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depressedbagpipe · 2 years

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Silver (Prince Caspian x female!reader)

Chapter VII - The Plan

Words: 3483 Warnings: panic attack, reader being jealous, war plans. A/N: hello there! here's next part! someone important makes an appearance (finally). the plot of the movie is still the same, but I'm adding a few scenes to give reader some more protagonist. ALSO, the gifs for this chapter are kind of a mess but as i added things obviously there’s nothing in the movie reassembling them to use for theme dividers. anyways, hope you guys like it, and thank you for your love <3 💜

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Chapter VII - The Plan

Caspian and I woke to the sound of a distant horn. I found myself lying on my side, my back tucked into Caspian’s warm chest, with his arm supporting our heads as a shared pillow, and his other arm dropped around my waist, somehow keeping me closer to him.

We had fallen asleep not long after our conversation, all the stress and frustration taking a toll on our bodies. At some point, I had been resting my head on his shoulder and the next thing I knew I was waking up by his side. We were standing pretty close to the edge, but his hand around my waist was firm even in his sleep as if preventing me to roll over and possibly fall to my death.

Despite the events earlier that night, the morning had turned warmer, a soft breeze inviting us to close our eyes and rest for a while longer. The sun was partially hidden by the clouds, regardless, and the sky grey and heavy over our heads. Danger loomed in the air, but at that instant, I didn’t care.

Heavy footsteps were heard below us, and while the sun was hitting us directly, I still didn’t want to move. Caspian barely stirred behind me, but his arm slightly tightened around me, pushing me closer to him. My eyes were closed, finally feeling at peace since the boat ride with Trumpkin, and since Aslan’s appearance.

A second horn, this time much closer, made me sharpen my ears. I felt Caspian raise his head slightly from his position. I groaned at the deep sharp sound, turning around and hiding my head in his neck to prevent the noise from waking me up completely. Caspian tensed a bit, yet the hand on my back was now drawing soft circles over the fabric. Our armors and weapons were laying in one of the corners, for they had been too uncomfortable to sit and sleep on.

“Five more minutes,” sleep was tight in my voice. Caspian chuckled slightly, his deep voice making me shiver.

The Narnian horn suddenly was loud and desperate, and we both stood up with a start. The sleep wore off quickly as we looked on over the horizon, my stomach dropping at the sight. Caspian and I quickly put our armors on, adopting a fighting stance at the edge of the post before Lucy, Peter, and Edmund appeared behind us with concerned faces. The other lookout posts, as well as the grounds surrounding the fortress, were quickly filled by the Narnians, all of them staring in disbelief at the black iron sea extending slowly before us.

Miraz stood in a single white horse at the front of his troops, aligned in perfect coordinated formations, their spears and shields creating strong barriers. Big catapults had been dragged by several horses, massive weapons that could destroy the fortress in mere seconds. I sighed defeatedly, knowing what was coming. My fingers brushed Caspian’s, who stood next to me with a dark gloom. Peter and I traded a look, a hundred different strategies already forming in my head as he called us into action.

“Cakes and kettledrums,” Trumpkin was fuming. “That’s your next big plan? Sending a little girl into the darkest parts of the forest? Alone?” he pointed at Lucy, with his glare fixed on Peter.

“It’s our only chance,” Peter explained to the dwarf.

“And she won’t be alone,” Susan reasoned.

Trumpkin looked at Lucy with glossy eyes. “Haven’t enough of us died already?”

“Nikabrik was my friend too,” Trufflehunter said, standing next to Edmund. “But he lost hope. Queen Lucy hasn’t,” he motioned to the young queen, “and neither have I.”

Reepicheep drew his sword. “For Aslan,” he called. A feeling of agreement extended over the room.

“Then I’m going with you,” Trumpkin turned to Lucy, almost resigned.

Lucy put her arm on his shoulders. “No, we need you here,” she spoke softly as if trying to convince her friend to stay back.

“We have to hold them off until Lucy and Susan get back,” Peter called once again, yet Trumpkin didn’t look fully convinced.

Behind my spot at the table, Caspian spoke. “If I may,” he stood up, “Miraz may be a tyrant and a murderer…” he walked closer to where Peter and I stood, his eyes fixed on the boy. Peter didn’t move, but this time, actually seemed interested in what Caspian was saying. “... but as king, he is subject to the traditions and expectations of his people,” he started, shifting his gaze between Peter and me. “There is one, in particular, that may buy us some time.”

“‘I, Peter, by the gift of Aslan, by election and by conquest, High King of Narnia, Lord of Cair Paravel and emperor of the Lone Islands, to prevent the abominable effusion of blood, do hereby challenge the usurper Miraz to single combat upon the field of battle. The fight shall be to the death. The reward shall be total surrender.’” Edmund read the letter he and Caspian’s professor, Dr. Cornellius, wrote together. He started rolling the parchment in his hands in silence, as Miraz stared at him with hard eyes.

Miraz stood at the center of a long table, his men sitting next to him, all dressed in full armor, his camp stretched behind him with soldiers preparing themselves for war. My eyes were fixed on the man in front of us, studying him in detail. I knew I was looking for some resemblance between uncle and nephew, but to my surprise, I found none. Thankfully.

“Tell me, Prince Edmund,” Miraz started, and I lowered my head for I knew what was coming.

“King,” the boy corrected him.

“Pardon me?” the older man was confused.

“It’s ‘King Edmund,’ actually,” Edmund finished rolling up his parchment, his sass shining through once again. I bit my lip, preventing myself to burst out laughing. “Just ‘King,’ though. Peter’s the High King,” he continued after the silence from the other men. “I know, it’s confusing.”

