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musette22 · 4 years

Note

Hello! Can you write a stucky or evanstan fic where steve/chris finally confessed his feelings to bucky/sebastian using the hearts candy, pretty please? Oh I really love your fics!

Aww, thank you so much, lovely! This was such a sweet idea (excuse the pun), and I chose to go with prewar Stucky for this one! I hope that’s okay 🥰🥰

Sweethearts

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Rating: Gen

Words: 2k

A/N: Apparently these sweets have existed since the late nineteenth-century, and - fun fact - at some point they were being produced by the Stark Candy Company!

***

Steven Grant Rogers has never really needed much of a reason to get into a fight. Today, though, he’s in an extra foul mood and he’s just itching for some action.

He promised himself he would tell Bucky how he felt. Promised himself he would do it on Bucky’s birthday, when he had some Dutch courage in his system and Bucky would be in good spirits and hopefully less likely to punch him in the face if he didn’t like what Steve had to say. But Bucky’s birthday came and went, and once again, Steve had failed to get the words out.

Apparently the bullies were right after all: he is a wimp, and a coward to boot.

He’s been stewing over his failure ever since he opened his eyes this morning, getting more and more worked up as the day went on. So when he’s on his way home after a shift at the newspaper and a burly, greasy guy across the street catcalls a dame who’s walking by herself, Steve’s hackles are up even faster than usual.

“Hey, asshole,” Steve calls, his voice ringing out loud and clear in the quiet street. “Didn’t your ma ever teach you any manners?”

He gets the shit kicked out of him, of course – no surprises there. Steve gets in a few good punches too, because he’s feeling amped up and punching assholes has always been his favorite way to let off steam. But at the end of the day, the guy is twice his size and three times as strong, and it’s only because he gets bored with the lack of competition and walks off at some point that Steve escapes the scuffle with ‘just’ a shiner and a few bruised ribs.

Oh, and a mood even fouler than before.

He fumes quietly as he walks the last few blocks home, angrily kicking an empty can out of the way and blowing his tousled bangs out of his eyes. Damn it, he thinks. Damn it all to hell. He’s so busy cursing the heavens that he almost fails to notice the motorcar that turns around the corner, but he manages to jump out of the way just in time. His shoulder bumps against a shop window, and that’s when something colorful catches his eye.

He’s looking at the window of a candy story, or at a jar filled to the brim with candy hearts, to be precise. Sweethearts, they’re called now: little multicolored pieces of candy that each have a word stamped into them.

On a whim, Steve pushes open the door to the shop and steps inside. He’s greeted by the jangle of the doorbell and a wary look from the proprietor, who eyes Steve’s black eye with mistrust but who sells him a small bag of Sweethearts nonetheless. Business is business, after all. Although Steve is well aware that he shouldn’t be spending the money he just made with his extra shift on candy, and this is clearly a stupid plan anyway, he is kind of desperate at this point, and desperate times call for desperate measures.

The hearts burn a hole in his pocket as he makes his way back to the apartment. It’s like they’re taunting him, whispering to him that he’s not gonna do it, he’s too much of a chicken to tell Bucky how he feels. Too gutless to tell him that he’s loved him since the day they met, even if he only later realized he was in love with him. It took Steve a while to work up to the decision that he should tell Bucky about that inconvenient but undeniable truth, which has fueled and consumed him in equal measure ever since it presented itself.

It took him six years, to be precise.

Six years in which Steve pretended he loved Bucky like one friend loves another, pretended he wasn’t looking at Bucky’s mouth and wondering what it would feel like against his own. Six years in which Steve called Bucky a jerk instead of all the other, much tenderer things that were always on the tip of his tongue.

But now, with war raging in Europe and people risking their lives for their own and other’s freedom, Steve could no longer stomach the idea that he wasn’t even brave enough to tell his best friend that he loved him. And in his heart of hearts, Steve knows it doesn’t even matter. He knows he’ll love Bucky until they’re both old and grey, regardless of whether Bucky feels the same way in return.

But maybe, just maybe there is a chance that he does. And maybe today might be the day that Steve’s going to find out.

As he trudges up the stairs and opens the door to their apartment, Steve’s hopes of getting to freshen up a little to hide the worst of the damage before Bucky gets home are dashed when he hears someone whistling the latest Glenn Miller tune from inside.

Shit. Steve is usually home before Bucky, but then he usually doesn’t get into fights on his way home (well, not every day, at least). He sighs, squaring himself up for the reprimand Bucky is no doubt going to give him when he notices the state Steve is in.

As soon as he steps through the door, Bucky turns around from where he’s standing by the sink, holding a glass of milk. He��s in his work pants still, but he’s taken off his jacket, leaving him in just his undershirt and suspenders. Unthinkingly, Steve’s eyes linger on the curve of Bucky’s biceps, taking in the way the shirt is sticking to his stomach with sweat, even though it’s only March. When he finally lifts his gaze to Bucky’s face, though, Steve feels his stomach drop. Bucky’s brow is furrowed, his lips turned down into an unhappy frown.

“For pity’s sake, Steve…” Bucky sighs, sounding infinitely weary. “You really can’t go one week without gettin’ into a fight? What was it this time, somebody breathe in your direction?”

Steve bristles at the implication that it must have been him who started it, even though it had in fact – depending on how you looked at it – been him who started it.

“This asshole was harassing a dame all on her own,” Steve huffs. “What was I supposed to have done, just keep walking?”

“Was he attacking her?”

“No,” Steve replies, frowning. “He catcalled her, but–”

“Steve.” Bucky rolls his eyes, running a hand through his chestnut hair, wavy again now that the cream he put in it this morning has evaporated with a day’s hard work at the docks. “We’ve been over this. There’s always going to be assholes out there, you know that. You can’t fight ‘em all, pal”

“Yes, I can,” Steve counters, unconsciously pushing out his chin a little. “And I will.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a deep sigh. “I swear, Steve, sometimes I think you got a death wish. What am I gonna do with your stubborn ass?”

A slightly manic giggle escapes Steve at that, because he’s got one or two idea ideas for what Bucky could to with his ass. The sound must rub Bucky the wrong way, however, because he raises his eyebrows, eyes going comically wide.

“Oh, you think this is funny, do you?” he asks, then draws himself up to his full height before proceeding to lecture Steve on what are and what aren’t valid reasons to start a fight.

Having heard this spiel countless times before, Steve mulishly tunes Bucky out and instead starts digging around in the pocket of his ragged coat for the little paper bag.

His heart starts beating faster as he pulls it out and opens it, but he ignores it, just as he ignores the little voice in the back of his head screeching at him to abort, abort, abort. He’s not getting cold feet this time – it’s now or never.

“Are you even listening to me?” Bucky huffs impatiently, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Steve doesn’t bother replying because he figures it’s pretty clear he isn’t listening, and instead peers inside the bag, trying to find the one he needs.

Ah. There.

Finally looking back up at Bucky, Steve holds out his hand. There, in his palm, lies a pink little heart.

Bucky’s eyes drop to Steve’s outstretched hand. “What’s this?”

Instead of answering, Steve just keeps looking at him, silently willing Bucky to just get the hint already and take the piece of candy.

Bucky peers down at Steve’s hand, uncomprehending. Then, suddenly, he goes still. He blinks a few times, fast, mouth opening and closing as if he’s going to say something. He doesn’t, but he does reach out slowly, picking up the pink heart from Steve’s palm and then staring at it some more from close up.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Bucky lift his head again, his eyes findings Steve’s. “Steve? What’s this?”

