#male gifs

[solannn]

hello, hello!

i just saw your angst/fluff prompt, and may i request m!reader and shinji hirako from bleach with the fluff prompt, "you're so cute when you're half asleep"?

like, its just a nice sleepy morning?

if you can't or don't want to, it's okay! just ignore this and i hope you have a nice day!

─── 🐹 𝓦𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 : none! Gender is barely mentioned pure fluff. lieutenant!reader 𓏵

The delicate glow of the morning sun quietly spills through the window of the 5th Division barracks, bathing the room in a soft, golden light that seems to embrace the entire space. It is one of those rare mornings when the world feels suspended in time—serene, almost otherworldly—inviting you to linger in the comfort of your bed just a little longer. The rhythmic hum of life outside is muffled, as if the very air has softened, allowing you to enjoy the blissful solitude of the moment. Beneath the warmth of the covers, you remain cocooned, nestled deeply within the embrace of sleep, unaware of the passing minutes.

Gradually, the warmth of the sunlight intensifies, a gentle force that presses against your eyelids and awakens you from your dreams. Slowly, your eyes flutter open, the world around you still blurry as the light dances across the room. You blink several times, struggling to adjust, your vision still clouded by sleep. The rays of the morning sun are vivid, almost too bright, as if the day itself is beckoning you to rise. You squint, squashing the sleepiness that clings to you like a heavy fog, but the rest of the world still feels distant, as though you are caught between the hazy veil of slumber and the crispness of reality.

Your hair is a mess—wild and tangled from a night spent in restless sleep—and you find yourself momentarily tangled in the blanket as you attempt to sit up. With a soft sigh, you push the covers aside, your limbs heavy, as if they haven’t yet decided to wake. You rub your eyes with the back of your hand, groaning slightly at the lingering tiredness that refuses to leave. It feels as though time is moving too fast, and yet too slowly, as you struggle to return to the land of the fully awake.

As you turn to the left, your gaze falls upon a figure sitting on the floor near the edge of the room. His long, blonde hair falls gently over his shoulders, catching the light in a way that makes it seem almost ethereal. His brown eyes, warm and steady, gaze at you with a soft smile that feels strangely tender, the kind of smile that seems to hold a thousand unspoken words. The recognition hits you like a wave, and your mind clears just enough to realize who it is.

“Captain Shinji… what are you doing in my room?” you ask, your voice still thick with sleep, the words leaving your lips in a soft murmur. You blink several times, confused by his presence in your quarters.

Shinji’s smile widens at your question, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he regards you, seemingly unbothered by your confusion. “Ah, so you’re finally awake,” he says with a playful lilt to his voice, his tone light and easy as though he has been waiting for this moment for ages. “You’re so cute when you’re half asleep, you know that?”

There’s something in his voice—soft, tender, but filled with a quiet affection—that makes your heart flutter unexpectedly. His words are not just playful but wrapped in a warmth that seems to belong only to moments like these. It’s as if, in this rare instant, he’s allowing himself to be vulnerable, to let his guard down. The teasing is gentle, almost endearing, and it’s clear that he is relishing in your sleepy state.

You struggle to find the energy to form a coherent response, your mind still hazy from the sleep you’ve yet to shake off. Instead, you simply grunt, your words slurring together in a half-hearted attempt to respond. “I… don’t… know…” you murmur, too tired to finish the thought. Your voice is thick with sleep, still heavy as you try to gather yourself.

Reluctantly, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, your feet meeting the cool floor beneath you. Your body feels weak, your legs unsteady, and you can barely muster the strength to stand. The world around you feels as though it’s still spinning, and you find yourself stumbling forward, trying to make your way toward him.

Shinji watches you closely, his expression softening into something more affectionate as he observes your uncoordinated movements. A gentle laugh escapes him, one filled with fondness and mirth, though his eyes never lose their warmth. He doesn’t move to stop you, though, allowing you to take your time as you fumble toward him, clearly amused by your sleepy state.

Before you can even reach him, Shinji is already by your side, moving with a casual grace that seems effortless. His hand brushes lightly against your shoulder, the touch brief but enough to steady you. He’s close now, his presence calming, his warmth radiating off him as he watches you with quiet amusement. You blink up at him, still struggling to fully wake up, and your vision remains hazy, your body still half-engulfed in sleep’s embrace.