Miraz, perplexed, looked around. “Why would we risk such a proposal when our armies could wipe you out by nightfall?” Miraz reasoned, and though I was ready for such a question, I did not see Edmund’s response come.

“Haven’t you already underestimated our numbers? I mean, only a week ago Narnians were extinct,” I smirked at him from my position on his right side, guarding the entrance to Miraz’s tent the same way his own right-hand man was.

Miraz’s eyes became even darker. “And so you will be again.”

“Then you should have little to fear,” I knew Edmund was desperate now, though he played it like a game. He rarely failed in his negotiations, but this one required some more expertise. I could feel his brain racking for the right answer.

Miraz laughed audibly at him. His voice sent shivers down my spine, making me shake with anger and despise. “This is not a question of bravery,” he was brushing it off.

Yet Edmund quickly caught onto that. “So you’re bravely refusing to fight a swordsman half your age?”

The silence was brutal. Everybody was now looking at Miraz in wonder. I knew for a fact that Edmund was smirking at him, the way his posture became relaxed, mocking, his head to the side.

Miraz was gripping the table hard, coming closer to him in his seat, steam practically coming off his ears. “I didn’t say I refused.”

“You have our support, your Majesty,” one of his advisors spoke. “Whatever your decision.”

“Sire,” the man closest to Miraz caught his attention, “our military advantage alone provides the perfect excuse to avoid what might otherwise be…” he didn’t finish his sentence, for Miraz quickly stood up, his sword in his hand.

“I’m not avoiding anything!” My hands, clasped behind my back, were unnoticeably gripping the edge of my swords.

The man looked scared, yet stood his ground. “I was merely pointing out that my Lord is well within his rights to refuse,” he looked at the man guarding the tent on the other point to where I stood.

“His Majesty would never refuse,” he started. “He relishes the chance to show the people the courage of their new king,” he simply stated. Edmund and I looked at him, turning our heads back to Miraz’s scared face, waiting for his ultimate answer.

“You,” he pointed the sword straight to Edmund. I stood a little straighter, ready for an attack that would not come. Some of Miraz’s men shot glares at me, yet Edmund and I’s eyes were staring straight at Miraz. “You should hope your brother’s sword is sharper than his pen,” he simply said.

I smirked at his words, knowing, undoubtedly, it was.

“Something was off,” I said to Edmund, as we made our way back.

Edmund’s hand gripped the parchment tightly. “What do you mean?”

We were now reaching friendly grounds, the woods surrounding us, protecting us as we walked back to Aslan’s How.

“His men were mocking him,” I recalled their tones, almost joking, forcing their king to accept the challenge. “Miraz doesn’t want to fight Peter, yet they all seemed to pressure him to do so. Why?” I asked out loud, for I knew Edmund didn’t have the answer.

He shrugged his shoulders, his eyebrows frowning a little at my concerns. “We’ve dealt with tyrants like him. Never backs out of a duel if it means his ego will remain intact,” he proposed. “Besides, as a king, you don’t want to be seen as weak,” he now offered, glancing in the direction of the fortress. Peter’s broken eyes drew me back to our fight at the Stone Table.

I shook my head after processing his words. “I don’t know. In that case, the council would try to get their king out of it. Reach another end. But they were almost willing to see him lose against Peter. Edmund, something’s really off,” I concluded right as we hiked up the path, now filled with soldiers’ footprints. “You pretty much sold him to them in an instant.”

Edmund smiled, although he wore a similar worried expression on his face. “I mean, did you see his face? I was waiting for him to pee himself, to be honest,” he added, making me laugh out loud for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

My laugh echoed across the forest, Edmund joining me. It was the little moments when life felt normal again. It seemed as if it was just us, once again laughing about Peter’s angry expressions as we calmly walked around Cair Paravel, rejoicing in our friendship, no pending wars on the horizon.

A colder breeze had me stop dead in my tracks. My smile vanished, and a light whisper, hypnotizing enough to follow, called me to my right. All my senses were suddenly drawn to that sensation of longing, wild and euphoric, which made me turn and run for my life. My feet guided me across the trees, my mind blank, my heart racing in anticipation. I could feel Edmund running behind me, yet I was faster. For what, I didn’t know. I just had to.

Suddenly, a strong white force collided with me, sending both of us to the ground, and before I could react, a wet pink tongue was licking my face up and down. Tears filled my eyes at the realization, the soft silver fur grazing every uncovered spot of my body.

“Winter?” I sobbed as the wolf howled loudly in front of me, her large menacing figure standing proud and tall. Tears fell down my cheeks as I threw my arms around her neck, her snout nuzzling into my chest in equal affection. “I’ve missed you so much, my sweet girl,” I choked on my tears, scratching that spot behind her ears that she always liked. “Thank you, Aslan. Thank you,” I whispered, looking at the sky.

Winter’s fur was cold to the touch as always, the familiar coat beneath my fingers making me shiver in comfort. Winter was now sitting in front of me, a rather happy expression on her face, with her tongue hanging from her mouth. She whipped her head at the sound of Edmund, who was approaching us trying to catch his breath. His eyes widened as he took in the sight.

“Winter? Is that you?” The large wolf stood up and went to Edmund’s side, her snout smelling Edmund’s hand, brushing against his leg as she always did to him. He also scratched her on the head as I stood up, my face red with tears.

“She’s home,” I said, before walking back to our camp. “We’re home.”

Winter walked loyally by my side as we approached the mountain. I remembered Aslan’s words. Hold on to the cold this summer. I always complained that he would talk in riddles, rather than directly saying what needed to be said. But when Winter looked at me, her eyes resembling the same silvery color that had protected me against Jadis’ followers all those centuries ago, I was glad for the old folk’s words, if only to preserve the mystery. I kept my hand on her head, scratching the fur softly, knowing better than to let go.

