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i-am-a-bad-influence-writes · 3 days ago

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P*rn ☆ Chapter 2, Moving noises?

Masterlist Word count: 1.9 k Sylus x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have been following a spicy content creator by the name of Red Crow for some time now. Nothing could’ve prepared you for what would happen when he moves into the apartment next door.

Warning! This story is meant for mature audiences. It contains sex, swear words, porn, smoking, intimate piercings, mentions of drugs, and other mature themes. Do not engage if you are under 18.

Author's note: Haha, take this! 2 chapters in one day! Also, every time I write another chapter to this story I have to update the warnings and it isn't even that spicy yet.

Mature content under the cut.

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'Are you alright? You look tired.' Tara sounds awfully concerned and you can imagine why. The bags under your eyes might as well be down to your knees by now. Turns out your new neighbor is nocturnal. You couldn't care less about the moving noises, but the fact that they only happen past ten pm is killing you.

'No kidding,' you sass at her. Quickly, you smack your hands in front of your face. Sure, you're known to have an attitude but never to Tara. She's too sweet. 'I'm sorry, I'm just so tired.'

Tara frowns: 'Is it that new neighbor of yours? Kieran told me he has a tendency to stay up late.'

'That's an understatement. He's nocturnal.' Tara lets out an annoyed groan in solidarity, but it just sounds cute coming from her. 'It's fine. I'm sure he's almost done. I mean, how much stuff can you fit into one of those units? You've seen mine, the one next door isn't much bigger.'

'Must be a big change, considering you and Zayne were so close.'

'We still are,' you tell her, 'we just see each other a little less now. I do miss him a lot.' She nods but her eyes have a little twinkle in them and you know where this is going. 'No, stop that. Zayne and I are just friends.'

'Never even... you know,' she questions with a cheeky smile and a wiggle of her brow.

'No, never,' you laugh, 'as I said, just friends. I don't know, he just feels like a brother. I mean, I've teased him before as a joke and nothing “physical” happened on his end. So I don't think he likes me either.'

'He goes through an awful lot of effort to be “just friends,” just saying.'

'Yeah, yeah, sure. You have a very filthy mind for the way you look.'

'It's been said,' she responds with a gleaming smile. You lean back in your chair and cross your arms, looking her up and down.

'About that.' Her body tenses up every so slightly. 'Your boyfriend is not what I expected at all. I mean, I've seen him pick you up before and he looks quite tough, but he seemed just as awkward as you are.' Tara's eyes flicker around the room a while, seemingly not wanting to explain anything to you, until her phone lights up. She quickly checks the notification and gasps with excitement.

'Hold that thought, so Kieran just told me they're doing drinks to celebrate Sylus’ move. That means they must be done,' she states in a chipper tone. You raise an eyebrow at the strange change of topic. There's a freaky side to that woman, you're sure of it.

'So?'

'So, I'm dropping Kieran off so he can have some drinks but maybe we can have a girls' night,' she suggests. Considering Red Crow isn't posting anything today for once, your evening is completely open. Could be fun to have a quiet night in with Tara.

'Sure, sounds fun. What are you thinking? Movie, face masks, board game?'

'All of the above,' she squeals in excitement, 'I'll bring some snacks.'

'Great, just let me know when you and Kieran are driving over.'

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To be a good neighbor, you decided to get this Sylus guy a little something as a housewarming gift. Considering they'll be drinking; a bottle of whiskey can never go wrong. Lucky for you, you were gifted a bottle of whiskey a few weeks ago but you know that one is not quite your style. The Writer's Tears single pot still. It's a very nice whiskey and you've had different whiskeys from Writer's Tears before, but you're just not the biggest whiskey drinker. It's expensive too, so it might give a good impression.

Tara just texted you she's on her way, which means you've got about fifteen minutes before she gets here. You considered waiting for her and Kieran to hand over the gift so it could be in the spirit of "oh, just dropping my friend's boyfriend off" but that’s just weird. Feels like you're a parent dropping your kid off at school and you're not about that.

So now you're here, in front of the oh-so familiar door that you used to have a key to. Part of you is really curious how the place looks now, another part of you wants to keep the memory of how it used to be in a time capsule. Either way, you've got a present for your neighbor and this interaction could be done within a minute if you do it right.

