Tonight I’m thinking about Hawks as a virgin sacrifice, offered up to the demon of flame to stem the outbreak of fires in his village. He’s terrified at first because while the demon of flame isn’t necessarily /malevolent/, he’s not known for being /benevolent/ either.

And Hawks might be the most beautiful young man in the village, but what if it’s not enough? What if the demon doesn’t like him? Or what if he’s a cruel husband? Hawks frets with the flowers and ribbons dangling from his intricate wedding robe, more garlands of fragrant blooms

hanging around his wings and clipped into his hair. His entire body has been washed, exfoliated, and moisturized, and he smells as sweet as a garden in bloom. There’s even a bottle of oil tucked into one of his sleeves, just in case the demon wants..../that/ from him.

His nails have been clipped and manicured, rouge applied to his cheeks and lips, gold dust pressed beneath the markings around his eyes. He looks like a dream, say the villagers. Like a godling. Absolutely perfect and sure to please the demon, even though Hawks wants

to scream and run for the hills. They load him onto a palanquin and take him up the thousand steps that lead to the fire temple, though he can only feel the steady ascent of the bearers as a rolling sensation. His wings shudder in close around his back

as he counts the steps in his mind. 987....988...989...990... He takes a deep breath as they draw close, the air already warmer where a faint breeze stirs the curtains of his palanquin, only the vague shape of the temple rising before him. At the thousandth step, they set him

down on the marble floor, though he’s surrounded by so many plush pillows and silken blankets he can hardly feel it. Instead, he hears the immense groan of the great temple doors being flung open, and then he’s carried inside, trying to put on a brave face even though he has no

idea what he’s about to experience. The demon has a man’s shape, they reassured him. He won’t be taken by a complete beast...perhaps he’ll even be handsome. From what he knows of the demon Dabi, the legends say that he was born to the God of Fire and the Goddess of Ice,

who bore four children, each of exceeding loveliness. Two were powerless, but immortal and as beautiful as any god, and became Sages who wandered the world to dispense their wisdom and care. The youngest was a doubly powerful god, blessed with both Fire and Ice,

and now sat among the High Pantheon as ruler over both these elements. But the eldest son held the deepest resentment in his heart for his father, who had cruelly abused his children in hopes of making them into powerful gods.

His rage and hatred had turned him into a demon, and in his anger, he faced his father and killed him. Now he lived on as the god of wildfires, house fires, every destructive and tragic flame. It is to this last that Hawks is to be wed, after a rash of wildfires in

the surrounding forests threatened crops and homes alike, and the great mountain rumbled and poured smoke.

“The demon demands a mate. Who shall be given? Only the most beautiful,” said the elders. And Hawks had been chosen as such, even above the women in his village.

Some were jealous, but most put their envy aside at the thought of marrying a demon, and one with a violent past like Dabi. Hawks tried to keep his chin held high in the past week leading to this, but now he felt his hands tremble, the strength of the man who had run through the

woods after game, spear in hand, or had soared high above the treetops on his brilliant wings all forgotten in the face of the unknown.

Beyond the gauzy curtains he heard the palanquin bearers, all initiated into the priesthood themselves, performing the summoning chant.

His future husband’s name rang out again and again, and he knew they were offering first food, then wine, then treasures, and lastly...him. As they sing and chant, Hawks closes his eyes and offers up a silent prayer, though to whom he isn’t quite sure.

The entire pantheon, perhaps, or simply anyone who will help him. The drumming and singing swells until it’s a high, painful cry and his nails bite crescents into the meat of his palm, his breath coming shorter and shorter—

The noises stop. One final drumbeat rings out and reverberates in his bones, the back of his eyelids. There’s a quick shuffle of the priests who bore him here leaving, and the slam of the temple doors crashing shut, then silence.

He waits a breath, then two. Then ten. Nothing happens. Cracking one eye open, he can barely see in the darkness of the temple beyond his palanquin, which is lit only by a few sparse torches guttering in sconces here and there. He pushes aside the curtains,

and takes in the empty expanse of the temple, decorated with marble and tiled depictions of Dabi’s life.

Crawling out on his hands and knees, Hawks looks around and waits for a few more breaths, but nothing else happens.

He slides out of the palanquin, and pads to where they’ve drawn the ritual symbols on the floor, and left the other offerings. Silence presses in on him, but then the hammering of his heart turns to a giddy swoop of joy. Dabi didn’t come! He’s free!

Maybe he can simply run out of the temple, and hide in the woods, and they’ll assume he was taken away to some other world. Living out his days as a hermit in the forest or attempting to find another town where he won’t be recognized don’t seem like the /best/ outcomes for his

life, but it’s better than being married to a demon who might hate or abuse or even kill him.

But before his shoulders can sag in relief, a hissing noise echoes in the temple. His eyes catch on a bright spark on the floor, and he watches in shock as it grows from the center of

the ritual drawing outwards, moving from a tiny ember to a candle’s flame, then a campfire, and then a bonfire. Yelping, he leaps back as the pillar of flame grows higher and higher into a towering inferno, licking at the temple’s vaulted ceiling.

