#callsign gremlin checking in

[gremlins-hotel]

u have to draw Alfred or Ivan doing a watermelon thigh crush sometime

he might need help with clean up guys

[grem-archive]

Pspsps may we ask for some romerica headcanons/thoughts? 👀👀

A great majority of these are between the esteemed @temtamtom and me! I think I accidentally converted you to Romericism Tem, so I apologize. I hope you heal soon :facedowncrying: also I am sorry in advance that there are so many. There are just as many more that I’m not including.

Romano is a respectful short king at 165 cm/5’5” next to Alfred’s 188 cm/6’2”. Poor Roma is also in an entirely different weight class; 55 kg compared to 102 kg.

“Romano dates what he can’t have (fat ass and big titties).”

“If you don’t love me like Hadrian loved Antinous it’s not worth it.”

This is 100% a Zoomer BF & Boomer BF situation. Alfred had to teach Romano how to use Zoom and FaceTime and always uses strange magic Gen Z words that leave Romano bewildered. Alfred’s “she eb on my nezer til I Scrooge” to Romano’s “look at this funny minion meme I found” (it’s 8 years outdated).

Romano loves paired dances and Alfred has a fair bit of energy. They adore swing dance and jive! When determined they’ll clear the room to listen to their old records and swing.

Related to this, they love to dance together in general and sing. They’ve made a playlist for doing their home chores when together and it’s chock full of songs both know by heart; both in English and Italian. And the amount of dancing they do to distract themselves? Immense. We’re talking a disco outbreak in the hall, Alfred starting to do the hand jive and Romano joining. They have fun.

They love watching westerns together. And I do mean love. We call Romerica “Spaghetti Western” in this house! And we’re not saying Romano has a cowboy kink, but he’s got a cowboy kink. Will find any excuse to get Alfred into some version of western wear (he’s usually pretty willing, it’s really not that hard).

Alfred lets Romano dress him up like a Ken Doll. He's just happy to be spending time with Roma, who, let's be real, has a much better fashion sense. Romano also has a history of patching up Alfred's clothes and uniforms, sometimes hiding hidden stitched hearts on the former.

They cook for each other a lot. The way to both their hearts are through their stomachs and it’s very obvious at times. Food driven to the core.

“Your cooking is going to make me fat.” Romano complains. “Y’know you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.” Alfred replies. Romano scrunches his nose, “Don’t tell me what to do.” He then takes another bite.

When Romano first arrived in New York, he knew very little English. On the other hand, Alfred knew very little Italian, if any. Communication was a very glaring issue in the beginning. They figured out that they both knew Spanish and could communicate that way until they taught each other more of their respective languages.

We’re not calling Alfred Romano’s sugar daddy, but hey, it doesn’t hurt when your beefcake boyfriend has a shiny credit card and makes a wonderful bag carrier :shrugs:

Romano’s common household weapons: the wooden spoon (the only actual weapon), the rolling pin (threat only), a comically large frying pan (threat only unless they’re getting up to Tom & Jerry shenanigans), and a comically long pizza paddle (for long range ass-smacking). However, Alfred has started learning to declaw the rolling pin threats by responding with “That’s so hot,” or some equivalent. Romano is having to rethink some of his battle plans.

Both are serial cuddlers when they’re together, but Romano is more confident in bolder displays of PDA and touchier overall. A hand on Alfred’s back or waist as he passes by, a kiss to the shoulder. Alfred, taking advantage of his height, loves hugging Romano from behind and resting his chin on Romano’s head.

Alfred loves to carry Romano and pick him up. Romano complains but never actually means it. In fact, he loves it but is simply a stubborn fool.

Alfred has beef with Romano’s pet rooster, Ugo. Ugo is the only force that could make Alfred F. Jones, the United States of America, run for his life. Fear the peck!

Romano is the bedtime enforcer in this relationship. Alfred’s sleep schedule is pretty shit and Romano loves his sleep (and his cuddles). When they visit each other, he often has to physically drag Alfred to bed. They also nap together, though often it’s just Romano that ends up sleeping.

Alfred is constantly fascinated with Romano’s stories from childhood or at least the Nation equivalent of such. The number of things Romano and Veneziano can remember from times far before Alfred or frequent guest Ludwig ever existed blows his mind. He’s always asking for more. It’s both his natural wonder and curiosity, but also the archaeologist in him.

