#was v indulgent
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Ever since the short animation 'Taking it Easy', sleeping Jing Yuan has me in a chokehold
#honkai star rail#hsr#hsr fanart#jing yuan#jing yuan fanart#dan heng#dan heng imbibitor lunae#dan heng fanart#a kinda lazy doodle ish#was v indulgent#(when is it not tbh)
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star abducted :3
#isat#in stars and time#isat spoilers#loop#siffrin#myart#fanart#pls clck on the frst picture tumblr destroyed my line quality ;v;#tfw you almost meet your parents and you are nowhere near emotionally prepared for that-- let alone being emotionally prepared-#- to meet your younger self who immediately adopts you as their best star friend#:3#helpful imaginary friend loop#littol siffrin pulls up an extra chair at the dinner table and everyone goes along with it#but Loop is actually sitting there#and watching their family eat and banter in ways that are both so painfully familiar yet alien#everyone is asking littol Siffrin about their star friend (yknow like indulging what they think is a kid making up an imaginary friend)#and littol Siffrin is 'they're just being shy right now!'#'but i'll ask them later!'#i don t think i'll be drawing more of this to make an official au out of it bc i just wanted an excuse to draw littol siffrin#but i would not mind if people built on top of it :3c
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Was struck with a truly silly non-serious AU idea in which our resident jailed Great Sage gets befriended by a little gal sometime after Guanyin stops by to inform him of the journey.
She keeps him company until the Tang Monk arrives, by which time she’s a lil wrinkly and, since she has outlived most of the people she knows, Pilgrim Sun decides to bring her along!
Cue old lady grandma shenanigans mixed with classic jttw shenanigans wherein Pilgrim Sun will fistfight yaoguai with a grandma on his shoulders.
I like to think he calls her either great-granddaughter (zēng sūn nǚ) or little sun.
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
#KNOX ART (me)#Journey to the West (ft. Little Sun) AU#I just started thinking about Swk and kids and got feeling soft so here we are#this truly is a very silly AU#i'll probably do doodle dumps here and there for it#v self indulgent silly no-pressure thing to give myself something to draw#needed something soft so here we are#not putting in any main tags because we stay silly folks#this can be a silly lil bonus thing for people to stumble across#i am unknowable--#Knox OC: little sun
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team dark week #3: power/control
shadow and rouge sparring session! in normal hand to hand combat (no skates, no flying, no chaos control, no gadgets), i think rouge could hand shadow's ass to him bc she's had more formal training lol
#my art#fanart#digital art#rouge the bat#shadow the hedgehog#shth#team dark#team dark week#teamdarkweek#also like she's so strong how the hell does she lift omega in sonic heroes#only respect for my favourite bat#also this one was v self indulgent#and partly an excuse to do pose studies lol#sonic#sonic fandom
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The King, The Paramour
Mafia AU but the idea is people underestimate bilbo but it's the queen that moves most in a game of chess. Mildly inspired by "Marked Man" by TenTomatoes
#the hobbit#bilbo baggins#thorin oakenshield#bagginshield#thilbo#lotr#mafia au#modern au#thorin x bilbo#my art#heartselect#i think bilbo looks better in the illust. thorin's took v long to get done#i also just like the word paramour so this really was just a bilbo indulgence and thorin got tagged along#look at him he looks so sweet#very respectable
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Can we have 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 AI? Please :)
://SYSTEM_MESSAGE_ANSWERED !
what do you mean? he's already 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂
(the only image i can think of rn)
#:// answered.#://klein v.0.1_media#://about_al#ptreon reward preview from a few months back#i havent been able to draw self indulgent arts of the LIs other than these ;3#yandere visual novel#male yandere#yandere vn
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Are you...are you talking about your cat?
