( and if any of you used to have your own personal quotebots, "blue bots done quick" dot com is a successor to CBDQ, the engine that this bot ran on! )

as promised, the link: bsky.app/profile/affectingbo…

( BIG ANNOUNCEMENT: affy has been REBORN on the butterfly website! under the same handle (link in reply). i'll be updating that as i used to. see you over there! – R )

The damsel children of the sheiling-fold never saw sight but them, no never sight but them, never aught so beautiful!

Adult female. Died of starvation. Her baby died first, and she knew what that meant. She knew she was one of the last. She grieved the loss of her child. She called for other mammoths, but she was alone; her family had all died earlier. Then she died too. It was very cold…

The people in this song deserve better than each other. They’re not going to get it.

Seein’ the Elf alive – it’s like a mule kick to the gut. Gotta control my emotions. Can’t afford to get distracted.

Even as stressed as he is, it’s clear he’s still trying to lighten the mood.

this bottomless well of insecurity and no matter how many buckets of woe you draw out there’s always more where that came from

The nail polish. The action figures. The lack of action.

Somewhere he could sleep without this popinjay screeching in his ears, without bleeding tenderness shoved down his throat when he was too compromised to spit it back.

When you leave me alone in this old palace of yours, it starts to get to me. I take to walking. What a woman does is open doors, and it is not a question of locking or unlocking. I have never seen such a terrible room, gilded with the gold teeth of the women who loved you!

So, Rita dear, you have the proper number of limbs… so what? I may be a freak with my six, yet, I bind you to the prow… who’s the better then?

This intellectual dam will nurse your half-hurt. Quickly you are well. But weary. How you yawn – nothing exhausts you like this sympathy.

How he thought, if he just removed himself from the situation, Julio could finally relax and recover. “Everyone says I'm too much,” he explains, fingers tugging at the ends of his hair. It's a habit leftover from when his hair was much longer.

“It's not a big deal. He's got a picture on his desk, too.” That last detail didn't seem strictly relevant, and it aggravated him. They seemed to be having it entirely too easy.

Parties with Gregg are different. How so? You know how you want to just go and stand in a corner sometimes? Yeah. Gregg’s my corner.

This Gawain, who goes off and doesn't come back; who fails profoundly by the standards of chivalric romance; who becomes himself an object of desire (of masculine desire, what's more, and of feminine desire that doesn't stop at him and him alone).

Being chased by Columbo is like being nibbled to death by a duck.

You've got a friend in Beelzebub, he follows you round like a dog. You know more than you should know about secret geometry. Belphegor and Baphomet have had you round for tea. You sometimes drop in unannounced on Lucifer and me.