As soon as we reached the entrance, many Narnians stopped in their tracks at our sight. Edmund had already gotten inside first, fastly delivering the news and commanding the soldiers to initiate the next phase of the plan. I walked inside with Winter, her face weary, growling slightly at those who dared to look at her in the eyes. Trumpkin, who was watching the scene unfold as Winter and I made our way back to the Stone Table, whispered softly as we passed him.

“The Silver Knight,” he shook his head, wistfully. “What a sight to see.”

I grinned at him, soundlessly walking into the corridor, my face unconsciously brightening at the sound of Caspian’s voice.

“Destrier has always served me well. You are in good hands,” I peeked around the corner. For some reason, my feet were nailed to the ground, as if some invisible force prevented me from moving but urged me to see.

“Or hooves,” Lucy joked, and once again, I had to bite my lip not to laugh.

Both queens stood on Caspian’s horse, the three of them fully dressed for battle.

Caspian looked at Susan, his eyes lingering on her for a bit before wishing her good luck. Something burned at the pit of my stomach as I remained hidden. Winter, at the lack of action, had retreated elsewhere, probably trying to find a good piece of meat to digest.

“Look,” Caspian spoke once again, grabbing Susan’s horn from his belt. “Maybe it’s time you had this back,” he held it in his hand, softly, as if it were to break.

“Why don’t you hold on to it? You might need to call me again,” Destrier’s hooves alerted me of their impending exit, and I hid further in the shadows as the girls passed by me.

“You might need to call me again?” Lucy asked her sister as they run to the outside, her voice bouncing off the walls.

“Oh, shut up.”

The burning now felt like a raging bonfire, extending over all my limbs. Something hard was tugging at the back of my throat, as my eyes wetted of their own accord. My heart was beating loudly in my chest as my breathing picked up, and I had to physically push myself harder into the wall to ground myself. I closed my eyes as I felt the cave closing in on me, and put my hand over my mouth to muffle my breathing as soon as I heard Caspian’s light footsteps coming closer. They seemed to linger nearby, but they quickly left through the only exit of the room. I gripped my head hard, trying to block my ears from listening to the further noise of war.

I fell to my knees, counting my breaths, trying to calm my heart down, but it wasn’t until soft fur touched my face that I started to relax. Winter licked my skin fast and decided, for it hadn’t been the first time she had saved me from myself. I hid my face in her neck as she stood next to me, hiding me away from the rest of the world, and most importantly, from Caspian.

I spoke after a few moments, knowing the big wolf somehow had a way into my head. “I don’t know what came over me,” I told her. Her big eyes were fixed on me. “I guess I had to break down at some point,” I shrugged, trying to brush it off. She stood back up with a look that screamed the one-sided conversation wasn’t over, but we didn’t have time. We had a throne to reclaim, and a war to win.

Peter found me first. He immediately took in my red eyes and walked large strides until he stood in front of me. His eyes widened when he saw Winter, but quickly recovered and hugged me tightly. We stayed like that for some time, definitely longer than what was deemed appropriate, but I didn’t have the heart to let go. There were too many things in the air.

“I’m sorry,” he didn’t break the hug, “I really am. I should’ve listened to you, I should’ve listened to Caspian,” he was desperate. I tensed slightly at the mention of Caspian, which didn’t go unnoticed by him. “What happened?”

We broke the embrace at the same time, yet our hands remained on each other’s shoulders. “Nothing, really. I guess I’m an idiot,” I dismissed it, not in the mood to talk about my definite jealousy and consequent panic attack.

“I’m really, really sorry. Lucy told me everything. You died and it was my fault. You were right, I needed to be a ruler, not pretend to be one. It is my fault we’re now in this situation. And we don’t even know what will happen later and I just…” I cut him off before he could continue.

“Peter Pevensie, you need to learn to shut up sometimes. Leave it in the past where it belongs, for we can’t do anything about it now. You now need to rest, to win. For Narnia, for us, and for you,” I looked deeply into his eyes. Something was different in them. He still looked like a child, but now there was his fierceness, his wisdom, his bravery. His eyes were those of the High King.

“I still feel like shit,” he whispered. I cupped his face in my hands, standing closer to him. I stroked his cheek with my thumb, feeling his erratic heart.

“Well, don’t. I’m here, aren’t I?” I joked, quickly earning a smile from the blond. “You are a good king, Peter. You don’t have to prove yourself to anybody, not even you. Aslan himself chose you, knighted you, crowned you. We’ve fought worse than this and won, all thanks to you,” I said.

“I could say the same thing for you. I’ve treated you like shit only because I was jealous of the attention you were also giving Caspian. This is not how I planned on losing my best friend –to a foreign prince whose bloodline destroyed our home,” Peter copied my moves, cupping my face in his hands.

I looked at him weirdly. “What in Aslan do you mean by that?”

Peter looked at me pointedly. “I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. I also happen to know you almost died because you were staring at him.”

My words died in my throat. Color rose to my cheeks, yet Caspian’s interaction with Susan resurfaced in my mind.

“Yeah, well, I think he may be going after your sister, after all,” resentment lingered on my tongue, reminiscing all the times Susan stood in the spotlight during their rule, as I stood at the sidelines, watching, dreaming. Craving.

“Then you’re both idiots,” Peter’s eyes looked behind my back for a split second before returning his gaze to me. “You are the most extraordinary woman I have ever met. And anybody would be lucky to even stand in your presence. You’re always the one giving us the pep talks, but don’t underestimate your own power. Narnia would be lost without you, and it’s time you understand that,” Peter’s thumb also brushed my cheeks, wiping the stray tear that fell from my eye.

