#Arthur being a lightweight is very important to me
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outlawboy I love youuuu
#Arthur being a lightweight is very important to me#rdr2#rdr2 fanart#arthur morgan#charles smith#charthur
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Unexpected Encounters (Adrenaline Junkie Part 8)
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17
Spotify Playlist (collaborative)
Warnings: minor swearing
Word count: 2,775
You walked down the now worn cobblestone path towards the main plaza of the village by Philza’s house. Whistling the first verse of the L’manberg national anthem, you wove slightly at the crowd of people gathered at the stands that littered the sides of the street.
The village was much larger than the entire L’manberg nation. It had several different precincts with a large, diverse group of people and a few hybrids living there. It also had more amenities like shops, a library (which, to your delight, grew expansively to include more books on inventions, some being exclusively about yours. They were proud people that embraced whatever fame comes out of the area), and multiple towering office buildings.
Everything’s changed since you’ve last been here a year ago. What was now more modern used to be traditional. What was loosely populated was now bustling with people. What used to be barren was now chock full of shops and apartment complexes. It was kind of jarring to see this much change in a little over a year.
In retrospect, it was jarring how much you changed in a little over a year. The hallucinations have finally almost completely stopped along with the nightmares. They only came about once a week now. You were slowly reincorporating green back into your wardrobe. Your phantom pain has retreated into your subconscious. It was always going to be with you, so you got used to the constant pain and tingling feeling. You learned to appreciate the small things in life and just live in the moment so you would have something positive to look back on in the future.
You invented several different gadgets to help your brothers win the L’manberg War of Independence such as a portable TNT launcher, handheld long-distance communication devices (which you affectionately dubbed walkie talkies since you could walk and talk! Wilbur and Tommy were not as enthusiastic of the name as you were), and a redstone powered crossbow that continuously fired arrows until you released the trigger. Though all of your inventions were practically your babies, they did not come anywhere close to trumping your magnum opus: your metal fully functioning wing.
After several mishaps and failed attempts, you finally made your wing correspond to the electrical impulses in your muscles so that it copied the movements of your flesh wing. It’s built out of a lightweight hollow iron and has feather shaped metal pieces protruding off from it to emulate your other wing. It was a sleek silver color that always caught a ray of sunshine and reflected it to another place. It was basically permanently attached to your body by now due to it being a pain to take on and off. It was just easier and more efficient to keep it on constantly.
People around you stared, some in awe and some in admiration. A stark difference from when you first lost your wing. Sometimes, you resented them for treating you differently just because your name became more widely known, but you were always a firm believer that everyone deserves a second chance. Even attention seeking, unscrupulous assholes looking for cheap brownie points from their peers because ‘I knew them before they were discovered! I knew them personally, we were, like, really close!’ So for now, you tried to ignore the ugly indignation bubbling in your gut and threatening to spew out in a string of hurtful words. You were sick of being angry, especially now that L’manberg is at peace.
You passed several people who pointed at you and whispered amongst themselves. Ignoring them, you continued onward with your head held high and your wings folded in tightly to avoid children grabbing and pulling them with their grubby little hands. It always took you a while to clean and preen them after people touched them. You hated cleaning off fingerprints and grime from the smooth metal.
Walking with a sense of purpose, you continued onwards passing multiple shops and stands until you finally reached the butcher. Opening the decorated glass door, a little bell chimed alerting the burly man behind the counter of your presence. Like the others, he stared wide-eyed at you with his lips slightly parted in shock. Great, another exhausting encounter.
Putting on a polite smile, you broke the silence of the meat shop. “Hello, I’m here to buy half a pound of fresh ground beef. Would you by chance have any in stock?” That seemed to snap him out of his stupor.
“O-of course, I’ll get that for you right away.”
He disappeared into the backroom where frosty fog rolled out in tiny clouds. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. Maybe he wouldn’t ask any questions or try to get to know you on a personal level.
He returned in a hurry, slapping the wrapped beef onto the counter and giving you a price. Reaching into your wallet for the cash, you paid him generously. “Keep the change.”
“I-thank you, Mx. Minecraft.”
Putting the beef into your satchel, you gave him a more genuine smile. “Don’t mention it.”
Briskly walking out, you made a beeline for the village’s main entrance. You couldn’t stand the feeling of constantly being watched and talked about anymore. Why couldn’t they treat you like a normal person? In your opinion, you were, well, you. Nothing was special about you.
As you were about to cross the threshold of the village, you heard footsteps behind you.
“HEY! MX. MINECRAFT I NEED TO TALK TO YOU.”
Stopping dead in your tracks, you closed your eyes and took a few steadying breaths so that you wouldn’t lash out at this person. You just wanted to go to your childhood home and have a nice, peaceful dinner with your dad. Was that too much to ask?
Opening your eyes and plastering on a fake smile, you turned around and greeted him. He was a young boy, probably around eleven or twelve years old. His clothes and shaggy auburn hair were disheveled and he had dirt smeared on his face. “Hello, to whom may I owe the pleasure?”
He put his hands on his knees and tried to talk between gasping breaths. “Mx, my name’s Arthur Fox, i-it’s truly an honor to meet you. I’ve admired your work since before the war in L’manberg. You’re an amazing inventor and I wanna be just like you when I grow up. I- oooh I’m sorry, I’m rambling aren’t I?” He kind of reminded you of Tubbo in a strange way.
“No, you’re fine Arthur. Thank you for being a fan of my work, but I must get going. I have an important meeting to attend to.” You weren’t exactly lying to the young boy. Turning on your heel, you started to walk off only to feel a hand on your arm.
“Mx, I need to talk to you.”
“I really have to get going, Arthur. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“No, it’s important.”
You struggled to keep the smile on your face as you shrugged his arm off as politely as you could. This kid is determined. Too determined. “So’s my meeting. I have to go.” You started to walk off into the beaten forest path.
“Do you know about The Warden?”
You halted abruptly and sharply turned around. You let your smile and polite stature drop into pursed lips and sharp eyes.
“...Of course I do. Everyone does.”
Flinching slightly, he quickly recovered his confident facade. “No, that’s not what I meant. Do you know about The Warden?”
“Like I said,” you played stupid, “everybody does. Who doesn’t?”
He puffed his cheeks out in frustration. “Ugh, how could someone so smart be so stupid at the same time? I mean you met it didn’t you? It took your wing.”
You took a step forward and narrowed your eyes, fully facing him now. “How do you know about that? Who told you?”
He stepped back. “I-I heard rumors a couple of years back that it got someone. I heard your name thrown around here and there.”
You gave him enough of a warning that you didn’t want to talk, but he ignored it and now he has to reap the consequences. At this point, you were so tired and drained from everyone trying to be buddy-buddy with you that you finally snapped. The only thing you wanted was to go home, you did not need this right now.
“Well, Arthur, you shouldn’t pry into other people’s business. I’ve told you time and time again that I have to leave, yet you persist to stop me. Why? And where are your parents, didn’t they teach you any manners?”
He looked downwards and fiddled with his fingers. “They’re dead. T-The Warden took someone important to me. I… I thought you might be able to help me.”
Shit, you just yelled at a grieving orphan. You were a massive asshole weren’t you? Your eyes softened slightly and you frowned. “...I’m sorry for your loss. Is there anything I could do to make it up to you? Dinner perhaps? We can talk about how I could help you afterwards.”
He glanced up at you. “But-but what about your meeting.”
You winced. “Uh, I’m moving it forward, we have more pressing matters.” You paused awkwardly. “Do… Do you have anybody to ask permission? Any siblings?”
His shoulders drooped. “...No. I’m all by myself.”
Shit, you yelled at a grieving homeless orphan? God what kind of role model were you?
“C’mon, kid. We’re going to my house.”
His wordlessly followed you and avoided looking into your eyes. The walk to your childhood home was very awkward, neither of you attempted starting conversation. You sighed.
“Look, Arthur I’m sorry for yelling at you like that. That was really uncalled for, I shouldn’t have yelled or gotten mad. It’s just that- The Warden’s a… touchy subject for me.”
“It’s alright, Mx. Minecraft. You can make it up to me by… making me dinner and showing me some of your blueprints?”
He looked up to you with hope filled, sparkling eyes. You snorted. “It’s a deal, kid. We’re almost there.”
You could see the silhouette of the house in the nearly setting sun. It was still the same as when you left a year ago.
“Ya know,” you sighed out, “this is actually my Dad’s house. I’m just visiting him for a couple of weeks.”
“Where do you live then?”
“I live in the heart of L’manberg with my brothers.”
“That’s cool…” He trailed off. You frowned, it seems that he was nervous to meet your Dad. You probably should’ve mentioned that Philza was there to him before taking him here.
You stopped, grabbing Arthur’s shoulders. “Kid, you don’t have to worry about meeting my dad. He’s probably the kindest, most genuine man I’ve ever met. He’ll welcome you with open arms, that’s what he did with me and my three brothers. He adopted us all.”