The heat from it is immense, and he feels sweat grace his skin immediately, diving back for his palanquin in hopes of not being singed. But his feet slip on the marble floor and he falls in an undignified heap, just as the room transforms from red to blue and the heat at his back

burns hotter. He’s sure he’ll be swallowed up, engulfed in flame, nothing left but ashes. As quickly as it started, the fire stops. It’s so sudden, the way the massive inferno is snuffed out, that there’s a pop of pressure in the room,

and Hawks looks dizzily over his shoulder to find the demon standing there in the center of the scorched floor.

He’s shaped like a man, it’s true, and there are no goat’s hooves or tiger’s paws as Hawks was teased with, but he’s certainly no /mortal./

Swallowing, Hawks sits up and faces his husband, taking in the sight of him. He’s taller than most men, broader through the shoulders, and his hair is as black as coal—a rarity in this region. That’s far from the most noticeable thing, though. Scars dance across his body

like the outlines of continents on a map, deep in color compared to the pale of his undamaged skin. Those must be the result of the wrath of the old Flame God...Hawks feels his heart pound when he notices that there’s a blue glow in the demon’s chest, just under his sternum.

Aside from that, he’s otherworldly handsome. Hawks is aware that his own beauty is like that of spun gold, or a sunrise, or a bird in flight; his suitors have told him as much time and again. But Dabi is the exact inverse of himself;

his attractiveness is dark and primal and wary, told in the rise of the moon and the claws of the panther and the beautiful ruby droplets of blood spilled during a hunt. He’s the inhuman roar of a blaze, and Hawks feels an entirely /different/ sort of shudder run

through his gut at the sight of him. This is to be his husband?

“You must be the one they have selected for my husband. Tell me, what is your name?” His voice is low and rumbling, and it takes Hawks a moment to parse what he’s said, too caught up in the shock

of hearing him speak at all.

“H—Hawks. They call me that in the village....though the name I was given at birth is Keigo, family Takami.”

“Keigo...and Hawks. Both of them are beautiful names,” Dabi says, his eyes glowing like blue embers inside his skull, radiating in the

darkness of the temple. He takes a step forward, out of the ring of char he left on the ground with his arrival, and his feet are so white in contrast to the blackness of soot that Hawks can’t help but be mesmerized. Are all god-kind truly this gorgeous?

Dabi is meant to be scarred, tortured, and yet something deep inside Hawks twists deliciously at the thought of their marriage. /Their marriage bed./When he looks up again, Dabi is nearly in front of him, and he jumps back with a startled cry.

This earns a chuckle from his husband, whose scarred lips twist in a wry grin. “Now now, there’s no need to be so frightened. Despite what I may do to your village, I swear on my own blood that I will not harm you.” Hawks blinks, wings still raised to fly away;

it is not common for gods to swear such a thing so lightly, as promises bind them even tighter than mortal men. Mind whirling, he’s unsure of how the words come blurting out, but nonetheless they do. “—So you _are_ responsible for the fires near the village? The ones that nearly

burned the crops!”

Yet even as he’s certain he’s just doomed himself by inspiring the demon’s rage, Dabi only sighs as though tired by the thought, and shrugs his shoulders. “Yes and no. Mortals are always so quick to cast blame...

I did not /set/ the fires, and I bear your village no particular ill will. But they answer to me, as do all flames of chaos. Tame fires belong to my younger brother, as I’m sure you well know.” Dabi’s eyes pointedly flick to a portrait of the dual god on the wall,

his tiled hair half white, half red. “But I desired a bride—or groom. What was I meant to do, send flowers? The fires just happened, one way or another, and they brought me what I /wanted./”

“How can I trust you once you’ve said a thing like that!” Hawks almost shouts, shocked

at his own boldness. But this is—his temper is still high from his fright, and all the emotions that have boiled under the surface in the past few days are set to come spilling out. “Those fires could have destroyed homes, cost us our crops, our livelihoods!”

Dabi tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, as though regarding Hawks in a new light. “They could have, but they did not. And after all, what do you care what happens to that village? You’re so frightened of me, even after I have vowed I will not harm you.

They were the ones who sent you into the jaws of such fear to save their own cowardly hides, and you do not resent them for that? You went like a little lamb to what you believed to be your own slaughter, or at least, your marriage to some horrible creature. A patricidal,

flaming maniac.” Hawks bites his tongue because...well, it’s /true./ He /had/ resented the villagers for doing this to him, just a little bit. He hadn’t asked or volunteered for this. But he was the only one who could see it through.

“No. They were frightened because you threatened them, and chose me to appease you because I am the most fit for the task. They needed a hero, and I /will/ be one for them.” With that, he draws himself up to his full height, allowing his wings to flare out behind him for emphasis

and challenge both. If this demon truly will hold his word, even his anger won’t touch Hawks now. Dabi raises both brows, and then shrugs again. “Very well, little bird. If you wish your village to remain unharmed, then I will not set fires close to it again,