i go by judaa or jude. (any pronouns are cool, idc) i'm 18, black and from east africa, born and raised 254 to tha worldddd
ππ½πΆπ'π πΎπ ππ π·πΆπ? [stuff i like]
anything afro-centric, surrealist, fantasy and scifi media, retro stuff from the 70s 80s and 90s, medieval/high fantasy aesthetics, history & sociology, learning about different cultures
pjo, spiderverse, marvel (not as much anymore), iwtv, one piece, aot, avatar, arcane, sinners, gachiakuta, demon slayer and so many more I can't remember
πππΎπππππ [fun facts about me]
aside from reading I looooooove music and singing like i'll listen to most anything. some of my favorite artists are Raye, Michael Jackson (obvi), SZA, MF DOOM, Tems, Meet Me @ The Altar and Rema. I also love to draw (at least when the inspiration strikes me) but writing is one of my favorite artistic outlets; i also write poetry
ππΆππΎππΆππΎππ
the galleria m.list
headquaters main blog; follows/follow backs from here
tunez spotify
#β― judaa's scribbles - all my writing #β― judaa's transmissions - all my reblogs and yapping
hey. so. i'm sick. and on vacation so i might not be able to finish my writing BUT βπΎβπΎβπΎ here's a sneak peek of the fics i'm working on right now as a likkle treat and proof o' lifer
warnings/tags: fluff, slow burn-ish, strangers to friends? mutual crushes? idk girl something. meet cute, short louie cameo, both of y'all shy as hell, multiple scene switches, self-indulgent sorry not sorry, lowk inspired by this fic! (thank u for your geniusness @etherealiti)
a/n: the last time i wrote fanfic was three years ago y'all π i'm kinda nervy about this, it took me way longer than i expected cause half the time i was just staring at the document. anywaysss hope y'all like it. thank you to @belhead for beta reading, you a real one π«ΆπΎ
p.s. english is not my first language! sorry if anything sounds wonky!
Minnie Rippertonβs smooth vocals drifted from the portable radio beside you, just loud enough to drown out the scratch of pencil on paper but not enough to disturb the neighbors. You sat on your front lawn, head bobbing subtly to the music as you sketched in a notebook. Occasionally, you hummed along to the melody, your hand moving against the page with a single-minded focus. However, your mind was miles away. You were supposed to be going to see a movie, but once again, your friends had bailed on you. This wasnβt the first time this had happened; always, there was some last minute plan that clashed with yours so inconveniently that it almost seemed deliberate at this point. It left a bitter taste on the back of your tongue and a familiar ache in your chest. So, for now, the music was your only companion and drawing your consolation. Sure, it was lonely, but you tried not to focus on that. It would just make you sad all over again.
A cool breeze brushed by your cheek as you glanced up, staring off into the distance for a moment as you tried to remember how to draw a squirrel. You were sketching out a scene from your favorite movie, Sleeping Beauty; Aurora, leaningΒ gracefully against a tree, various animals circling her like an admiring crowd. It was idyllic and quaint, just the thing to distract yourself from the gloomy thoughts lurking in the back of your mind.Β
As your mind drifted, something moved in your periphery. You cast a fleeting glance in that direction, expecting nothing out of the ordinary; it was likely a neighbor leaving or going. Instead, what you saw made you look again, if not gawk.
Was that⦠a llama?
Michael thought he was imagining the music at first. He was more than used to hearing faint melodies in his head, no matter what he was doing. He soon realized that it wasnβt the case. As he got closer to the end of his street, Louie walking calmly beside him, the music got clearer. Now, he could hear vocals, then the instruments, slightly fainter. He soon discovered the source; you, sitting on your front lawn, looking away from him. Just as he wondered what you were looking at, you glimpsed at him, briefly at first, then a second time. It was almost comical how your head tilted to one side, pretty brown eyes brimming with fascination and curiosity as you regarded the pair. Though he was used to being stared at, something about your gaze made him feel shy. Hesitantly, he raised a hand in a polite half wave.Β
Dazed, you raised your own hand, still not quite believing what you were seeing. A real, honest-to-god llama, being walked by⦠Michael Jackson? Surely, the light must have been playing tricks on you. Your thoughts buffered like a scratched record, before it dawned on you that you were blatantly staring. Embarrassment warmed your face as you straightened, blinking severally. You opened your mouth as if to say something, but then closed it just as quickly, the words vanishing. Michael chuckled, mildly amused by your astonishment.
βHi,β he greeted, loud enough for you to hear.Β
βHi,β you replied, nearly stuttering. βIs that aβ¦?β
Michael nodded, a slight smile on his face. βA llama? Yeah.β
An awkward silence settled as you continued to look at them in mild awe, eyes flickering between him and the llama.Β
βSorry, I justβ¦β you began again. βI didnβt know you could have a pet llama.βΒ
As far as you were concerned, you had only ever seen llamas in dusty books in the library. What were the chances?
