Hey Jude, Don’t Be Afraid…
Okay, so a rather basic concept I’ll admit but here we go. Please note that I want to focus on the concept of found family in this, rather than a romantic plot.
Meet Jude. 18 years old, he is a rather soft-spoken and shy young man who is currently living in a group home. Placed into care at a young age because his parents felt unable to raise/deal with an autistic child, he has never really settled into any home since. Because of this, he has spent a great deal of time in group homes not equipped to deal with him or able to give the full support he needs whilst dealing with other children.
Six weeks ago, he was injured whilst protecting a classmate from an assault by three classmates. Since then he hasn’t returned to school, healing and trying to face leaving whilst rumours, videos of the incident and alleged photos rip through the hallways like a raging river.
Meanwhile, <She> is dealing with her own thoughts, guilt and her own minor physical injuries that she sustained in the incident. Since it took place, she has seen the videos filmed by bystanders, and the videos going around like they should be shared rather than deleted and scrubbed for all but those investigating.
I kinda like the idea of picking up on his first day back, seeing how she supports him through it and the following weeks, as he deals with people seeing him like a hero and not liking being viewed in such a way as it’s way, way too much attention for him.
Also I lowkey adore the idea she's his *twin*?
♡♡♡
Rough bio/character information for Jude.
His full name is Julian Harrison Carmichael, but he goes by Jude. He prefers it, (even if it is considered a “childish” nickname) as it was easier for him to say as a child and as he grew older, he discovered it was linked to his favourite band and one of his favourite songs!
Shy, and soft spoken, he has grown up facing prejudice and bullying from others around his disabilities. He is Autistic, dyslexic, and dyspraxic, using things like coloured overlays and a laptop over handwriting notes in classes or when he needs to make lists or write letters regarding his care and support needs.
He finds overly loud and bright places to be a sensory nightmare, often comparing the noise to someone turning up a TV all the way in volume or like when someone drives down the road with the brightest setting on headlamps. He struggles sometimes when it comes to articulating, often getting stuck in the middle of sentences whilst he tries to find the correct words or just sometimes cannot get the words out.
When things are too bad, he can stop talking completely even when prompted because talking at that moment in time is just too much for him to deal with. Too much noise, too many people, too much of an assault on his already frayed senses. A concoction that is not to his tastes, so to speak. He can often rock when over stimulated, and when excited he can bounce in place to try and deal with how he's feeling!
He does tend to "hyper-fixate" on things, and his current “Hyper fixation” is Pokemon. His favourite food is cereal, and he loves milk.
Warm milk, cold milk, chocolate, strawberry... He just loves milk!
He can be a rather picky eater, not liking certain textures due to sensory reasons. As a result, he tends to stick to the same kinds of foods for every meal. He likes his cereal for breakfast, then for lunch he tends to stick to crackers with an apple for desert. And a glass of milk, of course. Dinner, he likes chicken with peas and carrots or green beans.
He adores the beach, though will only really go when it's late evening. Walking along and listening to the waves lapping, watching the water dance and sparkle under the moonlight and having barely anybody around makes him feel safe and at peace.
He finds comfort in his old, worn out plush Panda that he keeps in every foster and group home he has ever been in. He hides it in his bag during school, taking it out when he can hide it from other people during sensory overloads. He also finds a lot of comfort in familar people, particularly <sister>, the person he is easily the closest to out of anyone and the person he considers his best friend.
When it comes to looking after himself, he has his own routines and choices in things like clothing. He likes loose clothing like baggy hoodies and t-shirts, sweatpants so that he doesn’t need to deal with buttons or zips, and either slip-on or velcro shoes so that he can avoid struggling with trying to do laces. He also struggles with catching or throwing things, and other fine-motor skills.
Despite this he is clever and creative, whipping up wonderful stories that people love to read if they can get past spelling errors or disjointed handwriting when he doesn’t have access to a computer, tablet or a laptop.
He prefers baths to showers as there is more control over the water temperature, and he doesn’t have the enclosed feeling of a shower cubicle or the (to him) sensory nightmare of the noise and sprays of a shower.
♡♡♡♡
December 15th.
Eighteen-year-old Julian “Jude” Carter stared at the stairs that led up to the large glass and wooden doors of Saint Carter High School, big blue eyes taking in each and every detail as if he was seeing it for the very first time in his life. His hands retreated inside the oversized grey hoodie he wore as though a turtle finding his shell, the cuffs frayed from where he had rubbed the material between fingers when stimming during bouts of anxiety or feeling overwhelmed.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, then opened them again as he slowly lifted his trembling left hand to brush two fingers against his cheek with a sharp intake of pained breath. From the cheek to the top of his head sat a large bruise, much darker and more swollen around his eye than anywhere else. The bridge of his nose had gauze and tape across it, denoting that it had been broken. His spectacles were taped on the bridge and across the left arm so they were able to be worn, though now they sat slightly askew on his face with the hint of a crack forming on the left lens. His top lip had been split open, one of his bottom teeth broken. He was positive he could still taste the metallic blood even now, despite brushing his teeth and drinking water more times than might have been healthy since the event.