He gave you a small smile. “Alright, Mx. Minecraft, I trust you.”
“Oh, please don’t call me ‘Mx. Minecraft’, it makes me feel ancient,” you lolled your head back and dramatically groaned out, making him giggle. “I just turned twenty, buddy. Feel free to call me (y/n).”
Putting your hand on his shoulder, you led him to the front door. You twisted the old door knob and pushed the wooden door open.
“Dad, I’m home and I brought the beef!”
He popped his head out from the kitchen, his messy blond hair flopping onto his face. He gave you a joking smile. “Took you long enough, any longer and I would’ve locked ya out.”
You watched as his eyes wandered over to Arthur. He frowned, revealing his frilly pink apron that Wilbur got him as a joke. Oh, you could just hear the gears in his head churning.
“...(Y/n), who’s this?”
Grinning sheepishly, you replied. “Dad, this is Arthur Fox. Arthur, this is my dad Philza Minecraft. I promised him dinner and somewhere to stay for the night. Do you have some of Tommy’s old clothes Artie could borrow for the night?”
He sighed, shooting you a we’ll-talk-about-this-later look. “Yes, they’re in the attic. I’ll grab them after dinner so he could shower before going to bed.”
Arthur timidly spoke up. “Thank you, Mr. Minecraft.”
Your dad softened and gave him a gentle smile. “It’s no problem, Arthur. And please, call me Philza. Mr. Minecraft makes me feel old.”
Arthur let out a loud laugh. Despite everything he went through, his laugh still sounds like an innocent child’s laugh. You chuckled, kids always had a silly little laugh. Philza grinned at him, a child’s laughter was something that he missed.
Arthur wiped at his eyes as his laughter died down. “I’m sorry, (y/n) said the same outside.”
“I did,” you smiled lightly at Arthur before looking back at Philza with mischief, standing up straight and putting your hands on your hips. “But I was funnier.”
“Pft, you wish. I was saying that before you were even born. So, I win because I’ve been saying it longer.”
“Whatever ya say, old man. Funniness over age.”
He playfully glared at you, placing an offended hand over his heart. “I’m not that old.”
“Ya kinda are, Dad. You’re practically turning to dust!”
He gasped. “I am not!”
“Are too!”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
“Are too!”
“Am no- wait Dad, that’s cheating!”
“You still said it though!” He sang out, grinning at you cheekily.
“No, that doesn’t count!”
Arthur’s amused brown eyes bounced between you and Philza like he was watching a tennis match. Every so often, he would giggle at something one of you said. You both took your banter to the kitchen where you and Philza started to cook. Dinner was done and the table was set in no time. There was pleasant small talk as dinner neared an end
Your dad swallowed his last bite of beef and turned his attention towards Arthur. “So Arthur, how old are you?”
Arthur gave a small grin. “I’m ten.”
“Do your paren-”
You loudly coughed, throwing a discreet glare at Philza. Mouthing ‘don’t’ from behind your hand, you took a big sip of your water and stood up. “I’ll wash all the dishes. Arthur, would you like to look at some of my blueprints while we wait for my Dad to get you some clothes?”
His eyes shined with excitement. “Yes please!”
You chuckled, putting the plates in the sink and walking down to your old workshop to grab one of the blueprints you left in a filing cabinet. You grabbed the first draft for your prosthetic and the final draft for the automatic farm.
Upstairs, you situated the blueprints in front of Arthur at the dinner table. “Okay buddy, learn to your heart’s content. I’m gonna do the dishes. If you need something just give me a shout.”
Walking into the kitchen, you filled the sink with warm soapy water and got started scrubbing. You moved your wings around subconsciously as you wiped the pots and plates clean of grease. Humming in satisfaction when you were done, you dried your hands and sat next to Arthur who was looking at your designs with complete awe.
“You like them?”
He nodded his head so fast you thought it might fall off and started to fling questions at you. You smiled fondly at him, it was nice to see someone so interested in how your inventions were made and not just how they worked.
You two were mid conversation when Philza walked into the room with a bundle of clothes in his arms. You grabbed Arthur’s hand and led him up to the bathroom. You bent down and rested your hands on your knees, looking at him.
“Alright buddy, everything you need is in there, clean towels are in the closet. When you’re done, I’ll be in my room just over there,” you pointed to your door. “Last door on the left. I can show you where you’ll be sleeping for the night when you’re done. Does that sound okay?”
He gave you a gap-toothed smile. “Yes, thank you (y/n)! You’re the best!”
He closed the bathroom door and you stood there. You felt… oddly fond for the boy you just met only hours before.
Philza cleared his throat and pinned you to the wall with a stern look. “(Y/n), explain now.”
“I will, but let’s talk in my room so Arthur can shower in peace. Poor boy needs it.”
He sighed and walked into your room. You had a long talk ahead of you.
(A/N): so, how do you guys like Arthur?
Taglist (comment if you want to be added):
@acecarddraws @goldenstarofthunderclan @ravennightingaleandavatempus @dirtydiavolo @yeiras-world @immadatmostthings @hee-hee-haw @jackalopedoodles @m1lkmandan @vanhakirja @im-a-depressed-gay @coolleviauchihadreamerlove @questioning-sanity @camisascam
@bongwaterflavoredgatorade @kakamiissad @jayistrash4 @lifestylesleep @speedymaximoff @sun-shark-tooth @appetiteofapeoplepleaser @lestrangenymph @kinismanditory @dragons-lurk-here @rinzyx05 @the-wandering-pan-ace @sparkling-gayyyy @angelic-scent @shinipii @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander @izzydimensional @used-avocado @laura--444
#sbi x reader#sleepy bois x reader#sleepy bois inc x reader#philza x reader#wilbur soot x reader#tommyinnit x reader#sibling reader#platonic#mcyt#mcyt x reader#x reader#tw: swearing
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Paranoid
Request: None
Pairing: King Arthur (The Legend of the Sword) x Reader
Summary: Arthur can’t find you and he get’s extremely anxious. (Happens while Arthur is still in Londinium)
Warnings: I think I swore somewhere in there.
Word count: 2,650
A/N: I’m debating whether or nor I should delete this account since I barely even post anything ever, but for now, have this King Arthur: Legend of the Sword imagine because i just rewatched it for like the fifth time today. I swear this was meant to be short and lightweight but you know me wh00ps (honestly don’t even like this one sm, I’m just posting it bc it’s the first thing I’ve written in aaaaaggeesss)
My Masterlist
Paranoid
Arthur let out a deep breath as he felt himself being pulled out of his unconscious state and back into his bed, where the sunlight began to stream in. It flooded the room, illuminating it with a dim glow and slight warmth, something he appreciated deeply. He had yet to open his eyes, but a small smile already invaded his features.
This smile was due to one thing and one thing in particular: you. Arthur’s mind was swamped with memories of last night’s happenings, contently basking in every touch and laugh the two of you shared, not to mention everything else that came after that. His brain recreated your face so beautifully in front of lids, which were shut, that he couldn’t keep himself from thinking of you persistently.
After a while, Arthur’d had enough of imagining your face and felt an urge to see it for himself again. He wanted to be able to study every dip and curve on it, and engrave it into his memory more than it already was, if that was even possible.
Prompted by these desires, Arthur slowly rolled over, gently cracked his eyes open. To his dismay, he was greeted by an empty bed.
How weird; he could’ve sworn you’d stayed the night. Hell, he remembered all the times he’d fallen into fleeting moments of consciousness, looking around only to be met with your angelic features, unbothered as you rested next to him.
It couldn’t have been a dream. No, he was sure of it.
Maybe you’d already gotten up.
Following this thought process Arthur slowly peeled the fur blanket off his almost naked figure, swinging his legs over the bed as he pulled himself up. Quietly, he padded over to the bathroom. He stood in front of the door. “Y/N?” Arthur called out, not wanting to sneak up on you and scare you. He stayed still, observing the unperturbed wooden door, which he later opened, only to find the bathroom was empty. His frown only deepened at this finding, assuming you must’ve gone downstairs. You always did like having an early breakfast with the girls. Walking back to his room, Arthur snatched up some clothes and got dressed quickly.
Downstairs, the main room was rather full. The girls ate breakfast and chatted as some men hung out with them, striking up conversation, too. As he descended down the stairs, Arthur adjusted his jacket, scanning the room. You were nowhere to be found. He sighed, walking up to WetStick and nudging him, drawing his attention. “‘Haven’t seen Y/N, have you mate?”
WetStick raised an eyebrow. “Thought she was with you.”
Arthur blew out a breath. “Was. I think she left earlier this morning. ”
“You sure? I’ve been up since the wee morning, ‘aven’t seen her.” BackLack chimed in joining the boys. He had a piece of bread in his hands and crumbles falling out of his mouth as he spoke.
Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. There’s no way you could’ve left without him seeing you. Still, he tried to ignore the uneasy feeling he got. He was probably just being paranoid.
WetStick and BackLack shared a look, which then fell on Arthur, who’s gaze was instead fixated on the floor. WetStick spoke up, stealing the words out of BackLack’s mouth .“Is she alright?”
Arthur didn’t reply immediately, instead nodding. “O’ course”. It wasn’t a lie, was it? Y/N had to be alright, she’d just left early without anyone seeing her. That had to be it, right? Without directing another word to either of them, Arthur simply strolled out of the brothel, calmly closing the door behind him, leaving the two men to wonder what was going on.
Arthur, however, didn’t mind that he’d just left his two pals completely dumbfounded. All he wanted to do was find you and make sure you were alright.
He plotted out a path in his head, the first stop being the market. On his way there he saw Mike, who was selling furs. Instead of pestering him and demanding money from him, he decided to first ask about you instead. “Oi Mike. You know Y/N, yeah?”
Mike, who was busy unloading his furs, merely looked up to answer. “Your girl? Ye.”
“Great. She hasn’t happened to have strolled through here, has she?” He pressed, leaning against Mike’s wagon, calculating how much Mike would owe him for transporting all this fur. Mike shook his head. Fuck.
“Alright then.” As Arthur began to back away, he tried his best not to sound worried. He turned to Mike once more, considering whether or not he’d make Mike pay up. Finally, he decided he had more important matters to attend to, and just let him be for now. He’d have to have another talk with him about paying his damn commission later.
Upon arriving at the market, he noted it was, like the brothel, quite more packed than usual. On a regular day he’d stop and observe amateur pick pockets with WetStick and BackLack, an activity they found rather entertaining when they had the time for it. Other times, he’d work his own thieving magic on passerbys, but today, he had time to do neither.
His eyes stopped on a small figure, wearing a coat he’d seen on you many times before. As relief washed over his system, he moved swiftly, his expert footwork allowing him to sift through the crowd seamlessly. He snaked his arm around your waist, making you jump and instantly turn around to face him. Except it wasn’t you.
The lady staring back at Arthur was a complete stranger. She stared at him as if he were a pervert, and honestly, he couldn’t blame her. “Sorry miss.” He murmured, scurrying away quickly to hide his embarrassment, feeling the nervousness and anxiety regarding your whereabouts settle in again: If you weren’t in the market, where the hell else could you be?
Arthur kept his head down as his feet led him towards the ports, still making sure to be very aware of all the faces moving past him, not wanting to miss yours because he was distracted.
Unlike everywhere else today, the ports were relatively empty. It wasn’t absolutely devoid of people, he realized, it was just because the vikings’ spot was empty.
Shoving his hands into his jacket and pushing down his nerves, Arthur neared a familiar man working at a fruit stand. He’d met and talked to the man before, but his name always seemed to slip Arthur’s mind for some strange reason. The man called Arthur’s name, to which he replied with a nod.
“Where are the vikings?” Arthur asked, glancing back at the spot where the men had been just days ago.
The man merely shrugged, his lips falling into a straight line. “Lord knowns. They left at the crack of dawn. Raided the streets, took some girls wit’ ‘em. One girl was particularly petrified.” Arthur scrunched his nose as he began to get a bad feeling about this story. “Twas sad really. But you know how it is, I wasn’t about to intervene and get me head chopped off.”
Arthur wasn’t sure he’d heard anything the man said after mentioning that ‘one girl’, but he nodded anyway. “What else do you know about the girl. What’d she look like?”
As he heard the man’s description of said girl, Arthur could feel his stomach sinking deeper and deeper inside of him. Apart from how each characteristic he listed sounded peculiarly like you, he couldn’t help but imagine all the things that would happen if that truly was you. He bit down on his lip hard, trying to listen to the rest of the explanation, but the blood pumping fiercely through his veins and behind his ears almost kept him from being able to. Not that he minded, really. That information alone was enough to get his mind going. It killed him to think of you, his beautiful, sweet girl being manhandled by those bastards. Oh the things he’d do if they laid a single, dirty hand on your precious skin.
Arthur felt like he wanted to do multiple things, mostly scream out in anger and beat somebody to a pulp, but for now he just balled his fists at his sides. As soon as the man finished talking, Arthur thanked him and excused himself.
Arthur moved like lightning, marching with heavy footsteps back to the brothel. Even though the menacing frown etched on his face made him look furious on the outside, he felt like he could cry, but he’d save that for later on in the night, when he could be alone with his thoughts. For now he’d have to try his hardest to ignore his dreadful thoughts that were now beginning to eat away at his brain.
“Outta the way.” He called out, shoving people in all directions, moving with fast, abrupt motions. You were his top priority now, it’s not like he’d stop and think about his manners. He almost kicked down the door to the brothel, not bothering to even acknowledge the surprised faces that stared back at him upon entering.
Arthur trudged up to WetStick and BackLack, who were both already conveniently sat together. “The Graybeards took Y/N.” He blurted out, wasting absolutely no time with euphemisms.
Both men looked utterly shocked as they tried to take in Arthur’s words as well his facial expression, a mixture of disgust and genuine anger. They looked like they were about to speak, but Arthur dismissed them with the wave of a hand. “I’ll go upstairs and get my things, then I’ll be back to come up with a plan.” And just like that Arthur was gone again, bolting up the stairs as his mind clouded over with all the different contacts he had that could help him, all the different routes he could take, materials he’d potentially need, and anything else that seemed relevant. He was ready to flip Londinium upside down to get you back safely.
Arthur swung the door to his room open, feeling seconds away from ripping it off its hinges. He took a single step into the room before he froze completely, unable to believe his eyes.
You sat on his bed, nonchalantly looking off somewhere in the distance. You were right there. One thought swam through his head, jumping out apart from all the others, the most important to him. You were safe.
A couple seconds later you looked up, finally acknowledging his presence. As the weight of a thousand worlds lifted off his shoulders, you began to greet him, but he cut you off as he dove down and hoisted you off the bed in and into the air, his muscular arms nearly knocking the wind out of you. The joy that swelled up inside of him in that second was just indescribable. A section of your clothes was bunched up in one of his hands while the other tangled itself in your hair, pushing you safely into the crook of his neck while he squeezed his eyes shut. He held onto you so tightly that if he pressed even just the tiniest bit harder he’d probably leave an unintentional bruise.
“Arth, you’re hurting me.” Your voice sounded out small and fragile, squeezed through the layers of Arthur’s clothes.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He mumbled into your hair, instantly letting go. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. Arthur pulled you back by your shoulders and took a moment to contemplate your face. Although you were completely confused, to him you looked more beautiful than ever. He didn’t want to waste any time, so he pulled you back into his arms, this time more gently. The hand that was once ferociously gripping onto your clothes was now delicately resting on your waist, while the other stayed on your back. He proceeded to plant a kiss on your forehead, later laying his chin atop your head.
You allowed him to cradle you as you rested your head against his broad chest, listening as his heart beat began to settle down. Both of your hands went under his shirt, rubbing circles on his bare back, something that you’d learned was especially soothing to him.
“My god...” He whispered, thanking every god he could think. He couldn’t be happier to have been wrong. “I was so worried about you, darling.” Arthur mumbled into your hair.
His hands unwrapped themselves from around your figure, letting you stand up straight once again. “What? Why?”
Arthur ran a hand through his hair, letting out a troubled sigh. “I didn’t know where you were. I thought something happened to you. I thought the vikings had taken you, I-”
“Shh, calm down Arth. It’s fine. I’m fine.” You assured him as you ran a hand down his arm, all the way to his big hands now encased around yours.
“I’m sorry, Y/N. I was just so worried.” He repeated, stopping again to look at your face. “Where were you, anyway?”
“I went to the market to grab some apples to make your favorite apple pie.”
“But I went to the market. I didn’t see you there.” Arthur replied, confused. He even remembered looking specifically at the apple stand and not seeing you at all.
“I was probably there before you. When I came back the boys said you’d just left.” Oh. His mind took him back to few minutes, when he hadn’t given either of his mates a chance to speak because he was so caught up with all the viking stuff. If he’d let them speak he’d probably spared himself a couple minutes of agony.
Arthur chuckled softly, feeling incredibly stupid for making such a big deal out of nothing. He ran a hand down his face, which you must’ve interpreted as him feeling annoyed with you. “I’m sorry I left so early, but you know how it is, if you don’t get there early you won’t get to pick the good ones. Please don’t be mad.”
Instantly, Arthur shook his head. “Oh, no love. I’m not mad. It’s my fault, I was just being paranoid.” He couldn’t be mad at you, not even if he tried.