βWhatβs his name?β you asked, eyes meeting Michaelβs. He faltered for a moment, Your eyes were soβ¦disarming.
βLouie. His name is Louie.β he blurted out, nervousness gnawing at his insides.
A small smile appeared on your face. βLouie. Thatβs cute.β
Before you could get another word out, you were interrupted by a shrill voice calling your name. You let out a huff, recognizing your mother.Β
βI gotta go,β you said apologetically, picking up your sketchbook and pencils. βIβll, uh, see you around?β
Michael nodded. βYeah.βΒ
He lingered for a moment until you disappeared into the house. It was then that he realized he hadnβt even asked for your name.
β’β ββββ§β β¦β β§ββββ β’
The next time you and Michael saw each other was two weeks later. It was a late Friday evening, dusk settling over the cloudless sky. You had just come back from drinks with your work friend, and they had offered to drop you off. Michael, as usual, had been walking around the neighborhood, mind miles away. He watched you step out of a sleek, periwinkle colored convertible, curls slightly tousled and a bright smile on your face as you bid your friend goodbye.Β
Looking up, you noticed him at the end of the street. You wouldnβt admit it, but you had secretly been hoping to see him again, and maybe even have a conversation. However, he was too far away, and walking over to him felt far too awkward. Instead you gave a small, shy wave. Pleasantly surprised at the acknowledgement, he returned the wave.
It almost became a routine. You would see him sporadically as the days went by, sometimes in the morning, but mostly in the evenings with Louie. You only ever exchanged friendly waves and small smiles in passing. You were entirely too shy to talk; youβd psych yourself up, then all your confidence would wither away once you saw him. It was something about his eyes. They were so strangely alluring that even a few seconds of eye contact was nerve-wracking. It became almost frustrating how consistently it would happen. At some point, a part of you gave up hope of ever actually talking to him again. Little did you know fate had a completely different plan.
β’β ββββ§β β¦β β§ββββ β’
The afternoon sun shone warmly through the little record store in downtown LA. Besides the smooth soul music playing through some hidden speaker, it was quiet and almost empty, just how you liked it. You took your time flipping through the vinyls, softly humming along to whatever was playing. You were so engrossed in picking one out that you didnβt hear the little bell above the door ring as someone else walked in.
Michael had not expected to see anyone in the record store, much less on a Tuesday afternoon. He liked to come to this specific store on random weekdays to avoid getting swarmed by fans unexpectedly. He tugged his baseball cap further down, hoping it would do enough to hide his face. He drifted through the aisles idly skimming through them until something finally caught his eye. Donna Summerβs latest album, the last one there, the bright yellow cover peeking through the stacks. Heβd been meaning to get it for weeks now. Just as he reached out for it, another hand did the same, brushing his.
βOh, my bad,β
βItβs alright, youββ
The words died in throat as his eyes met yours. Of all places, he wasnβt expecting to find you here.Β
You couldnβt help but smile as you recognized him.Β
βHey stranger. Funny seeing you here.β you said, tilting your head to the side ever so slightly, just like the first time you met.Β
βThatβs cute.β Michael thought to himself.Β
βHey,β he smiled. βI didnβt think youβd know about this place.β
βAre you kidding? This is my favorite spot.β you answered. βI like the quiet.β
Michael chuckled. βSo do I.β
He glanced back at the Donna Summer album. βOh, you can have the record.β
You shook your head adamantly. βNo, you have it, you reached for it first.β
The two of you went back and forth for nearly a minute before you thought of a compromise.
βOkay, why donβt we share it? You listen to it first, then I can have it once youβre done.β
He thought about it for a moment. βAs long as you let me pay for it.β
βDeal.β
And just like that, the two of you were chatting away, comparing notes on your favorite albums, musicians and giving suggestions. It was as if you had never been strangers. By the time you got to the cashier, nearly an hour had passed. You clutched the other records that you bought to your chest as Michael paid for his. Finally, he turned to you.Β
βCan I, uh, have your number?β he asked. βYou know, so that we can talk more.β
You nodded, unable to hide your smile. You reached into your purse, digging around for something to write with, but nothing came up.Β
You sighed. βI donβt have aββΒ
Before you could finish your sentence, the cashier, a middle aged woman with greying curls, handed you a pencil with a knowing look. You took it with a grateful smile and scribbled your number down on the back of Michaelβs receipt. Your fingers brushed as you handed it back to him.Β
βIβll see you around?β
βYeah, Iβll call you soon.β
And with you a little wave, he was gone, leaving you with an odd, fluttery feeling in your chest.
thank u for reading!!!!!! pls lmk if y'all want a part 2 and if you want to be tagged