And because he can’t help himself and also he’s about to keel over just from sheer nerves, Steve snaps, “Sorry, I forgot you couldn’t read.”

When Bucky doesn’t respond, just keeps standing there with his mouth hanging open like a fish on land, Steve slowly starts to feel very stupid, and very, very vulnerable. He’s unable to stop the heat rising up in his cheeks, a blush spreading like a wildfire from his face to the tips of his ears and down his chest.

And that, seeing Steve shrinking in on himself, that must be what makes Bucky finally understand. Because from one moment to the next, Bucky’s face transforms, his expression melting into something soft and so mushy it makes Steve’s heart ache.

“Stevie…” Bucky breathes, not taking his eyes off Steve. “This says –” He stops, licking his lips. “This says ‘I love you’.”

Steve nods, slowly, and asks, “Is that okay?”

Because apparently he is still a dumbass, even if he now isn’t quite so much of a coward anymore.

Bucky’s face melts a little further. Steve would’ve thought he looked stupid, if he wasn’t so gone on him. “Are you- Do you mean it?” His voice is barely more than a whisper at this point, as if he’s afraid to break whatever this thing is that’s slowly taking shape between them.

Steve inhales deeply to steady his nerves, his knees feeling worryingly shaky all of a sudden. “I do, Buck.”

Bucky makes a little sound then, something between a sigh and a laugh; incredulous, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. Bolstered by Bucky’s reaction, Steve gets an idea and starts rooting around in the bag again for another heart.

When he finds the one he needs, a yellow one this time, he holds it out to Bucky, not breaking eye contact until Bucky’s gaze dips down to the offering. This time when he sees it, he barks out a laugh, unrestrained and joyous.

Kiss me, the heart says.

Steve watches Bucky pop both the hearts in his mouth, before he bridges the distance between them in two long strides. He takes Steve’s face between his large hands, his touch surprisingly gentle, and leans down, softly pressing his lips to Steve’s.

For a moment, Steve lets himself be kissed – until he recovers from the shock, and then he gives back as good as he gets. He stands up on his tip toes and wraps his arms around Bucky’s neck, pulling him closer, always closer.

By the end of the kiss, Steve has a heart, too.

Bucky tips back his head just a little, looking down at him through his lashes, his lovely slate-blue eyes a few shades darker than they were before. Steve is breathless, both from the kiss and from Bucky’s beauty, which he’s finally able to appreciate openly now, for the first time since he realized the way his heart tripped at the sight of it meant love.

Leaning in again, Bucky gently brushes his lips over Steve’s as he whispers, “I’m sweet on you too, pal.”

Read on AO3

#stucky #stevebucky #prewar stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x bucky barnes #fluff #tooth-rotting fluff in fact #my fic #my writing #ao3 #prompt

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hurt-care · 4 years

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I’ve had a hard time writing anything of any length lately, but this one sort of tumbled out of me tonight. It’s pretty gratuitous....some historical porn with some light plot and no editing...18+ at the end. F, allergies. Set around 1909ish.

---

“Please pass along my regrets. I will not be able to attend any social engagements for several more weeks, I fear."

Katherine Hastings lowered her chin and closed her eyes momentarily as the maid stood opposite, waiting.

“Your mother, madam...” the girl began but Katherine raised her hand and opened her eyes once more.

“Forgive me, Mary,” she said. “I feared another spell might overcome me but it has passed. Please have my regrets sent to the Millers and tell my mother that she can come see me herself if she does not believe the severity of my condition.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Mary said, bobbing slightly with a curtsey as she turned and left.

Katherine sunk back into her chair with a sigh and touched her nose with her ever-present handkerchief, careful to avoid irritating the raw skin of the area too much. For weeks now she'd been holed up in her chambers, afflicted with a spell of the rose cold that kept her in fits of sneezes and with wheezing breath. Her eyes, normally rich chestnut brown and cheerful, swelled and itched and ran with tears so often that she was forced to spend hours each day with a compress covering them. The affliction was such that might progress to a bit of clear-headed peace enough to allow her to take afternoon tea with her mother but by evening, it would return with its swollen grip and send her sniffling and sneezing into her rooms once more.

Her mother was profoundly irritated by the situation, as Katherine's husband was overseas on an extended business trip and as the lady of the house, it was Katherine's duty to be keeping up with the social elites of the area. They'd moved into the estate after Katherine's marriage to James Hastings and it was the first spring in the new home. Instead of enjoying the gardens and the tea socials held at neighbouring estates, Katherine was forced to turn down all invitations in favour of spending her day in her bath, reclining on a divan with cool towels draped over her face or otherwise trying steam treatments to ease her breathing. Once, Katherine had dressed fully for an attempt at a tea social in her own parlour with a young woman from a nearby home and was forced to retreat to her rooms with her maid halfway through the service, desperate to have her corset unlaced as she sneezed fitfully, unable to get a full breath with the restricting garment.

The village doctor had been consulted and could offer no remedies beyond a course of quiet rest and a solution of quinine to be applied inside the nostrils with a small brush. It offered little relief, so Katherine abandoned it along with the bitter lozenges that the doctor offered up for her occasional coughing. For weeks, Katherine had been playing out scenarios in her mind about her husband's return and how she might explain to him that their new home did not agree with her. They'd been married only two months when he'd left on the trip to Austria and he was due home soon. Their last correspondence from him had been three weeks ago when he'd written to say he was to make the last crossing to England on May the 6th.

It was nearing the end of the month and in spite of her congested head and weeping eyes, Katherine ached for his return. Perhaps, with his gentle spirit and guidance, she might find relief from the condition at last.

There was a knock at her chamber door and she sat up taller, giving her nose a cursory dab to relieve it of any lingering moisture.

“Yes?” she said. The door opened and her mother entered followed by Mary carrying a tea tray.

“I thought I might join you for your breakfast,” her mother said, sitting down opposite Katherine at the small table in the bedroom's adjacent parlour.

“Mother,” Katherine began, but her nose flared with a sudden insistent tickle and she took a small, fast breath before turning away, shielding her face with her handkerchief.

Eh'tshchHTT! Ngh'TSCHHI!

She pinched her nose hard to try to stop the itch but succeed only in stifling another sneeze.

Ngh'GXT!

Her mother frowned and made a soft tutting noise.

“I wonder what James will make of all this when he returns.”

Katherine sneezed a final time and wiped her nose gingerly before turning back to her mother.

“I suspect he will feel a great concern for my suffering,” she said, reaching for her teacup as Mary finished pouring. She took a careful sip of the hot liquid, willing it to soothe the deep irritation in her throat and nose.

“I maintain that you are just too high-strung and you are bringing this condition on yourself. If you would only accept your position and enjoy these socials, you would find you do not suffer so.”

“You want me to leave this home and socialize with a nose as pink as a cherry and eyes weeping with tears non-stop?” Katherine snapped. “I would certainly be a topic of conversation. I can barely stand to wear a corset; my lungs struggle so. And ten minutes out-of-doors sends me straight into spasms of sneezing. You have seen it yourself, mother.”

“I only think that holing yourself up here in your rooms every day has done little to alleviate things. You have become a recluse at twenty-three, Katherine.”

“I would love to be able to be visiting dear Celia and Vivienne and Edith, but I-- heh'TSGH!”

Katherine was interrupted by another volley of sneezes. She stood up with her handkerchief held to her nose and rushed off to her adjacent washroom, shutting the door behind her. The cavernous bath chamber echoed with the fit as she sat on the edge of the clawfoot tub, head bobbing with each small outburst.