He reached over to stroke a piece of your hair that’d fallen out of place. He twirled it around his finger, not looking you in the eye at first, but slowly making his way back up to meet your eyes. “You know I love you right, sweetheart. Very, very much. And I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”
You nodded slowly, looking at him with loving eyes. “Yes, and I love you, too.”
A smile spread across Arthur’s face, the smile that only appeared when he was around you. His eyes danced around your features, stopping at your lips. Scooting closer to you, he leaned in as you did the same, your lips willingly parting. His tender lips moved slowly against yours, not pushy, not needy, but loving and caring instead.
He drew back, still letting your foreheads touch as he brought a calloused hand up to your cheek. Arthur’s didn’t allow his eyes to leave yours until he brought his lips up to your forehead, letting his chin place itself on your head again. “I will always protect you, love.”
Running his fingers through your hair, he felt himself let go of all the emotions he was previously harboring. He never wanted to have to feel that way again. Never wanted to have the thought of something being wrong with you even cross his mind.
You were one of the last bits of happiness and love in his life and he didn't know what he’d do with himself if you were gone. Shuddering at the thought, he closed his eyes again, allowing his mind to drift. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you.” He repeated, more to himself than to you, but still a promise nonetheless.
A promise he very much intended to keep.
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Glenn Murcutt: Touching the Earth Lightly
WORDS BY JANA PERKOVIĆ
Australia’s only Pritzker Prize winner is also the award’s most unlikely recipient: Glenn Murcutt AO prefers to work alone, and has never built a single structure outside Australia. This choice reflects his dedication to working with the nuances of the local climate and natural conditions. As Glenn’s MPavilion opens in Melbourne’s Botanical Gardens, AP editor Jana Perković sits down to chat with Australia’s most environmentally conscious architect about past and future legacies.
“The government essentially accepts that people will air-condition buildings,” architect Glenn Murcutt tells me, “even though, until 15–20 years ago, most people did not have any form of air-conditioning. That means you have to make the building airtight, so you don’t lose cold air in the summertime from the cooling, or the warm air in winter from the heating. Sealing of buildings is unbelievably unhealthy, and yet it’s required under our laws.”
Glenn’s houses are the antithesis of sealed: houses with shutters, blinds, slats, and gills in the roof to let the hot air out; buildings lifted off the ground so that the air can circulate underneath – these are buildings that breathe deeply in Australia’s heat. None require air-conditioning. They are world-famous, too: among Glenn’s many international accolades is the coveted Pritzker Prize. He was awarded the ‘architecture’s Nobel’ in 2002, the only Australian architect so far. Unlike most other winners, heads of major international firms, Glenn works as a sole practitioner, at a minuscule scale, and has never built anything outside of Australia.
His generation defined a distinctive national architecture, leaving an impressive – and daunting – legacy.
Unmistakably refracted through Glenn’s architecture is a childhood in Papua New Guinea, with two remarkable, adventurous parents. Arthur Murcutt ran away from home at 13 to work as a sheep shearer, bootmaker, saddler, and other odd jobs, before gold prospecting took him to New Guinea. He almost sailed across the Pacific with Errol Flynn (the boat sank shortly after being launched). He spent a year living in Japan. In 1936, Arthur and the heavily pregnant Daphne Murcutt flew to Berlin for the Olympics: Glenn was born on the way, in England.
Arthur was a practical man, a quintessential maker. “My father was really interested in design,” says Glenn. “He designed and constructed his own buildings. And all the houses had louvres, insect screens and ventilated roofs. Fresh air was considered to be the most critical thing.”
Arthur instilled in his children a discipline in everything they did, from studies to exercise, sports to music. A fan of Henry David Thoreau, he raised Glenn to be a curious, hands-on child, approaching engineering and composition from first principles. “When my father returned from the war, he brought Architectural Record and Architectural Forum in from the United States. I was required to read certain articles – particularly on the work of Philip Johnson, Mies van der Rohe and Frank Lloyd Wright. I was then examined! And all the questions were about principles: ‘why is this building off the ground?’ ‘Why are these buildings hugging the ground?’ ‘Why is this cantilever like it is?’ ‘What about the sunshine? How is the sun being resolved?’ These questions brought a rationale to me: it was like composition in music. There was a poetic component to it, and also a rational quality.” From the age of 12, Glenn was in his father’s joinery shop, carrying bricks and bending reinforcing (with some help). By the time he was 18, he was building sailing boats.
These are the values Glenn Murcutt would later bring to his remarkable architecture: a marriage of beauty and logic, a pragmatic engineering that leads to the most beautiful of resolutions, and a willingness to learn through making. It is a sensibility that finds resonance in the humble sophistication of Scandinavian and Californian regionalism, Wright’s Prairie style and mid-century Modernism of Mies and Jørn Utzon. Glenn’s appreciation of craft has led him to develop long relationships with European builders who migrated to Australia post-World War II, “many of them great craftspeople, marvellous at producing concrete, carpentry”. He is fond of paraphrasing Thoreau: “Since most of us spend our lives doing ordinary tasks, the most important thing is to carry them out extraordinarily well.”
However, Glenn Murcutt added something quintessentially New World-ish to this crafts-led architecture: an industrial roughness, use of outback station materials such as corrugated iron, and a willingness to build as little house as possible.
“Melbourne has some of the maddest buildings in the world already. I think that what we need is a level of sanity.”
This vision has brought to life a series of remarkable – though at first glance unassuming – buildings. The Marie Short House (1975) in Kempsey, NSW, built from local timber, post-and-beam like an Australian wool shed, with adjustable steel louvres and sitting on stilts to let the airflow through. “[Glenn Murcutt] has created an architecture that’s both true to the place and unexpectedly rigorous,” wrote Jim Lewis in The New York Times, “like a bow and arrow made out of titanium.” The iconic Magney House (1984) on the NSW South Coast, with its curved corrugated iron roof that collects rainwater, a shipping container-like structure that has come to represent contemporary Australian architecture. Touching the earth as lightly as a tent, it was described by the Pritzker jury as a “testament that aesthetics and ecology can work together to bring harmony to man’s intrusion in the environment”. Or the prefabricated, tin-roofed Marika-Alderton House (1994) in Yirrkala, Northern Territory, with walls made out of removable plywood panels, and no windows whatsoever – a simple shelter resembling an Aboriginal hut built from long sheets of bark. The main considerations in all his designs are airflow, orientation to the sun and prevailing winds, and locally available materials.
Now, Glenn is in Melbourne to create a quintessentially urban project: the new MPavilion, a temporary structure for Melbourne’s Royal Botanic Gardens. “One of the dangers of doing a project like this, for an architect, is to want to produce a fandango – to do something just mad,” he tells me, with characteristic bluntness. “Melbourne has some of the maddest buildings in the world already. I think that what we need is a level of sanity.”
The origin of a pavilion is a tent; specifically, a decorated tent, made of canvas and placed in a garden. The image of a tent facing the city was the starting point for his MPavilion design: a lightweight, temporary structure, its method of construction evident from the outside, its roof translucent canvas, letting the light through and turning it into a lantern at night time. Glenn tells me of a trip he took to Mexico, many years ago, to see the Yaxchilán ruins: the small party flew to Yaxchilán in a little aircraft, and had a picnic under the wing of the plane, covered in aircraft fabric to provide shade. “It occurred to me, this pavilion is like sitting under the shade of the wing of that little aircraft in Yaxchilán, with a marvellous view of the ruins: a lightweight moment of place-making.”
“The important thing about the longevity of the building is that it is worth keeping. If it’s worth keeping, then you have the beginning of sustainability in a true sense.”
Glenn’s practice, which celebrates its 50th anniversary this year, began at a time when the Australian national identity was at the fore of everyone’s imagination – an attempt of a generation born and raised on this continent to unearth an original soul to the white settler nation. Glenn, however, sees that project as inadequate: “We have to be careful. It’s very easy to structure a romantic image of Australia. If our architecture is too self-conscious, too self-referential, it is likely to be a pastiche. One has to look elsewhere: what does this climate mean? How do we work our culture together with the climate? And what is the craft nature of this nation?” He is also adamant that post-war migration has made Australia into a much more interesting, diverse and culturally rich country – and with comparatively few social problems. One of his most cherished projects has been designing the Australian Islamic Centre in close collaboration with Melbourne’s Muslim community: “I don’t have any faith [in life] after this life; but the Imam came to me one day, put his arm around me and said, ‘But you are a very spiritual man.’ I made very, very significant friendships on this project – and I don’t make friendships easily.”
His generation defined a distinctive national architecture, leaving an impressive – and daunting – legacy. But the tasks left to the next generation of architects, Glenn says, are very different: dealing with catastrophic climate change, and learning to manage natural energy systems (sun and shade, cool winds, thermal mass) to improve the sustainability of the built environment. “As we learn to manage water, as we learn to manage food – we could learn to manage power consumption in buildings. And if we learn to manage how the power comes to us through natural energy systems, rather than through coal, we will be able to use the power appropriately and reasonably.”