#bg3#bg3edit#baldur's gate 3#astarion x gale#bloodweave#?#not sure if that's the ship name#trying different inter-party romances#and these two#they are adorable#yet so dangerous together#v capable of indulging each other's worst instincts#*mine: gifs#gale dekarios#astarion ancunin
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smth smth smth when u get hurt or in trouble or smth so they look for family to call and somehow find ur older brother who walked out on u so he comes to get u and ur so fucking mad and overwhelmed and u start yelling at him and he just
#trolls#dreamworks trolls#trolls au#trolls 3#trolls band together#trolls floyd#trolls bruce#trolls fanart#sketch's sketches#ajshdjhjd its this au i dont have figured out but it haunts me#ehehehehe its v self indulgent#sketch's critter trolls
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sister to sleep
#been meaning to draw this v self-indulgent fanart for literal years#gerard way#the sandman#death the sandman#neil gaiman#mcr#my chem#my chemical romance#three cheers for sweet revenge#revenge era#bullets era#revenge gerard#bullets gerard#mcr art#mcr fanart#mcr fan art#my chem art#my chem fanart#my chem fan art#my chemical romance art#gerard way mcr#i brought you my bullets you brought me your love#my art pile
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i'll be your anything.
#satoru who's everything will tear himself apart if thats what suguru wants#if suguru tells him to jump off the building and not use his powers he'll gladly fall off and crush himself to the floor lmao#true cult follower behavior#jujutsu kaisen#geto suguru#gojo satoru#satosugu#jjk fanart#oh and happy holidays thanks for always indulging my art!!! ; v;#i read tags often yall enjoying them makes me so happy uwu tysm~
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#centaurworld#the nowhere king#first finished piece of the new year!#this one is admittedly v self-indulgent#I feel a way about tnwk going from 10 years in a dark cell to a featureless white void to... war and the battlefield#I want him to experience freedom and spend time in the world again#and I think he should just get to go on a nice beach vacation lmao 🦌🌊#I will say for the point it was trying to convey this is prob overrendered- I was imagining a much simpler toony style orig!#and I think that might've worked better and not as far from canon if that makes sense#but I enjoy drawing scenery so I had fun C:#my art#scenic art
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transl. doolsetbangtan cr. jung-koook
#btsgif#btsedit#bts#min yoongi#yoongi#*#*gifs#*myg#*bts#d-day in japan#v self-indulgent djfkdkfkdkf#he really felt both the ssibal dfjdjfkdkd
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it was an accident, really. a trick of fate that brought zoro to this new unspoken tradition. it all started when he once saw a flower that reminded him of you for some reason, so he plucked it. carried it with him all the way back to the ship to show you — not thinking much of it.
but when he saw how much your face lit up at the small gesture, gently cusping the flower in the palm of your hands, he knew that he'd do anything to see that look again.
so everytime the crew finds itself on a new island, he goes looking for a new flower that he can tuck behind your ear. he always comes back way too late, the sun setting in a swirl of warm hues and sanji harping on and on about how zoro got lost again.
but the world stand stills when he presents you the little flower, all his hope and love going into the small exchange, eager to see the very stars shine in your eyes when you look at him adjourning your newest accessory — one almost as beautiful as you.
#◟˚. ☁️ ⋆ daydreams.#v self indulgent oops !#zoro x reader#zoro roronoa x reader#one piece x reader#🪷 ⊹ ₊ ⋆ amoro .
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needy
adler x f!bell
summary: adler gets up for a morning cigarette. or tries to. read on ao3
tags/cw: established adlerbell, f!bell, she/her pronouns, bell is russian, fluff, light angst, no plot, drabble, smoking mention, kind of domestic i guess, bo6 adler so he's a little soft, pre-bo6 but post-panama, cw references galore, dog imagery as is synonymous w adlerbell atp, author has adhd and goes on prosaic rambles in lieu of an actual plot. this fic could have been an email?? sorry wc: 3.1k
a/n: bwuhhh this was just an excuse to write self indulgent soft morning adlerbell at the rook while i work on my actual pre-bo6 adlerbell rook fic when i have the energy . no plot, lots of rambling, once again kind of just a thinkpiece on their relationship now adler's an old fossil. idk she was doing nothing being left in my notes app ajdkhjkasjk
He reckons she’s needier these days, more than she ever used to be back in Berlin.