Without warning, you feel your legs give way beneath you, the exhaustion pulling you down like an anchor. Just as you think you might fall, Shinji’s arm wraps around your waist, effortlessly pulling you against his chest. The moment you make contact with him, your body sags against his, the fatigue too much to fight off any longer. You rest your head against his chest, too tired to stand on your own, and for a moment, it feels as if the world outside has ceased to exist.

Shinji lets out a soft chuckle, the sound deep and comforting, as he feels you succumb to sleep once again. His hand gently brushes through your hair, his fingers gliding through the tangles with a tenderness that surprises you. “You really can’t stay awake for long, can you?” he murmurs, his voice low and affectionate. His other hand presses against your back, pulling you closer as if he’s trying to shield you from the world’s demands.

The soft hum of his voice, the warmth of his body, and the comfort of his touch lull you back into a state of blissful drowsiness. You find yourself, once again, half asleep on his uniform, a soft, content drool escaping your lips. You can feel his heartbeat beneath your cheek, steady and reassuring, and it’s almost as though the world around you has slowed down just for this moment. In the quiet of the room, Shinji’s presence is all you need to feel at ease, his affectionate teasing now replaced by a tender sense of security.

As you drift back into sleep, you can hear his voice again, softer this time, almost like a whisper. “Rest, Lieutenant. There’s no rush. I’ll stay here as long as you need me.” His words are filled with a tenderness that goes beyond the playful teasing of earlier, and in that moment, you realize that there is more to his affections than meets the eye.

[cavills-henry]

"Gold Hour ☀️"

@ reilly_golden3 via Tiktok

[wowright-art]

Drivin

[ausdemnorden]

[warmfuzzyanimal]

it's here! the cow base!! it's done!!! EASILY the biggest base i've made so far, and i'm really really proud of it!! now............................... go forth and bring more beautiful cow furries to this beautiful earth

[erosiism]

GENSHIN MEN AND…

prompt: HOW THEY WOULD REACT IF YOU SACRIFICED YOUR LIFE FOR THEM

character(s): diluc, zhongli [part one] childe, ayato [part two, out]

warnings(s): angst ofc—mention of blood, my first post on tumblr so my writing style may be a little icky, inaccuracies since I haven’t looked up genshin lore for a hot minute 

note(s): male reader, second person, present tense, not beta read

DILUC

There’s a lot of things you haven’t told him yet. Things you wished you had told him—but everything’s fine, because in this single action you are willing to do for him—your feelings will come inevitably with it and it’s a torrent of emotions that you’re about to burden him with.

He’s been your childhood friend for seventeen years now. All those times you have seen him, smiling, his merry laughter carrying over the breeze, his lips purple from sampling grapes, to the time where that very laughter and smiles disappear to smoothen into a stone face. After the death of his father, Diluc has become reserved, cold, and rather distant. Bitter.

You two were close, once.

You two had a bond that many could not quite interpret— it was as clear as day that you both trusted each other fully, but each always had secrets to hide. Some say proximity is the reason why both of you got close — your manors were near to each other, but truthfully, it was as simple as it was: you two had the same social standing. Both you and Diluc were, for each of their families, supposed to be close for the sake of future alliances and unions, but the friendship soon turned genuine, only for it to crumble under the weight of guilt and grief.

Only for it to crumble on the day Crepus died.

You still remember it vividly; in all its sickening, gruesome, heart wrenching detail. You were fortunate enough not to witness it, but etched in your memory, all you can think of is Diluc’s ravaged expression when he trembled before his father’s corpse.

You were helpless then. You could have extended an arm, you could have done something.

You didn’t.

But now would be different. You know the archons have it in for him when the incident happens the same way it happened with his father: via a carriage incident. 

You laugh then at its bitter irony.

Bandits come, a whole load of them, and this time Diluc fights while you are there helpless once again, trembling when you hear the clash of swords and arrows. When you hear his claymore smash against flesh. You don’t have a vision. Diluc has. You don’t have any particular skill in handling a sword; Jean has tried to teach you once, but it has failed. Your brain may be quick and witty, but your steps aren’t. 

The bandits have delusions. The archons really are cruel.

You see it before he does. There’s a burst of electric power that he's battling, the elementals clashing with each other—you’re still lagging behind, barely missing the whizzing arrows that skim your flesh, your heart wrenching as you see Diluc’s pained expression. You know what he’s thinking of, and it isn’t you. His memories are reverting back to his father’s death. His birthday. And perhaps that’s why his usual sharpness is wearied down.