The rules young architects will have to face in the future are going to get even more stringent, he says. “For example, and reasonably so, they’re going to have to work with the lifetime cycle of a building’s effect on the environment, which includes consumption, and how much the building is going to be using natural energy systems, such as orientation, materiality, insulation, the earth and the ground systems. They are going to have to deal much more with environmental issues, because the environment is going to change vastly. We’re starting to see it already, in very profound ways. And we’ve got to accept that we are the cause of the environmental changes.”
As we are parting ways, Glenn stops again to emphasise the inseparability of aesthetics and rational design, of pragmatism and beauty: “If we design buildings really well, the chance of them having to be redeveloped is reduced. And the important thing about the longevity of the building is that it is worth keeping. If it’s worth keeping, then you have the beginning of sustainability in a true sense.”
(via Glenn Murcutt: Touching the Earth Lightly | Assemble Papers)
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Liberty’s London Independent Study Visit.
16/11/18
Liberty’s London is known for its luxury goods, covering everything from fashion to cosmetics and then to interior design. It is particularly recognised for its graphic and floral prints. Liberty has played a major role in the development of new artistic styles, such as the arts and craft movement, art noveau. His father gave him a loan of 2,000 pounds in order for Arthur Lasneby Liberty to open up the shop on Regent Street, it officially opened in 1875 and had three employees. Naming the store as the ‘East India house’ his collection of fabrics, ornaments and objects from the Far East proved irresistible to a society who at the time was intoxicated by the East (orientalist fervour).
The Grade II-listed iconic mock-Tudor store known today was built in 1924, seven years after Liberty died and was constructed with the timbers of two ships- HMS Hindustan and HMS Impreganble. Arthur died in 1917, seven years before his successors at Liberty realised his dream of docking a ship in the streets of London. The store on Great Marlborough Street was constructed from the timbers of two decommissioned Royal Navy Ships. HMS Impregnable was built from more than 3,000 100-year-old New Forest oaks. The second was the HMS Hindustan, a huge ship which is said to have matched the store it contributed to building in height and length. Also in the department store, there is an old staircase which pays tribute to the Liberty staff who lost their lives fighting in the Second World War for different kind of liberty- freedom from the regimes of the Axis powers. Liberty’s nautical theme continues in the weathervane, a gold coloured ship which sits above the entrance on Great Marlborough Street. The weathervane is a replica of The Mayflower, which transported Pilgrims to the New World in 1620. All of these features link the building to its profound history. Whenever I walk into Liberty’s I am so amazed by the decoration and the beautiful structure of the department store. I don’t go in there to shop instead I just gather visual inspiration. Liberty’s carries an experience, tells a story, this is what makes it so different to other department stores. Straight away you can picture the cultural collaborations, such as print designs taken from Java or India. (Liberty’s was also the first department store where women could visit and shop independently, away from their husbands).
Liberty London is widely regarded as one of the best and most luxurious shopping experiences in the capital. Oscar Wilde called it ‘the chosen resort of the artistic shopper’. The reason why Liberty’s is so well known is because of its cultural relationships/connections with other countries across the globe, its rich heritage has made Liberty’s a beautiful and interesting destination to discover. Liberty’s is very true to itself, it is unique and not trying to accommodate for the growing consumer demand, it has managed to be so extremely successful without involving high street brands in their fashion departments. It does have sections dedicated to brands like Erdem and Ganni, but each section still blends in with the Liberty’s surroundings/environment. In contrast, there is Selfridges another department store in London which is very popular. This store has become lost in high street fashion.
‘The Arts and Craft Movement of the late 19th century was one of the most influential artistic movements in modern British history’. A major social reform, rejecting modernity in favour of a romantic revival of medieval and folk aesthetics and traditional techniques’. Art Critic John Ruskin did not believe modernity in terms of globalization, new international division of labour and mass production was having a positive impact on fashion and textiles. He praised gothic architecture, whose roughness was evidence of the craftsman’s personality and freedom. Ruskin’s ideas were hugely influential to the social activist William Morris. By the 1880s Morris was a well-known figure, ‘his designs the height of fashion, and the wider Arts and Craft Movement was born. Liberty London dealt in goods favoured by his style.
Simple elements from the heart of the brand’s heritage are constantly looked at, reviewed, for example they created a new and more vivid Liberty purple; the famous crest redrawn and the identity was refreshed to express the core elements of the brand more powerfully. This is how they continue to build heritage into the brand name. Liberty is famous for its range of signature fabrics. The brand looks at their huge archive of prints, to carry on unleashing powerful, instantly recognisable clothes for marketing and communications campaigns. The ‘Liberty London’ name was applied across both the store and product brands for added consistency, creating a brand architecture and naming certain conventions than work with partner brands like Hermes or Target.
Liberty Fabrics and Print- collection
The ‘East India House’ (1875) sold Oriental imports- namely rugs, decorative objects and fabrics. After several years the East India House grew and demand for their beautiful fabrics increased. It was at this time that Liberty’s decided to import undyed fabrics and have them hand printed in England in the style of Oriental prints. At this moment in time, Liberty’s started marketing their own fabrics as ‘Made in England’.
1920s- Liberty’s designed prints with miniature floral and paisley designs.
Tana Lawn cotton is the most popular of all the fabric selection in liberty’s, the material is very lightweight therefore it is suitable to be used for dresses, blouses, shirts and skirts.
I personally think that you can get quite a variety of people shopping in Liberty’s because it has a collection of items, ranging from for example fashion to interiors. It sells a lot of luxury goods therefore it does exclude some of the population who cannot afford to shop here. Those who like high street fashion/high street shopping are not likely to shop in Liberty’s London, they will shop in the more modern department stores like Selfridges. Liberty’s does not just attract the shoppers, people also visit the department store because of its rich history and store heritage. Oscar wild- ‘the chosen resort of the artistic shopper’- I go to the store to study the fashion garments, their beautiful pieces sourced from their archive, I look at the interior design and textiles all for inspiration.
Fashion raincoat by Ganni. Modern representation of textiles in Libertys. ‘GANNI has developed exponentially over recent years with its Scandi 2.0 sense of style full of personality and contrasts. Based in Copenhagen and owned and run since 2009 by husband and wife team Ditte Reffstrup and Nicolaj Reffstrup.
‘We sought after a more playful and effortless approach to design, that represents how I want to dress and look. Without strict dogmas or rules, but with room for personality, contrasts and experimentations’.
The company is based in Copenhagen and I believe that a lot of the designing and production happens here. They have mentioned in one of their interviews online that they get inspiration from the area and the cool Copenhagen girls. The material of this coat is very similar to PVC fabric, although it is a lot softer and more flexible. The material is loose and adjusts to the female figure. On top of the material there are some flowers which have been printed on. The flowers have been made to look quite graphic, like a picture, they have a similar appearance to a water coloured painting of a flower. I really like this fashion garment because it stands out from the other designs in the fashion department. It was an example of a piece which you wouldn’t find in high street department stores, like Selfridges, therefore making it original to liberty’s. It is beautiful, I love the reflective appearance on the coat and the quality of the material. It shows a clear example of how improvements in technology (innovation) have allowed for more creative approaches to producing garments. In the store, the piece was just hung up on a rail. I think that fashion designers are more likely to buy this piece of clothing, it is a statement piece as opposed to being used for everyday use. It is also 240 pounds therefore it is not for anyone to wear. The raincoat reminded me of my final collection at the end of the 2 years of A level. I made a raincoat, enmeshing petals in between two layers of PVC fabric. Here are some images below of the garment.
In the warehouse in Hayford there is a selection of Liberty prints and sketches. The warehouse is packed with oversized books, labelled boxes and preserved paintings, the rooms are all guarded by the archive department who have the important task of ensuring every design, ranging from the Tana Lawn to the silk satin, is documented with information and stored in the database. The 1880s was when Liberty started producing their own pattern books. There are around 40, 000 prints held in the archive. In the archive, the textile materials are kept away from any form of dust and light in acid-free boxes as much as possible. The artwork is stored in these things called melanex sleeves. Libertys has a good relationship with the paper conservation course at Camberwell College of Arts. ‘Tana Lawn’ is one of Liberty's most well known and loved fabrics, with the name originating from Lake Tana in East Africa, where the original cotton grew. This classic print is made from ultra-fine long staple cotton and without the use of crease-resisting chemicals or irritating allergens. With fabric technology at the forefront, the end result offers an iconic look and soft touch’.
Images of my own design- fashion garment from 2018 winter collection.
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The Best Cars We Drove in 2017
We’re incredibly fortunate to have access to the cars we do. All year long, we an abundance of the planet’s most precious metal sculptures, flogging them on tracks, roads, and everywhere in between. This year, it seemed like our quotient of top-notch machinery was at an all-time high as we drove some of the most desirable cars right into the pages of this website and our print magazine.