Under his baggy hoodie, his ribs were cracked with dark and nasty bruises running up from his waist and across his chest like paint splattered over a canvas with anger and carelessness. Each deep breath he took made him flinch, as though his body was being pulled and twisted in the wrong way with silent screams of protest from his bones and his muscles.
The right side of his face was surprisngly unharmed, having managed to at least protect that. His ankle hurt like hell on his left side, as he walked with a heavy limp as though he was almost lopsided. Leaning on the crutch helped physically, but the sharp tapping against concrete, or tiles, or wood sent sharp jolts of discomfort through his ears and his brain. His right wrist was still bruised and swollen, wrapped from his palm down to his elbow in a white bandage that stood out clearly against the grey hoodie.
Swallowing hard, he took a step forward and up the stairs into the halls. Bright fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered overhead, chatter filling the air like someone had turned the TV onto max volume. He flinched as a loud voice boomed from down the hall, a laugh not aimed at him but reminding him starkly of that terrible night just a few weeks prior. He knew he had come back to school too early, but at the same time he couldn’t face being in that group home and knew the longer he put it off the harder it would be to return.
To his horror, someone saw him. His name was called out, and it seemed like all eyes were upon him as people started to swarm him! He didn’t want the attention, didn’t understand why “hero” was being thrown about like debris in a storm. People looking at him admiringly, as though he should have been wearing a medal or a badge of honor. He tried not to recall the actual event, foggy and fractured with only laughs and someone begging them to stop hurting him. He didn’t remember stepping in front of the girl they were harassing, barely recalled the first punch or his head hitting the concrete.
Hero? He wasn’t a hero, why were people saying that? It didn’t make sense. Heroes were firefighters or paramedics, or the people in his favourite comic books who wore bright spandex and threw out phrases like “Justice is a breakfast best served cold”. That type of cliche, corny writing that he absolutely loved.
From overhead, there was a sound reminiscent of a supermarket tannoy, followed by a slight hissing and crackling before a voice echoed through the halls from the speakers as the noise in the hall fell to murmers and hushed conversation.
“Could all students and faculty please make their way to the auditorium immediately for a special assembly? That's all students and faculty to please make their way immediately to the auditorium. Thank you.” With another hissing, the speakers died down and the hall swelled to uncomfortable levels of overlapping conversation and laughter all around. Attempts at pulling him in were utterly futile as there was way too much going on for him to focus on anything!
Okay, so a rather basic concept I’ll admit but here we go. Please note that I want to focus on the concept of found family in this, rather than a romantic plot.
Meet Jude. 18 years old, he is a rather soft-spoken and shy young man who is currently living in a group home. Placed into care at a young age because his parents felt unable to raise/deal with an autistic child, he has never really settled into any home since. Because of this, he has spent a great deal of time in group homes not equipped to deal with him or able to give the full support he needs whilst dealing with other children.
Six weeks ago, he was injured whilst protecting a classmate from an assault by three classmates. Since then he hasn’t returned to school, healing and trying to face leaving whilst rumours, videos of the incident and alleged photos rip through the hallways like a raging river.
Meanwhile, <She> is dealing with her own thoughts, guilt and her own minor physical injuries that she sustained in the incident. Since it took place, she has seen the videos filmed by bystanders, and the videos going around like they should be shared rather than deleted and scrubbed for all but those investigating.
I kinda like the idea of picking up on his first day back, seeing how she supports him through it and the following weeks, as he deals with people seeing him like a hero and not liking being viewed in such a way as it’s way, way too much attention for him.
Also I lowkey adore the idea she's his *twin*?
♡♡♡
Rough bio/character information for Jude.
His full name is Julian Harrison Carmichael, but he goes by Jude. He prefers it, (even if it is considered a “childish” nickname) as it was easier for him to say as a child and as he grew older, he discovered it was linked to his favourite band and one of his favourite songs!
Shy, and soft spoken, he has grown up facing prejudice and bullying from others around his disabilities. He is Autistic, dyslexic, and dyspraxic, using things like coloured overlays and a laptop over handwriting notes in classes or when he needs to make lists or write letters regarding his care and support needs.
He finds overly loud and bright places to be a sensory nightmare, often comparing the noise to someone turning up a TV all the way in volume or like when someone drives down the road with the brightest setting on headlamps. He struggles sometimes when it comes to articulating, often getting stuck in the middle of sentences whilst he tries to find the correct words or just sometimes cannot get the words out.
When things are too bad, he can stop talking completely even when prompted because talking at that moment in time is just too much for him to deal with. Too much noise, too many people, too much of an assault on his already frayed senses. A concoction that is not to his tastes, so to speak. He can often rock when over stimulated, and when excited he can bounce in place to try and deal with how he's feeling!
He does tend to "hyper-fixate" on things, and his current “Hyper fixation” is Pokemon. His favourite food is cereal, and he loves milk.