Heh-TSGHT! Tsh'CHT! Ngh'TSCHT! T'CHTT! Ehh—TSCHHTT!

When she'd stopped the sneezing, blown her nose as politely as possible, and splashed a bit of water onto her swollen eyes, she emerged into her bedroom to find her mother gone.

Katherine didn't much feel like eating and the congestion of her nose made everything taste bland anyhow. She sipped at her tea and then rang to have a bath drawn.

An hour or so later, when the water was cooled, she dried off and slipped into a fresh lounging robe and let her hair loose down her back. Just as she was considering sitting in her parlour to read, she heard a great ruckus and voices downstairs in the main entrance of the house. There was a knock on her door and Mary came in, smiling widely.

“Mister Hastings has returned, ma'am,” she said. “Just pulled up in a motorcar from the station.”

Katherine felt her heart skip a beat.

“Oh, Mary!” she said. “Will you help me? I should put on something else.”

“The purple tea dress,” Mary suggested. “No corset needed for that and it's perfectly suitable.”

“You're divine, Mary,” Katherine said gratefully, stepping out of her lounge robe as Mary gathered up the silk dress and helped her into it.

“I'll pin up your hair if you sit a moment,” Mary offered as she fastened the back of the gown.

“Please,” Katherine said, taking a seat at the vanity and reaching for a fresh handkerchief from the pearl-inlayed box that sat nearby. She pressed the white cloth to her nose and inspected her reflection in the mirror.

“I do not know if I can stand to powder it,” she said, gazing at the bright pink nostrils in the centre of her face.

“He will be more delighted to see the whole of you than one little pink nose,” Mary assured her, pinning the last of her hair up. “Put on the necklace he gave you before he left and let's be done with it.”

Katherine fastened the gold and emerald locket around her neck and stood for a final inspection.

“Radiant,” Mary declared. “He'll be in the library. I heard your mother call for brandy.”

Katherine tucked her handkerchief into a small beaded handbag and descended the stairs towards the library. As she approached, she could hear her mother's voice.

“I swear, it's half in her head. She gets herself into these endless fits and she is exhausted by the end of it. If you ask me, it's hysteria that's led her to this. I hope that your return will bring some sense back into her head and rid her of it. She's been an invalid for near a month now.”

Katherine felt herself flush with anger to hear her mother tell it. If she'd had any control over the miserable state she'd been in all spring, she would have cured herself long ago.

Steeling her nerves, she walked into the library.

James was seated opposite and he looked up as she entered, his face splitting into a wide smile. She felt herself grin in return.

“James,” she said breathlessly.

He stood and strode across the room to embrace her.

“Dear heart,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he hugged her close. “Your mother says you've been so unwell. You didn't have to dress on my behalf. I was coming up to you soon.”

“I couldn't wait when I heard you were back,” she said into his shoulder. She could feel tears in her eyes, but whether they were from joy or her rose-cold she did not know. The coarse linen of his coat rubbed against her irritable nose and she knew he'd been travelling for a long while in the garment. Whatever damnable particles caused her to react so violently to the outdoors seemed to cling to his jacket and she pulled her face back, nose wrinkling as she struggled to get into her beaded back.

“James,” she stammered, trying to pull further away. “I'm sorry, I--ehhh-TSGHTT!”

She was unable to get her handkerchief in time and settled for turning her face away from the present company and sneezing into her wrist. She felt the gentle press of his hand as he withdrew his own handkerchief and offered it to her. She had no choice but to take it and she sneezed into it loudly, with a sound that make her blush to be heard.

Hurhh'TSGCHHHTT! Ehh—hehh-TSGHHT! James' hand rested on the small of her back as she bent fully in surrender to the attack.

“Do you need to sit?” he asked gently. She nodded, feeling faint as the sneezes tore out with vicious energy.

Ehh-TSGH! Nh'GHT! TsGHTT! GHXHTT!

She stumbled into the waiting armchair and fitted desperately, tears streaming from her swollen eyes.

“My love,” James whispered, crouched at her side. “My dear heart. You poor thing.”

She took a shaky breath, managing to stop sneezing long enough to look at him.

“I'm sorry,” she said softly. “It gets like this sometimes.”

“Would you be more comfortable in our chambers? Can I ring for Mary to come and escort you upstairs?”

Katherine nodded.

“I think that's-- ehh-TSGHT!-- I think that's wise.”

He kissed her cheek and whispered into her ear, “I'll be up soon, I promise.”

Mary arrived shortly thereafter and guided the teary, exhausted Katherine back upstairs and into the safety of the bedchamber. Katherine sat on the edge of the bed as Mary gently unfastened her necklace and gown, helping her to change into her nightdress and robe. Then, with the practice of several weeks of care, Mary guided a wet cloth across Katherine's face, wiping away the gathered tears and congestion.

“That's better,” she said gently. “Why don't we get you into bed with a compress for your face?”

Katherine nodded silently, imagining the reaction of her husband entering to see such a pitiful sight. Still, her swollen face demanded it. With a mound of pillows at her back, Katherine reclined slightly in bed and allowed her face to be draped with the cool cloth.

“Rest well, ma'am,” Mary said as she took her leave.

Katherine tried to relax but the sudden attack of sneezing had congested her sinuses to the point of a dull, throbbing headache. She closed her eyes, willing sleep to come before she had to face James in this condition, but no sleep came.

The bedroom door opened quietly and James slipped inside. He sided up to the bed and gently removed the cloth from Katherine's face.

“Hello,” he said quietly.

She blinked open her eyes.

“Hello.”

“Don't you move one bit,” he said, leaning in and kissing her lightly on the lips. “I'm going to dress for bed and then we'll talk.”

She watched through half-lidded eyes as he removed his suit and shirt, revealing familiar olive skin that made her curl her toes with the memory of its touch. He put on a lightweight pair of pinstriped pyjamas and came to sit on the bed at her side.

“Now,” he said, reaching out and curling his hand into hers. “That's better. I missed you.”

“I missed you,” she repeated back. “I wish I was in a better state to say it.”

“Any state is fine so long as I'm here in this room alone with you,” he replied with a grin. She felt herself blush at his boldness.

“May I?” he asked, reaching for the covers to pull them back. She nodded and he slid back the quilts, gently gliding his hand down the length of her leg. As he reached the edge of the fabric, he curled his fingers across her skin, sliding the nightdress up.

Katherine's breath quickened and she coughed softly.

James turned his leg up over hers, coming to sit straddling her lap. He leaned in to kiss her and she returned the kiss briefly before pulling away.

“I want to,” she said. “But my nose is so clogged...I can't breathe.”

“I know,” he said gently. “It's okay.”

He kissed each cheek and then her forehead and her chin and down her neck, pausing to nuzzle his nose against her breasts before continuing down. He pushed the fabric of her nightdress up further and parted her legs, touching her briefly with his fingers. She almost objected, fearing her was about to enter her too suddenly, but instead he lowered his face and his tongue slowly stroked across the rise of her. She made a sound of surprise and heard him laugh.

“Just relax,” he said.

A sensation rippled through her unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She spread her legs wider, pressing eagerly into his touch. He increased his speed and she could not help but make a sound as her body responded to him. Her nose, so clogged and irritated, began to shift and clear. And then, like a wave, a sensation hit her so strongly that she gasped and her arms trembled.

She went boneless, giggling as he raised his head and looked at her.

“Any better?”

“I might need a handkerchief,” she said, blushing as she pressed a wrist to her newly-streaming nose. “But yes....better.”

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wrooom · 6 years

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Pagani Huayras At Miller Motorcars

"This is currently what the Pagani showroom at Miller Motorcars looks like. Here we have a Huayra Roadster and another Huayra equipped with the Tempesta Package. Which would you take?"

By Rivitography

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celtfather · 5 years

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St Patrick's Day Playlist 2019, 3 Hours #400

St Patrick's Day starts early with three hours of Celtic music from the award-winning Irish & Celtic Music Podcast. http://bestcelticmusic.net/

The Gothard Sisters, Banna De Dha, Beyond the Pale, The Duplets, Lochlainn, Clan Celtica, Irish Whispa, Keith Hinchliffe, Kyle Carey, Ceol Gan Achar, Vicki Swan & Jonny Dyer, Bedlam Bards, The Merry Wives of Windsor, Rose Rock, Ella Roberts, Bangers and Mash, Screaming Orphans, Ceann, Ed Miller, Kennedy's Kitchen, Dark Patrick, Paddy's Pig, We Banjo 3, Talisk, Lothlorien, Madd Paddy, Marc Gunn, Kinfolk, Gaelic Storm, Fergus, Albannach, Calasaig, Derek Byrne and Paddygrass, The Hallions, The Fighting Jamesons, Hexperos, Dervish, SeaStar, The McCabes, Old Blind Dogs, The Kreelers, Conor Caldwell, Runa, Seamus Kennedy, Brobdingnagian Bards, Johnson's Motorcar, The Canny Brothers Band, The Poxy Boggards, Celtic Soul, Ockham's Razor

I hope you enjoyed this week's show. If you did, please share the show with ONE friend.

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast is dedicated to growing our community and helping the incredible artists who so generously share their music. If you find music you love, buy their albums, shirts, and songbooks, follow them on Spotify, see their shows, and drop them an email to let them know you heard them on the Irish and Celtic Music Podcast.

Remember also to Subscribe to the Celtic Music Magazine. Every week, I'll send you a few cool bits of Celtic music news. It's a quick and easy way to plug yourself into more great Celtic culture. Plus, you'll get 34 Celtic MP3s for Free, just for signing up today. Thank you again for being a Celt of Kindness.

VOTE IN THE CELTIC TOP 20

With the new year comes a new votes in the Celtic Top 20. This is our way of finding the best songs and artists each year. Just list the show number, and the name of as many bands in the episode as you like. Your vote helps me create next year's Best Celtic music of 2019 episode.

THIS WEEK IN CELTIC MUSIC

0:05 "The Three Coins" by The Gothard Sisters from Story Girl

3:34 "Comb Your Hair & Curl It / The White Petticoat / The Black Rogue" by Banna De Dha from Band of Two

8:29 "Catalpa Rescue" by Beyond the Pale from Wantin' Something More

12:02 "Garry Porch's" by The Duplets from Leverage

15:07 "Green Window" by Lochlainn from Fisher Street

19:07 "Triantan" by Clan Celtica from Tribal Thunder

22:34 CELTIC FEEDBACK

23:08 "Rising of the Moon" by Irish Whispa from Irish Whispa

25:54 "A Wee Dram or Henry the Horse's Hornpipe" from Keith Hinchliffe from A Wee Dram

27:48 "Cairistiona" by Kyle Carey from North Star

30:40 "Hedigans Fancy Hawson" by Ceol Gan Achar from Ceol Gan Achar

34:59 "Grandpa Joe" by Vicki Swan & Jonny Dyer from Twelve Months & A Day

39:48 PATRONS OF THE PODCAST

41:11 "Whiskey in the Jar" by Bedlam Bards from Furious Fancies

44:22 "Jenny's Story" by The Merry Wives of Windsor from Tales from Windsor's Tavern

46:35 "Down by the Sally Garden" by Rose Rock from Aire Loom

49:22 "North Wind" by Ella Roberts from North Wind

53:18 "Paddy's Day NYC" by Bangers and Mash from Whisper Valley and Other Stories

56:49 "Dr. Gilberts Sel" by Screaming Orphans from Taproom

59:49 CELTIC INVASION VACATIONS

1:00:26 "Almost Irish" by Ceann from Almost Irish

1:05:38 "London Town" by Ed Miller from Follow the Music

1:09:48 "Christy Barry's Jig/The Rolling Waves/The Old Favorite/The West Clare Reel" by Kennedy's Kitchen from The Birds Upon the Tree

1:14:27 "Eamonn An Chnoic" by Dark Patrick from Fainne Gael an Lae

1:17:21 "Henry My Son" by Paddy's Pig from Maple & Wire

1:20:47 "Two Sisters" by We Banjo 3 from String Theory

1:25:29 "Rations" by Talisk from Beyond

1:32:33 CELTIC FEEDBACK

1:33:00 "Paddy's Green Shamrock Shore" by Lothlorien from Single

1:37:27 "The Leprechaun" by Madd Paddy from Arrived

1:39:52 "Henry Martin" by Marc Gunn from Not Every Day Is St Patrick's Day

1:42:19 "Paddy's Stout" by Kinfolk from This Land

1:44:53 "Kiss Me I'm Irish" by Gaelic Storm from Bring Yer Wellies

1:49:37 "P Stands for Paddy" by Fergus from Green St.

1:52:49 CELTIC PODCAST NEWS

1:53:51 "Auld Nick's A Piper" by Albannach from Eye of the Storm

1:56:21 "Lazy Bairn / Instrumental: Doug McPhee's Welcome" by Calasaig from Merchant's City

2:00:03 "My Only" by Derek Byrne and Paddygrass from Half and Half

2:02:52 "Devil's Kiss" by The Hallions from EP

2:06:53 "A Song for Letting Go" by The Fightling Jamesons from Every Day Above Ground

2:11:26 "Giant's Causeway" by Hexperos from Lost in The Great Sea

2:15:45 "Red Haired Mary" by Dervish from Midsummer's Night

2:18:47 CELTIC FEEDBACK

2:19:21 "Galway Bay" by SeaStar from Never Go Back

2:23:21 "An American in Paris" by The McCabes from Songs for Breakfast

2:27:34 "Died and Gone" by Old Blind Dogs from Room With A View

2:33:28 "Johnny Don't Go" by The Kreelers from Saints & Sinners

2:36:42 "An Art Revealed" by Conor Caldwell from To Belfast...

2:39:10 "Big Fellah" by Black 47 from Rise Up

2:44:49 "The Ruthless Wife" by Runa from Current Affairs

2:50:39 CELTIC FEEDBACK

2:51:25 "Wild Rover" by Seamus Kennedy from By Popular Demand

2:56:34 "Old Dun Cow" by Brobdingnagian Bards from Brobdingnagian Fairy Tales

3:00:26 "Redcrow/Tamlins/Gravelwalk" by Johnsons Motorcar from Funky Disco Hardcore

3:05:05 "Spancil Hill" by The Canny Brothers Band from One Drop of Whiskey

3:08:12 "The Drinker's Praise" by The Poxy Boggards from Bawdy Parts

3:10:10 "Tempest in a Teacup" by Celtic Soul from Way

3:20:00 "Lanigan's Ball" by Ockham's Razor from Ten Thousand Miles to Bedlam

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast was produced by Marc Gunn, The Celtfather. To subscribe, go to Apple Podcasts or to our website where you can become a Patron of the Podcast for as little as $1 per episode. Promote Celtic culture through music at http://celticmusicpodcast.com/.