Choosing a favorite is not easy. Do we pick the luxury and comfort of the new Rolls-Royce Phantom, the always-ridiculous Bugatti Chiron, Lamborghini’s V-12-powered-swansong Aventador S, or something like the all-new Jeep Wrangler? While not as combative a task as picking winners during our annual All-Stars awards, we had a wide range of opinions.
Editor-in-chief Mike Floyd: The term ‘greatest car in the world’ can mean different things to different people. It can be the car you’ve had for 15 years that never let you down. The muscle car you only take out of your garage on sunny summer days. The supercar you plastered on your wall when you were a kid. The astonishing, multi-million dollar vintage machine you drooled over on the lawn at Pebble Beach. Or the eighth-generation Rolls-Royce Phantom.
Maybe it’s the mystique that’s developed around it. Or its price tag. Or the marketing hype. But the Phantom represents the ultimate, the excess, the dream of being someone rich, important, famous. By the way, the all-new Phantom is also a damn good car. It’s big and heavy, yes, but its twin-turbo V-12 just pulls and pulls. It actually turns pretty well too, and is underpinned by a world-class, aluminum intensive architecture. But more than that, it’s what’s inside that has been properly done. The craftsmanship is astonishing, the materials, the overall execution is unlike any modern production car I’ve ever been in. As it should be. And that’s without even mentioning the Gallery, the art installation in the dash.
Yeah, I know, it’s a car for the .001 percenters. Why should anyone care? Because it’s the greatest car in the world. It was an honor to drive and be driven in it. And it’s been an honor to have you along for the ride this year. Thanks to you all, from all of us here at Automobile.
My honorable mentions: Lexus LC 500, McLaren 720s, that day in Utah in the Ford GT, the Civic Type R, the Toyota Camry (damn right I said it), MX-5 RF, that day in dirt in the Honda Ridgeline Baja truck, that day at Streets of Willow in the OVC and Revology Shelby GT350s, Camaro ZL1 1LE, Range Rover Velar, Mercedes-AMG E63 S, BMW M2.
Executive editor Mac Morrison: In retrospect, I don’t know what I expected as I headed to the first drive of the 2018 Porsche 911 GT2 RS. The car’s on-paper numbers—700 hp, 553 lb-ft, 3,200 pounds and change—are bonkers, but aside from a general understanding that this 911 would be fast, I was quite curious to discover the end result. By the end of a full day of driving, including a handful of laps on Portugal’s Algarve circuit and more than 100 miles on the road, I realized it had been quite some time since a new car made me smile and giggle so much. It’s not just the silly power, torque, and seemingly never-ending acceleration, either.
The GT2 RS’s ability to use every bit of its twin-turbo 3.8-liter bang is astounding. Its combination of aerodynamic and mechanical grip rewrite the rules of quick cornering, and the steering and brakes are not only up to the task but also feel great to use. This is one of the rare modern cars to find the right balance of performance and feedback, feeling a long way from overly refined and boring without crossing the line into the realm of scary or intimidating hair-trigger snappiness. You certainly know you can get in a lot of trouble driving it, but you can also enjoy it without holding your breath while always waiting for it to spit you into a ditch. Dare I say this is the best driver’s 911 of all time? I know Porsche geeks will never reach a consensus on that title, but there is no denying the new 911 GT2 RS is a performance-car masterpiece.
Editor-at-large Arthur St. Antoine: Is it fair to choose a full-blown race car as a “best drive?” It is when said machine rearranges both your preconceptions of the laws of physics and your DNA. Hurling the Ferrari 488 Challenge around Canada’s Circuit Mont Tremblant was an electrifying, soul-awakening feast of race engineering at is finest: a screaming, 660-plus horsepower V-8, brakes that stop like a padded bridge abutment, an aero-aided chassis that cornered so hard it could pry the fillings from your teeth. Does such extreme prowess come at the expense of fragility or finickiness? That’s this Ferrari’s coup de grace: for two days I pounded around Tremblant, lap after lap after lap. Not once did the 488 Challenge so much as breathe hard. I call that the performance of the year.
Detroit bureau chief Todd Lassa: I want to choose the Honda Civic Type R, but I don’t know if I can get used to the idea of being on the same page as associate editor Jonathan Klein. The Type R is fabulous fun; more engaging than the supercars on our 2018 All-Stars drive, with sharp steering and handling and that great gearbox (the latter of which makes it more engaging than, say, the Ford GT or McLaren 720S). On the track, it dances with the best of them and can kick out its tail like a RWD sports car. But rather than align with Klein, I’m going to go with the Miata Cup Racer, which handles the (small, tight M1 Concours in Michigan) circuit exactly as I’d expect from a street-legal Miata. It’s nice to know they’re virtually interchangeable. I know what you’re thinking; the Miata is a #noboringcars car because I own one. No, but I own one because it’s a #noboringcars car.
Automotive design editor Robert Cumberford: Quiet, fast, spacious, comfortable, the Tesla Model 3 is very impressive. This was a top-spec, extra battery capacity car with about $20,000 in options. I’d like to have one, but can’t afford it, alas.
New York bureau chief Jamie Kitman: I loved the Porsche Boxster S I spent a week in, but my priority characteristic in a sports car is steering feel, and the Lotus Evora Sport 410 has this in spades. In addition to robust power and an extraordinarily supple ride, it amounts to a half-price supercar you can use. Now that Lotus has Geely funding behind it, I expect it is a harbinger of even greater things to come.
Features editor Rory Jurnecka: Time will show the new Ford GT to be a special car even decades from today. Built mostly to win Le Mans—which it did—the limited-production, road-going variant is unique and engaging to drive with an experience all its own. It is wholly different from the ubiquitous McLarens, Ferraris, and Lamborghinis that compete for background photo space on your laptop. That this success came from a small, skunkworks team of rogue engineers hidden in Ford’s basement is nothing short of amazing.
Senior digital editor Kirill Ougarov: As I’ve expounded upon since it sadly left our care, my pick has to be the BMW i8. The mix of design, tech, and solid grand-touring dynamics really meshed with my personal tastes. “An enjoyable to drive, distinctively stylish grand tourer that offers a preview of coming electrified attractions” is probably the best summary I have, which I stole from my own story.
Online editor Ed Tahaney: The Lamborghini Huracán LP580-2 Spyder beats out my other favorite ride of the year—the Honda Civic Type R—only because it’s a drop-top. Both cars are a blast to drive and will make you an instant celebrity wherever you roll up. I love the Giallo Tenerife paint job that makes it look like an angry wedge of cheese, while its V-10 screams 580-hp obscenities. The cup holder sucks, but everything else about the Spyder does not.
Senior copy editor Kara Snow: Not only is the Ford GT the wildest car I drove this year in terms of both the actual ride and its hyper-futuristic design, but the experience in Ford’s race-winning beast was as emotionally thrilling as my very first time behind the wheel.
In his day, my grandfather worked on Fords for movie studios. My dad loved Mustangs. He owned many through the years and was hoping to fix up his 1946 Super De Luxe before he died unexpectedly five years ago. I’m sorry he never got to see what Ford would follow up the first two generations of these supercars with: a wonder of design, handling, and quickness—with all of the turbo’s whizzing and whooshing and the 647 hp V-6’s stunning growl.
Getting to drive the new Ford GT completes the circle for three generations of car lovers. It was a dream come true to pilot an American supercar made by a company with deep roots in our country’s history. And in my own life.
Daily news editor Conner Golden: Somehow I managed to sneak my way behind the wheel of the 2018 Porsche 911 GT3, claiming the golden tiara of my favorite car of the year. Porsche is loath to admit it, but the 991.2 GT3 takes what made the 911 R so incredibly desirable and offers it to the (still wealthy) masses, minus a handful of lightweight panels and stylistic affects. With a 4.0-liter flat-six whizzing all the way to a 9,000-rpm redline and a delicious six-speed manual transmission (seven-speed PDK optional), the GT3 was unspeakably excellent in every scenario.
Creative director Darren Scott: Hands down, the Volkswagen Golf R is the best VW I’ve ever driven. At first, I didn’t even know it existed but I quickly learned it’s a pocket rocket on rails. Its over-hyped little brother, the GTI—of which I have driven many examples—is a Bush League second baseman compared to this lightning shortstop. No flash, no nonsense. It delivers acceleration, power, and handling on-demand; supercar sophistication in a street-size package, a real driving experience. There are two downsides; one is the Tamagotchi style center console (come on VW, it’s 2017), and second, all the parking lot wannabes telling you the Ford Focus RS is better. Who cares! All that means is there’s two incredible cars to choose from.
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The Best Cars We Drove in 2017
We’re incredibly fortunate to have access to the cars we do. All year long, we an abundance of the planet’s most precious metal sculptures, flogging them on tracks, roads, and everywhere in between. This year, it seemed like our quotient of top-notch machinery was at an all-time high as we drove some of the most desirable cars right into the pages of this website and our print magazine.