I smiled at my best friend, knowing that, whatever happened next, I would always have him by my side. “Peter Pevensie, you have no idea how much I love you.”

He kissed my forehead, giving me another quick tight hug. “The feeling’s mutual.”

I didn’t miss the wink he sent me. I also didn’t miss what he implied with it.

Next chapter

#prince caspian x reader #prince caspian #ben barnes x reader #narnia fanfiction #narnia #prince caspian movie #prince caspian fanfiction #ben barnes #bin bons #chronicles of narnia #prince caspian x you #prince caspian x y/n #narnia imagines

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slpytired · 3 months

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Watching the whole Gundam series in 2023 #16: Mobile Fighter G Gundam Review

Mobile Fighter G Gundam was directed by Yasuhiro Imagawa and ran for 49 episodes from April 22, 1994 to March 31, 1995. Set in the Future Century year 60, the plot follows Domon Kasshu, Gundam Fighter of Neo Japan, as he travels the world participating in the 13th Gundam Fight, while searching for his brother Kyoji Kasshu and his Devil Gundam.

I was quite interested to start this series as I had heard it was very different from most other Gundam series. I was definitely not expecting a battle shonen with Gundams and martial arts, but it worked surprisingly well.

Domon feels like a very common archetype of a shonen main character - headstrong, stubborn, rushing into action at the drop of a hat. He was not plagued by the moral dilemmas that many other Gundam characters faced throughout their journeys, but instead faced many opponents and situations that challenged his resolve and sharpened him into a strong warrior. It was nice to see the development of his relationship with Rain Mikamura over the course of the series. They work well together as colleagues, and though Domon was pretty cold to her on numerous occasions, he realised the error of his ways and made every effort to get her back at the end of the series.

The series also featured many twists that I genuinely didn't see coming, from Master Asia's betrayal to Neo Japan's attempted takeover of the whole Earth Sphere at the end. I initially thought the series would be a villain of the week sort of format for most of it, but it took a more story-driven turn early on that I didn't expect. Master Asia was an enjoyable villain and more than a match for Domon and the Shuffle Alliance. I liked that his antagonistic relationship with Domon was influenced by their past as master and student, and that he always believed in Domon's strength, which was most evident in the Hong Kong arc. I was genuinely sad that he died at the end of the series, with Domon mourning his master even though they were enemies for most of the series.

i felt that the Shuffle Alliance was a good supporting cast. They didn't feel like Domon's sidekicks, but more like his friends and rivals in the Gundam Fight. Despite their many battles throughout the series, they always supported each other, and respected each other's strength.

Overall this series is a 7.5/10.

#slpytalk #g gundam

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utterlyhooked · 1 year

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can you stop reposting gifs without credit please

Hey Nonnie, which one? Please point it out!

ETA: Barking up the wrong tree here Nonnie!

I received this today and was contemplating of whether to answer it or not. I thought, feck it, why not?!

I have been making GIF's and learning as I go along and I am still such a beginner but I was really proud of my latest post of LBFAD. I think it's my best yet (of those that I posted). The quality is still sub par compared to the ones made by GIF making gods here in tumblr but I was really happy with them especially because I am not techy.

here they are (my lastest 2 tumblr GIF posts) in one of my folders. For example, the one enclosed in red, the file size was too large so I had to lower the resolution so I could lower the file size hence there are 2 there. ETA: On my Despairing GIF post, for the subtitle/dialogue, I used DidactGothic font with font size 15, in white with no borders, and 100% opacity!

I removed the file names here because quite frankly, it's none of your business!

I tagged them as #cdramaedit, I thought that was enough. I was going to put #myedit but I thought it was hubris to put one on mine since the quality is not the greatest but I will now!... when I remember! I also wanted to put my mark on them but I did not like the fonts available so I didn't, but I will now!... when I remember!

Here's one example that I made today from LLTG, this is one of the favourite GIF's that I made. There's my mark on it now just so you know that I made it! MINE!

It is a series of 4 that I made back in late August - very early September. I have only used 2 of them in my posts. I use these as basis depending on what I need and edit - crop, add text, sharpen, adjust hues, brightness, contrast, saturation, etc... I have 46 GIF's in my LLTG Gif folder alone!

ETA: I was really happy with making GIF's and I can see my progress from really crappy gifs to the latest ones which I am very happy with. I have been teaching myself, exploring, and learning more, at my leisure, and enjoyed the journey so far. It's very relaxing. But now, I'm annoyed!

Since joining tumblr, I started making GIF's. I started with GIPHY and quite frankly they were crap! It was grainy, low resolution, but I still made them and posted some of them. The ones shown below are all made by me. I even attempted to put my mark on some of them. My GIF's might be crap, but they are my GIF's!

Afterwards I started using Kapwing which made my GIF’s slightly better but they changed their format (whatever you call it, I don't know!) so I looked for other ones. I started using another app especially in trimming videos (it doesn't compromise the resolution!) so I can make GIF's from them. I also found a better video downloader app which made a big difference for me. Another thing is that I found a new to me app that makes better GIF's in comparison to what I was using before.

Honestly, the one that I can think of is a post I made of The Untamed back in the last days of December 2021. Although, it's a GIF from tumblr showing who the original poster is and when it is clicked on, it opens a link to the original post. It also notifies the original poster. Is this what you are talking about? or are you talking about the cartoon reaction GIF's like Ursula from little mermaid?

Some part of my brain is saying that I should probably take this as a compliment, my latest GIF's are probably good enough to be compared to the great GIFs here in Tumblr. Maybe.

