#aphsecretsanta

[gerswe]

2014 Events

Nov 27 - Dec 24 : aphsecretsanta | found here

[anneimator]

I got @yeoldehetalian for the @aphsecretsanta and got to draw the good boys!! Merry holidays and happy snow watching 🥰💖

[pixeltalia]

my @aphsecretsanta​ was for @jurikatou​! merry (belated) christmas, happy new year and i hope u like it! i sorta merged a few of ur prompts (bird,, pokémon,, snow) but i rlly liked the concept that came out of it aaa 

i made these as gifs orginally but i cant resize them so here they r under the cut...

[kirsiroosa]

i participated in the @aphsecretsanta thingie and i got to make a gift for @anneimator!

i went with turkfra for the ship, since it was something i found really interesting, and i also wanted to include the "magical strike and his suffering boyfriend" prompt. unfortunately i realized too late that i had no idea how to execute it. since you said that prompt divergence is okay, i made... whatever this is. i hope you enjoy it!

((click for better quality))

[tema-makes-art-sometimes]

I Got Body Positivity In My Stocking What Did You Get?

RusEng for @arachnoidmater for the @aphsecretsanta Minor Warning for Minor Discussion of Weight Gain/Loss and Self Image Issues Hope you enjoy it my dude, sorry it’s so late. 

Ivan let out a sigh as he pulled his christmas sweater over his head in a huff. Many previous outfits that were much more dressy and showy were thrown on the bed discarded a few moments before. He stared into the mirror dissatisfied, hearing the soft whines of the wooden floors outside of his room as Arthur paced back and forth. The two were going to a themed Christmas party, and had pulled out some of their old apparel from the turn of the century for the celebration but the more Ivan had tried them on and flipped through different options the more self conscious he became. He had been so much smaller back then, though most of it had come from famine he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable with the change now that he was a much more healthy weight. 

A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts. 

“Ivan, are you ready yet?” he heard the Brit’s voice through the door, not mad but vaguely worried. About him or about being tardy for their arrival it was hard to tell. The door cracked open quietly and there the Englishman stood, dressed as if he had been ripped out of the pages of a Victorian fashion book, he was stunning-- and Ivan swelled with happiness and the air of embarrassment as he watched the man’s expression go from vague concern to confusion. 

“Sorry, I know we’re already running late, I was just…” he glanced away from Arthur, to the mirror. “Having some.. wardrobe issues..”

Arthur frowned, moving across the room and over to Ivan, who had buried his face in the neck of his sweater. “I thought you wanted us to dress up like the old days, love. Are you okay?” Arthur asked.

“I just… don’t feel comfortable in it..” Ivan glanced away as Arthur tried to look him in his eyes. “I was so much smaller back then...” 

“Ivan, of course you were, but back then doesn’t matter. You’re beautiful to me right now.” Arthur frowned, taking Ivan’s hand into his own and giving it a soft squeeze. “And if you’re not comfortable with wearing these old things, and just want to wear sweaters and slacks, then that’s perfectly right by me.”

“I know, I just… are you sure you don’t mind?” Ivan frowned, “I can wear it anyway it’s not--” 

He stopped as the Englishman had immediately taken to unbuttoning his vest and jacket, a grin on his face. 

“I absolutely don’t mind, this corset is bloody torture-- christ on a bike how did I manage this back then I can’t breathe.” he said, happily shedding his upper layers. “Do you have any christmas vests, dear?” 

Ivan turned bright red, not only because the Englishman had stripped quickly without even a word of warning, but also because he had realized they had both been in the same predicament. He laughed, first softly, then heartily from his belly, glancing toward his bed at the discarded clothes. He felt so silly getting caught up in his past self’s wardrobe. Of course it was different, he was a different man now. He glanced to his wardrobe as the Brit had started to properly put back on his dress shirt, without the corset this time. 

“Are you sure you want to wear one of mine?”

“Absolutely, your sweaters are much warmer than mine, and besides, I still do want to match. Give me the worst one you’ve got.” he smiled, happily taking the cringe worthy holiday themed sweater Ivan handed to him. Arthurt pulled him in front of the mirror, the two of them both in khaki slacks and ridiculously adorned christmas sweaters. Arhur’s was a red sweater vest covered in multicolored tinsel and fake lights with the words “merry christmas ya filthy animal” in bright green lettering. While Ivan had picked out a red one with white stripes depicting an image of Krampus holding chains and his sack of stolen children. Arthur laughed at the sweater the Russian had picked out. 

“Alfred is going to scream, you know.” 

Ivan chuckled under his breath. “Oh, I know. That was the idea.”

The two chuckled to themselves, and Ivan took Arthur’s hand, smiling with a pink tinge on his cheeks as they made their way to the door, Arthur passing him his scarf and coat as they reached the doorway. Arthur held out the door as they stepped out into the cold winter’s evening, Ivan happily giggling as he snuck a kiss to the Englishman’s cheek before bolting to the car.

[sunflowerram]

My @aphsecretsanta gift for @canadiatuxedo! Hope you like it! CanIta is adorable, and this was a lot of fun to work on! Drabble below the cut!

Matthew had been visiting this cafe for a while now, to the point where it just felt like a natural part of his day. He'd drop by in the morning, grab a hot chocolate and/or some sweets depending on his mood, and just relax and take in the warm atmosphere of the little cafe.

Truth be told, though, it wasn't the food or drink that kept him coming back (although both were the best in town in Matt's opinion), it was the staff. Or, rather, one member of the staff in particular. A kind, lighthearted Italian guy named Feliciano. He seemed to run the place with his brother, and he was very much the source of much of the cafe's welcoming feeling, to Matthew at least.

He'd first ventured into the cafe on a really rotten day. The weather was cold and rainy, work had been a slog, and Matthew was just so tired. Coffee sounded like a decent pick-me-up, and he hadn't really noticed the little cafe before, so he figured he'd give it a shot, figuring his day couldn't really get any worse. The coffee was certainly delicious and served to lift his mood a bit, but what really surprised Matthew was when one of the servers, who introduced himself as Feliciano asked to sit with him.

"It's alright if you want to be left alone! But I noticed that you seemed like you were having a rough day, and, well... I thought you might enjoy some company? And also some cake? On the house!" Feliciano had offered with a warm smile.

