#scottish monarch

[scotianostra]

13th February 862 Kenneth MacAlpin (Cináed mac Ailpin); who united the Picts and Scots in one kingdom, died at Forteviot. His reign is given in the Pictish Chronicle as twenty eight years.

Kenneth, the son of Alpin went by a few names, Cináed mac Ailpín, Kenneth Mac Alpin, and Kenneth the Hardy, many regard him as the first King of Scotland.

Battling against Norse (Viking) raids, he brought some unification between the Gaels and the Picts to found a united kingdom of Alba or Scotia. The Picts had been weakened by incursions from the Vikings and Irish tribes who under Fergus Mor had settled in the area of Argyll. The term Scots came from the Latin Scotti which was Latin for Irish.

Kenneth was Dalriada son of King Alpin II of Dalriada and succeeded his father to the crown of Dalriada in 839 but he also had a claim to be King of the Picts through his mother, he was however not the only claimant to the Pictish throne.

The Picts agreed to a meeting with Mac Alpin at Scone, attended by all claimants to the Pictish Crown, Now this story is a bit far fetched but it is a story none the less of what is said to have happened at that meeting, it has since been referred to as Mac Alpin’s treason.

The leading Pict Claimant, Drust X and his nobles were all killed by the Scots: allegedly (and improbably) by having their booby-trapped benches collapsed so Kenneth’s rivals plunged into pits in the floor and impaled themselves on spikes set there for the purpose.

Suddenly there was only one claimant for the Pictish Crown, and Kenneth was crowned King of the Picts and the Scots in 843. He was the first King of the House of Alpin, the dynasty named after his father. Kenneth made his capital at Forteviot, a small village 5 miles south west of today’s Perth. He also moved the religious focus of his kingdom from Iona, where he was said to have been born, to Dunkeld, and had St Columba’s remains moved there in 849, perhaps for safe keeping from the continuing Vikings raids.

Kenneth MacAlpin was succeeded by Donald MacAlpin/ Domnall mac Ailpín his brother.

[vox-anglosphere]

Scotland's Monarch of the Glen stands tall in the beauty of Glen Coe

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Ardverikie Castle in winter

[fumblingmusings]

Everytime in the medieval era Scotland was getting somewhere good and productive, his Kings would just go and die in such fundamentally silly or violent ways that whenever the news reached Perth, Alasdair would just inhabit that Ben Affleck meme then go throw himself in the Tay

Minus the cigarette ofc not yet.

Like, what do you mean he just rode his horse straight off a cliff? What do you mean the canon exploded with him next to it? Why was he in the sewers in the first place??? Did he die in battle? Again?

[bestmothertournament]

[error-elf-206]

You know the love that France(is) and Joan (of arc) have in Canon,

the sort of "I love you too much for what time we had together, I've never hated my immortality more then for it not letting me see you again/I'll remember you forever and every one shall know it, eventualy nowone will be sure you existed becouse my love mythologicalised you so much. "

Yeah I don't think france should be the only nation with that sort of thing. I think they all have like a 'you get One. no mockery, Promise' sort of thing cause all cultures have like a warrior or just a great person that got grandurised so much in death now nowone is sure they were real or myths.

I think scotlands/Angus' was William Walise. And I'm little stuck thinking of one's for the others.

[lordjohnlander]

Episode 2.14: And They Were Roommates

In this week’s episode, “And They Were Roommates,” Pan and Beth celebrate the end of season 2 with all the nerding and shenanigans you could want. Gay monarchs? Check. Calling out historians for being homophobes? Check. A very serious discussion into the philosophical and aesthetic principles of standing cocks? You betcha.  Pre-emptive correction: Beth mistakenly said that Louis XV was the…

[roehenstart]

Legendary kings of Scotland by James de Witt.

69: Kennethus II (Kenneth MacAlpin)

Kenneth MacAlpin (810-858) or Kenneth I was King of Dál Riada (841–850), King of the Picts (843–858), and the first King of Alba (843–858) of likely Gaelic origin. He inherited the throne of Dál Riada from his father Alpín mac Echdach, founder of the Alpínid dynasty. Kenneth I conquered the kingdom of the Picts in 843–850 and began a campaign to seize all of Scotland and assimilate the Picts, for which he was posthumously nicknamed An Ferbasach ("The Conqueror"). Kenneth I is traditionally considered the founder of Scotland, which was then known as Alba, although like his immediate successors, he bore the title of King of the Picts. One chronicle calls Kenneth the first Scottish lawgiver but there is no information about the laws he passed.