You press the doorbell and hear something fall followed by a string of curses. The door opens fast and the person on the other side, who you think is probably Sylus, towers over you. You look up at him with wide eyes and recognize him right away. That man right there is the reason for most of your pleasure and orgasms. Red Crow.

'What,' he barks. Rude , and not at all what you would've expected. Still, it takes you a second to take all of him in. He’s even taller than you imagined, eyes even more piercing, face even sharper. It's like a fucking God leaning over you and staring down like you're no more than a puny peasant.

And a switch flicks in your head.

'Fix your tone,' you huff, 'I'm your neighbor. I thought I'd bring you a housewarming present.' His eyes widen ever so slightly. How you managed to muster up such a bratty tone in the face of who's talked you over the edge more times than you can count is a mystery to you, but it feels kind of nice to see him stunned like this. You hold out the box the whiskey is packaged in towards him.

His shoulders relax and he does actually fix his face. His features soften a little and his eyes no longer stare at you like you're an intruder. Your heart starts racing, as if your body just now realizes who is in front of you. You beg to the Gods above that your cheeks don't get bright red. A cold shiver goes down your spine when he takes the box from you with a flicker of an amused smile, the box suddenly seeming much smaller in his hands. 'Thank you, that's nice.'

'No worries. Tara told me you're having a party, so I thought that wouldn't hurt,' you say, trying to sound as casual as possible. He studies your face for a second, searching for the answers to a question he doesn't ask you.

'You know Tara?' You nod.

'She's my coworker.' Shit, your voice isn't as steady as it was at the start anymore. You've got this man on a fucking pedestal and he's here, in reach. It's a weird feeling. Your panties are soaked but you're highly put off by the way he greeted you. Still... there are very little appropriate thoughts going on in your head right now. If this was your last day on earth, you'd have this man bend you like a pretzel right here right now in the hallway.

He nods, amused like a cat playing with its prey. 'Is that right?’

'Yes. Whelp, nice meeting you. I'm gonna go back to my place,' you ramble awkwardly and quickly turn to slip back into your own apartment, accidentally slamming the door. How the hell are you going to face Tara now? Your body is going into overdrive. You bet you could cum just hearing your vibrator turn on. However, you can't risk it. Tara has told you Kieran drives like a maniac and always drives if he's sober, which is now. She could be in front of your door any second.

"Just breathe," you tell yourself, "it's just a man." Yeah, just a man, a man that could fuck you like there's no tomorrow. Shit, your thoughts aren't your friends right now. A cold shower ought to work. Hopefully.

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The bottle of whiskey from his neighbor was put on display on his bar cart. He knows the kind and that type of whiskey isn't for parties. Not even small parties like this. He figures it might be a regift or something. No sane person would give a total stranger an expensive whiskey like this. Never mind a stranger who has been a disturbance from the start.

Then again, they're not really strangers. He saw the look in her eyes. He's seen it before and hasn't been wrong about it yet. It's that "I've seen you naked" look. To be fair, Sylus would've preferred to stay anonymous in this building for a little longer but considering his neighbor is friends with Tara, she probably won't tell anyone what he does. That is, if she knows what her boyfriend Kieran does since he wears a mask in his content.

But there was more in her eyes. More than just scandal or embarrassment. There was lust. A lot of it. So much so that Sylus feared he might've caused his pants to tent if she would've bit her lip. Best for both of them that she left when she did.

He runs his hands through his hair in frustration. Normally, he's not one to obsess like this but there was just something about her. Something about how she looked at him, about the way she commanded him to fix his tone. It's been a long damn time since a woman showed that kind of dominance to him and, shit, it turns him on like crazy.

Maybe, just maybe, he can rub one out real quick. He sits down on his bed and looks down at the bulge in his pants. He truly hopes he didn't look like that before. He hadn't seen her look at it. Besides, would that be so bad? It looked like she wanted him to take her right then and there, and he would have if she asked. Or demanded, he isn't picky.

A devious thought pops up in his head. He promised his followers he'd record himself getting off if they begged and beg they did. Maybe he could tease her with this as well if she really does watch him. If it wasn't just a look of attraction and intimidation, but recognition.

He whips out his phone, puts it on his dresser across from the bed pointed at his crotch and upper body with his thighs still visible. His face is just out of frame, not on purpose but he doesn't mind his followers not seeing how flustered one small interaction got him. Not that they'd ever know why, but she would.

