than any other type of fan .

Not only will you be able to cool your home down in a fraction of the time of an air conditioning system, you’ll be paying Pennies on the dollar compared to the expense of running your AC for hours each day. These fans are energy efficient which helps them cool your home in a fraction of the time.

We all want our home to be comfortable but in many areas of the country the summer heat can be overwhelming. Nobody enjoys living or sleeping in a house that’s too hot. Installing a fan system is the most efficient and least expensive way to keep your home comfortable year-round.

In the next section I’m going to give you a little bit of information about some of the common questions that come up when considering buying a whole home fan system.

Are whole house fans effective at Cooling?

Virtually everybody knows that an air conditioning system is one of the best ways to keep your house cool in the summer. But the fact that running the AC night and day can nearly triple your electric bill makes it hard for some homeowners to swallow. With a home fan system you don’t need to run the unit constantly to cool down your home. You can flip it on a couple times during the day for several minutes or turn it on right before everybody goes to bed to make sure the house is cool for sleeping in.

Whole home fans are extremely effective however they are dependent on several factors to be completely efficient. They very easily move large volumes of air out of your home and into your attic space quickly. However to really cool your house down properly the outside temperature needs to be considerably cooler then the inside temperature of your home. If your home is 85 degrees inside and it’s 95 degrees outside your fan is only going to suck in hotter are and not cool your home down very well. If you live in a climate where you have hot days and cooler evenings you are a prime candidate for installing a whole home fan.

At the end of the day simply open the door to or crack a couple of windows and turn your fan on. The fan will pull all the warm air out of your home and vented into your attic and at the same time, draw the cooler air in from outside. Depending on the size of your home you can replace all of the warm air with cool air after just a few minutes of running your fan.

One of the downsides to the volume of air that these fans can move is that they will also tend to pull in dust are particles that are in the air outside as the cooler air replaces the hot air in your home. Well it’s probably not enough to be a health concern you will likely notice your home is a little dustier during the times when you run your fan. It’s a small price to pay for having a comfortable temperature in your home.

How energy efficient are whole house fans?

Now that you know how effective a whole home fan system can be you’re probably wondering exactly how much energy you’re going to save, and dollars, over using your traditional air conditioning system. This is definitely one of the main reasons people tend to go with a whole home fan unit is because running the AC is far too expensive to do for an entire summer season. The benefit of the whole home fan is that you can run it in short bursts for quick cooling. This means you’re not drawing continuous electricity like a normal AC.

The motors these fans use are extremely efficient and can produce high power output without consuming a lot of power. Meaning they will suck a lot of air without using a lot of electricity in the process. Most home fans like this will use between 200 watts and 700 watts of power. A typical air conditioning system can use over 2000 watts of power and up to 5000 watts of power. A whole home fan only uses 15% of a standard home air conditioning system. This is what makes a whole house fan so desirable compared to normal AC.

Consumers who installed a whole house fan unit have reported only increasing their monthly electrical bill by $20 for home Cooling during the hottest month of the year. By comparison most homeowners with an air conditioning system see an average increase of over $250 a month when continually running their air conditioning. Again these numbers will vary but this gives you a pretty good idea of how much more efficient at whole home fan is over an AC unit.

Let’s talk about the cost of the unit itself. You can pick up a home fan anywhere from several hundred dollars up to around $1,800. Installation of the unit can cost another $500 to $1,000. So in the end you might have invested just under $3,000 for your cooling fan system. Let’s compare that to a forced air AC system where the unit itself will run likely $4,000 or more. Installation is going to run well over $1,000. So you’ve invested over $5,000 for a traditional air conditioning system for your home which is also going to cost you another $250 a month during the months you run it.

I’m no rocket scientist but I can definitely tell you that a whole home fan is a considerably cheaper investment initially and monthly.

Installing a whole home fan

Before you install your whole house fan make sure you’ve chosen one that matches the size of your home making sure it will fit in your attic or crawl space area. There are different sizes and shapes you can pick from so finding one that will fit your particular space shouldn’t be difficult .

Choosing the right size fan and ventilation

It’s important to know the interior square footage of your home before you purchase your fan. If you don’t know the interior square footage, measure the length and width of each room with a tape measure.

Multiply the total interior space by 2 and this will give you a guide for choosing the proper fan size. Fans are rated in CFM, which means cubic feet of air per minute. The fans will also be rated for a specific range of interior square footage. Make sure you choose a fan that is rated for the size of your home. Do not include basement square footage in your calculation.

Safe fan installation

if you’re planning on installing your whole home fan yourself make sure you follow all of the manufacturer instructions and take necessary safety precautions like shutting off the power and wearing appropriate safety gear when using power tools.

Installing the ceiling vent

Your whole house fan will likely come with a paper template is installed in your ceiling outlining the size of the intake vent which is installed in your ceiling. If your attic has open joists,place the template in between the joists where you want the intake vent to be located.Cut out the indicated area’s per the template. You shouldn’t need to cut any of the Joyce themselves as most home fan units are designed to fit in between 16in and 24 in standard joists.

Running power to the fan

I’m no electrician, so I’d rather not try to give you proper instructions for running power to your fan, however you do have several options with most of the whole home fans. Some will have a remote control for the fan, and you will just need to plug into an available outlet in the attic near the fan unit to have it up and running. Other fans will have to be wired with a switch somewhere in the house so you can turn the house fan on and off. This is the trickier of the 2 options, so if you aren’t good with electrical, or don’t want to pay to hire this job out, I’d suggest getting a fan with a remote control that you can operate from inside your home. It’s a much simpler installation process.

Securing the fan unit

You may need to create a platform for the fan to sit on inside the Attic.You can do this by nailing a piece of plywood to the joists where you want the fan unit to sit. Some fans come with straps that allow you to hang the fan from the roof joists. The benefit of this is that the fan is not touching any part of the house structure transferring vibrations that you will hear from below. No matter which method you use be sure to secure the fan properly so that it does not move around when running.

Check power settings

Once you have your vent installed and your fan unit secured and power run to your fan you will want to adjust the motor speed settings and make sure the fan unit is still tightly secured after running the fan for a period of time.

Wrapping Up

Now you know a whole lot about the different types of whole home fans, how they operate, the costs involved and some basic installation instructions. You should be more than prepared to choose the right fan for your home and get it up and running in no time. You’ll have a much cooler house, a happy family and cheaper electrical bill each month.