Alfred F. “Hey Romano babe can I bench press you? I wanna hold you but I gotta get my workout in.” Jones. Does squats with Romano on his back. Will be doing sit-ups with Romano sitting on him so he can give him smooches on the up. Romano complains about the sweat but doesn’t actually make any moves to get up or leave.

Both are romantics in their own way, but in this dynamic, Romano is the one who typically initiates the moment. Alfred is usually the one who ruins the moment with a joke but in the most affectionate way possible. He’s embarrassing, but he’s Romano’s.

Alfred and Ludwig have made their own joint study of the way Romano and Veneziano use their hands when they speak. I wish I had their notes.

Over time they’ve learned each other’s old full names and use them. Not that they have much of an effect, it’s more a silly than anything. But it is still a jumpscare. Alfred Fly-from-Fornication Kirkland versus Publius Romilius Romanus Regillus. Who wins?

If they encounter some bullshit together in public, Romano is the “I’m going to kick your ass.” Alfred is the “And I’m about to hand him the chair.” That, or he’s picking Romano up and carrying him away.

[gremlins-hotel]

this man should not be trusted with anything explosive on account of him enjoying it far too much

Where does your Russia fall on the Russia compass?

(loosely based on banjunky's england scale)

[gremlins-hotel]

Good morning, state and country that wants to kill me and run itself into the ground, respectively

[gremlins-hotel]

The benefit of Alfred having his own decently-sized ranch (“My land, my rules.”) is that no one has to be subject to seeing him wear a star-spangled bikini top & daisy dukes when he grills. Unless he has guests I suppose. He does have the audacity. And the confidence. Can’t stand this man.

[gremlins-hotel]

Do you have any gerame/ameger thoughts you’d like to share? 🎤🎤🎤

It’s a solid rizz ‘em with the ‘tism from both sides. They’re both nerds. Engineers but different flavors. Two archaeologists if you’re like me and so inclined. Special interests galore. You can distract two birds with one Wikipedia rabbit hole stone. Just give them the page for concrete and it’s going to be the most focused you see either of them. They will attempt to engineer their way out of many things, sometimes literally.

Ludwig is also the hood to the falcon that is Alfred; he has the steadfast nature to keep that dreamer from flying away, or merely too high. But falcons are strong, able to bear things much heavier than they into the air. Alfred has that easy personable confidence that can drag Ludwig out of the house and out of the shell. I’d like to think there’s some admiration on both sides. “How does he make interaction look so easy?” vs. “How does that guy manage to stay so focused?” Despite Alfred being older, y’know, it’s Lud that’s got the itinerary for everything while the other tries to get him to be loose and wing it. They can balance each other. It helps that they’re both young yet still and contain a lot of energy.

Also autism be damned but both of my boys can GRILL. Maybe this is just me bringing my own Texas history and heritage into it, but we find that many barbecue techniques here stem from our history of German immigrants and settlement (though of course that’s not the only source). Lud and Al are also just peak dad fashion couple, I fear. Give them both a lawnmower and the white Reeboks, your grass will be cut in no time.

[gremlins-hotel]

If they could somehow manage to make the B-52 space flight-optimal, I’d pay actual fucking money from my pocket to see that

“Captain, a human starship has shown up on scanners.” “What is it’s designation?” “They call it a B-52” “Isnt that a plane from 200 years ago?” “Yes”

[gremlins-hotel]

not only was this made to torture specific individuals (you know who you are), i am tired of receiving "why do u give russia a beard," so i'm here to give the people what they apparently want.

[gremlins-hotel]

If you ever hear Alfred say he doesn’t like Dolly Parton, that’s an imposter. Destroy it immediately and by any means necessary.

[gremlins-hotel]

Hi guys :)

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ngl alfred probably still trick-or-treats even at his big age

i know it's a few minutes late for halloween but i agree

[gremlins-hotel]

I triple-dog dare you to put that silly lil Russian man in a skirt

he lost a bet

[gremlins-hotel]

Hey losers, get eclipsed :)

[gremlins-hotel]

Post headcanons abt Arthur and his first baby you coward, you fool. The audience arrived, we are here, yet you stay silent upon the stage.