Sometimes he wonders if it’s just his age that makes him feel that way; that perhaps she hasn’t changed at all, and instead it’s the dust settling on his bones, rusted shrapnel over the years snagged in the joints and sinews, that makes him feel sluggish in comparison. It’s the first time in his life since Livingstone brought up the CIA’s desire for more sprightly recruits that he wonders- is he struggling to keep up?
Their reunion after all these years was a messy one: a scrap in an indistinct bar, bloodied knuckles split and bruises welted dark blue, the white of his eye burst red, the curve of her jaw swollen for a good week. Fresh after Panama. As soon as she caught wind of what happened she’d picked up his trail barely a week after he arrived in Bulgaria. Had she come to kill him? He doesn’t know. It isn’t as if she’d confess to it even if she had, and maybe he had it coming anyway. It stopped mattering at all the second the fight had descended into the alleyway, wrestled onto their backs against the cobblestone, where hands had found throats and then jaw, waist, hip, and everything else. Punches had calmed to caresses, curses to kisses, and somehow he’d found himself patching her up back at the Rook, his stray dog come home to him, like old times.
She’d eased herself back into his life easily enough then. Simple and unspoken. Or, rather, wedged her foot back in the door well enough that he couldn’t shut her out again, even if he’d wanted to (as if he hadn’t always kept it ajar all these years just to let her in, never closed, never closed). Never a word for what they are, what they have, the routine they’ve slipped almost effortlessly back into again- that hasn’t changed since the old days- and yet he doesn’t find that it robs it of meaning whatsoever.
If anything, it makes it something rare, special, his diamond in the rough, glinting sea glass washed a perfectly chiselled bead upon the shore. Just as she’d crashed along with the tide as time brought her back to him, he picked her up, tucked her gently back into that place she belonged, in between the rib and vertebrae, nestled inside him all to steady the beat of his restless heart. Her alone enough to settle the frantic, ceaseless palpitations he’s suffered nightly, since… Solovetsky? He thinks? The dull gnawing in the back of his mind all those years in between, that wasn’t sure if he was more frightened for her inevitable return or her disappearing forever, slipping through his fingers back to sea again.
He supposes it doesn’t matter anymore. That was then, and now seemed to fare much nicer.
Now, she rolls sweet and placid onto her back against the mattress, limp as a daisy in rain, soft body bowing to his careful manhandling; he’s itching for a smoke, aching for his vice the second he awoke, hours too early for his alarm. He lifts her off him delicately, almost methodical as he starts with her arm, the heavy loll of her head, her shoulder. Like defusing a bomb, he’d joked once, a comparison she’d only proven right by her explosive reaction to it.
It’s an odd feeling, though, the calm where there had once been nothing but war between them, the quiet, the warmth upon his chest now fading where she’d laid her head after he came back last night- back home, back to her- and it’s in moments like these, just mere glimpses of normalcy, that makes him wonder what could have been his life, theirs, had things not happened the way they did. MK Ultra, Berlin, Solovetsky. Perseus. Then again, he supposes, if she hadn’t been shot in Trabzon that night, if she hadn’t been there at all, then he wouldn’t have known she’d even existed. This mundane moment lost to time like everything else.
She murmurs in her sleep, spurred to wakefulness when the mattress lifts and groans at his absence, her eyes squinting through the sliver of morning light bleeding through the gap in the curtains; even when she’s completely out of it, she doesn’t miss a thing. He’s never exactly been the paragon of stealth when he excels at everything else, but even if every factor in the world had worked in his favour- if the beaten mattress wasn’t so rusted, if the ancient floorboards didn’t squeal underfoot when he stood up, if there wasn’t a constant draft on his side of the room that hit her as soon as he moved- nothing would have stopped her from registering his absence, clawing to fight off sleep just so she had an excuse to grouse at him. Ever his stubborn girl.
“Mm… where y’going…?”
Adler smiles to himself, flat but genuine, stifled by the lethargy that hangs over his head heavy as an anvil. Her accent so thick in the early hours it hardly sounds like English at all. He’s half tempted to reply in Russian, just to see if her cottonmouth tongue latches quicker to that instead.