*Disclaimer – Be sure to follow all of the manufacturer instructions for safe installation of your fan. The tips & suggestions given in this article are not to be substituted for the manufacturers recommended installation instructions. Take all necessary safety precautions when using power tools or working with electricity.

from YardMasterz https://www.yardmasterz.com/whole-house-fans/

[sherlocked-avenger]

Turbo soul lives in the 2018 Volvo XC60

There have been many quirky vehicles in The Garage over the years, but one of the coolest remains the 1984 Volvo 240 Turbo wagon that we owned for a few years during the late Nineties. Officially, the longest of the turbo bricks was called a 245T. Our wagon was the exact spec that fans of the boxy speedster lusted after: A silver wagon with the correct Turbo blackout striping, Euro style grill with inset fog lights, GLT wheels and a manual transmission. It even had the dog gate which swung down from the ceiling to keep Fido in his place. Sadly, we didn’t have a Fido in those days but it was still neat to have it.

That wagon was perhaps the best family vehicle of all time. It could carry 5 adults in comfort. Fold down the rear seats and it would carry a 4×8 sheet of plywood. It looked cool as hell to those who knew and could keep pace with a Fox-body Mustang off the line. While it was a bit too big for an autocross course, the car was a joy to hustle down a winding country road, even when fully loaded.

Back in the day, Volvo used the slogan “Boxy but good” and their sporting varieties became know as Bricks and Turbo Bricks. They weren’t exactly sexy, unless you were turned on by straight lines. Fast forward three decades and our tester, an XC60 T6 R-Design couldn’t be more different. While there are straight accent lines here and there, sensual curves are the order of the day. Those curves do however push up towards muscular rear shoulders, in keeping with the brand’s heritage.

The interior of the old girl left much to be desired, as many of its surfaces were as square as the exterior. Nothing flashy or luxurious here, just black plastic and blue cloth seats in a style that only really excited a Volvo diehard. The interior of the XC60 on the other hand is nothing short of World class. Without seeming too modern, the combination of sensual curves and well chosen finish materials, the Volvo has a definite Scandinavian flair. The machined metal speaker covers are particularly striking.

Techie types will be astounded by the XC60’s incredibly user friendly infotainment system, which is centered around a 9″ centre stack touch display which operates with the fluidity of a smart phone or tablet. It gives users control over a wide range of audio and vehicle settings to tailor the vehicle experience to the individual driver.

The audio system in particular deserves a mention, as it stands out in a segment which is full of serious audio gear. The Volvo Canada media fleet guy enthusiastically pointed out that the Bowers & Wilkins system has different modes, including studio for normal music and concert hall for higher quality music. Most often, these systems seem, to my ears at least, to simply muck around with reverb settings to change the sound in the cabin. The system in the XC60 was painstakingly tuned to replicate the sound in the middle of the renowned Gothenburg Concert Hall, complete with displaying a picture of the place.

To test the system, I directed the system to play music from my bluetooth connected phone rather than the Sirius XM feed. I brought up my Google Play app and chose the Evanescence Fallen album, hit play and cranked the volume. The sound was nothing short of mind blowing. The drums or thunder or whatever the rumble is in Bring me to life, quite literally caused the vehicle to shudder. After that, a bit of vintage Pink Floyd confirmed that the XC60 offers one of the best sound systems on the market.

Back in 2014, I had the opportunity to spend a rather silly 22 hours in Gothenburg, Sweden, home to Volvo with the intention of going for a ride-a-long in the company’s first self driving car. Sadly, it was raining and the vehicle’s sensors could not “see” the markings on the road, which it used to stay in its own lane. Autonomous vehicle technology is moving forward in leaps and bounds and much of the tech that Volvo was working on three years ago is now included in the company’s Pilot Assist system.

Volvo’s tech sheets describe the system as “Semi Autonomous Drive System with Adaptive Cruise Control and Active Lane Keeping Aid”. Adaptive cruise is not a new concept and lane assist type of systems are becoming more common in the marketplace. Some of the systems offered by other manufacturers are clunky at best, disruptive at worst. Where Pilot Assist stands out is in its seamless, unobtrusive operation. Once could quite easily, gasp, look down at their phone, confident in the knowledge that the car is going to do what it is supposed to do.

You may think I have lost my mind with that statement, but that action is exactly what Volvo has had in mind with their development of autonomous and semi-autonomous vehicles. During that visit, I sat down with Volvo’s Autonomous Driving Director, Marcus Rothoff, to discuss the reasoning behind autonomous cars. Volvo has set milestone after milestone for automotive safety over the past 50 decades, so imagine my surprise to hear Rothoff say that self-driving cars would create “possibilities to open up more time”, even going so far as to say that the technology would allow drivers to stay connected to the internet while they were on the road.

Don’t worry, I obeyed the rules of the road while driving the XC60.

All of this talk of inside technology might lead one to think that the spirit of the Turbo Brick has been lost to modern gadgetry, but nothing could be further from the truth. Beneath the hood of our tester was a 2.0L 4 cylinder that is boosted by both a turbo and a supercharger. Yes, you read that right. The combination generates an impressive 316 HP and 295 lb-ft and is fed to all four wheels through a slick shifting 8-speed automatic unit.

Wait…..what?

If you have ANY Volvo background, a T5 was a turbo 5-cylinder. At what point did some marketing committee decide that a 4-banger should bear the designation T-6? I know, I am crusty and old, but there is something very wrong there. Don’t get me wrong, I knew this was a four-pot Volvo, the way Uncle Olaf intended, the branding just seems off.

What is not wrong is the way the XC60 drives. Around town, with the drive mode in the default comfort position, the XC60 feels like the dreaded nice car. The comfort and technology take the lead. Move out into the country and switch the drive mode to sport however and the spirit of the Turbo Brick quickly makes itself known. Very quickly.

Honestly, during the first few days with the XC60, I was in full responsible Dad mode. The subtle R-Design logo on the rear hatch caught my eye and somehow reminded me that there was likely some fun lurking within this family machine. At the next light, I fully rolled into the throttle and was pleasantly surprised to find that the Swede is seriously quick. Quicker than many cars of the sporting variety.  Sub 6 second 0-60 quick. To put that into perspective, the sort-of legendary 1989 Mustang GT (rollin’ in my 5.0) reached that standard in 6.1. A lot has changed over the years, but a four cylinder Swedish family hauler can still haul ass.