Matthew remembered feeling his face almost certainly turning red the first time he saw that smile. The way it spread across his cheeks, making his eyes crinkle just slightly, was just about the cutest thing he had ever seen. And it seemed his smile was contagious because soon enough, Matthew had a small smile of his own tugging at his lip as he accepted Feliciano's offer.

Since then, he'd been coming to this cafe nearly every day. And no matter how dismal the rest of his day was, he could always count on his visits with Feli to be a bit of sunshine breaking through the storm clouds. And one thing that really made their hangouts feel special to Matthew was that he was always pretty shy, and talking to people, especially ones he'd just met, felt like an awkward dance he didn't quite know the steps to. But with Feli, even from day one, it felt natural. He didn't find himself worrying over what to say next or how to fill a silence between the two of them, it just sorta... worked.

Matthew was thinking all of this over on his way to the cafe as snow fell to the ground. He had a bouquet of flowers in hand, and a plan to finally ask Feliciano out in mind. He entered, placed an order for hot chocolate with Feliciano's brother at the cash register, and took his seat, tucking his bouquet under the table and out of sight, trying desperately to convince himself not to chicken out. He had to go through with this! He really liked Feli, and he felt sure that Feli liked him as well. He could do this.

"Ah, Matthew! Ciao!" Feliciano greeted, breaking Matthew's train of anxious thought as he emerged from the kitchen doors, carrying a mug full of hot chocolate and a slice of cake on a platter. He hurried over to Matt's table, quickly setting the hot drink down in front of him. "I'm glad you came today! There's, uh, actually something I wanted to talk about."

Matthew blinked in surprise. He was just building up the courage to ask Feliciano, but it seemed that would have to wait. He was a bit relieved that he now had just a little bit more time to continue building up his nerve. "Oh, sure! What is it?"

"Okay, so... We've been hanging out like this for a while, right? And I really, really like it! You're super nice, and fun to talk to, and you're seriously just one of the sweetest people I know. Talking to you is one of the best parts of my day! I really mean it! You... You make me really happy. So, I was wondering if, uh... Maybe you'd like to... go out? Sometime? Maybe?" Feliciano asked, clearly nervous by the way he was gripping the plate in his hands and rambling just a bit.

Matthew paused. Wait, did he just...

Feliciano's shoulders bunched up just slightly at Matthew's silence. "I mean, if you don't want to, that's fine, too! We don't have to! I was just thinking that I really wanna spend more time with you, and--"

"Feli, Feli!" Matthew interrupted Feliciano's nervous ramble. "It's okay! I'm sorry I didn't answer, I just, uh..." Matthew pulled his bouquet out from under the table with a sheepish smile. "I... was about to ask you the same thing."

The two just looked at each other for a moment, processing the situation, before they both burst out into laughter. Feliciano wound up laughing so hard he let out a little snort, which only made him giggle harder, much to Matt's delight.

Once they settled down, Feliciano took the seat across from Matthew. "Ah, tell you what. I'll say yes to you asking me out if you say yes to me asking you out!"

Matthew chuckled. "Sounds like a deal. I do!"

Feliciano absolutely beamed. "I do too!" With that, Feliciano pushed his plate of cake towards Matt. "So... trade?"

Matthew handed over the bouquet and gladly accepted the cake, digging in with a smile. It was the same kind Feli offered on the first day they met. 

The two of them sat there for a while, Matthew enjoying his cake and Feliciano admiring his flowers, just enjoying each other's company and thinking on how that couldn't have possibly gone any better, as the snow fell past the windows of that warm cozy cafe.

[yeoldehetalian]

Here’s my @aphsecretsanta gift for @pixeltalia!  I was very inspired by your rival chocolate shops prompt!  Happy New Year :)

[rukkilill]

Some fluffy NorBela fic for @aphrosee ! Part of the @aphsecretsanta event. :)

Comfort

Their breath fogged the air as they made their way back from the outdoor skating rink together.

Their skates were slung over their shoulders. Their mittened hands could have brushed against one another, but didn't.

The sun set earlier here than Belarus was accustomed to.

Belarus glanced at Norway. In the thin glow from the streetlamps, he looked paler than usual. There was a hint of a smile on his face.

She looked away. Considered this for a moment. Decided that she liked that expression on him. So she moved her hand just enough to brush against his, then took it in her own, and squeezed it.

He squeezed back.

They said nothing as they walked back to Norway's house together.

Norway had invited her to spend time at his place. Personal time, he'd said. Just the two of them. It wasn't anything new; they had done this before. But every time he asked her for this, with his quiet voice delivering such a personal invitation, it made her feel strangely warm.

This time was no different.

Nether of them had given a word to what they had together. They were something other than friends. They were something she didn't know how to describe. Belarus didn't care. What would be the point of putting a name to it, anyway?

It certainly wasn't anyone else's business.

But they had something. A satisfying something. A something only between the two of them. Hence the invitation, which Belarus had accepted, when she wouldn't have from anyone else. And the afternoon spent skating together.

At one point, her skate had hit a flaw in the ice, and she'd slipped. Norway had caught her, steadied her, kept her from falling. Asked if she was all right. Belarus had straightened herself, and told him that she was.

She hadn't minded his concern.

If it had been anyone else, she would have removed his hands from her person, and with much stronger words. She knew that for certain.

But this was different.

Snow fell in lazy, delicate flakes, caught in the light from Norway's porch lamp.

Belarus waited while he unlocked the door. Watched as the snow settled on his hair, dusting it with white. She reached out to brush some of it off, taking a liberty that she knew not everyone had.

Norway smiled, or perhaps it was a trick of the light, looking over at her for a second. Then he opened the door, and let her in.

They lingered in the entranceway of his house, taking their time with stripping off their outer layers.

The awkward shuffle of taking off boots and shrugging off coats usually annoyed Belarus. Tonight, it did not. Not so much. It helped that Norway took her coat. Polite, but without comment.

When Norway turned to her again, he took hold of her hands. Belarus allowed it, watching his face. His expression was quiet for a moment as he rubbed her hands between his own.

"You're freezing," Norway murmured. He didn't sound overly worried.

"Yes," Belarus said. "And so are you." His hands were just as cold as hers were, if not colder.

He seemed to take a moment to consider this. Then he looked at her again. "I'll put the tea on for you."

"And I'll take care of the fireplace," she said crisply.

He left her to it.