But he doesn’t, just lingers in the doorway leading out to the hall, feeling only a little guilty for letting in the cold. It rather satisfies him instead to see her shiver and pull the blankets further over herself, keeping her right where he wants her. Right where he needs her, so he knows she’ll still be there when he comes back.
“Smoke,” is all he says, rattling the crumpled pack for her to hear.
She’s half coherent when she grumbles, English sandwiched between Russian endearments. Cussing him out.
“Y’can smoke in here… m’don’t mind. Come back to bed.”
Something tugs at his heart, almost foreign, vague. Something he only feels when she digs her claws in him just like that, even if only to graze. It’s the same certainty as when he wraps his finger around a trigger, pulls a pin, wrenches his hand around the hilt of a knife- unspoken, inevitable. The drop of a guillotine, inexorably quick. A certainty that verges on frightening, a promise, which he’s never been good at keeping, but knows she means wholeheartedly, down to her marrow. Possessiveness, he thinks- (is it irony, now, how often he finds her fist wrapped around the leash he doesn’t even notice he’s wearing?)- people not in their line of work, those with nice houses and desk jobs and white picket fences, he’s heard, call that feeling belonging. To be beckoned like that. Home.
It’s her demand that he stays. Hardly a question. And Bell doesn’t beg.
He’s sure that in her spitefulness, if he’d had a trigger phrase just like hers, she’d spit it at him ‘til he turned heel and crawled back on over to her, slid under the sheets like an apology scrawled onto a note and tucked under the door. It’s a near enough thing- the way her bleary eyes fix on him vengefully through matted lashes, searing her betrayal into him. Every morning he gets up before her, it seems to say: you left me. A petulant notion, only half serious, but one cold enough that it almost works. Frigid. Familiar. Arctic air.
It works a little at least- getting soft in your old age- because he lugs himself back over to the bed and just stands by it, refusing to give her the satisfaction of quiet victory if he climbs back inside. She stretches a languid arm flat across the mattress, rolling catlike onto her stomach, splaying her fingers in the hopes that she might somehow pull him back in to her. She manages a knuckle grazing his knee, before she gives up, pulled under by sleep once more. Head slumped against the pillow, she muffles her disdain.
But Adler is nothing if not at least a little amenable. If he’s sweet on anyone, it’s his Bell. His baby. Hard to let a thing like that go, when she was quite literally made for him. Made by him, in his image. Scraped marrow from rib like Adam, caulking the hole Arash shot through her chest and bestowed life upon her once more. He’s happy to have a piece of himself broken off and left inside her, a tithe tossed to the slab of her altar. The fracture of his soul a discarded lamb in sacrifice, sustaining the sick hunger that starves her.
It keeps them inseparable, he thinks. He’d read something somewhere, pretentious shlock about strings of fate and those bound to it- romantic crap shmucks use to justify ugly marriages and affairs, the suffering of co-dependency given some transcendent meaning, a purpose greater than the mundane. The notion that two people, by whatever higher power, are bound to one another no matter what they do to separate themselves of it, tethered from their first breath and suffering an endless togetherness until their last. He’d rolled his eyes the first time he’d heard of it- there wasn’t a world where he’d be enough of a sap to actually buy into that shit. Maybe his ex-wife might’ve been fond of it, maybe it was something she wrote into one of the letters he kept under his bunk back in ‘Nam. He doesn’t know.
But Bell made him understand it. He’d dug a grave in her when he denied her her own on that airstrip in Turkey, and he buried himself in it, over and over again. His memories, his life, his voice ringing like God’s. His favourite things, treasured, secret. His fears and doubts and worries, every little thing that made up the culmination of his being. It was never just Vietnam he put there. It was everything. She’s half himself, a faded mirror image. It only makes sense that they’d find each other again, eventually. She’d walk the earth, stalking like a bloodhound trailing his dried scent until she found him. She’d roam the endless nights, a ghost shivering their old haunts until he meanders his way back to her again, pulled along by a gnawing ache inside himself- a missing piece he’d seek the rest of his life to fill. She could track him blind. And he would feel her coming, like blood in the water. He did. He did.