While the XC60 R-Design might not be a track ready weapon like say, a Porsche Macan GTS, it is definitely a vehicle one can have one heck of a lot of fun in and maybe embarrass a few tuner kids along the way.

On a humorous note,  I learned that keeping the key fob in your pocket while washing the XC60 will cause the door lock system to spasm frequently, locking and unlocking the doors, flashing lights and wiggling the side mirrors like a curious puppy’s ears each time the brush or even water stream go near the door handles. Technology can be a weird and wonderful thing.

There was a time when Volvos were driven by science teachers, accountants and rally enthusiasts. In other words, Volvo was the car for the intelligent, the conservative and throw all caution to the wind performance fans. Today’s Volvo is a different animal. The XC60 T6 R-Design is one which still appeals to all three.

  from garage2 http://ift.tt/2oijbKH via great info

[sherlocklexa]

Turbo soul lives in the 2018 Volvo XC60

There have been many quirky vehicles in The Garage over the years, but one of the coolest remains the 1984 Volvo 240 Turbo wagon that we owned for a few years during the late Nineties. Officially, the longest of the turbo bricks was called a 245T. Our wagon was the exact spec that fans of the boxy speedster lusted after: A silver wagon with the correct Turbo blackout striping, Euro style grill with inset fog lights, GLT wheels and a manual transmission. It even had the dog gate which swung down from the ceiling to keep Fido in his place. Sadly, we didn’t have a Fido in those days but it was still neat to have it.

That wagon was perhaps the best family vehicle of all time. It could carry 5 adults in comfort. Fold down the rear seats and it would carry a 4×8 sheet of plywood. It looked cool as hell to those who knew and could keep pace with a Fox-body Mustang off the line. While it was a bit too big for an autocross course, the car was a joy to hustle down a winding country road, even when fully loaded.

Back in the day, Volvo used the slogan “Boxy but good” and their sporting varieties became know as Bricks and Turbo Bricks. They weren’t exactly sexy, unless you were turned on by straight lines. Fast forward three decades and our tester, an XC60 T6 R-Design couldn’t be more different. While there are straight accent lines here and there, sensual curves are the order of the day. Those curves do however push up towards muscular rear shoulders, in keeping with the brand’s heritage.

The interior of the old girl left much to be desired, as many of its surfaces were as square as the exterior. Nothing flashy or luxurious here, just black plastic and blue cloth seats in a style that only really excited a Volvo diehard. The interior of the XC60 on the other hand is nothing short of World class. Without seeming too modern, the combination of sensual curves and well chosen finish materials, the Volvo has a definite Scandinavian flair. The machined metal speaker covers are particularly striking.

Techie types will be astounded by the XC60’s incredibly user friendly infotainment system, which is centered around a 9″ centre stack touch display which operates with the fluidity of a smart phone or tablet. It gives users control over a wide range of audio and vehicle settings to tailor the vehicle experience to the individual driver.

The audio system in particular deserves a mention, as it stands out in a segment which is full of serious audio gear. The Volvo Canada media fleet guy enthusiastically pointed out that the Bowers & Wilkins system has different modes, including studio for normal music and concert hall for higher quality music. Most often, these systems seem, to my ears at least, to simply muck around with reverb settings to change the sound in the cabin. The system in the XC60 was painstakingly tuned to replicate the sound in the middle of the renowned Gothenburg Concert Hall, complete with displaying a picture of the place.

To test the system, I directed the system to play music from my bluetooth connected phone rather than the Sirius XM feed. I brought up my Google Play app and chose the Evanescence Fallen album, hit play and cranked the volume. The sound was nothing short of mind blowing. The drums or thunder or whatever the rumble is in Bring me to life, quite literally caused the vehicle to shudder. After that, a bit of vintage Pink Floyd confirmed that the XC60 offers one of the best sound systems on the market.

Back in 2014, I had the opportunity to spend a rather silly 22 hours in Gothenburg, Sweden, home to Volvo with the intention of going for a ride-a-long in the company’s first self driving car. Sadly, it was raining and the vehicle’s sensors could not “see” the markings on the road, which it used to stay in its own lane. Autonomous vehicle technology is moving forward in leaps and bounds and much of the tech that Volvo was working on three years ago is now included in the company’s Pilot Assist system.

Volvo’s tech sheets describe the system as “Semi Autonomous Drive System with Adaptive Cruise Control and Active Lane Keeping Aid”. Adaptive cruise is not a new concept and lane assist type of systems are becoming more common in the marketplace. Some of the systems offered by other manufacturers are clunky at best, disruptive at worst. Where Pilot Assist stands out is in its seamless, unobtrusive operation. Once could quite easily, gasp, look down at their phone, confident in the knowledge that the car is going to do what it is supposed to do.

You may think I have lost my mind with that statement, but that action is exactly what Volvo has had in mind with their development of autonomous and semi-autonomous vehicles. During that visit, I sat down with Volvo’s Autonomous Driving Director, Marcus Rothoff, to discuss the reasoning behind autonomous cars. Volvo has set milestone after milestone for automotive safety over the past 50 decades, so imagine my surprise to hear Rothoff say that self-driving cars would create “possibilities to open up more time”, even going so far as to say that the technology would allow drivers to stay connected to the internet while they were on the road.

Don’t worry, I obeyed the rules of the road while driving the XC60.

All of this talk of inside technology might lead one to think that the spirit of the Turbo Brick has been lost to modern gadgetry, but nothing could be further from the truth. Beneath the hood of our tester was a 2.0L 4 cylinder that is boosted by both a turbo and a supercharger. Yes, you read that right. The combination generates an impressive 316 HP and 295 lb-ft and is fed to all four wheels through a slick shifting 8-speed automatic unit.

Wait…..what?

If you have ANY Volvo background, a T5 was a turbo 5-cylinder. At what point did some marketing committee decide that a 4-banger should bear the designation T-6? I know, I am crusty and old, but there is something very wrong there. Don’t get me wrong, I knew this was a four-pot Volvo, the way Uncle Olaf intended, the branding just seems off.

What is not wrong is the way the XC60 drives. Around town, with the drive mode in the default comfort position, the XC60 feels like the dreaded nice car. The comfort and technology take the lead. Move out into the country and switch the drive mode to sport however and the spirit of the Turbo Brick quickly makes itself known. Very quickly.