She was familiar with his house by now. That was very surprising, Belarus thought as she arranged the logs and kindling. To think that she had visited Norway often enough to be comfortable in his home – it was frankly bizarre.

This was not just his apartment in his capital, not the tiny flat in Oslo with all the sparse feeling of a hotel room. No, this was his personal, private home out in the country, and it was warm in a way that anyone who did not know him well would never expect.

Very odd to think about. Belarus frowned as she struck a match and touched it to the kindling.

From the kitchen came the sound of cupboards opening and mugs being set on the counter. Soft, low humming.

Belarus could count on one hand the number of nations whose homes she was so familiar with. And most of them were family.

She straightened. For a moment, she watched as the fire caught, spreading to sink its teeth deep into the logs in the fireplace.

Did it matter that Norway was an outlier in her life?

No, she decided. It did not.

There were small candles throughout the living room. She lit one, then went about using it to light the others. It kicked up the soft fragrance of melting beeswax.

Finally, she sat down and waited.

Norway came in with the tea. He handed her a mug, then sat down next to her with one of his own.

"I put supper in the oven," he said. "We'll have a while afore it's ready."

Belarus nodded. They had spent that morning preparing it together, getting the lasagne ready so that after they returned from skating, they would not have to do anything with it except shove it into the oven. It was, Belarus thought, a very good plan.

Her body ached. She hadn't skated in years, and his invitation had surprised her. It had been bold. He couldn't have even known if she liked skating, because she had never mentioned it.

For a moment, after he suggested it, she thought about refusing.

But she hadn't.

She didn't regret it.

The two of them sat close together. So close, their bodies touched. Just slightly. She could feel the heat rolling off of him.

She glanced at him, watching as he warmed his hands on his mug of tea. There he sat, in his hand-knit sweater, with his hair tousled from being stuffed under a hat all day. The firelight softened his features, usually just as sharp as her own.

There was something comfortable about him. About this. About everything.

Belarus gave this a moment of thought. Then she nestled closer, and rested her head on Norway's shoulder.

He didn't comment on it. He didn't move away. He didn't do anything about it at all. He merely looked at her for a moment, then relaxed, and shifted the slightest bit so that she could fit more comfortably against him.

It was, Belarus decided, not a strange thing at all to be here with him.

It was just right.

[ask-gypt]

@tessalonia Hope you gain joy from this! 

M Secret Santa submission for the @aphsecretsanta event

Seychelles x South Korea casting magic with milk sweetened amazingness 

[apollon-hyakinthios]

merry christmas @apple-ring-gummies !!!! i was your secret santa for @aphsecretsanta - i decided to draw some HunUkr with the prompts “christmas” and “winter” ! here they are headed home after a long day of christmas shopping. hope you like it!

[gerswe]

2015 Events

Feb 14-20 : usuk sweetheart week | found here

Valentine's Day

Science fiction

Always beside you

School daze

Cinematic

Parallel lives

Holding out for a hero

May 11 - Jun 15 : aphgenficexchange | found here

Jun 22-28 : frukweek | found here

Married couple

Showing affection

Language

Standing in the rain

“How did we start?”

Lovely eyes

Love is…

Aug 23-29 : amechuweek | found here

Food

Walls

Horror

Masquerade

Road trip

Music

Seasonal

Oct 12-18 : asakikuweek | found here

Favorite moment/official art

Crossover

Nyo

Imperial | Islandol

Family

Free

Alternate universe

Oct 25 - 31 : frukheaven | found here

I put a spell on you

Catacombs of Paris | Cemeteries of London

Voodoo doll

Familiar taste of poison

Asylum

Deal with the devil

Love bites (so do I)

Nov 27 - Dec 24 : aphsecretsanta | found here

Dec 6-27 : aphgenficexchange | found here

[sinunamor]

An @aphsecretsanta gift for @52px !! Sorry about the late submission! Happy New Year!

Pairing: Ancient Rome x China (romechu)

Prompt: Long distance relationship, modern au

I do not celebrate Christmas, but I have an online friend who does.

Warmth seeped through his porcelain mug. Tired, lithe fingers curled around its smooth surface. A gentle press of lips, a small careful sip and the warmth spread through his chest. The morning fog rolled over the cluttered streets of San Francisco. His window presented him a view of Chinatown rising. Mr. Huang sweeping the front of his herbal shop, Ms. Zhou flicking on a neon light reading “welcome” and a “Merry Christmas” in English and pinyin for her bakery. Around them, the Christmas lights, candy canes and snowflakes signaled the end of another year.

He sighed heavily after the sensation passed, shuffling in his slippers towards the desk stationed in front of his window. Picture frames and assorted souvenir figurines decorated the corners of the mahogany desk. One frame pulled a little closer to his laptop than the rest. Wrinkled brown eyes flickered towards that wide spread of lips, those impossibly straight teeth, that youthful glint of mischief in his eyes. He sat back of the chair and took another sip. Jasmine green tea. The warm herbal scent carried many memories. He set the mug down carefully next to the frame and opened the laptop. He’ll enjoy the view better here. It must be nighttime in Italy.

***

He is the festive sort, that does not surprise me. He finds comfort in the company of others. He would send me photographs, selfies, of his travels and home in Italy. His apartment was so little, such home would be filled with many guests, neighbors, young and old. And he, the center of it all. I wonder if he would enjoy celebrating Lunar New Year with me. He’d enjoy the noise. It would be nice to see him happy.

***

He was half expecting it, Romulo wasn’t online. They did stay up particularly late last night chatting about Christmas plans in broken english and the occasional Italian. Yao briefly looked over last night’s exchange.

RV: nd you? you would be spending Christmas alone?

WY: Alone, yes, i’ll vidchat with Chen and his family...you? You would be throwing a ball

RV: Haha not this year. Decided to keep it small Just me nd my boys and my boys boys’ nd my little girl

WY: very small party so unlike you, i’m Concerned

RV: now you know how i feel!! Im always concerned when i hear you spend holidays alone

WY: i’m alright

RV: i know, i jus wish i can go over there nd spend it with you :(

I haven’t felt my heart pulse an ache in a long while. I do wish that could happen, but there is a half a world between us.

***

My name is Wang Yao, I have seen 48 springs pass me by. 48 years of hardships, blessings and everything in between. I have one son, of which I am very proud. Chen is his name, stayed in China and started his life there. He has his mother’s adventurous spirit, he attended San Francisco State. I admit, he was part of the reason why I came to California at all, but I suppose fathers are mostly protective of their children. While he studied, I was the roommate that cooked for him. But I understood fully that sons needed to make life without their fathers. When time and he graduated with a degree in Travel and Tourism, he and his then girlfriend moved back to the mainland.