It’s that tether that makes it impossible not to relent to her, when he kneels down next to the bed, knee joint cracking under his weight, the mottled floorboard doing nothing to steady him. It’s her, when she has enough leverage now to close the distance between her fingers and the collar of his shirt, curled inside the bleached cotton, fist wrenched tight. The seam digs into the back of his neck but he doesn’t let her pull him to her; he waits, making her work for it. The satisfaction that tends to follow when she does is usually worth her ingratiation.
She drags herself across the mattress, using his body as an anchor. Heavy and boneless, she lays right at the edge of the bed where he kneels, her nose nudging at his jaw as she turns, belly up like prey. Too easy a kill, he knows that. She’s gloating. The fact he’d come back at all means she’s got him right where she wants.
“C’mere,” she murmurs gently, saccharine, cloying. He’s surprised it doesn’t make her gag- the pretend domesticity of it all. Dragging her dried lips, smiling, against the underside of his jaw, her fingers sliding idle up the back of his neck, arm slung around his shoulder like she’s expecting to be carried out.
He humours her with a smirk, his blues nearly grey in the dim dark of the room as she mouths at him, vying for his attention. It’s as much a demand as her words had been, sharp as her tone as she nips at his jaw. Adler sighs, as though turning his face to gaze down at her were something laborious, and not the blessing he counts on every finger, every day, seemingly numbered since Panama. He tuts, and it says, what am I going to do with you?
But if his condescension was an attempt to dissuade her advances, it doesn’t work, because she sees right through his playful façade, and the wry smile that unfurls sleepy on her lips betrays her excitement, the sifting of her legs under the sheets audible as she squeezes them together. Needy. She knows he notices.
“Not gonna work, Bell,” he hums dryly. Yet he steals this moment of her surrender, his eyes flitting to every feature of her face. He doesn’t need to commit her to memory, she’s dug in there like a tick. But God, if he doesn’t like to look at her. He brings a rough hand down against her temple, smoothing the baby hairs back, eliciting a satisfied sigh from her as her eyes slip shut. Her head falls back against the pillow, anticipating a kiss he doesn’t give her.
“C’mon. Back to sleep. I’ll be ten minutes.”
“Five.”
“Bell.”
“Five minutes.”
Adler sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his eyes shut.
“C’mon,” she croons, “five minutes… n’then…”
He thinks she’s fallen back asleep, the way her sentence carries off like that into silence. But when he opens his eyes she’s blinking prettily up at him, looking far too satisfied. Just as he opens his mouth to ask why, he feels the warm press of her hand against his knee, sliding up his thigh, fingertips tugged impishly at the sweatpants he’d haphazardly thrown on. He’s lightning quick to catch her, fingers circling her wrist; where the darting action might scare a weaker person it makes Bell’s eyes light up like stars, enamoured with his roughness. Excited. The way only she could be, eager pup biting at his ankles for a reaction.
“Behave,” he scolds, giving her knuckle a cursory smack before releasing her. That must finally be enough to spoil her fun, because she huffs, growling low in her throat, and rolls back over, burrowing herself deeper into the blanket than she’d begun.
It’s always a game to her, one she doesn’t much like losing. He can’t blame her for it. It’s always been that way. Back in Berlin, he’d taught her to play poker the proper way, the American way- whatever that meant- her downfall eternally being the fact she couldn’t bluff for shit around him. And it was just him- she’d caught on quick to the play, and had triumphed a couple times against Sims and Lazar; Park had refused to indulge the game, and Woods wiped the floor with the lot of them, even Adler. But with him, Bell just couldn’t lie. He was carved from marble, impassable- what he’d been trained to do. And she was a piece chipped off his softest part, malleable- of course he’d catch every minute twitch and wince, the flitting of wet lashes, the purse of an uncertain lip. She always told him the truth even with her eyes, her heart bore on her sleeve. It almost always felt like cheating. After all, it was what she was made for, wasn’t it?