You see the sword about to plunge his back before he does.

You scream to tell him.

Your body moves before anything.

Your fingers fumble to clasp the fabric of your clothes, before you tug him out of the way. You feel the weight of a sword against your back; you feel the way it slices through your skin before it presses against your flesh. You taste blood on your tongue, before a myriad of colors burst out; crimson, carmine. All the shades of red. You wobble then, choking out blood, before you stumble. You hear a few slices; razor, swift sharp ones. Then the last of the assailants falls down, and you are made aware that your decision has been the right one.

Diluc has survived. 

You stumble. You feel your body hit the ground. Murkiness runs your vision.

“[Name],” you hear a soft, whispering voice carry to your ears. You try your best to cling onto the words. But pain is burning within you—it’s ironic, how they feel more scorching than Diluc’s flames have ever felt. You try your best to swallow down your pants and your pained noises, but it ends up slipping from your mouth in broken, mottled syllables.

Your blurry vision makes out a face.

He cannot be Diluc. He’s crying. And the last time you have seen Duluc cry is when—

Oh.

“Don’t cry,” you say weakly. “Don’t cry, Diluc. I’m sorry I wasn’t of much help.” You try to reach out to his cheek. You regret it a split second afterwards because blood stains his cheeks wet from tears. You end up smearing red all over his face.

“Why?” Diluc says, and it sounds guttural, like the words have been punched out from him. “Why, [Name]?” You hear a flurry of footsteps behind. You assume it’s some surviving witness who has gone to call for backup. But you doubt you’ll survive.

You don’t even know why. To begin with, you aren’t even sure if you are in love with him. The swirling butterflies that flutter about when you see him tells him you are, but society’s expectations push those down. You have been in love with him for as long as you can remember; you have loved him. You have annotated every inch of him down to your memory, every contour, every bit. In your dreams he visits you, smiling sweetly. And you try to remember him when you wake up, trying to pretend that he’s still there, that he’s no longer bitter. 

“I don’t know.” Your words come out broken, punctuated by the gurgling of blood from your windpipe. 

It’s a half truth. You love him. You don’t know if you do.

“I’m sorry.”

Diluc is sobbing now. It’s uncharacteristic of him. You are brought back to the night when you saw him break down in front of his father’s corpse. And you aren’t yet a corpse: your heart is still beating faintly, your lips are still moving, your body is still trembling. “There’s a lot of things I wanted to tell you, Diluc.”

“Don’t die,” he pleads fervently. His lips graze your forehead, then—and before you know it, he’s embracing you, his tears wetting your shoulder. His begging is childish. Does he not know that the Archons have long abandoned their people? Does he know the sky is empty, and that no amount of pleads can bring a person back to life? You doubt so. “Don’t die, [Name]. I love you.”

He loves you. You smile. He loves you. Words have never felt so sweet befor, and it curbs the bitterness of death upon your tongue. “I love you, [Name]. I love you, so don’t die.”

He loves his father too. But still his father had perished. Similar to you.

“I’m so happy to hear that,” you smile weakly. Your finger starts to fall. “I’m really happy to hear that.”

You don’t have enough time to say those three words back, but it’s fine.

Your actions already did. 

ZHONGLI

note(s); reader is an adepti, takes place during archon war

A God has seen their fair share of grieving. So have Adepti. Some come with age—it’s normal for mortal alliances to die before those who are immortal, after all. There is also the Archon War, which has already torn away Zhongli’s beloved companion, Guizhong. And everyday he chokes down the bile in his throat and continues to annihilate and fight. He’s always been built for this, after all, he’s an Archon. He’s a ruthless one at that, known for his brutality and his power. And everyday he looks at you and can only pray again and again to Celestia, that you remain alive.

Guizhong and you have both been his favorites since you two have met. It was Guizhong and you first, before Zhongli met you. Both you and Guizhong were best friends; almost; like sisters and brothers. Guizhong was gentle and sweet, reprimanding at times. You were sweet too, but could be more uncouth. Strong language littered your sentences at times, and Zhongli would see it then; the way Guizhong tugged at you to scold you, or the way you would smile at her. Brother and sister.

