Is that E.R. FIGHTMASTER? No, thatâs just SPENCER âSPOOKYâ STOKES. They were born on 08/04/1629 and are a PHOENIX living in Northknot Town. They work as a FORENSIC PATHOLOGIST. Some say theyâre PERCEPTIVE and DEVOTED, but Iâve heard others say theyâre SECRETIVE and SELF-SACRIFICING. When you think of THEM, donât you think of LOW LAUGHTER IN DARK HALLWAYS, CANDLELIT AUTOPSY ROOMS AT 3 A.M. & A SECRET KEPT IN A LOCKED BOX?
Name: Spencer Aster Ellis Stokes, M.D., D.A.B.Path, F.A.M.E. Pronunciation: SPEN-sur AS-tur EL-iss STOHKS Nickname(s): Spooky, Spook, Spence Birthday: April 8th, 1629 Age: 397 (appears late 20s/early 30s) Zodiac Sign: Aries Sun, Scorpio Moon, Virgo Rising Gender: Non-binary Pronouns: They/Them Species: Phoenix Orientation: Lesbian, Demiromantic Occupation: Forensic Pathologist Faceclaim: E.R. Fightmaster
HEADCANONS
Spencer keeps a collection of old journals spanning centuries, but writes in them sparingly, only when something actually matters
They prefer night shifts at the morgue, not because theyâre edgy, but because itâs quieter and people stop asking questions
Their office is oddly warm for someone who works with the dead
Spencer has near-perfect handwriting, unchanged across hundreds of years
They donât drink coffee often, but when they do itâs black and strong enough to concern people
They remember small details about people no one expects them to notice
Spooky is terrifyingly good at reading lies, but rarely call them out unless itâs called for
They have died for someone before and would do it again without hesitation
They are very physically gentle with people they care about, almost instinctively careful
They donât raise their voice often, but when they do itâs enough to stop a room
Spencer is the sibling most likely to show up unannounced when something is wrong⊠and leave just as quietly
They are more sentimental than they let on, but itâs hidden in small, intentional actions
They prefer old music, old books, old anything that feels like it has memory in it
Spence surprisingly funny, but only when they choose to be
They donât fear death, but they respect it deeply
They fall in love slowly, and then all at once, like a match catching after being struck too many times
Spooky texts their siblings on birthdays at exactly midnight. never misses
They have a habit of tilting their head slightly when listening, like theyâre dissecting your words
They read poetry but would rather combust than admit it first
Spence has a soft spot for stray animals. they always seem to follow them.
They will let people assume theyâre detached if it means avoiding a vulnerable conversation
They tend to stand slightly behind others in group settings, even when they donât have to
Spencer is very good at staying still. Like⊠unnervingly still
APPEARANCE
Spencer carries a kind of effortless magnetism that is difficult to define but impossible to ignore. Their features are striking in a way that feels both sharp and soft at once, balanced between clean lines and something more fluid, giving them an androgynous beauty that shifts depending on the light. Their eyes tend to linger, not in a way that feels invasive, but intentional, as though they are always seeing a little more than they let on. There is a natural stillness to them, a composure that makes even small movements feel deliberate. They favor understated clothing, often in darker tones, with textures that feel lived-in rather than polished. Nothing about their appearance is overly loud, yet people notice them anyway, drawn in by something they canât quite name. Up close, thereâs a faint warmth beneath it all, something softer that only reveals itself when they allow it
PERSONALITY
Spencer moves through the world with a quiet kind of gravity, the kind that doesnât demand attention but inevitably gathers it anyway. They are observant to a fault, the type to notice the smallest shifts in tone, posture, or silence and file them away without comment. Where others react, Spencer considers. Where others speak, they listen. This doesnât come from indifference, but from depth. They feel everything with an intensity they rarely allow to surface, choosing instead to process emotion privately, carefully, like something fragile that could break if handled too quickly. To most, they read as composed, mysterious, even distant. But beneath that restraint is a steady, unwavering loyalty and a capacity for devotion that borders on self-sacrificial. When Spencer loves, it is quiet but absolute, expressed in actions rather than words, in presence rather than promises
AESTHETIC
low laughter in dim rooms - candlelit autopsy tables at 3 a.m. - smoke clinging to skin after the fire is gone - dog-eared poetry hidden between medical texts - steady hands where others would tremble - a name spoken softly like it matters - ash drifting through open windows - the quiet hum of fluorescent lights - love letters folded and unfolded a hundred times - a secret kept in a locked box
CONNECTIONS
Friend of Their Late Love They knew Ruth well. Maybe even remind Spencer of her. Maybe they donât, and thatâs worse. Could be a best friend, sibling, etc.