CELTIC PODCAST NEWS

* Helping you celebrate Celtic culture through music. My name is Marc Gunn. I am a Celtic musician and podcaster. This show is dedicated to the indie Celtic musicians. I want to ask you to support these artists. Share the show with your friends. And find more episodes at celticmusicpodcast.com. You can also support this podcast on Patreon.

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You can join my band Kilted Kings at The Hangout in Gulf Shores, Alabama on Sunday, March 17th for St. Patrick's Day. Go to KiltedKings.com for details.

Subscribe to my Pub Songs Podcast. I'm sharing 11 St Patrick's Day facts in a couple weeks. But you can listen right now and hear some great Celtic Heroes & Musical Legends from the past show.

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2019 is the Celtic Invasion of Dingle. 2020 is the Origins of Celtic Invasions. You can find out more about these two exciting trips. Join the invasion at http://celticinvasion.com/

THANK YOU PATRONS OF THE PODCAST!

Big corporations want to force feed you Music. Even though Celtic music is a niche market, There are big labels who want to tell you what music is good. With this podcast, you decide. Not a corporation. Not a billionaire. You!

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I want to thank our Celtic Legends: Shawn Cali, Bryan Brake, Annie Lorkowski, Kevin Long, Hank Woodward, Rian P Kegerreis, robert michael kane, Theresa Sullivan, Hunter Melville, Scott Benson, Carol Baril, Lynda MacNeil, Nancie Barnett, Tiffany Knight, Marianne Ludwig. These amazing people pledge at least $25 per month to support the podcast.

You can become a generous Patron of the Podcast at http://patreon.com/celticpodcast

I WANT YOUR FEEDBACK

What are you doing today while listening to the podcast? You can send a written comment along with a picture of what you're doing while listening. Email a voicemail message to [email protected]

Bill Hayes emailed: "Hi Mark, I just became a patron and I just wanted to drop you a line and say thank you for alll the great music you play. I wanted you to know how much this podcast means to me, I’ve always wanted to explore my Celtic heritage and I always loved the music of my ancestors. Thanks for sharing all the independent artists that make this music!"

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John Helminski emailed: "Hi Marc, Thanks for your great podcast. Is there one specific show dedicated to Celtic harp music?"

Catherine Koehler emailed a reply to my reply: "How providential that you responded tonight...the very night that i was writing YOU, lol. I was at the best pub in Louisiana this weekend, Enoch's Irish Pub and Grill of Monroe, LA, and made sure the podcast was well represented. I'm sending along a few pics of the podcast sticker that was ceremoniosly placed by Enoch's wonderful daughter Molly . In her words " we're placing it down low so everyone can see it!" Fyi...it is in front of everyone who stands in line for the rest room!! No billboard ever had a better placement!"

Check out this episode!

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fatcatcars1989 · 5 years

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When in Greenwich. And when @millermotorcars has three Huayras, you check them out. #pagani #huayra #car #cars #hypercar #italian (at Miller Motorcars) https://www.instagram.com/p/BtBUBNBhp6M/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=q6usrbp8am3m

#pagani #huayra #car #cars #hypercar #italian

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exoticcarpro · 3 years

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Ultra-Rare Rolls-Royce Wraith Kryptos For Sale

Your chance to buy a car with a mystery. Listed on duPontREGISTRY.com by Miller Motorcars is a truly rare ultra-luxury car that you have to check out. What I’m talking about is a 2021 Rolls-Royce Wraith Kryptos. Just 50 examples were created for the Kryptos collection, making this a true rarity in the automotive world. […] The post Ultra-Rare Rolls-Royce Wraith Kryptos For Sale appeared first on…

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dasupercarblog · 2 years

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Candy Apple Red Koenigsegg Regera is looking for a third owner

A Candy Apple Red Koenigsegg Regera is up for sale at Miller Motorcars. What’s interesting about this particular Regera is that it has swapped hands in a very short time. Chassis no. 7203 was delivered to Minnesota in early 2020. The first owner sold it to Houston based @chavez_m_713 after just 13 months. However, the second owner decided to sell it off within just 6 months of ownership. This…

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#exotics for sale #Koenigsegg Regera #Regera

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fastnexotic · 6 years

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When life gives you LaFerraris... #coloridiferrari #millermotorcars #ferrari #ferrarigreenwich #greenwich #greenwichcars #greenwichcarsandcoffee #rossocorsa #madwhips #carporn #laferrari #aperta #laferrariaperta #dupontregistry #hypercar #enzo #f50 #f40 #dreamrideexp #tdf #gto #liveupload (at Miller Motorcars)

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hurt-care · 5 years

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Some more historical hay-asthma fluff with my OC Francis and his lady, Caroline. Set in the late 1800s/turn of 1900s. If you haven’t met him before, you can read my prior fics about him here and here.

At long last, Francis had escaped the choking air of London and settled permanently as the owner of some lands near Plymouth with his new bride, Caroline. They'd been married only a few months, joined in matrimony at the local chapel in late October when Francis' health was at its strongest. They'd settled into a modest but elegant seaside cottage with six bedrooms for welcoming guests and an expansive plot of land around it providing privacy. Most of the time, the home was occupied by just the couple and a handful of staff who worked during the day and lived in much smaller homes down in the nearby village.

The staff always arrived early enough to have the morning coffee and breakfast before they rose at a leisurely hour and took their meal in the dining room. The winter by the ocean had been harshly cold but happy and quiet in the new estate. They'd welcomed Francis' cousin from Leeds for a week-long stay and had entertained a magistrate passing through on his way to France. Now, as the months turned towards spring, Caroline gently instructed the new staff about the precautions to take when it came to Francis' sensitive health. Though Plymouth generally provided relief from the majority of his symptoms, occasional turns of weather could bring about an attack of Francis' severe hay-asthma.

It was a beautiful early June day when Caroline rolled over in bed and reached an arm out for her husband, who lay still asleep. She pressed her lips to his shoulder in a kiss and he smiled faintly in his sleep.

“Francis,” she said softly.

“Mhm?” he murmured, waking to the sound of her voice.

“We're due at the Petersons this afternoon, love,” she said. “Better be up and dressed soon. Thomas says it's about a half hour drive.”

They'd been invited for tea at the estate a few kilometers away at Westhart Cliffs. The Petersons were another young couple and Caroline had been childhood friends with the wife, Lady Amelia. They'd moved to Westhart around the same time Francis and Caroline had taken up their own residence.

Dressed and ready with a gift of plum cake carefully packaged by their cook, the couple climbed into their motorcar and the valet, Sean, took off along the cliffside road.

It was an easy drive down to Westhart with rolling fields on one side and the sea on the other. When they slowed in the approach to the house, Caroline took Francis' hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Ready?” she asked, smiling at him. He had a tendency to be a little shy around those he did not know well.

“Of course,” he said, smiling back at her. “It's tea and conversation and then back home before we know it.”

“That's the spirit!” she teased, clapping him on the leg.

“No, in all honesty I'm quite looking forward to seeing the place. I've driven by before but never been inside.”

They peered out of the motorcar's window as they creaked to a halt out front of the imposing manor's front door. A butler appeared to greet them as Sean put the car in park and came around to open the door.

“Mr. And Mrs. Miller,” the butler said, bowing slightly. “Welcome to Westhart. Lord and Lady Peterson will receive you in the atrium.”

Francis raised an eyebrow as he looked at Caroline.

“That will be lovely, thank you,” Caroline replied, smirking back at her husband as she read his thoughts. An atrium was certainly a divinely decadent addition to a manor home.