He sits down on the edge of the bed once more to check if everything's in frame when he hears it. The shower. Her shower. So, her bathroom and his are next to each other, which means their bedrooms are probably also next to each other.

“Good to know,” he thinks to himself, and that's when he hears it. The softest, most muffled of moans coming through the air extractor fan followed by a string of whimpers. Those must be connected to each other. He feels his dick twitch against his pants like it's being chocked, his ears feel like they're burning while a wicked grin plays on his lips.

And then he presses record.

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uas-fics · 18 hours ago

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Title: Pestering Brothers

Rating: T

Summary: Narinder goes to pester Kallamar at the Healing Bay.

Ships: N/A

Content Warnings: N/A

AO3 Upload

When The Lamb wandered towards Narinder's sunning spot, Narinder pulled his robe's hood down over his face. The Lamb would understand he wished to be left alone to enjoy the nice sun and did not want to be roped into whatever task they had on hand.

The Lamb plopped next to him with a noisy sigh.

Or perhaps not…

"Your older brother is…" they paused momentarily to gather their thoughts, "a bit much."

"You can say 'annoying,'" Narinder grumbled, adjusting his hood so only one of his three eyes peeked out towards The Lamb.

"I said he's 'a bit much,' not 'annoying'."

"Are those not the same?"

"Not the point." The Lamb rubbed their temples with the heel of their palms.

"Then what is the point? If you are here to bemoan your mistake of bringing him to the cult, take it elsewhere. I tried to warn you."

"I'm not." The Lamb jutted out their chin. "I'm being nice and giving you an update how your older brother is doing."

Narinder didn't want any updates on Kallamar. He wanted to lounge in the sun until he had to go prepare the temple for the evening's sermon.

The Lamb said, "Giving you and your siblings specific jobs seems to have helped you all adjust faster to mortal life."

Narinder conceded this fact with a slight nod of his head.

Leshy lived for the drama and fighting he encountered at the drink house. Nearly every other day, his youngest brother had some tale to tell of the night prior where he had to step in and calm down a particularly nasty argument—or goaded the fight into continuing, depending on how he was feeling.

As for Heket, she enjoyed cultivating the garden plants. If Narinder stood up from his sunning spot, he could easily see the sizable pumpkin his sister had been babying for the last month and a half.

"You gave a job to Cowardly Kallamar then?" Narinder smirked. "What do you have him doing? Scaring off birds with his shaking?"

"I brought him to the healing bay," The Lamb explained. "He was the god of sickness, so he must know what helps the sick, too."

Narinder made a noise of agreement, then added, "Let me take a guess: He spent ten minutes bragging about how true that was and telling you that you are a fool for not realizing it sooner?"

The Lamb slumped down into the grass. "Five minutes, but, yes, more or less."

Kallamar was insufferable. He had always been insufferable…and vain and annoying and a coward and--

"He was going through the herbs and tinctures when I left, " The Lamb continued. "I'm sure he will have a list of complaints about what we have and don't have when he is done." They threw their arm over their face with a groan.

Narinder knew he would. Unless Kallamar was in his own temple in Anchordeep, he would criticize and complain about every little thing, from how the bottles were stored to how the poultices were mixed.

Narinder stood, wiping the grass off his robes. "I will go check on him."

He had barely taken a step when The Lamb grabbed his ankle. "Don't go harass him. He needs time to adjust. You all did. Besides, I just brought him back from the dead. I don't want to waste bones doing it again so soon."

With a snort, Narinder pulled his leg away. He adjusted to being in this weak, ungodly body quickly. It only took him a week to remember he had to eat food and drink water every day.

"I won't make him cry," he promised, though he wasn't sure he would be able to keep it.

The Lamb sent a pointed look at Narinder, a wordless warning not to be a jackass.

Kallamar did not know that bothersome lamb had given him a Sisyphean task! Kallamar took a cracked bottle from the shelf and turned it over in his hand. Brittle leaves rattled against each other in the bottle.

Narinder rolled his eyes and started toward the healing bay.

---

It seemed half the bottles Kallamar had pawed through were like that. They were cracked, cloudy, dirty, or all three at once. Much of their contents had turned to dust or evaporated away to nothingness—completely useless!

How did that lamb keep a cult running with their medical supplies in shambles like this?