Choosing a favorite is not easy. Do we pick the luxury and comfort of the new Rolls-Royce Phantom, the always-ridiculous Bugatti Chiron, Lamborghini’s V-12-powered-swansong Aventador S, or something like the all-new Jeep Wrangler? While not as combative a task as picking winners during our annual All-Stars awards, we had a wide range of opinions.
Editor-in-chief Mike Floyd: The term ‘greatest car in the world’ can mean different things to different people. It can be the car you’ve had for 15 years that never let you down. The muscle car you only take out of your garage on sunny summer days. The supercar you plastered on your wall when you were a kid. The astonishing, multi-million dollar vintage machine you drooled over on the lawn at Pebble Beach. Or the eighth-generation Rolls-Royce Phantom.
Maybe it’s the mystique that’s developed around it. Or its price tag. Or the marketing hype. But the Phantom represents the ultimate, the excess, the dream of being someone rich, important, famous. By the way, the all-new Phantom is also a damn good car. It’s big and heavy, yes, but its twin-turbo V-12 just pulls and pulls. It actually turns pretty well too, and is underpinned by a world-class, aluminum intensive architecture. But more than that, it’s what’s inside that has been properly done. The craftsmanship is astonishing, the materials, the overall execution is unlike any modern production car I’ve ever been in. As it should be. And that’s without even mentioning the Gallery, the art installation in the dash.
Yeah, I know, it’s a car for the .001 percenters. Why should anyone care? Because it’s the greatest car in the world. It was an honor to drive and be driven in it. And it’s been an honor to have you along for the ride this year. Thanks to you all, from all of us here at Automobile.
My honorable mentions: Lexus LC 500, McLaren 720s, that day in Utah in the Ford GT, the Civic Type R, the Toyota Camry (damn right I said it), MX-5 RF, that day in dirt in the Honda Ridgeline Baja truck, that day at Streets of Willow in the OVC and Revology Shelby GT350s, Camaro ZL1 1LE, Range Rover Velar, Mercedes-AMG E63 S, BMW M2.
Executive editor Mac Morrison: In retrospect, I don’t know what I expected as I headed to the first drive of the 2018 Porsche 911 GT2 RS. The car’s on-paper numbers—700 hp, 553 lb-ft, 3,200 pounds and change—are bonkers, but aside from a general understanding that this 911 would be fast, I was quite curious to discover the end result. By the end of a full day of driving, including a handful of laps on Portugal’s Algarve circuit and more than 100 miles on the road, I realized it had been quite some time since a new car made me smile and giggle so much. It’s not just the silly power, torque, and seemingly never-ending acceleration, either.
The GT2 RS’s ability to use every bit of its twin-turbo 3.8-liter bang is astounding. Its combination of aerodynamic and mechanical grip rewrite the rules of quick cornering, and the steering and brakes are not only up to the task but also feel great to use. This is one of the rare modern cars to find the right balance of performance and feedback, feeling a long way from overly refined and boring without crossing the line into the realm of scary or intimidating hair-trigger snappiness. You certainly know you can get in a lot of trouble driving it, but you can also enjoy it without holding your breath while always waiting for it to spit you into a ditch. Dare I say this is the best driver’s 911 of all time? I know Porsche geeks will never reach a consensus on that title, but there is no denying the new 911 GT2 RS is a performance-car masterpiece.
Editor-at-large Arthur St. Antoine: Is it fair to choose a full-blown race car as a “best drive?” It is when said machine rearranges both your preconceptions of the laws of physics and your DNA. Hurling the Ferrari 488 Challenge around Canada’s Circuit Mont Tremblant was an electrifying, soul-awakening feast of race engineering at is finest: a screaming, 660-plus horsepower V-8, brakes that stop like a padded bridge abutment, an aero-aided chassis that cornered so hard it could pry the fillings from your teeth. Does such extreme prowess come at the expense of fragility or finickiness? That’s this Ferrari’s coup de grace: for two days I pounded around Tremblant, lap after lap after lap. Not once did the 488 Challenge so much as breathe hard. I call that the performance of the year.
Detroit bureau chief Todd Lassa: I want to choose the Honda Civic Type R, but I don’t know if I can get used to the idea of being on the same page as associate editor Jonathan Klein. The Type R is fabulous fun; more engaging than the supercars on our 2018 All-Stars drive, with sharp steering and handling and that great gearbox (the latter of which makes it more engaging than, say, the Ford GT or McLaren 720S). On the track, it dances with the best of them and can kick out its tail like a RWD sports car. But rather than align with Klein, I’m going to go with the Miata Cup Racer, which handles the (small, tight M1 Concours in Michigan) circuit exactly as I’d expect from a street-legal Miata. It’s nice to know they’re virtually interchangeable. I know what you’re thinking; the Miata is a #noboringcars car because I own one. No, but I own one because it’s a #noboringcars car.
Automotive design editor Robert Cumberford: Quiet, fast, spacious, comfortable, the Tesla Model 3 is very impressive. This was a top-spec, extra battery capacity car with about $20,000 in options. I’d like to have one, but can’t afford it, alas.
New York bureau chief Jamie Kitman: I loved the Porsche Boxster S I spent a week in, but my priority characteristic in a sports car is steering feel, and the Lotus Evora Sport 410 has this in spades. In addition to robust power and an extraordinarily supple ride, it amounts to a half-price supercar you can use. Now that Lotus has Geely funding behind it, I expect it is a harbinger of even greater things to come.
Features editor Rory Jurnecka: Time will show the new Ford GT to be a special car even decades from today. Built mostly to win Le Mans—which it did—the limited-production, road-going variant is unique and engaging to drive with an experience all its own. It is wholly different from the ubiquitous McLarens, Ferraris, and Lamborghinis that compete for background photo space on your laptop. That this success came from a small, skunkworks team of rogue engineers hidden in Ford’s basement is nothing short of amazing.
Senior digital editor Kirill Ougarov: As I’ve expounded upon since it sadly left our care, my pick has to be the BMW i8. The mix of design, tech, and solid grand-touring dynamics really meshed with my personal tastes. “An enjoyable to drive, distinctively stylish grand tourer that offers a preview of coming electrified attractions” is probably the best summary I have, which I stole from my own story.
Online editor Ed Tahaney: The Lamborghini Huracán LP580-2 Spyder beats out my other favorite ride of the year—the Honda Civic Type R—only because it’s a drop-top. Both cars are a blast to drive and will make you an instant celebrity wherever you roll up. I love the Giallo Tenerife paint job that makes it look like an angry wedge of cheese, while its V-10 screams 580-hp obscenities. The cup holder sucks, but everything else about the Spyder does not.
Senior copy editor Kara Snow: Not only is the Ford GT the wildest car I drove this year in terms of both the actual ride and its hyper-futuristic design, but the experience in Ford’s race-winning beast was as emotionally thrilling as my very first time behind the wheel.
In his day, my grandfather worked on Fords for movie studios. My dad loved Mustangs. He owned many through the years and was hoping to fix up his 1946 Super De Luxe before he died unexpectedly five years ago. I’m sorry he never got to see what Ford would follow up the first two generations of these supercars with: a wonder of design, handling, and quickness—with all of the turbo’s whizzing and whooshing and the 647 hp V-6’s stunning growl.
Getting to drive the new Ford GT completes the circle for three generations of car lovers. It was a dream come true to pilot an American supercar made by a company with deep roots in our country’s history. And in my own life.
Daily news editor Conner Golden: Somehow I managed to sneak my way behind the wheel of the 2018 Porsche 911 GT3, claiming the golden tiara of my favorite car of the year. Porsche is loath to admit it, but the 991.2 GT3 takes what made the 911 R so incredibly desirable and offers it to the (still wealthy) masses, minus a handful of lightweight panels and stylistic affects. With a 4.0-liter flat-six whizzing all the way to a 9,000-rpm redline and a delicious six-speed manual transmission (seven-speed PDK optional), the GT3 was unspeakably excellent in every scenario.
Creative director Darren Scott: Hands down, the Volkswagen Golf R is the best VW I’ve ever driven. At first, I didn’t even know it existed but I quickly learned it’s a pocket rocket on rails. Its over-hyped little brother, the GTI—of which I have driven many examples—is a Bush League second baseman compared to this lightning shortstop. No flash, no nonsense. It delivers acceleration, power, and handling on-demand; supercar sophistication in a street-size package, a real driving experience. There are two downsides; one is the Tamagotchi style center console (come on VW, it’s 2017), and second, all the parking lot wannabes telling you the Ford Focus RS is better. Who cares! All that means is there’s two incredible cars to choose from.