The Sibling-Like Bond Not blood, but close enough. Spencer's best friend. They see through their quiet. They donât always like what they find though
The One Who Pushes Them They donât let Spencer retreat into silence. They challenge them. It annoys Spencer... So it works. For once, Spencer doesnât have the upper hand. Theyâre unpredictable. It unsettles them
The Old Soul Connection Theyâve known each other across lifetimes. Not always in the same roles. Always orbiting though. There's no pressure between them. No expectations. Just someone they can exist around without performing
BIOGRAPHY
tw: death, terminal illness
Spencer âSpookyâ Stokes was born on April 8, 1629, to Cyrus and Aithne Stokes in Prince Edward Island. By the time Spencer entered the world, the Stokes household already carried the quiet weight of grief. Their father had lost his first wife years earlier, their eldest sisterâs, Kira, mother, and though Spencer never knew her, the absence lingered in the corners of the home. They grew up surrounded by fragments of that history: the way their father sometimes stared too long into a fire, the careful gentleness Aithne carried as she stepped into a life shaped by someone who came before her, and the way Kira carried old grief in her bones.
âWe inherit not the earth from our ancestors; we borrow it from our children.â
From an early age Spencer became the quiet observer of the family. Where Kira took on a nurturing role and Uriel sharpened himself into discipline and certainty, Spencer listened. They were the child lingering in doorways, absorbing conversations meant for adults, watching the subtle emotional tides of their household. Their mother encouraged their curiosity, often finding them tucked in kitchens or by candlelight with books well beyond their years. That thoughtful patience would become one of Spencerâs defining traits. They rarely spoke without thinking first, but when they did, their words tended to land with quiet precision.
Their first death came young. Like many phoenix children, Spencer learned the limits of their fire the hard way. What began as reckless curiosity ended in flames that burned too hot to control. When they resurrected, they woke to the sight of their siblings still crying over the ashes they had left behind. That moment stayed with them. Instead of making them fearless, it made them careful. Spencer became fascinated with the fragile space between life and death, asking questions about the body, about injury, about what truly causes life to end. Over the centuries, that fascination grew into study. Spencer gravitated toward medicine long before it resembled the modern field it would become.
âDeath is not the opposite of life, but a part of it.â
During the industrial era, surrounded by factory accidents, fires, and the mounting cost of rapid human progress, they leaned deeper into the science of mortality. At one point they served as a battlefield medic, where the permanence of human death struck them in a way it never had before. Watching mortals die knowing they would not return left an impression that never fully faded. Despite their thoughtful nature, Spencer spent long stretches of their life moving lightly through romance. Immortality made permanence feel impossible, and for a time they wore the reputation of a charming but noncommittal lover easily. It was simpler that way. Most lives passed in the span of a phoenixâs blink, and Spencer learned early that loving too deeply often meant watching someone disappear long before they ever would. That changed in the early twentieth century.
In the 1910s, while living under another name and working in a small coastal city hospital, Spencer met a woman, Ruth, who unraveled every careful emotional boundary they had built over the centuries. She was brilliant, stubbornly compassionate, and far less impressed by Spencerâs quiet charm than most people were. What began as an unlikely friendship grew into something far deeper than Spencer had ever allowed themselves to experience. For the first time in their long life, they stopped thinking in temporary terms. They imagined years together. Decades, even. A life that might actually feel stable. Then, in 1918, the influenza pandemic reached their city. Hospitals filled faster than anyone could manage. Beds lined hallways, makeshift wards appeared in schools and churches, and the staff worked until exhaustion blurred the line between one day and the next.
