Heh.

 Your Dane’s internal thermostat is broken. Constantly. He’ll be freezing in the middle of summer. Be prepared for cold hands or feet put on you at any given moment.

Sub-note: Be prepared to lose all of your sweaters to said Dane. And hunting socks. And flannels. Honestly, he’ll just steal all of your clothes. Is it because he’s cold or is it because he wants you as naked as possible? Both suggestions are in fact correct.

Kanelsnegle. If you don’t know what it is, learn, and learn fast. He will run on them. Their bones are made of kanelsnegle and their blood is made of hot cider. Again, doesn’t matter if its the middle of summer.

Never, ever yell at your Dane. It’ll gut you immediately and you’ll spend the next week trying to make it up to him. Because you were an asshole and yelled at the human embodiment of a puppy.

Like puppies, your Dane might bite you. Repeatedly. For fun. Danes are naturally bratty little shits. Punishment is useful up until your Dane learns that your punishments are far more fun than they are, well, punishing.

Your Dane needs unimpeded access to your attention when you are home. Otherwise, he will get into mischief such as just walking around naked while you are trying to do work. They are needy creatures, but overwhelmingly sweet and lovable.

Your Dane may have very bad separation anxiety. If this is the case, make sure they are surrounded by friends if you have to leave them for more than a day at a time or have them come along on whatever you might be up to. Business trip? Turn it into a mini-vacation. He’ll thank you.

Your home is his sanctuary, so for the love of the Gods don’t make a mess of it. While cute and sweet, he’s also fiery and will be more than happy to make you clean the whole house. 

This is 100000000000000000000000% all of my heckin’ damn yes holy shit. ; v; <3 Kaiba agrees too

But its too late now, as much as his hands itch to go make something, to buy Gilbert something despite disliking the gifting of that which is pre-made. He just hopes Gil likes it.

Beneath the tartan paper and wonky silver bow, speaking of terrible wrapping skill despite the 6000 years Alasdair has had to practise (well, more or less), is a good. A photo album, to be precise. Scrappy, handmade, and dating back what must be decades.

Black-and-white photos of them both, in faces almost foreign now, in a London pub Alasdair is sure burnt down years ago, interspersed with those from only a month or so back, when they'd both lit sparklers and stood before a large bonfire on Samhain. Written in the very neatest handwriting he could muster, Alasdair has dated the photos best he can, as well as written small comments - the first thing to come to mind.

In the front of the album is a note, written short and messy as is his norm:

Mo oidhche gheal àlainn, I don't think I could ever put into words just how much you mean to me, so I thought I'd put it into this book, in these photos, so you can see just how much I adore you. You light up my life, always have, and I sincerely wish that cameras existed all the way back in the 30 Years War, just so I could've documented the moment I fell in love with you (though I suppose its a good thing they didn't, I looked like a right prat back then). Nollaig Chridheil, Gil. Here's to many, many more. Forever and always, Do mhathan.

Despite the wrapping and the silly bow that sits crooked on the box, what the Prussian finds inside is so packed full of love that the outside could have been covered in mud and Gilbert would not care. The album is small and unassuming, but it’s heavy in his hands.

Every slot, every space is filled with memories, with photographs so old he wonders where Alasdair has kept them all these years. He gets so wrapped up in the youth of their faces on the first page that Gil nearly misses the note. Upon reading it, he leans over to the side table to snag a piece of tape to tack it to the inside of the cover. He didn’t want to lose it. God, he doesn’t want to lose it.

He cannot even get through the first page of photos without tearing up, swiping at his face with the back of his hand. The emotions were painted on the both of them and it’s so jarringly clear that it’s got Gilbert all choked up.

Though, of course, your arse in them ridin' trousers are pretty damn sexy too-"

sexy sexy muses || accepting

Aleks looks down at his wedding band, the plain silver ring feels heavier somehow this morning as it rests on his finger. Sometimes, the Norwegian realizes, he is a far better man that he ever gives himself credit for, or believes that he is.

He loves his husband, without question or hesitation. He gives him a home worth returning to, arms to hold him and keep him safe. Aleksander does his best to be perfect for Mathias, to be the shelter when he needs it and the encouragement when he's feeling less than himself. To have and to hold, for better and for worse, through sickness and heath, the bad times and the good.

Mathias deserves it all, and for once Aleksander knows that he is enough. Truly perfect complements to each other; soulmates if he was brave enough to think such a thing. While he had long lived with the thought that they were destined for one another, catching sight of that unruly blonde head of hair poking over the back of the couch and having his chest swell with love every single day they were in each other's company, without fail, for more than eight centuries?