Honestly, during the first few days with the XC60, I was in full responsible Dad mode. The subtle R-Design logo on the rear hatch caught my eye and somehow reminded me that there was likely some fun lurking within this family machine. At the next light, I fully rolled into the throttle and was pleasantly surprised to find that the Swede is seriously quick. Quicker than many cars of the sporting variety.  Sub 6 second 0-60 quick. To put that into perspective, the sort-of legendary 1989 Mustang GT (rollin’ in my 5.0) reached that standard in 6.1. A lot has changed over the years, but a four cylinder Swedish family hauler can still haul ass.

While the XC60 R-Design might not be a track ready weapon like say, a Porsche Macan GTS, it is definitely a vehicle one can have one heck of a lot of fun in and maybe embarrass a few tuner kids along the way.

On a humorous note,  I learned that keeping the key fob in your pocket while washing the XC60 will cause the door lock system to spasm frequently, locking and unlocking the doors, flashing lights and wiggling the side mirrors like a curious puppy’s ears each time the brush or even water stream go near the door handles. Technology can be a weird and wonderful thing.

There was a time when Volvos were driven by science teachers, accountants and rally enthusiasts. In other words, Volvo was the car for the intelligent, the conservative and throw all caution to the wind performance fans. Today’s Volvo is a different animal. The XC60 T6 R-Design is one which still appeals to all three.

  from car2 http://ift.tt/2oijbKH via as shown a lot

[chocdono]

Turbo soul lives in the 2018 Volvo XC60

There have been many quirky vehicles in The Garage over the years, but one of the coolest remains the 1984 Volvo 240 Turbo wagon that we owned for a few years during the late Nineties. Officially, the longest of the turbo bricks was called a 245T. Our wagon was the exact spec that fans of the boxy speedster lusted after: A silver wagon with the correct Turbo blackout striping, Euro style grill with inset fog lights, GLT wheels and a manual transmission. It even had the dog gate which swung down from the ceiling to keep Fido in his place. Sadly, we didn’t have a Fido in those days but it was still neat to have it.

That wagon was perhaps the best family vehicle of all time. It could carry 5 adults in comfort. Fold down the rear seats and it would carry a 4×8 sheet of plywood. It looked cool as hell to those who knew and could keep pace with a Fox-body Mustang off the line. While it was a bit too big for an autocross course, the car was a joy to hustle down a winding country road, even when fully loaded.

Back in the day, Volvo used the slogan “Boxy but good” and their sporting varieties became know as Bricks and Turbo Bricks. They weren’t exactly sexy, unless you were turned on by straight lines. Fast forward three decades and our tester, an XC60 T6 R-Design couldn’t be more different. While there are straight accent lines here and there, sensual curves are the order of the day. Those curves do however push up towards muscular rear shoulders, in keeping with the brand’s heritage.

The interior of the old girl left much to be desired, as many of its surfaces were as square as the exterior. Nothing flashy or luxurious here, just black plastic and blue cloth seats in a style that only really excited a Volvo diehard. The interior of the XC60 on the other hand is nothing short of World class. Without seeming too modern, the combination of sensual curves and well chosen finish materials, the Volvo has a definite Scandinavian flair. The machined metal speaker covers are particularly striking.

Techie types will be astounded by the XC60’s incredibly user friendly infotainment system, which is centered around a 9″ centre stack touch display which operates with the fluidity of a smart phone or tablet. It gives users control over a wide range of audio and vehicle settings to tailor the vehicle experience to the individual driver.

The audio system in particular deserves a mention, as it stands out in a segment which is full of serious audio gear. The Volvo Canada media fleet guy enthusiastically pointed out that the Bowers & Wilkins system has different modes, including studio for normal music and concert hall for higher quality music. Most often, these systems seem, to my ears at least, to simply muck around with reverb settings to change the sound in the cabin. The system in the XC60 was painstakingly tuned to replicate the sound in the middle of the renowned Gothenburg Concert Hall, complete with displaying a picture of the place.

To test the system, I directed the system to play music from my bluetooth connected phone rather than the Sirius XM feed. I brought up my Google Play app and chose the Evanescence Fallen album, hit play and cranked the volume. The sound was nothing short of mind blowing. The drums or thunder or whatever the rumble is in Bring me to life, quite literally caused the vehicle to shudder. After that, a bit of vintage Pink Floyd confirmed that the XC60 offers one of the best sound systems on the market.

Back in 2014, I had the opportunity to spend a rather silly 22 hours in Gothenburg, Sweden, home to Volvo with the intention of going for a ride-a-long in the company’s first self driving car. Sadly, it was raining and the vehicle’s sensors could not “see” the markings on the road, which it used to stay in its own lane. Autonomous vehicle technology is moving forward in leaps and bounds and much of the tech that Volvo was working on three years ago is now included in the company’s Pilot Assist system.

Volvo’s tech sheets describe the system as “Semi Autonomous Drive System with Adaptive Cruise Control and Active Lane Keeping Aid”. Adaptive cruise is not a new concept and lane assist type of systems are becoming more common in the marketplace. Some of the systems offered by other manufacturers are clunky at best, disruptive at worst. Where Pilot Assist stands out is in its seamless, unobtrusive operation. Once could quite easily, gasp, look down at their phone, confident in the knowledge that the car is going to do what it is supposed to do.

You may think I have lost my mind with that statement, but that action is exactly what Volvo has had in mind with their development of autonomous and semi-autonomous vehicles. During that visit, I sat down with Volvo’s Autonomous Driving Director, Marcus Rothoff, to discuss the reasoning behind autonomous cars. Volvo has set milestone after milestone for automotive safety over the past 50 decades, so imagine my surprise to hear Rothoff say that self-driving cars would create “possibilities to open up more time”, even going so far as to say that the technology would allow drivers to stay connected to the internet while they were on the road.

Don’t worry, I obeyed the rules of the road while driving the XC60.

All of this talk of inside technology might lead one to think that the spirit of the Turbo Brick has been lost to modern gadgetry, but nothing could be further from the truth. Beneath the hood of our tester was a 2.0L 4 cylinder that is boosted by both a turbo and a supercharger. Yes, you read that right. The combination generates an impressive 316 HP and 295 lb-ft and is fed to all four wheels through a slick shifting 8-speed automatic unit.

Wait…..what?

If you have ANY Volvo background, a T5 was a turbo 5-cylinder. At what point did some marketing committee decide that a 4-banger should bear the designation T-6? I know, I am crusty and old, but there is something very wrong there. Don’t get me wrong, I knew this was a four-pot Volvo, the way Uncle Olaf intended, the branding just seems off.