No wonder it took so long for Kallamar to heal when The Lamb forced him to join their pathetic cult.

Kallamar pinched the cork and pulled. Instead of popping out of the bottleneck, the top of the bottle snapped off at the crack near the base of the neck.

Kallamar looked from one part of the bottle to the other before heaving a sigh. He set the broken bottle top to the side then dumped the leaves into his palm to examine.

Kallamar jumped from the warm breath on his shoulder. The bottom of the bottle fell to the floor and, by some miracle, it didn't shatter.

When he spun around, he found himself face to face with death itself—his little brother, Narinder. No, no, not death. Not anymore. Kallamar had to remind himself that Narinder didn't have the crown. He held no more power than Kallamar, Heket, or Leshy. He was a lowly, earthly follower now.

Narinder raised his eyebrows before pointing back down at Kallamar's hand.

He said something, but Kallamar found himself still too shaken to pay attention enough to see what was said.

"W-what?" He stammered.

"Raspberry leaves," Narinder repeated, pointing again to Kallamar's clenched hand.

Kallamar opened his palm. He had accidentally crushed the dried leaves to dust when Narinder scared him. He wiped the powder off on his robes and did notice the slight scent of raspberry.

"What do you want?" He narrowed his eyes, focusing hard on Narinder's lips.

Without his crown to dampen the blaring tinnitus in his head and strengthen what little hearing he still had, he had to concentrate to understand what anyone said to him. Reading lips and paying attention to the slight sounds he could still pick out was all he could do.

Narinder straightened himself and took a look around the healing bay.

"I was told you were assigned to clean out this old place. I thought you might need some help," Narinder commented idly, as if he had just stepped in for a chat.

Kallamar knew better than that.

"I don't want your help."

He didn't want Narinder anywhere near him.

Kallamar turned around to the table to continue to sort through the bottles, boxes, and satchels of medicine. He had hoped that his curt reply would drive Narinder off, but instead of leaving, Narinder moved to sit on the bed, the least musty thing in the whole place. He stretched, yawned, then laid back with his eyes shut.

Of course, Narinder would not leave. Narinder never listened to Kallamar before, why would he start now? At least before, Kallamar could retreat to the safety of Anchordeep and his temple when Narinder antagonized him. Now Kallamar was stuck in this pathetic, little base, in this pathetic, little body with no powers, no followers, and no place to go.

He gritted his teeth.

No, he was not going to let Narinder get to him. They were not gods anymore. Narinder was not death and Kallamar was not blight. Narinder was just Kallamar's annoying and pestering little brother now, nothing more.

The medical bay's bed was comfortable, if a little too cool for Narinder's taste. If the bed was pushed towards the door and the warm sun, then it would be an excellent new napping spot. The Lamb wouldn't be able to find him as quickly and make him 'get back to work' or whatever other nonsense they ordered.

He had to just ignore him. If he focused on his task at hand, he could do that with ease.

---

He sprawled, listening to the clinks of bottles as Kallamar worked. Every so often he would hear a mumble "What is this?" or a groan of frustration.

Narinder considered holding a one-sided conversation, mostly to annoy Kallamar when he finally noticed he was doing it, but decided against it. Just staying there after he was told he wasn't wanted was enough to mess with Kallamar. To Narinder's pleasure, he had noticed a tenseness in Kallamar's movements and the occasional glances at Narinder when he thought he wouldn't notice.

Narinder rolled so his head lay off the side of the bed. He looked upside down at Kallamar.

Much like his younger siblings, when The Lamb hauled Kallamar from his torment in purgatory, they left all of his thousands of years of divinity behind. The air of godly power that somehow clung to Kallamar, despite his cowardly nature, evaporated when Kallamar fell face-first onto the indoctrination circle. How sickly and weak he looked then, barely able to hold his head up as an odd green color painted his face. The weakling spent days on bed rest before he was able to stand again.

Narinder almost laughed at the memory.

Kallamar took a wooden box from the counter and shook it. Pursing his lips, he pried the lid off. With a puzzled expression, he tipped over the box until the contents fell out to the tabletop. Kallamar carefully picked up something wrapped in paper and herbs. He pulled away at the wrapping before gagging.

Narinder rolled over to his belly and pushed himself up to his knees.

He cringed and dropped the bundle back in the box.

"Why?!"