Warm milk, cold milk, chocolate, strawberry... He just loves milk!
He can be a rather picky eater, not liking certain textures due to sensory reasons. As a result, he tends to stick to the same kinds of foods for every meal. He likes his cereal for breakfast, then for lunch he tends to stick to crackers with an apple for desert. And a glass of milk, of course. Dinner, he likes chicken with peas and carrots or green beans.
He adores the beach, though will only really go when it's late evening. Walking along and listening to the waves lapping, watching the water dance and sparkle under the moonlight and having barely anybody around makes him feel safe and at peace.
He finds comfort in his old, worn out plush Panda that he keeps in every foster and group home he has ever been in. He hides it in his bag during school, taking it out when he can hide it from other people during sensory overloads. He also finds a lot of comfort in familar people, particularly <sister>, the person he is easily the closest to out of anyone and the person he considers his best friend.
When it comes to looking after himself, he has his own routines and choices in things like clothing. He likes loose clothing like baggy hoodies and t-shirts, sweatpants so that he doesn’t need to deal with buttons or zips, and either slip-on or velcro shoes so that he can avoid struggling with trying to do laces. He also struggles with catching or throwing things, and other fine-motor skills.
Despite this he is clever and creative, whipping up wonderful stories that people love to read if they can get past spelling errors or disjointed handwriting when he doesn’t have access to a computer, tablet or a laptop.
He prefers baths to showers as there is more control over the water temperature, and he doesn’t have the enclosed feeling of a shower cubicle or the (to him) sensory nightmare of the noise and sprays of a shower.
♡♡♡♡
December 15th.
Eighteen-year-old Julian “Jude” Carter stared at the stairs that led up to the large glass and wooden doors of Saint Carter High School, big blue eyes taking in each and every detail as if he was seeing it for the very first time in his life. His hands retreated inside the oversized grey hoodie he wore as though a turtle finding his shell, the cuffs frayed from where he had rubbed the material between fingers when stimming during bouts of anxiety or feeling overwhelmed.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, then opened them again as he slowly lifted his trembling left hand to brush two fingers against his cheek with a sharp intake of pained breath. From the cheek to the top of his head sat a large bruise, much darker and more swollen around his eye than anywhere else. The bridge of his nose had gauze and tape across it, denoting that it had been broken. His spectacles were taped on the bridge and across the left arm so they were able to be worn, though now they sat slightly askew on his face with the hint of a crack forming on the left lens. His top lip had been split open, one of his bottom teeth broken. He was positive he could still taste the metallic blood even now, despite brushing his teeth and drinking water more times than might have been healthy since the event.
Under his baggy hoodie, his ribs were cracked with dark and nasty bruises running up from his waist and across his chest like paint splattered over a canvas with anger and carelessness. Each deep breath he took made him flinch, as though his body was being pulled and twisted in the wrong way with silent screams of protest from his bones and his muscles.
The right side of his face was surprisngly unharmed, having managed to at least protect that. His ankle hurt like hell on his left side, as he walked with a heavy limp as though he was almost lopsided. Leaning on the crutch helped physically, but the sharp tapping against concrete, or tiles, or wood sent sharp jolts of discomfort through his ears and his brain. His right wrist was still bruised and swollen, wrapped from his palm down to his elbow in a white bandage that stood out clearly against the grey hoodie.
Swallowing hard, he took a step forward and up the stairs into the halls. Bright fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered overhead, chatter filling the air like someone had turned the TV onto max volume. He flinched as a loud voice boomed from down the hall, a laugh not aimed at him but reminding him starkly of that terrible night just a few weeks prior. He knew he had come back to school too early, but at the same time he couldn’t face being in that group home and knew the longer he put it off the harder it would be to return.
To his horror, someone saw him. His name was called out, and it seemed like all eyes were upon him as people started to swarm him! He didn’t want the attention, didn’t understand why “hero” was being thrown about like debris in a storm. People looking at him admiringly, as though he should have been wearing a medal or a badge of honor. He tried not to recall the actual event, foggy and fractured with only laughs and someone begging them to stop hurting him. He didn’t remember stepping in front of the girl they were harassing, barely recalled the first punch or his head hitting the concrete.
Hero? He wasn’t a hero, why were people saying that? It didn’t make sense. Heroes were firefighters or paramedics, or the people in his favourite comic books who wore bright spandex and threw out phrases like “Justice is a breakfast best served cold”. That type of cliche, corny writing that he absolutely loved.
From overhead, there was a sound reminiscent of a supermarket tannoy, followed by a slight hissing and crackling before a voice echoed through the halls from the speakers as the noise in the hall fell to murmers and hushed conversation.
“Could all students and faculty please make their way to the auditorium immediately for a special assembly? That's all students and faculty to please make their way immediately to the auditorium. Thank you.” With another hissing, the speakers died down and the hall swelled to uncomfortable levels of overlapping conversation and laughter all around. Attempts at pulling him in were utterly futile as there was way too much going on for him to focus on anything!