So mostly, I was alone. I was too old to fully appreciate the costal nightlife and too young to play mahjong with the elders in the afternoons. An unfortunate generational circumstance of a part-time professor whose social life revolved around attending tai chi group in the mornings, afternoon chats with storefront owners and a dull lecture or two in Mandarin in the evenings.

My son worried for me. He does not see as old, he wanted me to find a friend, a “someone” as he put it, with whom to share interests and hobbies with. To attend events and explore San Francisco for no reason other than to have carefree fun.

***

“It sounds like you want me to find you another mother,” Yao joked over video chat one night.

His eldest son, Chen, laughed heartily. On his lap, an 8 month old daughter gurgling happily and wiggled closer towards the phone lens. Yao was very happy he managed a screenshot of her rosy cheeked face.

“Any partner will do,” Chen teased back. “Your children know you were never particular to any sort.”

Yao let out a frustrated sound, his hand twitched as if he could really swat his son a Pacific Ocean away. “You speak without saying anything!” he reprimanded, holding a glint in his eye.

“We just have your best interests in mind,” Chen smiled. “Ay baba, there are how many people in this world and you cannot befriend one?”

“Well, give me a phonebook of all the people in this world and I shall start inquiring,” Yao half-scoffed.

Chen pursed his lips, his baby babbling, “Yi yi yi!”. Yao cooed and sang at her, wanting so much to reach out and hold her.

“How about a forum instead?”

***

And that was how I met him. The world forum website. Chen had discovered its existence through one boring weekend spent on his school campus. It was a language learning forum but it was no secret that it also served as a dating site as it had the option to state that one was looking for a romantic relationship.

Of course what I had to offer was Mandarin, a fluent grasp on English, and some Cantonese. Yet, I did not feel like connecting with people from the mainland or the United States. The forum listed many, even unheard of languages, but none that held my interest for long. I wanted something simple yet unique, something uncommon but had a significant influence throughout human history.

I remember reading “Italian” and remembering how at one point in my life was enamored with the history of the small Mediterranean peninsula. Of all its accomplishments and failures, the dialects, the influence on art and politics. Of all the love and admiration for Italy as a whole.

It felt childish at first, but I was soon focused solely on the Italian threads, trying to start conversations with others within my age range. It was frustrating to find that it was never as easy as it sounded. Some seemed unreachable or plain dull and there was a great imbalance sent to my inbox from men than women. At first it was amusing, sending them off with an “Thank you for your kind compliments, as a man, I am very flattered” but as I was weeding out the active few with other intentions, there was not much left. I was soon logging in less and ignoring the few notifications I receive over the span of the week.

Until a “ciao bella ;)” reached me.

I do not know what intrigued me, it was not much different from the others that were sent and ignored. Perhaps I was in a good mood, perhaps I was in fact in a very bad one. Perhaps his profile did lure me in, as he claims to this day, but I responded:

“Wrong gender, it would be ‘bello’ not ‘bella’”.

Not even a minute passed before my computer alerted me of a new message.

“ciao bello ;)”

***

His name is Romolo Vargas and he is 4 years my junior. He wants to see the world, and he has been in half of it. He has 3 children, two sons and one daughter of which he is very proud. Unlike me, he is divorced and was spending his free time going to places he had longed to go as a child. He has been to Greece and Thailand, France and Estonia, countries whose name I cannot begin to pronounce. At first, I had thought I was an outlet for him to brag about his travels, about the women he wooed, but then he was always asking about what I done, how my day went, and how I felt. As if I was the most interesting man in the world.

Then the first Christmas came and he was insistent on sending me a gift.

***

“Baba, we are glad you found that friend,” Chen said over the phone. “But you never know this man’s true intentions. How do we even know a Romolo Vargas exists?”

“I’m well aware,” Yao muttered, feeling a tinge of annoyance course through him. “I’ll admit he’s a little flirty, but he never gave me reason to doubt his sincerity.”

“It hurts me to say this, truly it does,” Chen muttered. “But what if Romolo is just leading you on? What if this is a game that he plays?”

“On older men and women? Yes, I know,” Yao frowned, his tone a little harsher than intended. “Thought you had said I wasn’t that old to begin with.”

***

They would never understand the late-night conversations I had, of philosophy and bao recipes. While he was rising, I was preparing for sleep. We managed a balance of work and chat. We began to send each other pictures, photographs of our homes, what we see throughout our day and ourselves. There was never pressure or qualm to keep our discussions going, we just carried on naturally.

Then Chen suggested I should get a P.O. box instead. Bright boy.

His first Christmas gift was a small painted black rooster from Portugal, a few collected postcards from previous travels and a 3 page handwritten letter explaining the story of the little rooster, of his New Year plans and his gratitude of meeting me. I never felt so close and intimate to him before. I felt young again.

We carried on, occasionally sending each other trinkets and tokens of a blossoming friendship. I sent him tea leaves, recipes, inkstones and brushes, a book on tai chi and bonsai training. Soon my bamboo plant and bonsai pot was inhabited with little figurines from the entirety of Europe and western Asia.

The next Christmas we gifted each other the trust of each other’s phone numbers. The first video chat on our phones. When we saw each other on our screens, we laughed.

***

“I’m telling you, you look younger than you say you are! Are you sure you 46?” Romolo grinned. His backdrop was his gardens overlooking the coast. His curls, touched with glints of silver and gold lightly kissed his flushed cheeks from a chilled breeze.

“The sunlight suits you,” Yao admitted without another thought.

A soft, silent smile. Yao felt his heart caught in his throat.

“And I bet you capture it beautifully with your eyes,” Romolo muttered.

Yao wanted to hide behind his sleeve like a flustered schoolgirl. It was a sincere compliment, nothing that implied a growing love for him, no matter how he wished for it to be true.

***

This Christmas would be no different. We had agreed on only sending each other a letter as we haven’t been writing to each other lately. Yet, I had sent his favorite box of tea along with a translated poem I wrote in simplified pinyin. A silly little poem about the love of two birds on seperate nests with a grand river in between, using the strengths of their songs to communicate in new echoing melodies. He always expressed his admiration for Chinese calligraphy. I wonder what he will think of the poem. I wonder if he’ll attempt to read the characters himself before reading the translated bits.

I wasn’t so sure Romolo was going to send me something as well but I did not want to anticipate a gift. I’d prefer to be pleasantly surprised.

***

Yao opened another tab on his computer to check on his email, the local news and weather. Another chilly day as expected in San Francisco Bay. He silently debated going out to pick up groceries at the local market. He already gave himself a bread by sleeping in and missing his Tai Chi session. He stretched his lower back until he felt relieving pops. He sighed heavily, eyeing the little black Portuguese rooster. He reached out to grab it from its place between a figurine of the Roman Colosseum and a windmill figurine from the Netherlands. Yao smiled, running his thumb over the painted wing. The shine was mostly gone, but the sentimental par of him will forever remember the first intimate contact they had with one another. Gingerly, he placed “Little Romolo” back in its place, and stood up to make a light breakfast.

The lone click of chopsticks and the drone of a Chinese reporter from a streamed video on his phone were the only sounds disturbing the calm silence of his studio apartment. The cloud filtered sunlight bled through the curtains, casting greyer shadows in the dimly lit corner of his dining area. Yao rested his head on the heel of his palm, his leg crossed over the other, softly flapping his slipper against his heel. It would be nice to share the silence with Romolo. The reporter’s voice would be replaced with that of his low rumbling chuckles and gentle teases.

Yao’s lips curled up in a soft smile. Christmas would be lonelier this year.

He perked up to the sound of his phone buzzing to life. He turned his attention back to his phone and felt his heart leap. It was a message from Romolo.

RV: check yor PO box >:)

His lips spread into a wider grin. Of course the fool sent him something anyway.

Yao lightly brushed his hair and slipped into a light jacket, scarf and boots. He locked the door behind him with a an eager well-meaning click.

He strode down the hills with purpose. Simple, passing thoughts went through him. What if he gotten him a much larger present? A more expensive one? A painting? Yao chuckled at the thought. Romolo was more than capable for pulling such a stunt.

As expected, the post office was moderately busy. People in hoodies, beanies, scarves and the like made lines to send last minute gifts. Yao made his way towards his box, a small sized thing yet perfect for letters and small paintings.

Something caught his eye. His P.O. box had a note on it. Yao furrowed his brow and neared it. The note was in flowy cursive so he took some time to decipher what it said.

Look behind you <3

Yao’s eyes widened, turning around slowly before his gaze focused on a man that no longer blended with the crowd. That spread of lips revealing impossibly straight teeth and a youthful glint of mischief in his eyes. His brown curls stuffed under a beanie, still showing glints of gold and silver. A spread of lips so handsome, it made joyous wrinkles appear around his eyes.

“Romolo?” Yao whispered.

Romolo nodded.

Yao rushed into the man’s open arms, earning the stares of a few curious strangers.

It was him, physically, it was his scent, his arms, his hair, his breath. His voice. “Merry Christmas,” he muttered, wrapping his arms tightly around him in turn.

He must be dreaming.

***

“So I have my hotel room and everything, don’t worry!” Romolo explained quickly, his arms moving about the more he got excited. Yao found it endearing. They had stopped by a bakery to grab a sweet bread to commemorate the moment.

“I realize how it might have been an inconvenience for you, or perhaps,” Romolo chuckled nervously. Yao noted he looked a little older than he last saw him on video chat. He must be jet lagged. “A little strange since I did not tell you beforehand, er, outright.”

“It is a surprise,” Yao said. “But a welcomed one.”

Romolo nodded, his shoulders laxing in relief.

“How long will you be staying for?” Yao asked.

“A week,” Romolo sighed, placing his hands on the table. “I cannot stay out for too long during the holidays.”

Yao felt a hint of disappointment. There was no possible way Romolo will be back in time for Lunar New Year.

Yao eyed his hands and made the first hesitant slow reach for Romolo. Perhaps if he did not stretch it too far, he could pretend he was stretching his arm.

But he felt his fingers get caught. Pale, longer fingers were soon in between darker, thicker ones. They did not say a word, their touch molded around each other, feeling every callous and muscle. The strength of their knuckles and the softness of their pads. Romolo smiled softly at Yao, it wasn’t flirty nor teasing. Sincere. Like they have done this before.

“I’m glad,” Yao muttered.

He’ll save up to surprise him for next Christmas.

[sapphire-artblog]

Woo! Merry Christmas everyone!

Here is my participation for the @aphsecretsanta ~

Some Turkey x Austria for @wandschrankheld with the prompt Bedsharing!

I really like this ship and I just wanted to make something simple and cosy so I hope you like it as much as I liked drawing it!

[orbitinghetalia]

 @aphsecretsanta gift for @awkwardlittleintrovert .

Hope it was worth waiting for.

[whatiwouldnotgive]

Dear @aph-switzerland-fanclub, I’m your secret santa for the @aphsecretsanta exchange!  Sorry that it took me so long to get done ^^; but I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you like it too!  Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays! <3

Title: Like Your Eyes are Like Liquor (Your Body is Gold) Pairing: Switzerland/America Word Count: 3855 Rating: G Chosen Prompts: Fixing a lonely heart, “You see the good in me,” Christmas

Summary: Individual and independent but not alone any longer.  

“What do you mean he’s not coming?”  America’s voice bordered on hysterical—he could hear it crack and winced.  A black weight settled at the base of his throat, choking him from the inside out.  

The woman he was talking to, a short, red-head with a severe jaw line, sighed.  Her security badge marked her as the newest chief of staff—the staff had been coming and going so often lately he couldn’t remember who worked where.  Rubbing the back of her neck, she sighed again before pulling out a file tucked under her arm.  She flipped through it for a moment then handed him a cream-colored sheet of paper.  

“I’m really sorry, but the President requested I tell you that he won’t be coming to the party.  You could always ask the VP couldn’t you?”

The weight in his throat sunk to his stomach.  Shaking his head, he said, “No, he’ll be at home with his family.  I guess I’ll just have to go alone.”  

She reached out to lay a hand on his arm, but her touch made his skin crawl.  Walking back to his desk, he began collecting his papers and shoving hurriedly into his bag, “That’s—it’s fine.  Just go.”  