"What? What is it?" he asked, but Kallamar didn't respond. Instead, he held his face in his hands and groaned.

Narinder frowned. He took the pillow from the bed and threw it. Kallamar jumped when it hit his side and said a swear in a language no mortal spoke anymore.

When Kallamar turned to glare, Narinder repeated, "What is in the box?"

A smirk crossed Kallamar's face as he returned the lid with a sound tap.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"I would. That is why I asked."

Kallamar hummed in reply and set the box to the side. He proceeded to pop the top off of a cloudy bottle and give it a sniff, completely ignoring Narinder.

Narinder bristled with annoyance. He came here to mess with Kallamar, not to be messed with.

Narinder jumped to his feet and started towards Kallamar and the box. Kallamar snatched the box, holding it to his chest. Narinder stomped his foot down, knowing the vibrations through the floor would be enough to scare that coward into losing his grip.

A sharp pain shot up his leg from the sole of his foot. With a cry, he hopped back, lost his balance, and fell to his back.

He bit his tongue to hold back a cry, trying to force his head to stop spinning so he could focus on the stabbing pain in his foot. He hauled himself to the bed before he set his foot propped up on his other knee.

Glass and crushed raspberry leaf clung to his bloody foot.

It's from the bottle Kallamar dropped earlier, he realized. Kallamar had been so busy pretending to ignore him, that he never picked it back up.

An instinct Narinder usually ignored reared its head. With pain and annoyance on its side, the primal urge beat any rational thought. Narinder stuck his tongue out to lick clean the wound.

Kallamar grabbed him by the cheeks and forced his face up.

"Are you stupid? Do you want glass in your tongue, too?" He snapped.

Though Narinder knew he was right, he huffed in defiance and looked to the side.

Kallamar pulled his hands away. He carefully picked his way through the remaining shards and started rifling through items on the table. He hoped Kallamar would leave to find The Lamb or their younger siblings for help, but Kallamar returned a moment later and sat next to Narinder.

He held out his hand.

"Let me see your foot," he ordered.

Narinder snorted. "No. I will be fine." He pinched the largest piece of glass between his fingers and sharply pulled. A hiss of pain slipped from his teeth.

"Fine." Kallamar sniffed. "Get an infection, die of sepsis. I do not care what happens to you, anyway." Kallamar dropped the items he'd brought in a heap next to Narinder. Narinder stared at the blood dripping down his foot.

An infection? He couldn't remember when he had last had one, but he could remember the infections and sepsis he saw in his followers, the burning flesh, the oozing pus, and the writhing pain they were in until Narinder ended their suffering.

He groaned. Before Kallamar could get out of reach, Narinder grabbed his robes.

He didn't speak; he just met his older brother's eyes for the heartbeat his pride would allow.

For an instant, Kallamar looked fearful and untrusting, but his expression shifted to one of annoyance.

The bloody glass shard clinked against its brethren on the red stained cloth.

"You've always been such a pest," Kallamar grumbled, taking Narinder's hand off his robe.

---

Kallamar bend down to the bowl of steaming water he'd rush to the kitchen to get. He didn't dare light the fire pit in the medical bay to boil water. Whoever had been keeping the bay up before Kallamar had put baskets of vomit stained blankets right next to the pit. Some of the blankets had even spilled into the ring of stones, and Kallamar refused to touch something so disgusting with a new body so susceptible to illness.

He took a cloth rag from the bowl and rung the water out before pressing it to Narinder's foot. He would need to stitch up some of the gashes, but the skin had to be clean before he made any attempts.

Narinder hissed through his teeth.

"Oh, do not act like a baby." Kallamar rolled his eyes.

Narinder glowered, attempting to sit up from his back, but Kallamar lifted his foot up higher.

"This needs to stay above the level of your heart."

Narinder huffed and laid back down.

"I've seen you cut in half before. This should be nothing to you." Kallamar returned the foot to his lap.

"Being cut in half doesn't hurt," Narinder retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

A bellowing laugh burst from Kallamar's chest, making Narinder jump.

"You are a dirty liar. It does hurt--a lot. " Kallamar moved the rag away from the foot. He gave Narinder's foot one last wipe and a good look for any more glass before dropping the rag next to the glass pile.