They followed the butler through the long, impressive entryway and down a hallway out into an airy room with large glass windows along the far side. Above, a portion of the ceiling was an impressive peak of glass panes that filtered light into the room. A small tea table was set in the centre and nearby stood Lord and Lady Peterson, dressed elegantly in white and linen for summer. Around the room arched large ferns and exotic palms with their leaves stretched towards the sunny windows.

“Thank you for having us, sir,” Francis said in greeting, extending his hand to Lord Peterson as Caroline and Amelia embraced nearby. He turned his attention to Lady Peterson and gave a small bow. “And Lady Peterson, I've heard so much about you from Caroline.”

“Call me Amelia, please,” she said with a cheerful laugh. “I hope she's told you only the flattering things.”

Caroline laughed and gripped Francis' arm affectionately.

“Of course, Amelia.”

“And I've heard much about you, Francis,” Amelia said. “Congratulations on your wedding. I'm so sorry we were out of the country during the festivities.”

“Yes, an odd time of year for a wedding,” Lord Peterson said.

“We love autumn,” Caroline said confidently as Francis stood feeling awkward at her side. The real reason, of course, had been to avoid him being unwell during a spring or summer wedding, but they had not widely publicized that fact.

“I'm sure it was divine,” Amelia chirped. “Should we sit for tea? I'll ring for the service.”

She tugged on a nearby sash to summon the servants and they all took seats around the table.

“Mrs. Miller had told us you ran a successful venture in London, Mr. Miller,” Lord Peterson said conversationally as a maid wheeled in a tea cart laden with goodies and the tea set.

Francis cleared his throat and gave a small rub to his left eye.

“Ah, yes, I did,” he replied. “It was my father's business and I took over when he passed. However, I much prefer the climate of Plymouth and when I asked Caroline to marry me, it was with the understanding that I'd sell that venture. So I've closed up shop there permanently and I've taken on some smaller private clients here and by correspondence. Come winter, I may spend some time in London but only as business requires.”

“Quite right,” Lord Peterson said as the maid began to pour tea into fine china cups. “I myself had some dealings in London but I agree that Plymouth is a much finer place to have a home. We hope to start a family of our own here.”

At his side, Amelia blushed and smiled with a knowing look at Caroline.

“We are quite enjoying our new home down the way,” Caroline chimed in. “I've been busy selecting new curtains for the bedrooms and we're having an heirloom piece sent up from my mother and father's home next week; a lovely mahogany wardrobe that belonged to my grandfather.”

Heh-TSCHPMF!

Francis turned away from the tea table suddenly, shuddering with an explosive sneeze. The Petersons jumped at the unexpected sound and next to him, Caroline bit her lip worryingly.

“Bless you, Mr. Miller!” Lord Peterson said.

Eh-TSGH!

“Goodness, I hope you're not ill!” Amelia chimed in.

Francis flushed with a familiar embarrassment at the situation.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, reaching for his trusty handkerchief and dabbing his nose politely. “No, I'm quite well.”

“These tea cakes look delicious, Amelia,” Caroline remarked, reaching for one the petit-fours from the centre serving tray.

“Our Mary does such a nice job with pastries,” Amelia replied proudly. “This plum cake you brought is also divine. You'll have to have your girl send over the recipe.”

“How are you finding the village, Mr. Miller?” Lord Peterson asked.

“You may call me Francis,” Francis replied softly, tucking his handkerchief away. “I'm finding the people very agreeable, sir. We're due to collect rents next month so I imagine I'll get to know a good deal more of the people but the ones we've had dealings with are very kind.”

He cleared his throat softly and reached to take a sip of his tea.

“We've taken on two lads and two girls from the village in service along with a cook and a valet,” he added. “They've all proved to be good workers so- heh---so...heh-TSGH!”

He turned away to smother another sneeze into his cupped hands.

“Oh do excuse me,” he murmured, blushing again. Under the table, Caroline gave his leg a comforting squeeze as she looked around at the exotic plants and wondered if they were proving irritating to Francis' delicate system.

Lord Peterson did not acknowledge this sneeze but instead nodded approvingly.

“That's good to hear. We have a few lads here from our local village that have also proved very helpful.”

“But our Mary is actually the daughter of our old cook Margaret, from back at my family home,” Caroline chimed in.

Hurh-TSGHHT!

Francis turned away again, convulsing with yet another sneeze. He stayed leaning away from the tea table, hands still poised over his mouth and nose. The reason quickly became evident as he launched into a ticklish fit of sneezes that shook him violently with each wrenching outburst.

Hurhh-TSGHT! Ngh-GSHT! Tsh-GHT! 'GHT! Ehh-heh-GHTTT!

He pushed back his chair, standing and stumbling away from the table with his handkerchief to his nose

“My apologi—ehh-GHHTT!”he choked out between sneezes.

“Bless you! My goodness!” Amelia said breathlessly, astonished at the spectacle.

“Are you sure you're quite alright?” Lord Peterson asked, concerned.

Francis' eyes were now red and swollen and streaming with tears as he sneezed several more times in rapid succession.

Ngh-GHXHT! Heh-tshCHTT! Heh-TSCHT! Tsh-GHT!

Caroline stood and went to his side, putting a steadying hand on his back.

“It's the plants?” she asked softly. “Should I make our excuses.”

“Please,” rasped Francis miserably, snot flooding from his nose. He dabbed it with the handkerchief and then covered it again to catch another ticklish sneeze.

Heh-TSCHXHTT!

“Go wait in the hall,” she said quietly into his ear. “I'll say our goodbyes and have them get Sean to bring the car back around.”

Francis rushed for the door, the sound of sneezing echoing in the hall as he left.

“I'm so very sorry,” Caroline said, turning back to their hosts. “I neglected to tell you the severity of dear Francis' condition. He suffers so terribly from hay-asthma and rose-cold and we can never be certain when he's going to have a bad turn this time of year. He finds relief here in Plymouth but sometimes he still suffers spells. I think maybe your exotic foliage did not agree with him.”

“Oh no!” Amelia cried. “We can have the servants move the tea service into the parlour.”

“I'm afraid now that he's having an attack, it'll be a day before he can fully recover. It's best if we return home for him to rest and take his treatments.”

“I wish we'd known,” Lord Peterson said. “Poor chap.”

“He's so terribly embarrassed by it,” Caroline explained. “If you could be so dear as to have our car brought around, I know he'll want to go at once. It makes such a mess of him, he can't bear to have others see.”

“Absolutely,” Lord Peterson replied, heading off to ring for a butler. “Please offer my apologies to your husband. We would not have chosen this room for tea had we known.”

“It's a lovely room,” Caroline said. “I would have chosen it too. Some plants have no effect on him at all, so we never can tell.”

“I do hope he doesn't suffer greatly,” Amelia said sweetly. “He looked dreadful.”

“It is a rather uncomfortable affliction,” Caroline agreed. “He can scarcely get his breath between all the sneezing sometimes.”

“You are a saint for seeing to him,” Amelia said.

Caroline blushed.

“No, not at all. Though I do feel so terribly bad he suffers so much. That's why we chose to marry in the fall, because this season can be so unpredictable for his health.”

“The car should be coming around shortly,” Lord Peterson said, returning from a conversation with his butler. “Can we see you out?”

“I think Francis would prefer a quiet escape, if you don't mind,” Caroline said.

“Of course,” Amelia replied. “Please, send him our good wishes and we'll have you back for tea in the parlour another time.”

She kissed Caroline on the cheek and Lord Peterson gave a bow and kissed Caroline's hand.