âWe loved with a love that was more than love.â
Spencer had lived through wars and disasters before, but nothing like the speed of the illness sweeping through the population. Their partner refused to step away from the hospital despite the danger. Ruth treated patients day and night, refusing to abandon people who had no one else to care for them. Spencer argued with her more than once, knowing exactly how vulnerable humans were to the virus and exactly how little medicine could do to stop it. In the end, she caught it. At first the symptoms were mild. Fever, fatigue, the same signs they had seen in hundreds of others. Spencer stayed with her constantly as the illness progressed, refusing to leave her side. But within days her condition worsened. The fever spiked higher. Her breathing grew shallow and labored as pneumonia set into her lungs.
Spencer understood exactly what was happening. They knew every stage of the disease. They knew when the lungs began to fill with fluid, when oxygen deprivation would begin to take hold, when the body would finally give out. For someone who had spent centuries studying death, the knowledge was unbearable. They could do nothing but watch. Ruth died in the early hours of the morning with Spencer beside her, her hand still in theirs. In the quiet that followed, surrounded by the distant sounds of a hospital overwhelmed by the same tragedy repeating in room after room, Spencer felt the full cruelty of immortality for the first time. They would return. She would not. The loss left a mark that never fully faded.
âAbsence is a house so vast that inside you will pass through its walls.â
For years afterward Spencer buried themselves in their work, carrying the memory of those final hours with them. The charming, casually romantic figure people once knew slowly disappeared. Love, Spencer realized, was not something they could treat lightly anymore. If they ever gave their heart again, it would be with the full understanding of what losing it might cost. The early 2000s brought a different kind of turning point. When Cyrus and Aithne chose not to resurrect after their next deaths, each sibling reacted differently. Kira closed herself off in quiet grief. Lumina distanced themselves from the family entirely. Spencer, however, became very still.
What unsettled them most was not simply the loss of their parents, but the realization that immortality was not an obligation. It was a choice. In truth, Spencer had been the most outwardly accepting of their parentsâ decision. They listened when Cyrus and Aithne explained their reasoning and even found themselves quietly curious about it, wanting to understand what it meant to reach a point where a life felt complete. But seeing how deeply the choice affected their siblings shifted something in them. For the first time, Spencer had to confront the possibility that one day they might choose final death themselves. That thought unsettled them more than they ever admitted.
âTo die will be an awfully big adventure.â
Haunted by the memory of their first resurrection and the pain it caused their siblings, Spencer knew they could never leave them that way. Yet the idea that the choice existed lingered in the back of their mind. Instead of confronting the fracture forming in the family, and unsure how to reconcile their own thoughts without causing more pain, they quietly stepped away from it. They spent the following years traveling and immersing themselves fully in their work, eventually becoming a forensic pathologist known for calm precision and a near unsettling composure around death. From the outside, Spencer developed a reputation for being mysterious, detached, even a little nonchalant. In truth, they never fully disconnected from their family. They visited when they could, called to check in, and kept in touch in quiet, steady ways.
Spencer often spoke little about their own life, instead encouraging their siblings to talk about theirs, listening closely to every detail. They knew when Kira changed positions at the hospital, when Lumina won major cases, when Urielâs work shifted directions. Their presence lingered at the edges of the family even when they were far away. The distance was never emotional so much as physical. Spencer was overwhelmed by how deeply their parentsâ final choice had shaken the family, and it hurt to watch Lumina pull away while Kira pretended she was fine. At the same time, Spencer was wrestling privately with the unsettling realization that one day they might face that same choice themselves. Not wanting to burden their siblings with those thoughts or cause them more pain, Spencer kept some space while they sorted through their own.
âAnd still, after all this time, the sun never says to the earth, âYou owe meâ.â
Now, in 2026, Spencer has returned to Northknot Town to take a permanent position as a forensic pathologist at Northknot Hospital. To many, their return feels sudden and hard to read. Spencer appears calm, composed, perhaps even distant. But beneath that steady exterior is someone who has always felt deeply and watched closely, someone who chose distance not from lack of love, but because they werenât sure they could bear watching their family break apart again.