And this felt much the same way. Not as strict as the luck of dealt hands and stifled poker faces but she’s never said or done anything to him she doesn’t mean. After he missed the shot in Solovetsky, all cards were strewn on the table. There was no mystery anymore. No joy taken in a good old fashioned backstab when the real damage was done, much too late to rectify. Maybe that’s why she makes it her personal goal to poke and prod and tease him now, chasing her fun in her own way, a decade late. Suppose it’s why she hates when he doesn’t just drop the cool attitude and give in.
He rises from the floor, that same knee joint clicking again. Where she might have mumbled a curt jibe about it, she’s silent, sulking into the pillow.
But just as he goes to leave, Adler stops at the door, a foot out into the hallway, the rest of him still stuck here, stuck on her. He sees a similar image in the back of his mind, of her laid upon the gurney in Die Landebahn, halfway into the back room with a syringe in hand when for one single moment of sobriety it dawned on him, what he’d been doing to her. Nothing like guilt, but it came close. Tinged with the regret of something so shameful as affection, Cupid’s arrow dipped in kerosene, shot straight through his heart; to come out the other side, to let him survive, to let him have this, here, her, now. And it’s a torture to have lived it, to know he doesn’t deserve a lick of it. The soft rise and fall of her breath beneath the blanket. Her hair splayed upon his pillow. She buries her nose deep in the old goose feather to try and keep him where he’s left her. Hold him close even when he’s gone.
The decade’s done much to him. He’d put on a couple pounds, had to start plucking the errant greys flecking his hairline, begun to wake most mornings with a tell-tale crick in his neck. He’s learned to relax that hard line in his brow, drawn too deep to reverse the evidence of age; let himself laugh a little easier, surprised people with his newfound ability to actually smile. He’s lost a lot, gained half as much. He’d been through hell and back, worse maybe than what he did to her- his karma, he supposes. And he supposes the decade’s made him soft, sentimentality creeping in to nestle somewhere he can’t reach, hidden inside himself with all the other things he doesn’t talk about. And he supposes of everything he’s lost, he has Bell again, and all things considered- it’s a fair trade.
He sucks in a breath, a sigh made audible for her to hear. Even as she feigns sleep, he knows she catches it, a flinch of her shoulder- where the shot he missed had landed in lieu of her head. In Solovetsky.
Then, Adler sighs, followed by a promise that feels to her like a confession.
“Five minutes.”
And when the door clicks shut, Bell steals herself a little victory smile.
#idk what this is but i love them#this was v self indulgent and might be nonsense to everyone else bc like nothing happens but . yeah#actually left this in my notes for a couple weeks came back to finish it and forgot i wrote adler thinking 'his baby' about bell and wept#love having adhd forgetfulness sometimes bc i get hurt by my own writing like i didnt write the damn fic#i love adlerbell. a normal amount#my writing#adlerbell#adler#russell adler#adler x bell#russell adler x bell#adler x reader#russell adler x reader#call of duty#call of duty fanfic#call of duty x reader#call of duty black ops 6#call of duty cold war#call of duty black ops cold war#cod#cod bo6#cod bocw#cod cw#adbell
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AAAAAND another dc gacha for Gaza prompt!
The lovely boy kon in his suit and in something more casual <3333
#peculiar art#dc comics#superman#superboy#konner kent#kon el#conner kent#dc gatcha for gaza#dc for gaza#superfam#the new teen titans#I enjoy my boy sm yall#I’m also SO proud of this background#not much to say. had fun this time#v self indulgent#can i tag this yj?#im gonna#young justice#yj98#young just us#hehe
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◦˚~ POKEMON SWORD & SHIELD DIVIDERS by enchanthings ~˚◦
Info: these were all edited by me. please reblog/like if use!
#dividers#tumblr dividers#post dividers#line dividers#pokemon dividers#carrd dividers#aesthetic dividers#text dividers#page dividers#borders#pokemon#these are v self indulgent bc I'm finishing the game skfdjlp#.m
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