(Just joking ofc, tho id give you a kidney if you gave us some hcs abt their early days <3)

I know it's not a headcanon, but I hope this will still be satisfactory. A moment between a new father and his first son, to whom Arthur wishes the world.

“You coddle him,” came Rhys’ voice, blunt and teasing.

Arthur waved his brother’s words away. They were meaningless like wayward flecks of spume against the broad side of a ship in the face of the treasure held tight to his chest. Sleepless nights, tears, and the terror of the unknowing life. He had watched his son like a hawk for years, and the boy now grew blessedly stronger. Each time little Alfred grabbed his finger, the babe’s grip was vicelike, and Arthur knew the little chubby squish of pain was worth all his toils.

Alfred burbled up at Arthur, seeing his father’s watchful eyes glimmer, a mostly toothless smile scrunching his small face with joy.

Heart squeezing and eyes wide, Arthur knew he would endure it all again as long as that babe was laughing. Hugging the heavy bundle tighter to his chest, Arthur bounced the boy gently as he fiddled with a pocket of his coat. Life was difficult when one-handed, but he hated putting Alfred down. The troubles a baby could get into with any degree of autonomy he did not wish to imagine, not after famine and disease and blood. Alfred seemed determined to bind the world with his gums if his father allowed him, in any case, and to grab it without hesitation. There were dangers on the floor that the boy approached fearlessly. That determination. It was a good thing to have, Arthur knew, but woeful for life still so seemingly fragile.

A faint jingle answering his seeking fingers told the man he’d found his quarry. Arthur whisked the trinket from his pocket in a closed fist, the toy’s chain hanging from between two fingers. The near-sterling silver rings tinkled prettily against one another as he shook his fist above Alfred’s head. Curiosity lit the deep skies held in his son’s face like stars and Arthur couldn’t keep the soft smile from turning the corners of his mouth, shaking the chain again. Skies and stars indeed, for he had never observed someone to watch the heavens so closely at such a young age. Silently he praised the boy’s curiosity; one day it might have its questions answered if Arthur had anything to say about it. He would give that lad the sky and the seas.

Short, squishy fingers reached up for the chain, seeking the noisemaker with excitement. Arthur raised it away from his baby’s reach and took delight in seeing him try again. So he played the cat-and-mouse, jerking the prize just inches from Alfred’s grasp when he waved his hands skyward. Alfred laughed uproariously each time the toy made its metallic clinking and at seeing the smile on his father’s face. Arthur opened his fingers to reveal the rest of the shining silver toy and raised it to his mouth. One end was a sweet little whistle, which he blew quietly in the face of the babe. A high, windy note spiraled out into the air between them and Alfred laughed again, his entire face bright and bold. It made the boy redouble his efforts.

Arthur finally acquiesced, lowering his hand enough for those ferocious fingers to grip the tiny silver rings and tug. Once more Alfred’s burgeoning strength shot a bolt of pride through the man’s chest. With reluctant fingers he allowed the toy to drop into his son’s happy hands. Little curved talons, blunt by youth, curled around the moon-bright metal like a hunting bird content with its catch. The babe brought the whistle end to his soft mouth and immediately made to teethe on the silver. Tiny puffs of breath made the whistle sing and stutter, and Alfred’s eye glimmered happily, gazing up at Arthur as though he’d hung the heavens. Quickly he slobbered on the toy, but Arthur couldn’t help but feel enraptured by his son, drool or not.

Having forgotten the watching eyes beside him, it was Rhys’ voice that broke his reverie. “You ordered the coral, after all? No measure too small.”

Arthur blinked, looking up and away, then back to the toy in his son’s burbling mouth. The opposite end of the whistle had a stub of red, red coral from lands far away, polished to a beautiful shine. It was worth it to him. Anything to keep winding spirits and the fey away from his boy who had already suffered enough. No measure too small.

“Someday he will not need it, I hope.”

[gremlins-hotel]

Alfred in the pizza hut maid outfit

happy hetalia day everyone!

[gremlins-hotel]

Devastated to report that I want your Russia in a truly carnal way. Desperately

I need to call the vet and get spayed : (

drew this while listening to minecraft parodies. go get him tiger!