With the farewells said, Caroline rushed to the hall to find Francis leaning heavily against a wall with his handkerchief under his dripping nose. His eyes were swollen and puffy.

“Oh love,” she said softly. “I'm sorry. I had no idea. I've made our excuses and Sean should be out front.”

He nodded wearily and followed her out to the front foyer. Outside, Sean was waiting with the car running and he opened the door for them to climb in. Francis sunk down into the seat with a sigh and gave his nose a short, damp blow.

“Okay, home,” Caroline soothed, settling next to him.

Eh-SGHHT!

Francis shuddered with another wrenching sneeze and then took a shaky, wheezy breath.

“How's your chest?” Caroline asked.

Hurh-TSGHH!Tsh-GHT!

Once he was able to speak, Francis shook his head and sniffled thickly.

“It's okay,” he rasped. “A little tight.”

“Okay, just try to get little breaths,” she coached. “How can I help?”

“You don't happen to have a handkerchief?” he asked. His was nearly completely sodden.

Caroline reached for her own from its usual place tucked into her dress and came to the terrible realization that she'd neglected to bring it.

“I'm so sorry, sweet,” she said.

“It's okay,” Francis croaked, pressing the damp one to his nose again. His poor nostrils were getting red and raw from the moisture.

“Do you want to try to rest?” she asked. “You can lean against me.”

“Maybe,” he said wearily, clearly exhausted from the attack. He let his head rest back against her, closing his eyes. She stroked his hair back from his face and thumbed away a few stray tears from around his swollen eyes. He snorted thickly and coughed a few times, now getting so congested he could barely get a breath through his nose. He leaned forward once more, sneezing thickly.

Hurh-TSGHHHT! Heh-TSCHMFFF!

Caroline felt her stomach pang in sympathy and she rubbed his back as he blew his nose futilely.

But the time they reached their home, he was so congested and swollen and miserable that she had to lead him inside because he was nearly blind with allergic tears. They'd given the staff the day off since they'd planned to be out all afternoon, but now Caroline was alone save for Sean who had gone to put the car away. He'd offered to send for the doctor, but that wasn't yet necessary.

She got Francis up to their bedroom and seated in an armchair with a fresh handkerchief from his wardrobe at hand. He coughed ticklishly and she put a hand to his chest, feeling for the wheeze. For now, it was light.

“Better get your inhaler,” she said softly. He nodded, knowing that the asthma would get worse later in the evening as it always did. “I'll get some water for your face too.”

He nodded again, wiping his dripping nose with the new dry handkerchief and triggering more wrenching sneezes.

Hruh-TSGCHMFFF! Ngh'TSGHHH!

Caroline kissed the top of his head and went to the kitchen, setting a pot of water to boil for the inhaler and gathering a basin of warm water with some cloths for Francis' swollen eyes. With everything balanced on a tray, she went back upstairs to find him slumped wearily in the chair, audibly wheezing.

“It's okay,” she soothed as he coughed and clutched at his chest in discomfort. “Here we are.”

She poured a mixture of medication into the steaming water in the ceramic bulb and held it out for him to inhale. He took a long, slow puff and struggled to keep the vapour in his lungs. Finally, he gave into coughing and she rubbed his back, whispering soft reassurances. He was sweaty-faced and spent, unable to find any comfort. When he finally stopped coughing, he leaned into her touch and sighed.

“You don't deserve this,” he rasped.

“I love you,” she said, kissing his brow. “Every bit of you. Now, quiet. We need to get you well again.”

She sponged his swollen, itchy eyes with a rag dipped in warm water and then gave him a mixture of quinine to snort. He tried futilely to inhale it but he was too congested to get much into his sinuses. Wrinkling his nose, he sneezed into the handkerchief and gave his tender nostrils another careful wipe.

Heh'TSCHFFT!

He was so weary that his eyes were fluttering shut but he could not get comfortable enough to sleep. He stood, pacing the room as he coughed occasionally, bracing himself against his chair or the bed or the wardrobe. Caroline hovered nearby, feeling utterly useless.

“Do you want to try to sit a little?” she asked as he tended to his nose with his handkerchief again.

“It's easier,” he rasped. “Breathing....if I stand....but I'm so tired.”

“I know, love,” she soothed. “Come here.” s

As he passed her in his fevered pacing, she wrapped her arms around him, letting him put his weight into her, and held him as he let his head hang over her shoulder. He coughed miserably and she felt him shuddering in her arms, but she held tight, rocking gently back and forth. He wheezed a sigh and tried to pull away, but she held on.

“Caroline,” he gasped.

“It's fine. Rest.”

Heh-tGXHT!

He stifled a sneeze against her shoulder.

“Caroline....” he said again with more urgency.

“I don't mind,” she whispered, stroking his back. His chest expanded and he pitched into her with another sneeze.

Heh-SGHHHT!

“I need to....the chair,” he wheezed. She guided him over to it and he gripped the top, leaning over the high wingback and bracing against it as he coughed again. She rubbed his back more, leaning her cheek against his ribs and hearing the whistle of wheezing.

She held up the inhaler and he took another puff of the steam. The coughing eased a little and he paused to give his nose a blow, wincing as he did. His nose was glowing red and raw now, completely irritated and tender from all the moisture and wiping.

“Should we see if you can get a little sleep?” she asked gently. “I can get your pyjamas.”

He shrugged.

“Yes, maybe,” he said quietly. “I am breathing a little easier.”

She retrieved a set of his pyjamas from the wardrobe and helped him out of his trousers and shirt into the soft linen bottoms and matching top.

“There,” she said, buttoning the last button on the pyjama top. “One more treatment and then you can rest.”

He took another puff from the ceramic inhaler and then followed her sleepily towards the bed. He sat down on the edge and watched her through swollen, half-closed eyes as she tugged off her dress and he reached to help loosen her corset so she could remove it. When she was just in her bloomers and shift, she climbed into bed and reclined against the headboard, guiding Francis to lay against her chest propped up. He closed his eyes and settled into her embrace, breathing noisily but clearer than before. Soon he was asleep, snoring softly, completely exhausted from the attack. She closed her own eyes, comforted by the weight of him against her and the knowledge that she'd be close at hand if he woke with another flare of asthma in the night as he often did.

Thankfully, he slept soundly and when he did wake, it was to nothing more than some slight irritation around his nose and some residual itching in his throat. They settled down in the bed, reclining further, and fell back into a peaceful sleep once again.

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mobileautorepairpros · 4 years

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Deliveries of the McLaren Speedtail, the latest addition to McLaren's Ultimate Series of hypercars, commenced in March but the first example has only now reached the United States due to delays caused by the Covid-19 coronavirus pandemic. The first example was delivered earlier in August to Miller Motorcars, in Greenwich, Connecticut, the same... Viknesh VijayenthiranFirst McLaren Speedtail lands in US https://ift.tt/3lqCWcP

#IFTTT #High Gear Media Network Feed

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abovetheradarnews · 4 years

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A Brief History of Rolls-Royce.

Rolls-Royce remains one of the most famous names in engineering throughout the world. Popular among government elites, royalty, and now increasingly among the young and affluent as there has been a near 10-year decline in the average owner’s age from 56 to 40. That is lower than the average age of car buyers overall, which hovers around 52, and younger than the average age of luxury car buyers, too, which is 50, according to Kelley Blue Book. Whatever your age, the Rolls-Royce has become a global marque symbol of success. However, some maybe surprised to learn that the manufactures of ‘the best motor car in the world,’ also produced aero engines which would go on to power the infamous British Spitfires in World War II.

