August Specter is a non-mutant who has been in new york for one year where they spend most of their time as a paramedic. when i think of them, i think of neon blue alarm clock lights, orange pill bottles, repetition, repetition, repetition. they are neutral about mutants.
under the cut: TASKS / BASICS / TIMELINE / FULL BIO
TASKS
Task #1: The Mutant Situation Task #2: What is Home? Task #3: —
BASICS
Full Name: August Specter D.O.B: 31st August 1971 Age: 27 Gender: Cis Male (he/him) FC: Ronen Rubinstein
TIMELINE
CONTENT WARNINGS: military, death, bombs
Born into a military family in 1971
Joined the US Military at 17.
Trained as a combat medic
Served for eight years before his vehicle hit a roadside bomb, killing his friend and injuring him to the point he was honorably discharged at 25.
Returned to his hometown, felt suffocated with worsening mental health.
OCD ran in the family, the trauma of his accident and military service in general lead to it worsening.
Moved to NYC a year ago and re-trained as a paramedic.
FULL BIO
August Specter was born in Maryland to two loving parents and an extended family that had the usual amount of neurosis. At least, usual for the Specter’s. Often dismissed as simple ‘quirks’, the family has a long history of mental illness. They managed, even if the stigma throughout time around mental health prevented the family from seeking help. August was one of the first ( in a long line of Specters who should have been ) diagnosed with OCD at a tender age of 7.
It wasn’t unheard of, but it certainly set him apart from the rest of kids his age. He coped, even managed to live largely free of debilitating symptoms. He was also studious and conscientious, did well in school to graduate high school a year early and, with his parents blessing, joining the military at seventeen.
As much as he was ready to continue in the family’s footsteps, he decided to take a slightly different path and train as a combat medic. It felt right, his careful and considerate nature, plus a steady calm in crisis meant he suited the work.
He’d been in the service for eight years. Kept on top of his mental health best he could: but cracks were starting to appear. The regimented military life suited him, but it was also to August’s detriment meaning that when these routines and rituals became a cause of concern, he never caught it early enough.
On tour, for the second time, in Iraq it was a routine day. Driving into the local town, the mood almost contradictory in its lightness. Until it wasn’t. The vehicle hit a bomb. They never saw it coming. August managed to crawl out of the wreckage, others survived but would later pass away in the hospital. They told August he was lucky, his burns were minimal and the broken bones could be fixed. He healed, but not fully. Sent home, and after a couple months of physio, it was determined he couldn’t serve any more. Honorably discharged, he was only 25 and already about to call himself a ‘veteran’.
Welcomed back home as a hero, August tried to keep a brave face but he couldn’t manage it. His family was loving, but overbearing. Any time he showed signs of ‘regressing’ to his childhood tics was met with concern and his mother hovering over him every second. It was an impulsive decision: a year of being stuck in the same small town when he decided to leave for NYC. The government paid him just enough to get by, in a small shared apartment as he re-trained as a paramedic.
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