She nodded and made to leave; America, shoving his coat on and throwing his bag over his shoulder, breezed through the door after her, locking it behind him.  The walk from his White House office to his house wasn’t that far, but the late December wind whipped through DC’s wide streets, its cold fingers digging into the seams of his coat.  Burrowing his face in its sherpa lining, he ducked through the evening crowds headed to the airports and Union station and their homes.  The glow of the street lamps highlighted the softly falling flakes—he forgot it was supposed to snow today.  

Fumbling with the key, he managed to open and shut the heavy oak door to his townhouse.  America kicked off his dress shoes, dropping his bag with a thud to the ground next to them.  He slung his coat on the back of an easy chair as he padded into the kitchen.  Fixing himself a whisky and coke and warming up the last of the leftovers in his fridge, he noticed a blinking red light on his answering machine.  (He could never quite bring himself to ditch the landline—it came in handy when keeping up with his older human friends who struggled with cell phones.)

Canada’s voice filtered out, strong and warm, “Hey America, I hope I catch you before you fly out to Switzerland’s.  My boss’s whole family is coming to the party, so they’ll be staying together.  If you want to room together, let me know, eh?  I’ll be there tomorrow evening.  Call me back if you get this.  

After ladling chicken and dumplings onto a plate, America grabbed the phone out of the cradle and curled up on the couch.  Dialing Canada’s number, he shoved a forkful in his mouth, choking a little when Canada picked up almost immediately.

“America?  Is that you?”  

Swallowing hastily, America said, “Yeah, I got your message.”  

“What’re your plans then?  You okay with staying together?”

America nodded, even though he knew Canada couldn’t see him, “Yeah, turns out my boss isn’t coming.”  

There was a pause on Canada’s end, “Not at all?”  His voice was that neutral, soothing tone he used when trying not to upset someone.  America never liked being on the receiving end of it.  He blew a huff of air up at his bangs.  

“Yeah, didn’t give a reason either.  Just isn’t coming.  So, you and I can stay together.  I just don’t know how this is gonna look to everyone.”  The black weight settled in the pit of his stomach.  

“I’m sure Justin wouldn’t mind if you walked in with us.  I’ll talk to him tonight.”  

Heat prickled at his eyes.  He didn’t deserve Canada sometimes.  “Thanks.  I’d appreciate it.  I’ll be in to Geneva around seven local time.  I can wait for you at the airport.”

Canada laughed, “I’ll be in at seven too.  Wait for me outside of customs.  We can grab a taxi together.  Try not to worry, eh?  It’ll be fine.  It’s just a weekend.” 

“I’ll try.  See you tomorrow, bro.  ‘Night.”  

“Good night, America.”  

The dial tone buzzed in his ear.  

“America!  I’m over here!”  America turned to see Canada waving at him.  He jogged over to him, duffle slapping against the back of his knees.  America threw his arms around Canada, pulling him close.

“God, I missed you. Haven’t seen you since Thanksgiving.”  America said, muffled in Canada’s heavy down jacket.  

“You know, technically, in the grand scheme of being nations, a few weeks isn’t that long.”  

“Yeah, but it’s a long, god awful couple of weeks.  You know how it is.”  

Canada hugged him back, “Yeah, I do know.  Now, let’s get to the hotel.  I think Switzerland is having drinks for all the nations tonight.  Give everyone a moment away from the bosses.”  

“Oh, thank God.  I need a fucking drink.” America said as they made their way out of the airport and hailed a taxi.  The hotel was a ways away from the airport, so they settled in catching up—mostly America bitching about the state of affairs and Canada cracking jokes to lighten the mood.  

Canada checked them into the hotel while America paid the taxi driver, slipping into German as easily as breathing.  The driver looked a little puzzled at his accent but accepted payment anyway; America forgot that the German settlers in Pennsylvania had, in their own way, developed their own version of the language, and it could be incomprehensible to some native speakers.  

He hauled both his and Canada’s duffles up into the elevator and into their room, flinging them onto one of the double beds.  Canada opened the blinds letting in some light from the street below.  

“Nice view,” he said.  Switzerland booked a block of rooms on the top floor of the hotel; their window overlooked most of Geneva.  America could see out overtop the rust coloured rooftops towards the lake.  The city twinkled with Christmas lights, powdered with late December snow.  

America turned and began digging around in his duffle.  With a little, triumphant  smile, he pulled a tie and button-up shirt out.  “I’m gonna get changed out of these airplane clothes then we can head down together, yeah?” He said.  

Canada nodded, settling into a chair with his laptop.  “That’s fine,” he said, “I’ve got some paperwork to do, so take all the time you need.”  

The hotel had a small ballroom where Switzerland had a set up a bar with a few tables.  The room itself was dripping with twinkling lights and laden with garlands and holly.  Tea candles flickered and reflected against the white tablecloths.  America stood at the threshold of the room, watching the other nations laugh and talk.  In the center of the room, Luxembourg whirled Belgium around in a makeshift dance floor to the European pop music playing.  

Canada touched his elbow, “C’mon let’s go.”  

America allowed Canada to guide him to the bar.  America flipped through the cocktail list while Canada ordered a beer.  Glancing up, the bartender met his eyes, clearly bored and awaiting his order.

“I’ll take a scotch, neat,” he said.  The bartender didn’t so much as acknowledge that he heard America before turning around and pouring his drink into a heavy glass.  America barely took a sip before he heard a tinkling sound echo around the room.  Music dimming, Switzerland stood at the front, tall and proud in his military dress.  America distinctly felt underdressed in his shirt and obnoxiously-festive tie that Michelle had given him as a gag gift a few Christmases ago.  

Clearing his throat, he said, “Thank you all for coming.  I trust you’re all looking forward to the main party tomorrow.  In the morning, we’ll start our last conference for the year.  We’ll review how close we came to our goals that we laid out in January.  For now, please enjoy tonight.”  He paused, giving a rare smile.  “Liechtenstein spent a long time working on the details on this weekend.  I’ll be around if any of you need to speak with me.”  From a nearby table, America spied Liechtenstein looking proud, a hint of colour to her cheeks.  

Raising his glass, he called, “To a great 2018! Prost!”  

Around him, the other nations raised their glasses, cheering.  Looking down at his glass, he swirled the amber liquid round and round, accidentally sloshing a little on his shoe.  A hot, anxious cloud pressed in on his head; a wave of dizziness fell over him, and he stumbled forward a step.  

Canada rushed forward, “Are you okay?” he whispered.  