#anonymous ask #I'm getting a fucking headache because I want to finish this before getting dinner!#I'm hungry!#myedit #Barking up the wrong tree!#LBFAD #Love Between Fairy and Devil #LLTG #Love Like The Galaxy

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buildercar · 7 years

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New Post has been published on http://www.buildercar.com/first-drive-2018-mercedes-amg-gt-and-gt-c-roadster/

First Drive: 2018 Mercedes-AMG GT and GT C Roadster

SEDONA, Arizona — It’s a crisp, sunny spring day along Highway 89a and we’re headed toward the spectacular red rock formations that made the area famous. The top is down, we just passed a squiggly road sign warning of tasty miles ahead, and I’m desperate to unleash the handcrafted, 4.0-liter twin-turbo V-8 monster lurking under the long, sloping hood of the 2018 Mercedes-AMG GT Roadster. There’s only one catch: two cars that won’t move the hell over. It’s absolute torture.

Suddenly, a tiny stretch of passing lane appears. With the AMG dynamic select dial turned to Sport+, my foot goes to the floor. The boost gauge instantly pins, the turbos spin furiously, and the seven-speed dual-clutcher kicks down as the grumbling V-8 is finally let off its chain. It. Is. On.

We begin our mountain attack sequence and the exhaust note’s guttural, baritone roar echoes into the canyon. We’re carving up the twisty asphalt Ginsu style and the GT Roadster utterly unfazed, its power band staying in its sweet spot, its AMG-tuned suspension keeping the car balanced into the tighter esses, and its adaptive ratio steering offering up more than ample feedback. This is what the crew in Affalterbach made this car for.

Annnndddd just like that we roll up on more four-wheeled roadblocks. Damn.

We pump the roadster’s stout brakes with 14.2-inch perforated discs all around (15.4-inchers at the front for the harder edged, higher spec GT C, with carbon ceramics optional for both), the exhaust crackles and pops, and our fun run ends all too soon.

But hey, the sun’s still beaming into the GT roadster’s elegantly trimmed cabin – now with 100 percent more beige if you desire (Macchiato Beige Nappa leather is an option) – and we’ve got its impressive Burmester sound system turned up, so it’s not all bad. I dial it back to Comfort (softer suspension and more relaxed transmission, steering, and engine response) and we take in the stunning scenery unfolding before us on the slow roll into Sedona. So far, we’ve spent our drive in the base version of the roadster — the other being the aforementioned GT C, which cribs several elements from the track-star version of AMG’s two-seat halo model, the GT R. But lest you think the base GT roadster is a slouch, we’ve got 469 reasons and a claimed 0 to 60 mph time of 3.9 seconds why you should think again.

The GT and GT C drop tops are the latest variants to join Mercedes-AMG’s GT lineup, making it seven in all for the division’s only exclusive model, with one more on the way (all but certain to be a four-door version). The roadsters were in the cards since the onset of the GT’s development, so the extra bracing applied in order to further strengthen their aluminum intensive architecture and keep them as free from chassis flex as possible was meticulously planned. And as is the case with the rest of the GT lineup (which is starting to resemble the 911’s dizzying array of variations), they both offer an impressive performance envelope while appealing to slightly different customers.

On the way up the mountain, we spent ample time traversing swaths of Arizona’s well-maintained freeways and the GT Roadster easily ate them up with a suspension that’s tight but far from punishing at any setting. You’ll want to keep it out of Comfort if you’re planning to be aggressive, though, as throttle response was a tad lazy. The cabin’s amenities are befitting a car in this range, with impressive trim and stitching accents, the Burmester sound setup, and a version of Benz’s now familiar and logically laid out, dial-controlled COMAND infotainment system. An interesting feature available for both cars is the AMG Track Pace iPhone app, which hooks into the car to record lap times and even takes video of your hot laps. The AMG sport seats are an acquired taste, however. While they’re plenty supportive during aggressive cornering and now come with the Airscarf system that blows air around your neck, they can also feel pretty stiff in normal driving situations. It’s also a little tight inside overall, with cargo space at a premium in the cabin and the trunk, though that’s somewhat expected of a roadster.

Flatten the pedal and the twin-turbo eight bellows in your ears as you easily reach hair-messing speeds in mere seconds. And while it can feel like a big car at times, especially during confined city cruising, out on the open road is where the GT Roadster does its best work. Speed limits are simply unfair when you’re in a car so clearly geared to run all day long at triple digits.

As you’d expect, Mercedes-AMG has spent an inordinate amount of time making sure its GT cars perform at the highest levels. To that end, both cars utilize elements like the active air shutters that lurk behind AMG’s mean, gleaming chrome 15-rib ‘Panamericana’ grille to aid air flow and cooling and are fitted with an AMG sports suspension (the GT C gets AMG’s uplevel ride control system with active dampers). Weight saving tricks including a trunk made of composite materials help keep the gain over their coupe siblings to roughly 77 pounds in the GT and 110 in the GT C (the GT Roadster is 3,683 pounds, the GT C 3,825).

Then there’s the stonking 4.0-liter twin-turbo eight, rated at 469 horsepower and 465 lb-ft of torque in the GT and 550 hp and 502 lb-ft in the GT C – thanks primarily to the turbo boost being turned up. Both variants are hooked up to AMG’s seven speed dual clutch automatic, although the GT C gets a taller ratio in first gear, a lower one in seventh, and a taller final drive. The GT gets a mechanical rear differential with AMG’s quicker responding electronic rear diff fitted to the GT C. Looking to launch? The GT C has a feature that lets you step on the brake with your left foot as you mash the accelerator while adjusting the revs using the shift paddles. Then let off the brake and you’re off to a reported 3.7-second 0 to 60 mph sprint.