As he picked out the needle from the bottom of the water bowl, he continued, "Your usurper cut me in half the first time they killed me." He pointed the needle to the top of his head and drew it down to his belly

He had fought for his life, sending wave after wave of curses and minions and Anchordeep beasts to kill that vile creature masquerading as a god of death. He accomplished his task twice before The Lamb came back a third time, accompanied by two small demons and a glowing, godly axe. It was this axe that the Lamb slew him with, striking him when he took less than a second to breathe. The Lamb sliced through his flesh and bone, leaving blood and pain in the axe's wake.

To add insult to injury, as Kallamar lay dying, he watched as a third demon came flying in, bringing with it a spirit heart for the victorious lamb.

"Foul, terrible, cruel creature…" he muttered, shaking his head.

Kallamar tied a knot in the silk thread. He had always preferred the use of catgut to close wounds, but dried intestines were among the many other materials The Lamb's medical tent lacked. He didn't bother to warn Narinder of the pain as he stabbed the needle into the soft flesh.

Narinder bit down hard on his lip as Kallamar worked to close the largest of the gashes. Kallamar took another rag from the side of the water bowl and wiped away the new blood.

If Narinder attempted to speak to him while he worked, Kallamar couldn't tell. His focus lay solely on closing the wounds. He felt calm, the most calm he'd felt since being indoctrinated into this blasted cult. Patching up wounds was his second nature.

As he pulled tight the last stitch on the final large wound, he saw Narinder's jaw moving out of the corner of his eye.

"What? Do you need to cry? Does it hurt worse than being cut in half?" Kallamar mocked.

He tied off the thread without having to look at his hands. He knew taking stitches without any type of numbing hurt, but he didn't want to give Narinder any pity.

Narinder made a rude gesture towards Kallamar with his middle finger.

"Lucky for you, I am all done sewing you up," Kallamar said, twisting the lid off a glass jar. Inside was the saddest excuse for a wound poultice Kallamar had seen in centuries -- there wasn't even any flax in it—but it would have to do to keep the wound moist and protected from dirt.

Narinder said something, but Kallamar was too busy slathering on the poultice to catch it. He set it aside and went for the bandages before turning his attention to Narinder's face.

"Hmm?"

Narinder opened his mouth, then shut it a heartbeat later. He looked away and shook his head.

Kallamar shrugged and started to wrap up Narinder's foot. As he worked, a thought came to him. He'd never dressed any of Narinder's wounds before then. Even before they sealed him away, Kallamar had never had to step in and suture closed gashes or apply honey and bandages to scrapes on him, unlike the rest of their siblings.

With how many fights Heket tended to pick, she was the worst of them, though Leshy was a close second since he liked to join Heket in her scuffles. Though uncommon, even Shamura had to be patched up when they underestimated the army or god they waged war against.

Narinder never needed wounds shut or a poultice applied. He would not scar. His wounds would not fester. He would die and bring himself back before that could happen.

Suddenly annoyed, Kallamar pulled the bandage a little too tight—not enough to cut off blood flow, but enough to be uncomfortable.

Kallamar lifted Narinder's foot from his lap and scooted out before dropping it unceremoniously back down.

"There. Done, " he said, tying up the cloth with the glass shards. He took them to a pile of old and broken containers he'd made earlier to throw out. He grabbed a straw broom and quickly swept the remaining glass on the floor into a pile. He was not going to risk having to use any of this cult's medical supplies on himself, not until The Lamb had replaced them with items of higher quality, at least.

Narinder moved his foot into his lap to examine the bandaging. An odd expression crossed his face, guilt or sadness, maybe? Kallamar didn't have time to dwell on it before that complete fool swung his legs out and attempted to stand.

Narinder yelped and fell back onto the bed.

"I will see about getting you some help to hobble back to your quarters." Kallamar waved his hand. "The sooner you are gone, the better for me."

He expected a snarky retort or another rude gesture, not for Narinder to smile softly at him.

"You know, I have seen you throw around your plagues and spread your miasma thousands of times," he mused. "I always found sickness a terrible way to die. There is no honor or glory in succumbing to a fever. It's pathetic."

Kallamar bristled, wishing he had tied the bandage even tighter.

Narinder chuckled. "Thousands of times," he repeated. "Thousands of thousands, even, but I only ever saw you cure sickness one time." He held up his pointer finger. "One of Shamura's soldiers brought back some sort of terrible illness, a cough that racked the body and fever that brought delirium, " Narinder recalled. "Shamura summoned me to help those that they knew would not make it pass on peacefully."

