#shramp brothers

[rockystar11]

me and my girlfriend got some little figurine blind boxes and pulled out twin cats with shrimp hats, anyways we’re obsessed with them

[attex]

Brother he's a God you can't hurt him you can't touch the holy shramp

hes fucking Dead i sure as hell can do anything

[naamahdarling]

If Ariel could have one *utterly frivolous* wish granted (so not "none of my friends ever have to worry about rent again", but like...."a hot-pink ferrarri with a painting of my boyfriend's ass lovingly rendered on the hood" kind of frivolous), what would it be? What about any of your other OCs?

With a single mighty kick Ariel crashes through the door with a Cheetah Burger shake in each hand and a cardboard crown on his head.  He’s wearing a longsleeve shirt like a cape over a lime green tank top that says “TELL ME TO TURN AROUND TELL ME TO TURN AROUND TELL ME TO TURN AROUND”. There is a fun-fair style foam lizard puppet stuck through one belt loop like a hunting trophy and on his feet are fuzzy possum slippers. He offers no explanation for any of these things, just shoves the door closed with his ass and turns to flip the latch down with his wrist, almost spilling his shake.  He’s breathing hard, like he’s been running.

You ask your question, and he laughs without moving from his post.  “I wanna own a restaurant and design my own menu and it will feature absolutely disgusting food.  Like a burger where the buns are grilled cheese sandwiches, or mozzarella-stuffed hot dogs fried like chicken fingers.”  

He is still leaning against the door.  Running footsteps are approaching it from outside. He pretends nothing is wrong.  

“Or like, a sundae with a warm maple-bacon donut, vanilla icecream, teeny tiny cheesecake chunks rolled in cinnamon sugar, caramel, whipped cream, walnuts, and a cherry.  It’d be the Double Dog Dare Diner and its name would be spoken with fear and awe.”

There is a heavy thud on the door followed by loud banging.  “Let me in!  Ariel!”

“Uh. ANY KNIGHT WHO WISHES TO ENTER MUST ANSWER A RIDDLE.”

There is more banging, angrily, for a few seconds.  “I don’t want to answer your bullshit riddle! Let me in!”

“KNIGHTS WHO SWEAR MUST PUT A QUARTER IN THE SWEAR JAR.”

“That’s not a riddle!  Give me my shake back, Sir Sucknuts, or I’m filling your gross sex drawer with shaving cream.”

Ariel looks unruffled, takes a drink from both shakes at the same time.  His body shakes a little under the barrage of blows from outside.

“Fine! Ask me a riddle!”

“HOW IS A RAVEN LIKE A WRITING DESK?”

“Neither one is a fucking fish!”

Ariel hesitates, then nods and turns around to open the door. “F-bombs are a dollar.”

A smudged, shirtless, and scowling twelve-year-old half-tumbles in, a squirt gun in one hand and a wrist-thick rope of Mardi Gras beads around his neck.  He pushes his dark hair away from his face and glares at Ariel as he digs in one pocket, pulling out a handful of change.  He shoves it at his brother.  “Here’s a dollar fifty. Wait. Are you counting ‘sucknuts’?”

Ariel shakes his head, wrinkling his nose.  “Nahhh.”

“Okay. Give me my shake, asshole.”

“...Well-played.”  He trades the shake for the change.  “Hey. Shramp. If you could wish for anything, but it had to be, like, a really stupid wish, what would you wish for?”

“A water gun that could reach you no matter where you are,” he says unhesitatingly.  “You cheated. I saw you put your weather ward up.”

“I didn’t.  It was wind.”

“Stop lying.” Solomon’s eyes are angry slits. “Either forfeit the lizard and go into the Shame Closet or get it in the face. You know the rules.  Pick.”

Ariel spreads his hands. “It! Was! Wind!��

Solomon’s voice is perfectly calm.  “Take it, Ariel, or I wait until you’re sleeping.”

“Ugh.  Fine.”  He takes the crown off.  “Fine.  Go on.”  He squinches his face up.

Solomon sprays him until water is dripping off his chin.  “Now give me my shirt back.”

Ariel pulls off his cape, wipes his face with it, and hands it over.

Solomon ties the shirt on, takes a drink of the shake and snatches the crown from Ariel’s hand.  “I’m the birthday king now, Lunch Break.”

“Hey!” Ariel cries as Solomon stalks deeper into the house.  “Hey! You aren’t even supposed to know that story!  Who told you about that?!”  He turns to give chase.

On the back of his tank top is a picture of a possum, and the words “LOOK AT MY CAT.”

[yupyupppippi]

sitting at Olive Garden™ waiting on our food

me: my brother: me: ... me: what if it was called "shramp skimpy" my brother: my brother: my brother: ...what the fuck is wrong with you