What is not wrong is the way the XC60 drives. Around town, with the drive mode in the default comfort position, the XC60 feels like the dreaded nice car. The comfort and technology take the lead. Move out into the country and switch the drive mode to sport however and the spirit of the Turbo Brick quickly makes itself known. Very quickly.

Honestly, during the first few days with the XC60, I was in full responsible Dad mode. The subtle R-Design logo on the rear hatch caught my eye and somehow reminded me that there was likely some fun lurking within this family machine. At the next light, I fully rolled into the throttle and was pleasantly surprised to find that the Swede is seriously quick. Quicker than many cars of the sporting variety.  Sub 6 second 0-60 quick. To put that into perspective, the sort-of legendary 1989 Mustang GT (rollin’ in my 5.0) reached that standard in 6.1. A lot has changed over the years, but a four cylinder Swedish family hauler can still haul ass.

While the XC60 R-Design might not be a track ready weapon like say, a Porsche Macan GTS, it is definitely a vehicle one can have one heck of a lot of fun in and maybe embarrass a few tuner kids along the way.

On a humorous note,  I learned that keeping the key fob in your pocket while washing the XC60 will cause the door lock system to spasm frequently, locking and unlocking the doors, flashing lights and wiggling the side mirrors like a curious puppy’s ears each time the brush or even water stream go near the door handles. Technology can be a weird and wonderful thing.

There was a time when Volvos were driven by science teachers, accountants and rally enthusiasts. In other words, Volvo was the car for the intelligent, the conservative and throw all caution to the wind performance fans. Today’s Volvo is a different animal. The XC60 T6 R-Design is one which still appeals to all three.

  from mix1 http://ift.tt/2oijbKH via with this info

[jesusvasser]

Mercedes-AMG Project ONE Revealed: AMG’s $2.5 Million Halo Hypercar

In 1997, it took AMG engineers just 126 days to design and build the awesome and barely street-legal CLK GTR. Two decades later, the gestation process of the Mercedes-AMG Project ONE hypercar, which has just been revealed ahead of its debut at the 2017 Frankfurt auto show, has taken years. The long-awaited result? More than 1,000 horsepower of Formula One inspired, hybrid-electrified design at roughly $2.53 million a copy (or 2.275 million euro if your bank account is in that denomination).

It began with the divorce from McLaren and with the need to eventually come up with an in-house replacement for the Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren. True, the AMG GT lineup has accomplished a volume-generating and brand-shaping mission, but even the range-topping AMG GT R isn’t a true hardcore supercar, let alone a mind-blowing hypercar like the Project ONE.

What AMG aimed for was a one-of-a-kind machine even more outrageous than the McLaren P1 and LaFerrari, the ultimate fusion of combustion and electrification. Originally known as X1 and initially dubbed AMG R50 to celebrate AMG’s then-upcoming 50th anniversary, the project was kicked off in late 2014 by an undercover team led by AMG’s chief engineer at the time Tobias Moers, who later replaced Ola Källenius at the top of the Mercedes satellite.

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In March of this year at the 2017 Geneva auto show, a fiberglass model without an interior was shown to selected customers. The private viewings took place in an anonymous cordoned off tent on the lawns of the high-end La Reserve hotel, where the gunmetal over black two-seater was heralded by Moers as the next big step towards the future of high-performance motoring.

Out of a pool of more than 1,000 applicants, Mercedes accepted six-figure deposits from 275 carefully selected friends of the three-pointed star. Before the first car will be delivered in early 2019, a group of 12 pre-production prototypes have been queued up for demolition in comprehensive EU and U.S. crash tests. “As far as passive safety is concerned, we pulled out all the stops,” states Moers. “There will be at least four airbags — maybe six — and the monocoque is strong enough to absorb the pole during side impact.”

Shaped by Mercedes chief designer Gorden Wagener, whose recent works include the flamboyant Vision 6 concepts, Project ONE is indeed a striking piece of kit. Less extreme than Aston Martin’s Valkyrie and more track-oriented than Bugatti’s Chiron, it is visually — and in content — in league similar to the Koenigsegg Regera and McLaren’s planned BP23 three-seater.

The most striking feature is perhaps its full-length vertical aero blade, which is said to enhance directional stability at very high speeds. Wide and low, the new King of the Autobahn boasts a coke bottle plan view, uncluttered flanks, narrow cutlines as well as low-drag wipers, door openers, and wheels. Smoothly integrated in the beautifully sculpted architecture are slim LED headlights, bigger-than-expected doors, smaller-than-expected air intakes, and several active aero aids. Up front, we find a pair of selectively blocked louvres; in the back, two flaps and the dual-mode wing balance lift and downforce.

Unlike the Nurburgring lap record-setting Nio EP9, which is all purpose and no comfort, Project ONE caters to rich poseurs as well as professional racers. Common to both cars (and the LaFerrari) is the blend of fixed seats and adjustable pedals. One can also alter the position of the steering column and the backrests, and there are three different seat sizes to choose from. While certain elements of Benz’s COMAND infotainment system look familiar, images taken by the roof-mounted reversing camera are displayed in the rear-view mirror. Instead of a conventional instrument cluster, AMG opted for two LED monitors — one in front of the driver, the other in the center stack. The quartic steering-wheel is equipped with two controllers that tweak vehicle dynamics and tap other functions.

Cabin space is not exactly abundant, but there are door pockets, a convenient storage bin with a transparent lid, and small recesses behind the seats big enough for swimming trunks, a bikini, and a couple of spare T-shirts. The materials of choice are carbon-fiber, various metals, leather, microfiber fleece, textile mesh, and signature yellow stitching. It’s a purposeful driver environment, minimalistic in places, comprehensive elsewhere.

The detail we can’t wait to put our finger on is the starter button that rests between the seats next to the window winder switches. Push it and your garage will instantly turn into a Formula One pit, guaranteed. But even though the 1.6-liter V-6 does sound vaguely like the engine in Mr. Hamilton´s company car when revved, it normally settles on a lower rung of the decibel ladder and blipping the throttle doesn’t automatically trigger a rain of paint chips from the ceiling.

“It certainly plays its own tune,” says the pensive CEO Moers. “But the turbocharger makes still too much noise, and the exhaust note at high revs is, well, not quite legal yet.”