As we approached the midway point of the drive, we figured it was a good time to see how the lightweight, magnesium, steel, and aluminum constructed soft top operates. We hit the button at about 31 mph and it went up quickly with zero drama. Benz quotes 11 seconds and it was easily that fast. With it up, its triple-lined fabric design was effective in quelling outside noise, while headroom and visibility were acceptable. It’s not the prettiest looking top when it’s up, but you can get it in red, black, and, oh yes, beige.

The GT roadsters are best viewed with the top down of course, and according to AMG designer Vitalis Enns, the cars feature a “positive and strong stance” and are “really, really low, wide and aggressive.” Enns said one of the team’s primary design goals was to develop a car with a high beltline and a low rear end. Mission accomplished.

Most of the rear of the GT C Roadster is similar to the GT R, with a wider track (2.2 inches), bigger tires and 20-inch rims at the rear, and different bodywork to accommodate. The GT C also employs AMG’s rear wheel steering from the GT R as part of the car’s uprated suspension setup. Sadly, our time in the GT C was primarily limited to 100-plus miles of freeway driving, so we didn’t get a chance to experience rear steer to any extent. But our man Georg Kacher drove the GT R, here’s how he described its handling at speed on a track:

The AMG GT R’s variable-rate steering systems (plural) deserve a separate chapter. Depending on speed, mode, and lateral acceleration, driver input has complex consequences. At the inception of a slide, for instance, steering effort is reduced so that correction maneuvers require only minor adjustments, adhering to the line is playfully easy, and lock can be unwound pleasingly early. Above 62 mph, the system switches from countersteer to synchronicity. Similar to the setups in the 911 Turbo and Lamborghini Centenario, this transition is executed progressively and smoothly. In Race mode, direction changes occur with physical immediacy; in Comfort, however, the wheels turn with pursed sidewalls. Further enhancing this by-wire muscle-tensing exercise for the hind legs are over a dozen uniball joints in lieu of the commonly used rubber mounts.

We did get enough time in the GT C Roadster to discern that it’s perceptibly quicker and brakes harder than its GT cousin. It also features a Race mode that further sharpens the car for track duty, is fitted with the brand’s performance exhaust, and comes with a more upscale interior including a leather and microfiber trimmed steering wheel, among other special touches. The GT C is obviously the edgier car, the GT is slightly more of a grand tourer, but both are eminently capable. It really boils down to personal preference and maybe pocketbook considerations.

There are other super high performance convertibles out there with more established reputations and different setups that some may find more appealing. But as is the case with the rest of its GT line, Mercedes-AMG’s GT and GT C Roadsters have an appeal all their own – especially when the twisty road ahead is clear of four-wheeled obstacles.

2018 Mercedes-AMG GT and GT C Roadster Specifications

ON SALE Fall 2017 PRICE $130,000/$155,000 (base, GT/GT C)(est) ENGINE 4.0L twin-turbo DOHC 32-valve V-6/469 hp @ 6,000 rpm, 465 lb-ft @ 1,700-5,000 rpm (GT); 5,750-6,750 rpm, 502 lb-ft @ 1,900-5,750 rpm (GT C) TRANSMISSION 7-speed twin-clutch auto LAYOUT 2-door, 2-passenger, front-engine, AWD convertible EPA MILEAGE 15/21 mpg (city/hwy) L x W x H 178.9/179.2 x 76.3/79.0 x 49.6 in (GT/GT C) WHEELBASE 103.5 in WEIGHT 3,683/3,825 lb (GT /GT C) 0-60 MPH 3.9/3.7 sec (GT /GT C) TOP SPEED 188/196 mph (GT /GT C)

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Seven Lamborghinis and an Unforgettable European Road Trip

Three Lamborghinis spear fast through France at 160 mph. One, the Countach, with its 375-horsepower, 4.0-liter V-12, could go faster. But its driver remains in the convoy with the Silhouette and Urraco; their 250-hp, 3.0-liter V-8s are flat out. The cars, each painted a bronze gold, glisten in the early sun of this pristine fall morning and gobble up the miles. It’s a quiet Sunday, and they slice through the long, lazy curves of the A6 Autoroute du Soleil as it climbs through the soft hills of the Côte-d’Or northwest of Beaune. A lonely Renault, Simca, or Ford occasionally looms ahead. The Lamborghinis leave them lost in a different time.

The police won’t bother the Lamborghini drivers. This is October 1976, and France has yet to introduce autoroute speed limits. The Countach howls past a stationary motorbike cop, and the V-8s follow suit. He mounts up and tails them into the next service area, moseys over, nods hello, and admires the cars. Two more bike cops do the same, and then a group of gendarmes comes over to look. Word is spreading.

The drivers — I’m one of them — know they’ll be OK. After breakfast, we accelerate hard back onto the A6 and chew the remaining 400 miles to the north French coast at Calais. We’ll get a ferry across the English Channel, 80 miles to London.

The Huracán Spyder leads the convoy through Great St. Bernard Pass.

It all began four days earlier when England’s Lamborghini importer, Roger Phillips, phoned and said if I got to Heathrow Airport in two hours, I could fly to Italy with him and two pals to drive three Lamborghinis from the factory at Sant’Agata Bolognese to London. I was editor of Car at the time, so I shot home, got clothes and passport, and sped to Heathrow.

The Countach stayed in its monumental second gear and occasionally third. “It’s certainly a driver’s car. You have to keep going to the gym to have the strength to drive it on an epic road like this.”

