☆ Hello! I would just like to note first, this fanfiction is a re-post from the original on my Archive of Our Own account! Please visit that one to see the original version <3 ☆
Tanjiro Kamado, Nezuko Kamado, Zenitsu Agatsuma, Inosuke Hashibira, Mi...
Summary: Ayaka is trying to fit in, trying to understand the strange technology kids her age have, and trying to comprehend why she's so different from everyone else. A week prior to joining Kimetsu Academy, she thinks things are finally starting to look up for her. But after an innocent game of soccer with some 'friends', Ayaka quickly realizes she is not welcome at her new home as much as she thought.
Important vocabulary for this chapter: -Torii gate: A form of decorative gateway or portal, consisting of two upright wooden posts connected at the top by two horizontal crosspieces, commonly found at the entrance to Shinto shrines. -Shimenawa: Stylized ropes strung across torii gateways at Shinto shrines and are used to demarcate the boundary between the sacred and the profane. -Komainu statues: Two guardian statues that can be found guarding the entrances to shrines and temples in Japan. (Sometimes referred to as lion dogs) They are identical except for their mouths- one is open and one is not. -Omamori amulets: Amulets that contain prayers written on paper and sealed inside small pouches of embroidered brocade. They are commonly sold at Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples, dedicated to particular Shinto kami as well as Buddhist figures, and are said to provide various forms of luck and protection. -Incongruous: Not in harmony or keeping with the surroundings or other aspects of something. Synonyms include out of place, absurd, conflicting, improper, or incompatible.
[No major TW's]
Thanks for reading this short note and I hope you enjoy this chapter! <3 (This chapter still needs to be edited, so please keep this in mind while reading- sorry!)
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It was dark in the small room again, a warm yellow glow radiated off of a couple of lanterns in the center, illuminating the same easel with a canvas on it. The paintings of the same, beautiful girl from before were scattered around, spilling into little piles in the corners.
In the center of the room, the man was painting on the canvas, like he does every night. The noises were exactly the same as always; the brush stroking the canvas, the occasional clinking of a jar filled with water, the rhythmic pattern of breathing- yet all of it was rushed and frantic instead. He had a look in his eyes, a look that said he needed to get this painting done then and there. The man wasn't even sitting on his stool; he was standing up, which was very unlike him to say the least.
Instead of the deep blues, greens, and purples the man often worked with, his palette consisted of fiery reds, oranges, browns, and yellows- which ( again ) was very unlike him.
He swooped a brush down in a final stroke and stepped back, revealing the painting he had been working on for the past two days straight. The man set his palette and paintbrushes down, running a finger through his hair. A million thoughts were racing through his mind, but one was shining clearer and brighter than any others:
