Teenage girl has a crush on her local werewolf boy. Nothing out of the ordinary, no?
"I can't describe this feeling,
but that's you.
It's how I see you.
And you glow, of course you do."
work is crossposted on AO3 under the user @violentdelights6 (li...
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The Sun isn't supposed to orbit around the Earth,
It's the Moon who takes turns on any occasion she gets
To catch glimpses of her beloved.
➹♡➷
Moving here was like stepping into another world—one shrouded in mist and mystery, where the sun was a rare guest and the rain an ever-present friend. At first, I felt lost, a girl from São Paulo's vibrant favelas transplanted into the quiet, endless green. I clung to my father's wisdom, the memories of his words a lifeline in this new, muted existence. He always said beauty was everywhere, hidden in plain sight, waiting for those patient enough to see it. I wondered, sometimes, if I'd find such beauty here, in a place so starkly different from the home I remembered.
Then, I met Jacob Black.
Jacob was like a burst of sunlight on a cloudy day in Forks, a sudden, unexpected warmth that made you turn your face up and close your eyes, just to bask in it. His smile was infectious, his laughter a melody that echoed the vibrant life of the favelas, and in his presence, I found a piece of home I didn't realise I was missing.
But it wasn't just his warmth that reminded me of my father's words. It was in the way Jacob moved through the world, with a quiet strength and an unwavering loyalty to those he cared about. His connection to the land, to the traditions of his ancestors, spoke of a deep-rooted beauty that went beyond the surface, a beauty born of respect and reverence for the world around him.
In Jacob, I saw the fiery skies of São Paulo in his passion, the sturdy resilience of the favelas in his spirit, and the quiet beauty of Forks in his depth. He was a living reminder of my father's lessons, a testament to the beauty that existed in the contrast and balance of our worlds. I had found a piece of myself I didn't know I had lost.
The relentless buzz of São Paulo never quite reached the corners of our favela the way it did the rest of the city, but in its place, there was life, vibrant and pulsing, a different kind of noise. I remember one evening, as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, my father called me to the doorstep of our modest, brightly painted house.
"Presta atenção, Sera," He said softly, his voice a gentle command. "Look at the sky. It's like the world is on fire, but in a good way."
I pressed against his side, a scrawny girl of ten, my eyes tracing the colours he pointed out. There wasn't much room for beauty in the cramped, often harsh reality of the favela, but in moments like these, my father always found a way to remind me it was there.
He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. "No matter where you are in the world, Sera, remember to find the beauty in it. It's always there, sometimes where you least expect it."
His words were a comfort, a beacon during my later journey to Washington, a place as different from São Paulo as could be. The lush, green quiet of Forks couldn't be further from the vibrant chaos of the favelas.
