Rory | obsessive 18-year-old | hopes to be a sequential art major

very distracting & slightly arousing

Death Like Angels Sing [A Very, Very Short MorMor Ficlet]

A/N: Right, so this was inspired by three things. A) A very, very, VERY cold walk home from school today in a thin sweater and a skirt, 2) The song “The Horror Of Our Love” by Ludo (if you haven’t listened to them before, guys, check them out. It’s totally worth it), and III) My current MorMor kick. Namely because of these two perfect people, here and here (note; these are their cosplay blogs and not their normal/personal/whataver-you-want-to-call-it blogs, though those urls are in the tags). So yeah. Just a quick bit of creative writing before I have to start my rhetorical analysis journal.


Sebastian loved the cold.

Not the measly chill that was normal in the brisk London air, but the bitter, bone-gnawing frost that set on his nerves like so many tiny needles, pricking his skin in a million places. The creeping feeling of ice dripping along his spine, spiking through the long scars on his flesh, a pain so tangible he could taste it, like copper on his tongue. It made him alive, awake, alert. A hunter, kept too long from the forests; his territory.

There was nothing like a raw wind, a flurry of snow across bare flesh to liven a hunt. Of course, the lusting heat of a full bed was hard to rival. However, a churlish evening, clear skies save spots of pale pink clouds, coloured from the dying sun, against the deep ocean of the darkening horizon was a fierce competitor for that pleasure.

Sebastian watched out over the road, the wintry scene below, from a perch, high on a building’s roof. He sat completely still, feeling the growing ache of glacial temperatures seep into his joints, making them enjoyably stiff. The only glow of light apart from the sun’s last rays, and the welcoming buzz of electricity below on the street, was from the ember of his cigarette, held tight between blue-tinged lips. The target, his prey, was fast approaching, right on schedule. This would be an easy kill, a simple shot, silent in the growing dusk, muffled by the voices of happy tourists below him.

He neither knew nor cared who it was he was meant to kill. It wasn’t important. He knew their face, and he knew their schedule. What they had done to come under the fire of his gun was his employer’s problem, not his own. He was a tool in belt of the world’s first consulting criminal, perhaps more at times, but for now he was content. He shifted his gaze down again to the thinning crowd, blue eyes seeking out the face he’d studied so long and well. He moved for the first time in what had felt like an eternity to his muscles, but in reality was most likely no more than an hour. He fitted his line of sight down the barrel of his rifle, through the scope, waiting until he could catch the victim in the crosshairs. Simple, easy, off without a hitch.

Waiting a breath, one heartbeat, after he caught sight of his intended mark, he took a last drag of the cigarette before flicking it aside. The shot was perfect and clear. His cold finger closed around the trigger, caressing the deadly metal as one might a tiny kitten. He squeezed lightly, savoring the soft click before the inevitable kickback, the stock bucking into his shoulder. It stung more than normal due to the chill in his skin, but was hardly something he even considered worrying about.

There was a scream. A small, sadistic grin curved the sniper’s frosty lips. A perfect hit, not that that was overly surprising. He wasn’t the best for nothing. He straightened his back, rolling his shoulders and neck, working out the last of the built up tension. He set the rifle aside, trailing a hand along its smooth surface lovingly. Sebastian didn’t have a chance to consider standing before he felt the squeeze of velvet-covered-iron fingers on the back of his neck. An involuntary shiver ran the length of his spine, even colder than the air itself. Cool lips found his ear, murmuring in a voice laced with winter ice and peppermint. “I have always enjoyed watching you work, Tiger. So thorough.”


A/N (cont’d): Yeah, I know it kinda cut off weird, but I actually kind of like where it stopped… I dunno. It’s a Mormor drabble from my sleepy mind. Hope you liked it.