Underneath, Project ONE is a complex animal that takes modularity to a new level. Highlights include a steel platform that supports its carbon-fiber tub, an adjustable multilink suspension with transversely mounted pushrods and a spring-damper unit replacing the anti-roll bar, all-wheel drive with torque vectoring, rear-wheel steering, magnesium wheels with featherweight aero blades, and no fewer than five different cooling circuits. The 10-spoke wheels are staggered in size, with the rears being larger and wider than the fronts, and wear bespoke Michelin Pilot Sport 2 tires sized 285/35ZR19 and 335/30ZR20, respectively. On the inside are massive golden calipers that straddle sombrero-size carbon-ceramic brake discs. While the rear suspension assembly bolts on to the engine and eight-speed automated manual transmission, the front suspension and electric motors are supported by a compact subframe.

There are four electric motors in all, each governed by its own performance electronics. While normal motors rev up to 15,000 rpm, the AMG versions redline at 50,000 rpm. There are two front-wheel motors, each good for 161-hp and attached to its own single-speed transmission; the layout sharpens turn-in and handling and supports an energy recuperation at a rate of up to 80 percent in normal road use. The third motor also makes 161 hp and is attached directly to the V-6’s crank via a helical gear, while the fourth sits inside the turbocharger, where it splits the cool compression side from the hot exhaust element.

Capable of spinning at 100,000 rpm, the 121-hp motor inside the turbo eliminates lag while kicking butt whenever you floor the throttle. In F1 slang, this feature is known as a MGU-H — Motor Generator Unit Heat. Another F1-related windfall, the so-called MGU-K (Motor Generator Unit Kinetic) spur gear, generates electric energy that can be stored or passed on to the engine-mounted motor.

As for the internal combustion engine, it comes straight from Mercedes-AMG High Performance Powertrains, the Brixworth, England-based skunkworks team that builds Mercedes’ F1 powerplants. The direct-injection, single-turbo mill is by and large a blueprint of what’s installed in the AMG Petronas race car. While the four overhead camshafts are still driven by spur wheels, pneumatic actuators replaced the mechanical valve springs. To allow the car to operate on pump gas, the rev limit is capped at 11,000 rpm, which still marks a world record for a road car engine.

At 612-hp, this small-displacement six-cylinder is almost as potent as the 6.0-liter V-12 that powers the S65. Total system power adds up to “over 1,000 hp” — and that’s before you call upon the 50 hp freed in overboost mode. While a F1 engine must be rebuilt after four or five races, its tamer Project ONE sibling is good for 30,000 miles, so don’t even think of using this car as daily driver despite the extra durability.

AMG remains tight-lipped when it comes to the final power output and performance data. The Affalterbach grapevine suggests a curb weight of around 2,650 pounds, which is remarkable in view of the roughly 925 pounds the battery packs and electric motors add to overall package. Regardless of the final number, Project ONE’s estimated performance figures are suitably impressive: 0-60 mph acceleration time should be in the area of 2.6 seconds, 0-124 mph takes less than 6.0 seconds, and top speed is electronically limited to 218 mph. When fully charged, it reportedly has an electric-only range of around 15 miles.

As the bleeding edge of Mercedes’ rapidly accelerating electrification efforts, Project ONE serves as a technological test bed as well as a halo for AMG and the Mercedes brand as a whole. While the hypercar will only be available on the secondary market to all but the ultra-lucky few, expect tech from it to trickle down to future production AMG models before long.

IFTTT

[jonathanbelloblog]

Mercedes-AMG Project ONE Revealed: AMG’s $2.5 Million Halo Hypercar

In 1997, it took AMG engineers just 126 days to design and build the awesome and barely street-legal CLK GTR. Two decades later, the gestation process of the Mercedes-AMG Project ONE hypercar, which has just been revealed ahead of its debut at the 2017 Frankfurt auto show, has taken years. The long-awaited result? More than 1,000 horsepower of Formula One inspired, hybrid-electrified design at roughly $2.53 million a copy (or 2.275 million euro if your bank account is in that denomination).

It began with the divorce from McLaren and with the need to eventually come up with an in-house replacement for the Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren. True, the AMG GT lineup has accomplished a volume-generating and brand-shaping mission, but even the range-topping AMG GT R isn’t a true hardcore supercar, let alone a mind-blowing hypercar like the Project ONE.

What AMG aimed for was a one-of-a-kind machine even more outrageous than the McLaren P1 and LaFerrari, the ultimate fusion of combustion and electrification. Originally known as X1 and initially dubbed AMG R50 to celebrate AMG’s then-upcoming 50th anniversary, the project was kicked off in late 2014 by an undercover team led by AMG’s chief engineer at the time Tobias Moers, who later replaced Ola Källenius at the top of the Mercedes satellite.

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In March of this year at the 2017 Geneva auto show, a fiberglass model without an interior was shown to selected customers. The private viewings took place in an anonymous cordoned off tent on the lawns of the high-end La Reserve hotel, where the gunmetal over black two-seater was heralded by Moers as the next big step towards the future of high-performance motoring.

Out of a pool of more than 1,000 applicants, Mercedes accepted six-figure deposits from 275 carefully selected friends of the three-pointed star. Before the first car will be delivered in early 2019, a group of 12 pre-production prototypes have been queued up for demolition in comprehensive EU and U.S. crash tests. “As far as passive safety is concerned, we pulled out all the stops,” states Moers. “There will be at least four airbags — maybe six — and the monocoque is strong enough to absorb the pole during side impact.”

Shaped by Mercedes chief designer Gorden Wagener, whose recent works include the flamboyant Vision 6 concepts, Project ONE is indeed a striking piece of kit. Less extreme than Aston Martin’s Valkyrie and more track-oriented than Bugatti’s Chiron, it is visually — and in content — in league similar to the Koenigsegg Regera and McLaren’s planned BP23 three-seater.

The most striking feature is perhaps its full-length vertical aero blade, which is said to enhance directional stability at very high speeds. Wide and low, the new King of the Autobahn boasts a coke bottle plan view, uncluttered flanks, narrow cutlines as well as low-drag wipers, door openers, and wheels. Smoothly integrated in the beautifully sculpted architecture are slim LED headlights, bigger-than-expected doors, smaller-than-expected air intakes, and several active aero aids. Up front, we find a pair of selectively blocked louvres; in the back, two flaps and the dual-mode wing balance lift and downforce.