In 2019 the company reached record automotive sales, selling 5,152 cars marking a staggering 25% increase from 2018. 2020, is an entirely different story and the jet engine manufacturing sector has been hit hard. Following the shutdown of air travel, the company laid-off nearly 9,000 personnel, about 17% of its global workforce. The aerospace sector has seen recession before – at least four times- with the greatest impact resulting in a 68 per cent decline between 1968 and 1971. The crisis has not just impacted expectations for engine sales but has fundamentally altered the company’s business model of earning its living on long-term service agreements. This post explores the history, and future of Rolls-Royce in the aerospace sector.

In The Beginning

Henry Royce’s early life is the anthesis of what the company today embodies. A man of Cambridgeshire farming stock, and the son of a struggling miller, Royce attend night schools while completing his engineering apprenticeship. After graduation in 1884 he opened his own electrical engineering business in Manchester before designing and building his own car in 1904. His meticulous work ethic attracted the attention of a motorist by the name of Henry Edmunds, whom had good relations with a foreign car importer and insisted the two meet.

That man was Charles Rolls, a socialite entrepreneur who had been selling Panhard’s and wanted something better, specifically his name on an all English car. In 1904 the two met over lunch at the Grand Central Hotel in Manchester, and in a if you build them, I’ll sell them arrangement, Rolls-Royce was born. By the end of that year Rolls-Royce’s were appearing on British roads, marked by the characteristic Spirit of Ecstasy sculpture fastened to the front radiator. The company’s official entry into the elite ethos came in March of 1906 following the launch of the six-cylinder Silver Ghost, which became known as ‘that best car in the world.’ The engine's compression ratio was only 3.2:1, held a 48 brake horsepower at 1,500 rpm, and would deliver 50-mph cruising speeds. The Silver Ghost chassis alone cost £985, close to $5,000 at the time, five or 10 times what the average professional could expect to make in a year. Pricey. But as Henry Royce used to say, “the quality will remain long after the price is forgotten.”

The 1907, the Silver Ghost was declared ‘The Best Car in the World’ after its record-breaking success. Travelling from London to Glasgow 27 times - covering 14,371 consecutive miles - the iconic motor car broke the world record for a non-stop motor run while demonstrating unrivalled reliability and comfort.

Despite astonishing success, Rolls again wanted more and by 1907 his interests had increasingly turned to flying. On numerous occasions he had unsuccessfully attempted to persuade Royce and the other directors to design an aero engine.

The Out Break of War

The outbreak of World War I in August of 1914 took many by surprise. Much like the public the directors at Rolls-Royce believed that everyone would be home by Christmas, dismissing the concerns of Claude Johnson- whom was then the commercial and managing director- that the bank would withdraw its overdraft facility on which Rolls-Royce depended at that time. As a manufacturer of luxury cars, the company was immediately vulnerable to the basic principles of economies which dictates when income declines so does demand production of luxury goods. Nevertheless, the directors initially decided not to seek government contracts in making aero engines.

However, this position was quickly reversed following requests from the British War Office to develop a new 200 hp (150 kW) air-cooled engine under licence from Renault and after some negation it was decided that that engine would be cooled by water rather than air, as this was the company's area of expertise. In 1915 the company developed its first aero engine, the twelve-cylinder Eagle. The Eagle became the first engine to make a non-stop trans-Atlantic crossing by aeroplane in June 1919. Following the general overarching philosophy, omne trium perfectum- which states that everything perfect comes in threes- the company soon produced the six-cylinder Hawk, the 190 hp Falcon, and the 675 hp Condor. By the end of the First World War the company had provided more than 60 percent of British-built aircraft engines. Despite major success after the war demand for such motors declined, and the company returned to motorcars, but not for long.

The Schneider Cup

Jacques Schneider was a man of great wealth. The son of a French armaments manufacturer he developed a fond love of high-speed boating. In 1908 Schneider met Wilbur Wright, (I’m not sure where Orville was at the party) but none the less one of two brothers was enough to ignite a newfound interest in aviation. Looking to take his love of boating to the skies, Schneider would use his wealth and influence to announced the creation of a new international competition for hydroplanes in 1912. Naturally, the competition was named after himself as La Coupe d’Aviation Maritime Jacques Schneider.

Sadly, the technology displayed at the Schneider races trailed the ingenuity of the aircraft industry, however, and there was little real competition. At the time the Italians built the best hydroplanes, and other nations were not too interested in taking them on, even though by 1921 the winning speed was only 118 mph. But as history has taught us, if there is a competition, never count out Americas’ government funding, military rivalry, and public acclaim to pull through.

In the early 1920’s, competitions between the U.S. services had produced a series of outstanding Curtiss racing biplanes. Three years later the American Navy debuted at the Schneider race and took the first and second positions with the Curtiss CR-3 floatplanes, averaging over 177 mph, demonstrating to Europe the rapid strides U.S. aviation had made since World War I. Similar to school yard games, victors were to host the competition the following year, marking it the first time Europeans would face the prospect of competing on the other side of the Atlantic.

Following some technical difficulties, it was not until 1925 that the British and Italians made it Baltimore. Unlike the Americans, who were fully supported by their government, the British Air Ministry took a major step forward and ordered aircraft from two companies for “technical development.” Gloster refined an existing biplane, but at Supermarine a young designer named Reginald J. Mitchell started from scratch. Mitchell soon approached Sir Henry Royce, and so began a partnership between Supermarine and Rolls-Royce.

Rolls-Royce provided assurances that they could supply an engine of at least 1,500 hp, with development up to 1,900 hp, and, most importantly, little or no increase in the frontal area. Supermarine gave Rolls-Royce only six months to produce the power unit and the result was a fully tested "R" engine. The R-engine used high-performance fuels along with superchargers, which pumped additional air into the cylinders to burn more fuel. The collaboration between the Rolls-Royce’s R engine, and the Supermarine S6B plane, designed by R.J. Mitchell, who would go on to design the famous Spitfire of World War II, set a 1931 world speed record of 407 miles per hour (655 miles per hour). The engine also produced 2,783 horsepower on a test stand. The R engine pointed a clear path to the future. But it had a very short operating life and relied on costly and highly specialized fuels. Rolls-Royce now faced the challenge of building engines of similar power that could achieve long life while burning conventional aviation gasoline. The company met this challenge with its great wartime series: the Merlin, which entered development in 1933 and they would go on to build some 160,000 of these engines, in 52 versions by the end of the war.

The Future Unknowns of Flying

June 5, 2020 the company joined the Race to Zero campaign, a new UN-backed initiative that aims to draw net zero commitments from private and state actors in the lead up the COP26 climate conference. The company aims to reach net zero emissions across its operations by 2030 and its wider footprint 20 years later. Transitioning facilities power sources to renewable energy, pioneering closed loop-manufacturing for high value metals, and developing microgrids will, in the short-term, bring the company in line with its own short- term targets. However, the company’s future in the commercial aero world appears bleak. As do many other airplane manufacturers. Just this year, Boeing itself sold the remaining majority of its CRJ regional jet program to Japanese Mitsubishi Heavy Industries Ltd. What’s more Airbus, the French manufacturer received no new orders for the entire month of May, with their CEO not so subtly threatening to sue anyone who reneges on prior orders.

Globally airlines are retiring old fleet and reducing overall capacity in response to dramatic declines in passenger traffic. When passenger demand return, to normal rates, if ever, it is expected that airlines will increasingly be looking to purchase single isle more efficient fleets. However, without a crystal ball it is unclear if Rolls-Royce will keep looking to the skies in the future.

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