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The Best Cars We Drove in 2017
We’re incredibly fortunate to have access to the cars we do. All year long, we an abundance of the planet’s most precious metal sculptures, flogging them on tracks, roads, and everywhere in between. This year, it seemed like our quotient of top-notch machinery was at an all-time high as we drove some of the most desirable cars right into the pages of this website and our print magazine.
Choosing a favorite is not easy. Do we pick the luxury and comfort of the new Rolls-Royce Phantom, the always-ridiculous Bugatti Chiron, Lamborghini’s V-12-powered-swansong Aventador S, or something like the all-new Jeep Wrangler? While not as combative a task as picking winners during our annual All-Stars awards, we had a wide range of opinions.
Editor-in-chief Mike Floyd: The term ‘greatest car in the world’ can mean different things to different people. It can be the car you’ve had for 15 years that never let you down. The muscle car you only take out of your garage on sunny summer days. The supercar you plastered on your wall when you were a kid. The astonishing, multi-million dollar vintage machine you drooled over on the lawn at Pebble Beach. Or the eighth-generation Rolls-Royce Phantom.
Maybe it’s the mystique that’s developed around it. Or its price tag. Or the marketing hype. But the Phantom represents the ultimate, the excess, the dream of being someone rich, important, famous. By the way, the all-new Phantom is also a damn good car. It’s big and heavy, yes, but its twin-turbo V-12 just pulls and pulls. It actually turns pretty well too, and is underpinned by a world-class, aluminum intensive architecture. But more than that, it’s what’s inside that has been properly done. The craftsmanship is astonishing, the materials, the overall execution is unlike any modern production car I’ve ever been in. As it should be. And that’s without even mentioning the Gallery, the art installation in the dash.
Yeah, I know, it’s a car for the .001 percenters. Why should anyone care? Because it’s the greatest car in the world. It was an honor to drive and be driven in it. And it’s been an honor to have you along for the ride this year. Thanks to you all, from all of us here at Automobile.
My honorable mentions: Lexus LC 500, McLaren 720s, that day in Utah in the Ford GT, the Civic Type R, the Toyota Camry (damn right I said it), MX-5 RF, that day in dirt in the Honda Ridgeline Baja truck, that day at Streets of Willow in the OVC and Revology Shelby GT350s, Camaro ZL1 1LE, Range Rover Velar, Mercedes-AMG E63 S, BMW M2.
Executive editor Mac Morrison: In retrospect, I don’t know what I expected as I headed to the first drive of the 2018 Porsche 911 GT2 RS. The car’s on-paper numbers—700 hp, 553 lb-ft, 3,200 pounds and change—are bonkers, but aside from a general understanding that this 911 would be fast, I was quite curious to discover the end result. By the end of a full day of driving, including a handful of laps on Portugal’s Algarve circuit and more than 100 miles on the road, I realized it had been quite some time since a new car made me smile and giggle so much. It’s not just the silly power, torque, and seemingly never-ending acceleration, either.
The GT2 RS’s ability to use every bit of its twin-turbo 3.8-liter bang is astounding. Its combination of aerodynamic and mechanical grip rewrite the rules of quick cornering, and the steering and brakes are not only up to the task but also feel great to use. This is one of the rare modern cars to find the right balance of performance and feedback, feeling a long way from overly refined and boring without crossing the line into the realm of scary or intimidating hair-trigger snappiness. You certainly know you can get in a lot of trouble driving it, but you can also enjoy it without holding your breath while always waiting for it to spit you into a ditch. Dare I say this is the best driver’s 911 of all time? I know Porsche geeks will never reach a consensus on that title, but there is no denying the new 911 GT2 RS is a performance-car masterpiece.
Editor-at-large Arthur St. Antoine: Is it fair to choose a full-blown race car as a “best drive?” It is when said machine rearranges both your preconceptions of the laws of physics and your DNA. Hurling the Ferrari 488 Challenge around Canada’s Circuit Mont Tremblant was an electrifying, soul-awakening feast of race engineering at is finest: a screaming, 660-plus horsepower V-8, brakes that stop like a padded bridge abutment, an aero-aided chassis that cornered so hard it could pry the fillings from your teeth. Does such extreme prowess come at the expense of fragility or finickiness? That’s this Ferrari’s coup de grace: for two days I pounded around Tremblant, lap after lap after lap. Not once did the 488 Challenge so much as breathe hard. I call that the performance of the year.
Detroit bureau chief Todd Lassa: I want to choose the Honda Civic Type R, but I don’t know if I can get used to the idea of being on the same page as associate editor Jonathan Klein. The Type R is fabulous fun; more engaging than the supercars on our 2018 All-Stars drive, with sharp steering and handling and that great gearbox (the latter of which makes it more engaging than, say, the Ford GT or McLaren 720S). On the track, it dances with the best of them and can kick out its tail like a RWD sports car. But rather than align with Klein, I’m going to go with the Miata Cup Racer, which handles the (small, tight M1 Concours in Michigan) circuit exactly as I’d expect from a street-legal Miata. It’s nice to know they’re virtually interchangeable. I know what you’re thinking; the Miata is a #noboringcars car because I own one. No, but I own one because it’s a #noboringcars car.
Automotive design editor Robert Cumberford: Quiet, fast, spacious, comfortable, the Tesla Model 3 is very impressive. This was a top-spec, extra battery capacity car with about $20,000 in options. I’d like to have one, but can’t afford it, alas.
New York bureau chief Jamie Kitman: I loved the Porsche Boxster S I spent a week in, but my priority characteristic in a sports car is steering feel, and the Lotus Evora Sport 410 has this in spades. In addition to robust power and an extraordinarily supple ride, it amounts to a half-price supercar you can use. Now that Lotus has Geely funding behind it, I expect it is a harbinger of even greater things to come.
Features editor Rory Jurnecka: Time will show the new Ford GT to be a special car even decades from today. Built mostly to win Le Mans—which it did—the limited-production, road-going variant is unique and engaging to drive with an experience all its own. It is wholly different from the ubiquitous McLarens, Ferraris, and Lamborghinis that compete for background photo space on your laptop. That this success came from a small, skunkworks team of rogue engineers hidden in Ford’s basement is nothing short of amazing.
Senior digital editor Kirill Ougarov: As I’ve expounded upon since it sadly left our care, my pick has to be the BMW i8. The mix of design, tech, and solid grand-touring dynamics really meshed with my personal tastes. “An enjoyable to drive, distinctively stylish grand tourer that offers a preview of coming electrified attractions” is probably the best summary I have, which I stole from my own story.
Online editor Ed Tahaney: The Lamborghini Huracán LP580-2 Spyder beats out my other favorite ride of the year—the Honda Civic Type R—only because it’s a drop-top. Both cars are a blast to drive and will make you an instant celebrity wherever you roll up. I love the Giallo Tenerife paint job that makes it look like an angry wedge of cheese, while its V-10 screams 580-hp obscenities. The cup holder sucks, but everything else about the Spyder does not.
Senior copy editor Kara Snow: Not only is the Ford GT the wildest car I drove this year in terms of both the actual ride and its hyper-futuristic design, but the experience in Ford’s race-winning beast was as emotionally thrilling as my very first time behind the wheel.
In his day, my grandfather worked on Fords for movie studios. My dad loved Mustangs. He owned many through the years and was hoping to fix up his 1946 Super De Luxe before he died unexpectedly five years ago. I’m sorry he never got to see what Ford would follow up the first two generations of these supercars with: a wonder of design, handling, and quickness—with all of the turbo’s whizzing and whooshing and the 647 hp V-6’s stunning growl.
Getting to drive the new Ford GT completes the circle for three generations of car lovers. It was a dream come true to pilot an American supercar made by a company with deep roots in our country’s history. And in my own life.
Daily news editor Conner Golden: Somehow I managed to sneak my way behind the wheel of the 2018 Porsche 911 GT3, claiming the golden tiara of my favorite car of the year. Porsche is loath to admit it, but the 991.2 GT3 takes what made the 911 R so incredibly desirable and offers it to the (still wealthy) masses, minus a handful of lightweight panels and stylistic affects. With a 4.0-liter flat-six whizzing all the way to a 9,000-rpm redline and a delicious six-speed manual transmission (seven-speed PDK optional), the GT3 was unspeakably excellent in every scenario.
Creative director Darren Scott: Hands down, the Volkswagen Golf R is the best VW I’ve ever driven. At first, I didn’t even know it existed but I quickly learned it’s a pocket rocket on rails. Its over-hyped little brother, the GTI—of which I have driven many examples—is a Bush League second baseman compared to this lightning shortstop. No flash, no nonsense. It delivers acceleration, power, and handling on-demand; supercar sophistication in a street-size package, a real driving experience. There are two downsides; one is the Tamagotchi style center console (come on VW, it’s 2017), and second, all the parking lot wannabes telling you the Ford Focus RS is better. Who cares! All that means is there’s two incredible cars to choose from.
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