Unlike the Nurburgring lap record-setting Nio EP9, which is all purpose and no comfort, Project ONE caters to rich poseurs as well as professional racers. Common to both cars (and the LaFerrari) is the blend of fixed seats and adjustable pedals. One can also alter the position of the steering column and the backrests, and there are three different seat sizes to choose from. While certain elements of Benz’s COMAND infotainment system look familiar, images taken by the roof-mounted reversing camera are displayed in the rear-view mirror. Instead of a conventional instrument cluster, AMG opted for two LED monitors — one in front of the driver, the other in the center stack. The quartic steering-wheel is equipped with two controllers that tweak vehicle dynamics and tap other functions.

Cabin space is not exactly abundant, but there are door pockets, a convenient storage bin with a transparent lid, and small recesses behind the seats big enough for swimming trunks, a bikini, and a couple of spare T-shirts. The materials of choice are carbon-fiber, various metals, leather, microfiber fleece, textile mesh, and signature yellow stitching. It’s a purposeful driver environment, minimalistic in places, comprehensive elsewhere.

The detail we can’t wait to put our finger on is the starter button that rests between the seats next to the window winder switches. Push it and your garage will instantly turn into a Formula One pit, guaranteed. But even though the 1.6-liter V-6 does sound vaguely like the engine in Mr. Hamilton´s company car when revved, it normally settles on a lower rung of the decibel ladder and blipping the throttle doesn’t automatically trigger a rain of paint chips from the ceiling.

“It certainly plays its own tune,” says the pensive CEO Moers. “But the turbocharger makes still too much noise, and the exhaust note at high revs is, well, not quite legal yet.”

Underneath, Project ONE is a complex animal that takes modularity to a new level. Highlights include a steel platform that supports its carbon-fiber tub, an adjustable multilink suspension with transversely mounted pushrods and a spring-damper unit replacing the anti-roll bar, all-wheel drive with torque vectoring, rear-wheel steering, magnesium wheels with featherweight aero blades, and no fewer than five different cooling circuits. The 10-spoke wheels are staggered in size, with the rears being larger and wider than the fronts, and wear bespoke Michelin Pilot Sport 2 tires sized 285/35ZR19 and 335/30ZR20, respectively. On the inside are massive golden calipers that straddle sombrero-size carbon-ceramic brake discs. While the rear suspension assembly bolts on to the engine and eight-speed automated manual transmission, the front suspension and electric motors are supported by a compact subframe.

There are four electric motors in all, each governed by its own performance electronics. While normal motors rev up to 15,000 rpm, the AMG versions redline at 50,000 rpm. There are two front-wheel motors, each good for 161-hp and attached to its own single-speed transmission; the layout sharpens turn-in and handling and supports an energy recuperation at a rate of up to 80 percent in normal road use. The third motor also makes 161 hp and is attached directly to the V-6’s crank via a helical gear, while the fourth sits inside the turbocharger, where it splits the cool compression side from the hot exhaust element.

Capable of spinning at 100,000 rpm, the 121-hp motor inside the turbo eliminates lag while kicking butt whenever you floor the throttle. In F1 slang, this feature is known as a MGU-H — Motor Generator Unit Heat. Another F1-related windfall, the so-called MGU-K (Motor Generator Unit Kinetic) spur gear, generates electric energy that can be stored or passed on to the engine-mounted motor.

As for the internal combustion engine, it comes straight from Mercedes-AMG High Performance Powertrains, the Brixworth, England-based skunkworks team that builds Mercedes’ F1 powerplants. The direct-injection, single-turbo mill is by and large a blueprint of what’s installed in the AMG Petronas race car. While the four overhead camshafts are still driven by spur wheels, pneumatic actuators replaced the mechanical valve springs. To allow the car to operate on pump gas, the rev limit is capped at 11,000 rpm, which still marks a world record for a road car engine.

At 612-hp, this small-displacement six-cylinder is almost as potent as the 6.0-liter V-12 that powers the S65. Total system power adds up to “over 1,000 hp” — and that’s before you call upon the 50 hp freed in overboost mode. While a F1 engine must be rebuilt after four or five races, its tamer Project ONE sibling is good for 30,000 miles, so don’t even think of using this car as daily driver despite the extra durability.

AMG remains tight-lipped when it comes to the final power output and performance data. The Affalterbach grapevine suggests a curb weight of around 2,650 pounds, which is remarkable in view of the roughly 925 pounds the battery packs and electric motors add to overall package. Regardless of the final number, Project ONE’s estimated performance figures are suitably impressive: 0-60 mph acceleration time should be in the area of 2.6 seconds, 0-124 mph takes less than 6.0 seconds, and top speed is electronically limited to 218 mph. When fully charged, it reportedly has an electric-only range of around 15 miles.

As the bleeding edge of Mercedes’ rapidly accelerating electrification efforts, Project ONE serves as a technological test bed as well as a halo for AMG and the Mercedes brand as a whole. While the hypercar will only be available on the secondary market to all but the ultra-lucky few, expect tech from it to trickle down to future production AMG models before long.

IFTTT

[eddiejpoplar]

Mercedes-AMG Project ONE Revealed: AMG’s $2.5 Million Halo Hypercar

In 1997, it took AMG engineers just 126 days to design and build the awesome and barely street-legal CLK GTR. Two decades later, the gestation process of the Mercedes-AMG Project ONE hypercar, which has just been revealed ahead of its debut at the 2017 Frankfurt auto show, has taken years. The long-awaited result? More than 1,000 horsepower of Formula One inspired, hybrid-electrified design at roughly $2.53 million a copy (or 2.275 million euro if your bank account is in that denomination).

It began with the divorce from McLaren and with the need to eventually come up with an in-house replacement for the Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren. True, the AMG GT lineup has accomplished a volume-generating and brand-shaping mission, but even the range-topping AMG GT R isn’t a true hardcore supercar, let alone a mind-blowing hypercar like the Project ONE.

What AMG aimed for was a one-of-a-kind machine even more outrageous than the McLaren P1 and LaFerrari, the ultimate fusion of combustion and electrification. Originally known as X1 and initially dubbed AMG R50 to celebrate AMG’s then-upcoming 50th anniversary, the project was kicked off in late 2014 by an undercover team led by AMG’s chief engineer at the time Tobias Moers, who later replaced Ola Källenius at the top of the Mercedes satellite.

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In March of this year at the 2017 Geneva auto show, a fiberglass model without an interior was shown to selected customers. The private viewings took place in an anonymous cordoned off tent on the lawns of the high-end La Reserve hotel, where the gunmetal over black two-seater was heralded by Moers as the next big step towards the future of high-performance motoring.