“Yeah.  I’m fine.  I think I just need some air,” he replied, shaking off Canada, handing him his glass, and slipping back out the door.  The hallway was blissfully cool and empty.  A window on the side had a little ledge, just enough that America could sit and rest his head against the cool glass.  Listening to the sounds emanating from the ballroom, America allowed his eyes to close.  He took a few deep breaths, trying to quell the buzzing in his head.

“America?  Are you alright?”  

America sat upright.  Switzerland stood hesitantly in front of him, brows knitted together.  

“Of course.  I just, uh.  Had to make a call.”

Switzerland’s mouth flattened into a line, “I’m sure.  It’s just, you left quite quickly, and it is my job as host to make sure everyone’s okay.  Also, Canada came to me and said that you might be upset.”

“Ugh, Canada.” America said, hanging his head.  

“Ja,” was all Switzerland said in reply.  He crossed the few feet between them and sat next to America on the window ledge.  

“Yesterday, Liechtenstein informed me that your boss wasn’t coming to the party.  I knew then that this would probably be a difficult weekend for you.”

“What?  No, I’ve been to plenty of events alone.”  He forced a laugh, watching Switzerland cringe out of the corner of his eye; apparently the laugh sounded faker than he intended.  “Why would this one be any different?”

“I think we both know that’s shit.”

America met Switzerland’s gaze, intense and serious as always.  It wasn’t often that he cursed like that, so casually.  All the decades America had known Switzerland, he kept himself reserved and formal.  It came in handy during negotiations when Switzerland mediated for America with Iran or Cuba, able to shut down even the most tense situations with a single, cool look.  Now though, America felt it forcing the truth out of him.  

He sighed, body hanging forward, staring down at his hands.  “I guess.  Well.  Everything that’s been happening.  It’s isolating.  Every conference, I feel you guys staring at me.  And I can’t just disappear for a while like I used to.  I could just go out west for a while.  I feel like now if I even look away for a minute, everything’s gonna fall apart.”  His voice dropped to a whisper.  “What if I disappear?  What if this is just the beginning?”  

“America,” Switzerland’s voice was razor sharp, “I’ve lived for millenia.  I’ve lived through the plague, fought through hundreds of wars, and seen the rise and fall of dynasties that lasted longer than you’ve been alive.  You’re not going to disappear.  There’s too much of all of us in you.

“Think about it—all the thousands of immigrants from our lands who migrated to you, all on a dream.  You’re more than your government.  We all are.  Nations exist because of our people.”  Switzerland stood up, offering a hand out to America.  “Let’s go back inside and have a drink.  I think there are some nations who want to see you”

America took the outstretched hand and stood.  For a moment, the two of them faced each other, a hair's breadth apart, hands touching.  Switzerland’s gaze curiously flickered between America’s lips, eyes, and the window.  Switzerland’s hand moved to hold America’s wrist, thumb stroking the soft inside of it.  America felt his stomach drop.  

Someone behind them cleared their throat.  Startled, America looked over Switzerland’s head to see Liechtenstein standing in the doorway, feet shuffling and picking at the hem of her sleeve.  

“Brother?” she said in her quiet way.  

Switzerland released America’s wrist, turning around on his heel, as if doing a military drill.  “Yes?  Is something the matter?”  

“No, I was just making sure you were okay.  Are you two coming back inside?”  

America spoke up, “We were heading back just now.  Come on, let’s go.”  He ran a sweaty hand through his hair, trying to quell a tremor running through it.  He strode ahead back into the ballroom and glittering Christmas decor.  Plastering on a smile, he scanned the room for Canada who came bounding over him.  

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, handing America his sweating glass of scotch.  

“Yeah, yeah.  Switzerland talked to me—thanks for that, by the way.”  Canada had the grace to look a little abashed.  

America felt a touch on his elbow; Switzerland pointed towards a corner, “Lithuania has been waiting for you to arrive.”  America saw Lithuania waving at him, gesturing him over.  

“Thanks,” he whispered before disappearing off to see Lithuania.  Switzerland nodded, turning to Canada who swept the two of them off to chat with France.  

Returning to his room, America was pleasantly buzzed.  Chuckling at Canada’s snarky jokes as they watched a dubbed-over movie on tv.  Canada flopped on his bed, hair fanned around him.  

“What did Switzerland talk to you about?” He asked, tone prodding and jovial, like when they were colonies, and he figured out America had a crush on the red-haired stableboy England hired.

“Oh, just.  Nothing.”  America tried for arch, pulling on a ancient sweatshirt emblazoned with “Harvard  Class of ‘79.”      

“Mhm,” Canada replied.  “If you’re gonna be a hoosier about it, I won’t push.”  Kicking off his dress shoes and curling up on his side, he watched America putter around the room, flicking the tv off with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.  

Disappearing into the bathroom, America shouted back, “I’m not being a hoosier.  We really did talk about nothing.  He just asked if I was okay.”  He returned sleepy eyed and loose tongued—Canada had always been easy to talk to.

“You were gone for a while.  Long enough that Liechtenstein went looking for you.  And, she told me you were standing really close when she went out.  Holding hands.”  

America felt his cheeks pink up, wrist tingling where Switzerland had touched him.  

Face gleeful, Canada sat up again,  “So you were holding hands.”  

Sputtering, America said, “No!  No.  Maybe?  He was more holding my wrist.”  

“Oh my God.  When I told him to talk to you, I didn’t think he was gonna kiss you.”  

“He didn’t!  We didn’t.  At least, I don’t think we were going to.”  America felt an embarrassed twist in his guts at the thought.  Had they been going to kiss?  He tried to picture it: Switzerland’s strong, calloused hand on his waist, America leaning down a few inches and Switzerland up on his toes, America’s lips curling into a smile.   His stomach swooped like he missed a step going down the stairs.  

Canada snorted in disbelief, “Of course not.”  

“What does that mean?”  

“You’re the most oblivious person ever.  You wouldn’t know if someone was trying to kiss you until they actually did it.”  

America slipped under the covers of his bed, placing his glasses on the side table.  After plugging his phone into the charger, he finally replied, “Well that might be true, but what would Switzerland see in me?  No nation’s shown any interest in me in like, 20 years.” Canada looked at him sadly, mouth turned down.  America couldn’t bear the weight of his gaze and turned on his side.  He fell asleep without noticing Canada turning off the light and ignoring Canada’s soft, “Oh, America.”  