Naturally, when Zhongli grew close to Guizhong, he grew close to you. It was funny to see that you hardly knew much about history, though Guizhong clearly loved it. And so it was almost a cycle. Whatever Guizhong taught Zhongli, he taught you. Guizhong had remarked a few times, what an incredible person he was to make even you listen to facts you had earlier called boring.

(“You mellowed a lot, Morax,” Guizhong had told him once. “[Name] mellowed you. You really do care alot for him, don’t you?”

“I suppose.”)

Gods aren’t meant to be mellowed. They are meant to be powerful. Strong enough emotionally so as to not bat an eye when it comes to deaths.

But everything falls apart when Guizhong dies.

He sees you fall to the ground, sobbing and sobbing and crying at the loss of your beloved sister. He sees the way  you touch her statue, turned to stone, cradling her face and wishing you were touching soft skin, instead of cold stone. Not sister by blood, but sister in name. He sees the way you break apart after that; Zhongli feels a human sense of emptiness and pain that comes with her death.

It’s all right, he told himself repeatedly. In his grief he has started to flood himself with reassurances. I still have [Name]. I still have [Name]. I still have [Name]. 

He sees the way you lose yourself in battle after that. Your attacks become sloppy, you become more careless. You become more injured. Zhongli never bothered with your skill. You were talented and strong enough. But now he finds himself protecting you the times you stumble, the times you start to choke out sobs during battle, the times you go wild and bloodthirsty against those you assume have contributed to her death. 

Guizhong has said once that he loved you. Zhongli never bothered to think about that. He assumed he would know it himself, when time came. He didn’t need to worry about being in what mortals called a relationship—he would get this war finished with you, become a mortal, and love you freely. It didn’t matter if you didn’t love him. Zhongli could love you at a safe distance. It would all be all right. 

He never imagined your declaration of love towards him would come so easily and devastatingly.

Zhongli sees you struck by a burst of elemental power before anything. He sees the way you shoved him inside; he sees the irony. He was so preoccupied with watching you. He hadn’t seen the enemy crawl up to him or nearly kill him. Like how he was watching you, you were watching him. And now his care has killed you.

“[Name].”

There’s an avalanche of emotions. First, he’s furious. He will leach out the killer and will inflict a thousand times more pain on them. Second, he’s heartbroken. He’s terrified of losing you. He can feel your life ebbing away with each passing moment, and he has seen enough wounds to know no healer can save you. He feels your pulse thrumming beneath your skin and he knows you’re dying.

You smile. It looks more like a grimace. “Just survive this goddamn war.”

Zhongli isn’t sure if he will. He feels like he might kill himself, that he might lay his body down next to yours, so that after death your souls would be intermingled, of sorts. It sounds romantic, but there’s absolutely nothing romantic about your death. He does what the Gods are not supposed to do. He feeds into his humanity; he cries.

“Afterwards, just live as a human. I don’t know. Be a dusty collector of antiques. Be a funeral planner or something strange like that. Just live, okay? You look like you want to die.”

You continue to ramble on. Your sentences become connected with each other. Your eyes start to flutter. Your words become faint and faltering.

“I can’t live with you,” he whispers. “First Guizhong, then you…” it’s all his fault. He should have seen it. He should have been more aware. He should—he should…

It’s too late. You’re dead, and he mourns just like a human; sobbing, aching, and dying a little inside.

For a brief moment Zhongli isn’t a God. 

hope everyone liked it! it’s my first post so im apprehensive haha be sure to like/reblog & leave a comment if u can

[dissiasims]

Frog Familiars Set

Left, right and head version, both female & male

26 swatches

Base Game Compatibile

Custom Thumbnail

Left Bracelet Category

Get them from TSR: Frog Familiar Set // Frog Familiar Set Male

Frog female clothing set here: Frogs Set

[christopher-hemsworths]

Limitless with Chris Hemsworth

[maxmorphs]

More than a handful. He needs to be milked NOW! Can't believe there aren't any volunteers around … 🕵️‍♂️

[ainasluv]

JAMES MCAVOY as PADDY in SPEAK NO EVIL (2024)

[cavills-henry]

"Week 3 growing chest hair...😶"

@ reilly_golden3 via Tiktok

[hubforsmoking]

KEVIN MCGARRY

[fitguy1966]

[malfoyx]

i love superman

[unguerito]