Out of a pool of more than 1,000 applicants, Mercedes accepted six-figure deposits from 275 carefully selected friends of the three-pointed star. Before the first car will be delivered in early 2019, a group of 12 pre-production prototypes have been queued up for demolition in comprehensive EU and U.S. crash tests. “As far as passive safety is concerned, we pulled out all the stops,” states Moers. “There will be at least four airbags — maybe six — and the monocoque is strong enough to absorb the pole during side impact.”

Shaped by Mercedes chief designer Gorden Wagener, whose recent works include the flamboyant Vision 6 concepts, Project ONE is indeed a striking piece of kit. Less extreme than Aston Martin’s Valkyrie and more track-oriented than Bugatti’s Chiron, it is visually — and in content — in league similar to the Koenigsegg Regera and McLaren’s planned BP23 three-seater.

The most striking feature is perhaps its full-length vertical aero blade, which is said to enhance directional stability at very high speeds. Wide and low, the new King of the Autobahn boasts a coke bottle plan view, uncluttered flanks, narrow cutlines as well as low-drag wipers, door openers, and wheels. Smoothly integrated in the beautifully sculpted architecture are slim LED headlights, bigger-than-expected doors, smaller-than-expected air intakes, and several active aero aids. Up front, we find a pair of selectively blocked louvres; in the back, two flaps and the dual-mode wing balance lift and downforce.

Unlike the Nurburgring lap record-setting Nio EP9, which is all purpose and no comfort, Project ONE caters to rich poseurs as well as professional racers. Common to both cars (and the LaFerrari) is the blend of fixed seats and adjustable pedals. One can also alter the position of the steering column and the backrests, and there are three different seat sizes to choose from. While certain elements of Benz’s COMAND infotainment system look familiar, images taken by the roof-mounted reversing camera are displayed in the rear-view mirror. Instead of a conventional instrument cluster, AMG opted for two LED monitors — one in front of the driver, the other in the center stack. The quartic steering-wheel is equipped with two controllers that tweak vehicle dynamics and tap other functions.

Cabin space is not exactly abundant, but there are door pockets, a convenient storage bin with a transparent lid, and small recesses behind the seats big enough for swimming trunks, a bikini, and a couple of spare T-shirts. The materials of choice are carbon-fiber, various metals, leather, microfiber fleece, textile mesh, and signature yellow stitching. It’s a purposeful driver environment, minimalistic in places, comprehensive elsewhere.

The detail we can’t wait to put our finger on is the starter button that rests between the seats next to the window winder switches. Push it and your garage will instantly turn into a Formula One pit, guaranteed. But even though the 1.6-liter V-6 does sound vaguely like the engine in Mr. Hamilton´s company car when revved, it normally settles on a lower rung of the decibel ladder and blipping the throttle doesn’t automatically trigger a rain of paint chips from the ceiling.

“It certainly plays its own tune,” says the pensive CEO Moers. “But the turbocharger makes still too much noise, and the exhaust note at high revs is, well, not quite legal yet.”

Underneath, Project ONE is a complex animal that takes modularity to a new level. Highlights include a steel platform that supports its carbon-fiber tub, an adjustable multilink suspension with transversely mounted pushrods and a spring-damper unit replacing the anti-roll bar, all-wheel drive with torque vectoring, rear-wheel steering, magnesium wheels with featherweight aero blades, and no fewer than five different cooling circuits. The 10-spoke wheels are staggered in size, with the rears being larger and wider than the fronts, and wear bespoke Michelin Pilot Sport 2 tires sized 285/35ZR19 and 335/30ZR20, respectively. On the inside are massive golden calipers that straddle sombrero-size carbon-ceramic brake discs. While the rear suspension assembly bolts on to the engine and eight-speed automated manual transmission, the front suspension and electric motors are supported by a compact subframe.

There are four electric motors in all, each governed by its own performance electronics. While normal motors rev up to 15,000 rpm, the AMG versions redline at 50,000 rpm. There are two front-wheel motors, each good for 161-hp and attached to its own single-speed transmission; the layout sharpens turn-in and handling and supports an energy recuperation at a rate of up to 80 percent in normal road use. The third motor also makes 161 hp and is attached directly to the V-6’s crank via a helical gear, while the fourth sits inside the turbocharger, where it splits the cool compression side from the hot exhaust element.

Capable of spinning at 100,000 rpm, the 121-hp motor inside the turbo eliminates lag while kicking butt whenever you floor the throttle. In F1 slang, this feature is known as a MGU-H — Motor Generator Unit Heat. Another F1-related windfall, the so-called MGU-K (Motor Generator Unit Kinetic) spur gear, generates electric energy that can be stored or passed on to the engine-mounted motor.

As for the internal combustion engine, it comes straight from Mercedes-AMG High Performance Powertrains, the Brixworth, England-based skunkworks team that builds Mercedes’ F1 powerplants. The direct-injection, single-turbo mill is by and large a blueprint of what’s installed in the AMG Petronas race car. While the four overhead camshafts are still driven by spur wheels, pneumatic actuators replaced the mechanical valve springs. To allow the car to operate on pump gas, the rev limit is capped at 11,000 rpm, which still marks a world record for a road car engine.

At 612-hp, this small-displacement six-cylinder is almost as potent as the 6.0-liter V-12 that powers the S65. Total system power adds up to “over 1,000 hp” — and that’s before you call upon the 50 hp freed in overboost mode. While a F1 engine must be rebuilt after four or five races, its tamer Project ONE sibling is good for 30,000 miles, so don’t even think of using this car as daily driver despite the extra durability.

AMG remains tight-lipped when it comes to the final power output and performance data. The Affalterbach grapevine suggests a curb weight of around 2,650 pounds, which is remarkable in view of the roughly 925 pounds the battery packs and electric motors add to overall package. Regardless of the final number, Project ONE’s estimated performance figures are suitably impressive: 0-60 mph acceleration time should be in the area of 2.6 seconds, 0-124 mph takes less than 6.0 seconds, and top speed is electronically limited to 218 mph. When fully charged, it reportedly has an electric-only range of around 15 miles.

As the bleeding edge of Mercedes’ rapidly accelerating electrification efforts, Project ONE serves as a technological test bed as well as a halo for AMG and the Mercedes brand as a whole. While the hypercar will only be available on the secondary market to all but the ultra-lucky few, expect tech from it to trickle down to future production AMG models before long.

IFTTT