It's not really het if they're shapeshifters, is it?

#insert 'stddisclaimer.h'


under this sun

by Incendiarist


They're blue, the both of them. And they hate themselves, more than anything, because they are blue and it is wrong and they are monsters.

But taking other people's shapes is so much effort. It's too much trouble, and they'll end up exhausted and nothing can help, because it's not the sort of tiredness that caffeine can will away, it's an ever-present pull of everything they are wanting to be let free.

(there's no sense to this, because they both naturally change their shapes, so why should any form be less themselves than another?)

They have to wear their false skins, though, or else be lynched.

(Midgard is no kinder to mutants than Asgard is to the jötnar)


They've wondered, occasionally, if they were related in some way, because the similarities are striking, with their three-dimensional textures, hers like scales and his like decorative piping done in patterns on a cake, their coordinating blushes like shades on a colour chart; he is a fraction lighter, but that is all, and Charles has once likened them to the light and dark in the human eye (their own are dull and monochromic).

They're not the only ones who've suggested as such, because there is a point, one thinks, where coincidence ends and suspicion is brought up.

(They've decided to let it go untested, because if she is a frost giant, it is only in part, because she runs warm, his touch a cold compress on the days she needs it, when a human's hormones run rampant in a non-human's body—she is always miserable on those days, for they take a much larger toll on her than on others)


They like what they have (though they don't really know what it is, or if there is a word for it at all), and they don't wish it to end.

It's not a problem in any case, because they hardly plan on children.

They are not so cruel.


It's nothing he talks about, and she doesn't press him.

She knows what it's like to be broken.

fin.