"I remember you actually scolded Shamura," Narinder shook his head, "and told them they should have called you sooner. That they know better than to let sickness spread."

Kallamar furrowed his brow. He vaguely recalled that. It was thousands of years ago, possibly more than that. Well before Heket or Leshy joined their family at the least, back when Narinder was the youngest bishop and Kallamar held less fear of him.

"You cured that whole army with ease, soothing their fevers and easing their coughs with merely a wave of the hand." Narinder met Kallamar's eyes. "I was jealous, you know."

"What?" Kallamar gasped. "You were jealous of me healing some mortal soldiers?"

There was plenty Kallamar could understand Narinder being jealous of, including his good looks, the glory of his temple, and the majestic beauty of Anchordeep, but that? Something so simple?

"I could only end suffering. I could not ease it nor erase it." Narinder looked at his hands, his eyes heavy with sorrow. "That has not changed, I'll admit."

Kallamar's chest twisted uncomfortably. How could Narinder have admire his abilities? Admired him? It made no sense.

He looked away, more emotions pulling at his heart. He should still be mad. It shouldn't matter what Narinder said. Kallamar should still hate him…

No, he never hated Narinder. He was scared of him, angry that his cult swelled while Kallamar's waned, upset about his handsome ears and hearing loss, saddened by chaining Narinder up for a thousand years, but he never actually hated him.

Kallamar had his head turned away and was uncharacteristically quiet.

Kallamar blinked at the tears welling up in his eyes, but despite his best effort, they overflowed and ran down his cheeks.

---

Narinder pursed his lips. He knew he shouldn't have said that, but the pain brought old memories to the surface and loosened his tongue.

A sniffle brought Narinder out of his thoughts. He winced as he saw Kallamar wipe his eyes with his wrist.

The one thing he had promised The Lamb he wouldn't do, make Kallamar cry.

He turned his attention to his lap, pretending he didn't hear anything. Kallamar stepped forward until his feet were in Narinder's line of sight.

"I have two little brothers and you are by far the worst of them," Kallamar stated matter-of-factly. "You are egotistical and annoying and a pain in my ass."

Narinder glared upwards, about to make a retort, when Kallamar continued, "However, you are still my brother, and it is clear we are stuck with each other here from now on. We should at least try to get along. Here. Fulfill your curiosity, Nari." He shoved the wooden box into Narinder's hands.

Narinder skeptically shook the box once before opening it. He took the object wrapped in brittle paper and herbs from inside and slowly pulled the paper back.

Inside was a dried, wrinkled, black-and-white spotted--

"By The First God's wounds!" Narinder yelped, dropping the bundle back into the box. Though he hadn't touched the dried flesh, he wiped his hands on his robes regardless.

"Is this a--?" He wrinkled his nose up.

Kallamar cackled. "A charm to increase male potency, yes. The wive's tale goes if one sleeps with a bull's manhood under their pillow it'll help them, well, you know." He clicked his tongue twice and jabbed his thumb up.

Narinder dropped the box as far from him as he could on the bed. He did not know why The Lamb had such a thing, and he did not want to ask.

"Disgusting. " He shuddered. "That can't possibly work."

"Oh, it doesn't," Kallamar shrugged, "but it is not the strangest 'remedy' for that particular problem I have come across. Once, some mortal brought me the foulest concoction I have ever seen, and claimed that was why he and his wife had so many children." Kallamar met Narinder's eyes with a serious expression. "They were rabbits."

The brothers held each other's gazes for a moment longer before their lips started to pull up and they both burst into laughter.

Kallamar wiped fresh tears from his eye. "Narinder…here." He held out his hand. "Let me help you back to your quarters. I'll have someone bring you some tea to help with the pain. I definitely saw some willow bark…somewhere in this mess." He gestured with his head to the table of herbs.

Narinder took his big brother's out stretched hand.

"Thank you, Kallamar."

---

AN:This was techically my first COTL fic, but I didn't finish editing it until recently. Also I have next to no medical knowledge, so those parts might be wrong.

#cult of the lamb #kallamar #narinder #cotl #cult of the lamb fanfic #one shot #cotl narinder #cotl kallamar

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