[sheltiechicago]

The Monarch Of The Glen (1851)

By Sir Edwin Landseer

Landseer’s The Monarch of the Glen is a stunningly beautiful depiction of a stag — a male deer — now located at the Scottish National Gallery of Edinburgh. The stag is portrayed as majestic, with his antlers raised high as he wanders across a foggy forest glen. It was commissioned in the 19th century as one of three panels to hang in the Palace of Westminster, London.

[autodidactprofessor]

Anne: Queen of Great Britain

Birth and Early Childhood The Stuart Family and Birth of a Princess Anne was born on February 6, 1665, at St. James’s Palace in London, the second daughter of James, Duke of York (later James II of England), and his first wife, Anne Hyde. Her birth into the House of Stuart placed her in the line of succession to the English throne, though at the time of her birth, her prospects of becoming…

[wearethewitches]

I have been avoiding an essay for ages, but now I'm doing it and I chose my text, and LO AND BEHOLD, BUT IT IS ABOUT THE JACOBITES. I am literally writing an essay on the Jacobites, I am STOKED, it's one of my favourite examples of England controlling Scotland, one of Thee inciting incidents that promotes Scottish Independence to this day.

[scotianostra]

On 7th June 1329 Robert the Bruce died at his manor near Cardross, Dumbarton.

King Robert was buried at Dunfermline Abbey, his heart was removed and embalmed. As recorded in 14th Century John Barbour’s “The Bruce”, as he requested, his heart was to be taken to Jerusalem by Sir James Douglas, known as “The Black Douglas” , accompanied by Sir William St Clair of Roslin, Sir Robert and Sir Walter Logan, Sir William Keith, Sir Alan Cathcart and Sir Symon Loccard of Lee, and one other knight unnamed. Sir James Douglas was killed at the Battle of Teba, on 25th August, 1330.

An embalmed heart, thought to be that of Robert the Bruce was discovered at Melrose Abbey in 1921, re-located in 1996 and re-interred in 1998 marked with a memorial which reads “A Nobel Hart May Have Nane Ease Gif Freedom Failye.” written by John Barbour in 1375, which translates, “A noble heart can know no ease without freedom.”

The tomb you see in Dunfermline Abbey, in the second photo, is not the original it was sadly destroyed during the reformation, the picture shows how it may have looked, contemporary sources record that his grave was by a monument commissioned prior to his death and imported from Paris.

I posted pics of King Robert's tomb after I visited last weekend, here is a wee bit more, the pics include how the original tomb may have looked.

During the building of the present parish church in 1818, workmen discovered a skeleton, believed to be that of the king. Whether or not the skeleton is actually that of Bruce, or one of the other kings known to have been buried in the abbey, is still a subject of debate. However, other excavations between c1790 and 1820 also discovered fragments of carved and gilded stone, variously described as marble or alabaster, which were identified as pieces of Bruce’s vanished monument.

These pieces are now preserved in the collections of The Hunterian, National Museums Scotland, and Dunfermline Museum, who also commissioned the 3D reconstruction you see in the photos.

[vox-anglosphere]

Scotland's 'Monarch of the Glen' changes his colour every winter

[historygoodies]

King Charles II badge

King Charles II

by CreativeHistory

[fumblingmusings]

Watching Braveheart because I hate myself and whilst I love Robert the Bruce because what a bastard I can see Alasdair also being like 'lol I fucking hate you' because Robert the Bruce was indeed a bastard but also the fact that after all that fighting the Bruce family just kapoots out of existence literally one generation later is just so fucking funny. All that fighting and of course it's the women's line who ensure that the borders are held.

Anyway in come the Stewarts here to make literally everyone's lives bloody abysmal. Including themselves.

That's them, that's the Stewarts.

[i-hate-accidents]

I feel like Benedict would be so frazzled when his love is in labor. He would insist on being in the room with his wife

the author took immense liberties with this idea. she hopes you enjoy it nevertheless and offers her thanks for sharing it with them~

the author would also like to name that, whilst a she/her femme, the sort of reader who the author wrote with in mind would likely not resonate with being called 'wife.' she would likely prefer 'partner' or a more gender inclusive term. <3

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i hate accidents: a drabble

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary:  the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections:  I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n:  bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings:  pregnancy (no birthing/labor)

word count:  891

tagged: @mikariell95 @omgsuperstarg @flyestvenustrap @nowheredreamer @jimblejamblewritings

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“you are thinking of something.”

you smile; your husband knows you too well.  you continue to rub at your protruding stomach. 