In Sant’Agata, we waited a day while the Silhouette was finished then took off Saturday morning. We got into our stride at a steady 110 mph or so on the Autostrada del Sole up to Milan, sailed past trucks in the Aosta Valley up to the Mont Blanc Tunnel into France, and cleared gaggles on the back roads beyond Geneva. At nightfall, after a struggling Citroën 2CV on the wrong side of the road nearly took out the Silhouette, we called it a day and stopped at a hotel near Nantua. We fired up the Lamborghinis at 6 the next morning. They were properly warm when we struck the D979 that swoops in and out of the Ain River valley. It’s the kind of road you dream about. The day was magical. Mist turned the valley below us silver, and as we zoomed down we stayed nose to tail, windows open, relishing the thunder of 28 cylinders, 12 cams, 14 Webers, and eight exhausts bouncing off the banks in the still air.

A few months ago, Lamborghini Silhouette-owner Richard Head reread the 1976 Car story titled “Convoy!” I wrote about the journey. It also appeared in Car and Driver’s August 1977 issue, thanks to my good friend and AUTOMOBILE founder David E. Davis Jr., who was then Car and Driver’s editor. Head had thought it would be neat to do a sequel. He hatched a plan with fellow Lamborghini enthusiast Alan Robb for a reboot with a Countach, Silhouette, and Urraco, and maybe a few more Lamborghinis. Robb is after-sales manager for Super Veloce Racing, a high-performance car sales, service, and events company in England. The company is the sole agent for the Noble M600 in the U.K. and Europe, and among the marques it handles, it has a particular penchant for Lamborghinis going back to when SVR’s owner, Ben Adnett, bought a Countach when he was 23.

The Silhouette and Urraco glide along in formation.

We sought a different route this time. With no need to rush, we wanted as many miles on captivating roads as possible. I had two in mind. My friend and automotive journalist Peter Robinson, who lived in Italy for 16 years, reckons the SP85 up and over Monte Bondone, near Trento, is Italy’s best driving road. Robinson, with American Pete Davis (then Fiat design boss and later director of interior design for General Motors), in 1996 determined that the epic opening scenes with the Miura in the classic movie “The Italian Job” were filmed on the SS27 north of Aosta. Irresistible.

So six privately owned Lamborghinis — a Countach LP5000 QV, Silhouette, Urraco 3000, Diablo SE30, Murciélago SV, and Espada — traveled by transporter from England to a hotel near Bologna, along with a Huracán LP 610-4 Spyder loaned by Lamborghini.

They say bad things happen in threes. Before we got to Sant’Agata, we lost the first of the cars, Tadek and Verna Lipinski’s Countach, when a coil lead failed. Then the front brakes went out on Head’s Silhouette, and as we reached the factory, Chris and Sandra Notley’s Urraco dumped its clutch fluid. Lamborghini’s workshop, dedicated to restorations and getting new premises as part of its expanding Polo Storico program, squeezed in the Silhouette to fit new front calipers and took care of the Urraco. The Countach was soon ready, the Silhouette and Urraco 24 hours later.

The Countach QV paces the stealth-fighter Huracán.

In the morning the SP85 showed us its delights, a 35-mile mix of visually clear hairpins and fast open bends interspersed with straights. We soon had the stirring sight of the Countach, its exhausts spitting sparks on the overrun, hounded by the thunderous Diablo and sinister Murciélago, braking hard into bends, squatting onto fat rear tires to power out and bolt through the gears to triple-digit speeds. In the Diablo and especially the Countach, unassisted steering, hard brakes, meaty clutches, and gated gearshifts made for a physical experience. The more recent Murciélago, despite its paddle shifts, was stirringly tactile too.

The Huracán delivered today’s kind of supercar experience: mega performance with little effort. I knew by now how well it rode and behaved and why its stonking 5.2-liter V-10 suffers no inferiority complex in the company of older V-12s. As we climbed toward Monte Bondone, it gripped and tore through the bends—accurate, dependable, and fast.

Returning from the top of SP85, on the 11-mile-long stretch that’s been one of Europe’s best hillclimbs since 1925, I learned what the Huracán is about. Switching from Strada to Sport mode sharpened the engine map, seven-speed gearbox, Haldex all-wheel drive, steering, and stability control. The exhaust note snapped to spine-tingling, with fortissimo pops and crackles on the overrun and ferocious downshift blips. With the throttle flat between bends, the V-10 held its gears to 9,000 rpm, well past its 8,250-rpm power peak. The carbon-ceramic discs delivered amazingly short braking distances as the transmission snipped down — blam, blam, blam — to whichever gear it decided was right. For a while I manually flicked the paddles, but I couldn’t do it as fast or perfectly as the system. This was very different from driving an old-school manual such as the Countach or Diablo. Without time to shift so often, you’d stay in second or third and utilize the V-12’s flexibility and engine braking. Same in the V-8s.

I’d been mindful of comments that early Huracáns understeered. With the Spyder’s introduction, Lamborghini recalibrated the front-rear torque split. In Strada mode the settings lean toward understeer, but I wasn’t getting run-out at the nose. Both ends’ grip matched the speed and power, and the Huracán flowed around accurately. In Sport, where Lamborghini anticipates a higher level of driver skill, the attitude moves to the verge of oversteer. If there’s enough room and power, the tail will move but not much. Corsa delivers dogged neutrality for ideal cornering speed. The takeaway: This car allowed me to access as much of its power and capability as I wished, with supreme safety and dependability to enjoy a thrilling drive.

Memories of 1976 as the Silhouette tails big brother Countach.

Back in the bar, Nick Tranter reckoned it was the best day’s driving he ever had as he discovered new aspects of his 518-hp Diablo SE30. “Given the Diablo’s size, the thing that surprised me,” he said, “was how nimble she was through the hairpins and how quickly she restored balance under full power out of them. That huge whoomph of torque kicked in early and stayed there all the way to the limiter. Second gear’s versatility was fantastic for acceleration and engine braking. … It’s an analogue experience versus a digital experience.” Glenn Brooks in the Murciélago SV, with its paddle shifts, used the gears more as he laid down all of his car’s 661 hp and found it just as soul stirring.

