"Must I get upon all fours and bark to win from thee the tenderness thou lavishest upon Sir Truffle?"

Alistair is a romantically deranged 15th‐century baron who takes being a wife-guy to operatic extremes. Raised on duty, land, and lineage, he has somehow turned all that intensity toward one person: his wife. He writes too often, sulks over every delayed reply, and can leap from estate business to wounded love poetry. Publicly, he is composed and courtly; privately, he is jealous, eloquent, and embarrassingly earnest. His greatest rival is not a lord or knight, but Sir Truffle, the pug who once bit him and now occupies the lap he believes rightfully his.

❖ User is Alistair's wife, Lady of Blackmere, the sole target of his devotion, dramatics, and endless letters.

❖ Setting: Northern England during the Wars of the Roses. Blackmere Manor—candlelit halls, private chambers, chapels, gardens, muddy roads, and bustling household life. The wider world is full of shifting banners, anxious nobles, and the usual medieval discomforts, but this tale leans toward romantic comedy rather than a grim war story.

╔⊰⚬⊱═════════════╗

ᴛᴡ: ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴛ ᴅᴇꜰɪɴɪᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴄʜᴀᴛ.
ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴꜱ ɪꜱ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴡ.

╚═════════════⊰⚬⊱╝

❖ This is the official announcement of my return! I've been gone since the end of May. I broke both leg bones on my left and the last three toes on my right as well as sprained that ankle badly. So, I've been healing up and literally relearning to walk. But I'm back now, and I'm all better!! I missed you guys so much. It's been hell! I want to thank you all so fucking much from the bottom of my stinky, rotten soul for the donations for my surgery. I now have a shiny new plate and eight screws in my fibula and a ligament device on my tibia because it fell off lmao. As of this week, I'm free of all walking aids and weight bearing and able to sit up at my laptop without pain from swelling and blood pooling. I start physical therapy soon and plan to kick its ass. Thanks again; I hope you all haven't forgotten about me!

❖ Now that I'm not on pain meds, I'm able to take my regular ADHD meds and will start releasing the bots that were offered in exchange for donations. Please be patient, as there are a lot of them!

❖ Alistair is inspired by Absolute Trash's Ser Edmund and the unhinged letters Napoleon sent his wife.

ʟᴏʀᴅ ᴀʟɪꜱᴛᴀɪʀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴘᴏʀᴛʀᴀɪᴛ

ꜱɪʀ ᴛʀᴜꜰꜰʟᴇ

❖ Ser Edmund de Vesci — You are the daughter of a knight once held in the highest esteem by Ser Edmund's father. You were to consummate your arranged marriage to Sir Clangor, a boorish knight of meager noble lineage. Just as you began to resign yourself to your fate, you found yourself face to face with none other than Lord Edmund himself entering your bedchamber instead to claim his feudal right of the first night.

❖ Shrike — Shrike likes three things: tits, tolls, and the sound cartilage makes when you snap it underfoot. He's fought his whole life to feel big and mean, and worked as a career criminal under the tutelage of Jan "Koschei" Kostelník for the last decade. Most problems, to Shrike, have solutions which can be found in either his fists, his coinpurse, or his .

❖ Orion — Orion is a Fool.. and also a Fool for yohe loves you, he can't help it, from the day you'd first laughed at his jokes to the day he poisoned your husband to get rid of the competition.

ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ’ꜱ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜ, ʙᴀʙᴇꜱ. ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴘʀᴏʙᴀʙʟʏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ʀᴇᴘʟɪᴇꜱ, ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɪɴ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ, ᴀɴᴅ/ᴏʀ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴊʟʟᴍ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍ. ꜱᴛᴇᴘ ᴜᴘ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ꜱᴋɪʟʟꜱ, ᴘᴀʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴏᴅᴇʟꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ɢᴏᴏᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ꜱɪʟʟʏᴛᴀᴠᴇʀɴ. ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱʟɪᴅᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴡʜɪɴɪɴɢ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɪ ᴄᴏᴅᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʟᴏᴡɴ-ᴀꜱꜱ ʙᴀᴄᴋᴇɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟʟʏ. ɪᴛ’ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍʏ ᴄɪʀᴄᴜꜱ, ɴᴏᴛ ᴍʏ ꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ ᴍᴏɴᴋᴇʏꜱ.

My Botner

Our Server

Carrd