“our child can kill a scottish king,” you respond.

benedict laughs through his nose, his ocean eyes crinkling in the adorable way that they always do whenever he is truly delighted. 

“if you hadn’t said 'scottish,' i might have needed to turn you in for treason.  why do you say that, love?”

you struggle out of your lounge, swatting at your kindly husband’s offer to assist you, and waddle over to your shelves of books.  you drag your forefinger across the spines until you emit an ‘aha!’ and pull the book.  flipping towards the end, you find the pressed wisteria you used to mark the verse and read,

“‘for none of woman born shall harm macbeth,’” you look up from the words to benedict as you beam with pride.  “see?  the premiere attribute for assassinating a fictitious monarch, and here our child has it because of me.”

your husband returns your beam as he approaches you and leans in to plant a soft kiss on your temple.  shifting himself to be behind you, he wraps his arms around your waist and rests his hands on the low of your stomach.  you lean into the comfort of his embrace.

“and how shall we support our child with their nefarious intentions?” benedict inquires.

you hum.

“both their parents are quite proficient in fencing.  perhaps it is a trait that they shall inherit?”

“that seems certain.  their parents are also quite good at sneaking about; that ought to be of use to them for their plot.”

you snort.

“i think you are too generous, love.  there is a certain eldest brother who has vehemently disproved time and time again that we are, in fact, quite terrible at sneaking about.”

benedict nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, causing you to giggle.  you can feel his smile against your quickened pulse.  it is silly; how he is your husband— how he is the father of your child to-be!  and yet, he still makes you feel this way.  he still makes these damned butterflies flutter within you.

“more incentive to keep practicing, no?”  you feel benedict’s smile broaden into a grin.  “for our child, of course.”

stupid benedict.

you shake your head with all the affection in your heart.

“for our child.”

a small silence falls amongst you.  you should allow yourself this comfort.  you should allow yourself this peace.  but—

“do you think i can do it?” 

you had meant to say it as plainly as you could, but the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes choked your words into a whisper.  benedict releases himself from the embrace, one hand still on your stomach, as he shifts to face you.

“do what, my love?”

the crack in the softness of his voice and the gentle circles you feel on your stomach from his touch make you close your eyes.

“birth our child.  raise them.  what if it is too much?  what if i hurt them?  what if i—” you flutter your eyes open to the tear-blurry sight of disquiet in ocean eyes, “what if i am not the parent they deserve?”

he says your name, and that is enough to allow your tears to fall.  you start to look down, feeling the weight of your shame settle within you, but benedict does not let you.  he gently cups your face, lifts it, and kisses wherever tears roll down your cheeks.  benedict murmurs ‘i love you’ with each kiss until he whispers,

“i am fearful too.”

you pull your face away from his and see how his throat bobs, as it always does right before he wishes to say something more firmly.

“i am fearful that i will fail them.  i am fearful that i will not be even an inkling of a father to our child as my father was to me,” benedict heaves a sigh, and you see how he wills himself not to let his tears fall.  “but,” his throat bobs again, “then i remind myself that our child has you, y/n.”

you place a hand on his cheek and softly rub your thumb against his skin.

“you can cry too, benedict,” you manage.

he huffs out a laugh as he allows a tear to fall.  you gently press your lips against his cheek to capture it.

“yes, but i am not the one carrying our child.”

you look down at your stomach and then up at your husband.  you offer a small smile.

“i suppose it is your fault that i am in such a state.”

that makes benedict laugh fully. 

stupid butterflies. 

he tries to look down and away, suddenly shy by the very silly observation you have made, but you do not let him.  you shift your head and capture him with a kiss between his chin and his cheek, gently pushing his face up and murmuring ‘i love you’ into his skin.

perhaps your and benedict’s fear shall never go away.  perhaps you two shall never be the perfect parents you wish to be for your child.  but your child was created out of real, true love.  a love that protects, that laughs, that nurtures, that comforts, that heals.  and perhaps, that is enough.

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