Justin Trudeau had a kind smile and a charm that disarmed many tough leaders.  His wife Sophie was the same.  America watched Canada chat with them, dressed in a maroon blazer with his flag pin on the lapel.  Around him, the other nations waiting anxiously for the beginning of the party—Russia with his grimdark president, England and his towering Prime Minister, Vietnam looking resplendent in her traditional dress on the arm of her own President.  America shifted his weight from foot to foot, back pressed to the wall.  

A burst of music signaled the beginning of the festivities; countries and their leaders lined up and began making their way inside.  Bright laughter and cheers mingled with the crescendo of the music.  

“America,” Trudeau said turning to face him, “Will you be alright walking in with us?”  

“Yeah, thanks agai—”

“Actually, he’ll be walking in with me.” Switzerland interrupted him.  He hadn’t even noticed when Switzerland walked up to them.  He seemed to glow in his military dress, shoulders back and chin turned up in pride.  

“That’s great.  We’ll see you inside.”  Canada and the Trudeau’s made their way inside, Canada shooting him a pointed Look over his shoulder.  

America opened his mouth to say something but closed it resolutely when Switzerland raised a hand.  

“My boss unfortunately came down with the flu this morning and is unable to make it tonight.  I was thinking you and I could make the entrance together.”  The toe of his shoe dragged along the marble floor.  It rested beside America’s.

“That would be awesome.”  

Switzerland held out the crook of his arm, face pointing forward, “I think it’s time.”  

Lacing their arms together, they walked in step to the grand ballroom.  This time held at Switzerland’s Federal Palace.  As they entered the room, they were met with the shining eyes of the other nations and the splendor of the decorations.  Dripping icicles and glittering lights.  Deep greens of a tree, holly, and garland draped the edges of tables and chairs.  Delicate ornaments hung off the Christmas tree at the head of the room, with a backdrop of Switzerland’s flag.  On stage, a small band played traditional classical.  America tried to snapshot the moment in his mind, it reminded him so much of the grand balls he attended once or twice, either trailing England’s coattails or on diplomatic missions as a fumbling young nation.  

Switzerland caught him looking gobsmacked and boyishly jostled him, “I had nothing to with this.  It was all Liechtenstein.”  He subtly gestured his head over to where she was excitedly chatting with Latvia and Seychelles in a delicate egg-shell blue gown.  

“You’re lucky you two are so close.”  America said as Switzerland guided him towards the center of the dance floor, bewildered by the note of jealousy in his own statement.

“You have Canada.  It is the same between us.”  Switzerland looked up at him.  “America?”

“Yes?”  He could feel the spotlight of faces on him.  He was present and individual and so very, very alone.  

“Would you care to dance with me?”  Switzerland asked, face incomprehensible, the glow of the room casting shadows along his delicate features.  America knew him to be anything but delicate.  The crook in nose from a break that happened 500 years ago, the scar on the back of his left hand from a sword, the way one leg had the slightest blink-and-you’d-miss-it limp from a bullet wound.  America felt the immediate stretch of history and time between them.  

“Yes.  Of course.”  

Switzerland took his hand and waist, guiding him into a waltz.  It took America a few stumbling moments to remember the steps.  The crescendo of the music cascaded over the two of them like a breaking wave.  America was intimately reminded of standing on the New England coast, gazing out to sea and imagining himself in Europe—lapping waves at his feet, the taste of salt spray, towering trees behind him, alone and independent.  As he had alway been.  As he had always wanted.  What if he could be European, he thought  Would he be the same?   That bond of shared history and civilization.  He knew it could never be, the ocean that rushed in his ears was a constant reminder of that forever separation.

“You’re different than Europe,” America whispered.  

Switzerland raised his eyebrows, “How so?”  

“Y’all have this bond.  You’ve been so tangled up since the beginning.  But you.  You’re neutral.  And you hold onto that so fiercely.  It’s— it’s admirable.”  

“That’s kind of you to say.  We all find ways to hold onto our humanity.  It’s easy to let time erase what makes us different—or to let those differences turn into fractures.  It’s difficult, I think, for us nations to find a middle.  You, America, you’ve burned so bright for so long.  You’re a torch we look to.  Us Europeans may have a history, but we’ve allowed our differences to fracture too many times.  Even today, this peace is fragile.  I’ve admired your leadership—unafraid to stand alone when nobody else will stand with you.”

His throat burned, “Thank you.”

Switzerland looked up, met his wet eyes, “For what?”

America laughed, softly and far more relaxed than his usual ricocheting burst.  Switzerland quirked a smile.  They continued to sweep wide circles around the floor.  A few other nations and leaders joined them.   “You see the good in me.  Thanks.  I’ve been alone for so long I think I lose sight of who I am.”  The song slowed to a stop, the room echoed with claps.  Switzerland pulled out of the room onto a little balcony.  It overlooked Bern’s skyline.  The cold winter air whipped around them, snow falling into their hair, dusting their shoulders, and smudging America’s glasses.  

Switzerland held both of America’s hands in the cradle of his own.  “America, I’ve never had many chances to do this, but I would like to spend more time with you.  If you’d like.  I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for several months now, and I guess this will have to do.”  

“It’s fine.  It’s perfect.  I’d like that a lot.”  America tucked a piece of Switzerland’s hair behind his ear who scowled minutely at the tender gesture.  

Switzerland, still holding one of America’s hands, began stroking his wrist—just as he had done last night, and America felt himself go weak at the knees.  

Voice barely above a whisper, eyes half-lidded, America asked, “Can I kiss you?”  

Switzerland nodded and said, “please.”

He leaned down and kissed him.  A pleasing warmth flowed through like the first rays of summer sunshine on skin.  Switzerland did indeed hold his waist, crinkling his suit jacket in his strong grip.  The smell of his cologne made America dizzy who stepped closer, legs slotting together, chests pressed together.  Cupping Switzerland's face, he paused to breathe.  Together on that balcony in the midst of the lights and music and glamour, America could feel the soft edges of his heart knitting back together.  A person who could stand with him, individual and independent but not alone any longer.  

[sunflowerram]

This is my @aphsecretsanta present for @aphbaguette!! I hope you like it!

Here’s Russia and Monaco going on a couple dates, playing checkers together in Monte Carlo, and walking and reminiscing in Moscow!