After stretching his Urraco’s legs for the first time: “It surpassed our expectations. It’s an elegant, remarkably comfortable, and surprisingly quick and economical sports grand tourer.”

The Silhouette and Urraco arrived, and we left next morning for the 240-mile run across the top of Italy to Courmayeur. Top down (dropped in 17 seconds) the Spyder was a quiet, comfortable cruiser in the autostrada traffic. Near Courmayeur, we peeled onto the serpentine SS26. High up, its bends are so compressed that the Huracán’s speed was governed by how fast I spun the wheel from lock to lock. There’s little feel in the electronic steering, but its variable ratio seemed to match it to each corner. The orchestration of V-8s, V-10, and V-12s through the route’s tunnels was an utter delight. Sant’Agata has always understood that kind of music.

The Huracán pauses at an abandoned roadhouse in France.

The next day we pressed on to the Great St. Bernard Pass, where the old SS27 veers off the new T2 to the tunnel. If you’ve never driven it, find a reason. Here you’ll see the breathtaking Dardanelli viaduct, which the Miura drove across so evocatively in “The Italian Job.” In the Countach on the way to the top, it was fascinating to note the different feel and effect of Lamborghinis 30 years apart. The Huracán’s V-10 is light and snappy as it revs. The QV’s V-12 has 155 hp and 43 lb-ft less, but its brawniness and linearity is addictive, with a rack-and-pinion steering (heavier than in earlier Countachs) that demands muscle. The reward was fingertip-fulfilling feel. As with the Diablo, the Countach stayed in its monumental second gear and occasionally third, working up and down the rev range. “It’s certainly a driver’s car,” Tadek Lipinski said with a grin. “You have to keep going to the gym to have the strength to drive it on an epic road like this.”

Brookes put Robb, who rates the Murciélago SV highly, into his SV for the climb. “In Corsa, I could lean on it and use the weight to set it up through the corners,” Robb said gleefully. “Left-foot braking kept it balanced, either using just the grip or pushing on to get the four-wheel drive to help. At one point, it was so eager and confidence-inspiring I went into fourth and took the corners as fast as I dared. Savoring every new push of power from the V-12 on the way to the redline on that road, with no traffic and perfect weather, goes down as one of my all-time great drives.”

On the Swiss side of the pass, the road is narrow and bumpy, and there’s often no guardrail. Toward Martigny, the highway broadens into sequences of fast, open bends. “The Silhouette was awesome on those sweepers,” Head reckoned, “and responded so well to being driven hard.”

The herd takes on the twisties.

There are interesting differences and similarities between the Urraco and the Silhouette derived from it: lighter but sharper steer-ing in the Urraco, meatier feel in the Silhouette, plus a lower driving position and tighter seats. In both, modest oomph from the 3.0-liter V-8s to 3,500 rpm, then a brisk climb to 250 hp at 7,500 rpm. Both delivered strong directional stability and comfortable rides. Chris Notley, able to stretch his Urraco’s legs for the first time, said, “It surpassed our expectations. It’s an elegant, remarkably comfortable, and surprisingly quick and economical sports grand tourer.” Our run finished on the D1506 from Martigny to Chamonix, along the top side of Mont Blanc, another cracking road that gave us the perfect ending to a perfect day.

And then it was the 400-mile haul to Paris, with the D979 on the way. I threw the Huracán at it and, just as with the Silhouette in 1976, it bestowed immeasurable pleasure. In Sport, I switched off stability control and prodded the V-10 hard enough to make the tail creep in the tighter bends. But somehow that seemed at odds with the Huracán’s nature. The car is properly fast, and its control systems lets you access its pace with extraordinary ease. Three accelerometers and three gyroscopes shoot real-time high-speed data about roll, pitch, and yaw to the ESC, AWD, shock absorbers, and steering. Lamborghini’s R & D boss Maurizio Reggiani says it lets the car get close to the point of no return while checking and controlling its attitude. Down the amazing road into the Ain valley, there was an inhibitor, though: Under braking into tight hairpins, the pan under the nose scraped the asphalt. A dashboard switch lifts the height for speed humps, etc. It’s a definite yes on the options list.

There wasn’t a time when the Spyder’s ride gave up any comfort. With sunny weather all the way, the roof was always down; at serious three-figure speeds, the cabin remained calm, with only the V-10’s panoply of wicked tunes as the soundtrack. Hours at the wheel weren’t tiring; the pedals are well aligned, and at 5-feet-9-inches I had enough room in the cockpit, and the seat shape worked for me. All this made long stretches like the miles up the A6 to Paris a pleasure.

Loping along near Beaune, I smiled when I saw in the mirror a low, wide shape closing fast. It could only be an Espada. Richard and Lynne Bull’s immaculate Series III swept past, in its métier. In 1976 I tucked away 900 miles in 11 hours in an Espada and knew full well its ability on open roads. There wasn’t a faster four-seater at the time.

After a night in Versailles, we had just a 190-mile run up the A16 to Calais. Most of the crew said it’d been their best week’s driving. With the original “Convoy!” trip in my memory, could I say that? This was a less intense experience with more variety in a different kind of Lamborghini. Far more powerful than even the Countach, much faster, and notably more refined, the Huracán Spyder gave me a week of unalloyed joy. I loved using so much of its performance so often. I wish it had better cabin storage and a bigger “trunk” in the nose for more than two small carry-ons, but it’s so liveable in every other way. When I shut it down in London after 1,466 miles, I was left with nothing but a hunger to drive it more. The other drivers felt the same about their cars, best or not. It was a hell of a week, just as it was 40 years prior.

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