Lavisama
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Visual Clarity, Mental Sincerity by pregnantzombie
Fandoms: おそ松さん | Osomatsu-san (Anime)
05 Feb 2016
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"Ha," he gives me a short dry laugh, but it's in tone only and his voice sounds conversely rather wet as he wipes his nose on his sleeve. "Shows what you know. That's two wrong in a row."
"Wh..what?" I'm officially more confused than before I confronted him about our less than savory behaviors.
"I'm saying you're wrong. I really thought you felt the same," he finally looks up to me and I am disgusted with myself.
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“What are you doing?” my eldest brother’s voice inquires of me, warbling around a yawn somewhere in the middle of the question.
“Helping mom make cream puffs,” I answer simply.
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It's not easy living with Osomatsu. I can't truly say I appreciate the constant pestering or the incessant and absolute lack of an indoor voice or his total disregard for individual privacy, but I can say he's tolerable once accustomed to his social deficiencies. That doesn't mean I like it, though. The part I can't forgive is his blindness to it all. He acts willingly ignorant to his ugly behaviorisms and every day his utter crassness plagues me. That's why I do my best to try to complement his horribleness with complacent kindness, even though rationality screams time and again this is a wasted practice. Maybe I'm foolish enough to hold out hope that with enough gentle guidance, he might finally grow up.
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Sounds Like a Comeback by ikamatsu, orphan_account
Fandoms: おそ松さん | Osomatsu-san (Anime)
05 Jan 2016
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I don’t hear the footsteps, and by the time he’s opened the door, it’s too late. The shock of the intrusion hits me like a forceful gust of wind on my back, knocking me to the floor. Or maybe it’s my shame. I can feel the air around us still in the awkwardness—him walking in on me doing what I’m doing, and me doing it.
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It was when I was reaching around my pockets for a lighter when I first felt my brother's head leaning against my shoulder. He had long since flicked his lighter, and returned both it and the pack of cigarettes he shared with me to his pockets. I could have easily asked him to light my smoke, but in a tipsy daze after an evening of him passing off cigarettes and paying for drinks, an irrational need to prove myself independent in this petty way prevented me from taking the simple and logical route of asking for a light.