AAAH! ♡ Thank you @nightrosebud for asking!! I've actually been really excited to gab about this idea, despite having just vibes and ideas for the fic so far!

"Any Kind of Dead Person" is born from a few things:

1 re-listening to Dave Malloy's musical 'Ghost Quartet' for the gazzilionth time. Specifically the song the name of the fic is based off of 'Any Kind of Dead Person'

and 2 Wanting to do my own take and exploration of what Ekubo/Dimple was like when he was alive!

There's a lot of research that waits for me. And I'm still unsure where to go with this.

A few things I do know is how I want the concept of Friendships Transcending Lifetimes to be a thing. Both in a loving way as well as a platonic way!

ESPECIALLY between Ekubo and Reigen (though I still don't know if I want that romantic or queer platonic. There's for sure SOMETHING happening there).

My HC of Reigen's family coming from a long line of undertakers is for sure going to be a factor in this. To which, Alive!Ekubo would know Ancestor!Reigen perhaps be friends (lovers?) idk SOMETHING happens ... a tragedy of sorts? A deal maybe ... and perhaps Ancestor!Reigen has to do Alive!Ekubo's funeral rites? He doesn't do a very good job at sending Alive!Ekubo off? or maybe Ekubo just refuses to move on... the unfinished business is too strong?

Something gut wrenching that makes canon events ache if the implications are considered... if I do my job right and stick the landing haha

and 3 something something Terry Pratchett's Small Gods inspiration.

I'm kind of flying by the seat of my pants atm haha

But yeah! To summarize I hope to make "Any Kind of Dead Person" become: "Alive!Ekubo take + Avatar Roku Voice: Some friendships are so strong they can even transcend lifetimes" the fic!

Sorry for answering late. I'm making some gifs and I didn't realize I had any asks!

Here is the order I would watch em:

A DATE WITH MARKIPLIER

Markiplier TV

Who Killed Markiplier? (playlist)

At the bottom of the playlist is two more live action videos. Watch Wilford 'MOTHERLOVING' Warfstache then DAMIEN.

A Heist with Markiplier

EXTRA:

A Heist with Markiplier | BEHIND THE SCENES

A Heist with Markiplier | BLOOPERS

JIM NEWS playlist

Warfstache Interviews Markiplier

Warfstache Interviews Markiplier BLOOPERS

Google IRL

Google Gets An Upgrade

The Ned Affair - The Warfstache Saga

Wilford 'MOTHERLOVING' Warfstache FULL BREAKDOWN

DARKIPLIER vs ANTISEPTICEYE

DARKIPLIER vs ANTISEPTICEYE - BLOOPERS

Markiplier TV BLOOPERS

A Date With Markiplier BLOOPERS

Don't Play This Game

I think I got the majority but if there is any videos I've missed, anyone can add to the list!

affection be a foreign thing in changeling culture in the sense that you lose all functioning capabilies the moment you get some

...see at first I was like “what is this color scheme, what is light”, but then I had to slap my own face because colors exist in relation to one another, and white is not one of those colors.

Basically, this is not a bookshop, but it’s a Book? That I’m still salty about because it was canonically supposed to be this amazing thing that only changelings could read otherwise it would steal your soul? (Which would imply that changelings didn’t have souls and now I have evaluate things, because that would mean the familiars hold the souls, and that... is a thought.) And it was supposed to show images of past, present and future? Of all changelings? One particular changeling reading it? 

Anyway, I’m salty.

It’s kind of crazy! GW was supposed to be a simple little story for Orctober last year, and I had no idea when I started writing it that one of the characters was staging a coup, let alone one that would actually be successful. (uhhh...the US Capitol insurgents should have hired Tate. He would have neatly deposed the democratic party, done away with congress, and installed himself as king, all without breaking a single vase.) 

It doesn’t make you a bad person to want to live. That’s what you keep telling yourself anyway. Supposedly thanks to an unexpected intervention, if the knight was to be believed, you were spared the executioner’s axe unlike the others who came before and your sentence changed to instead be getting thrown into a cell surrounded by other magical beings and left to rot instead. You don’t regret the fact you spat in his face even if it was unladylike or how you kicked him in the shin because the whispers of how you were some wild thing they had to take care when around made every bit worth it. Without your wand you couldn’t properly tap into your magic but you wanted to make it clear you were far from defenceless. If that meant glaring from the shadows and playing up to their expectations to make yourself appear as anything but meek then so be it! Gone are the halcyon days of kind hearted queens, these ones are ruled by a tyrant and his pet wizard. If you were an other then that made you a threat to his so called peace and had to be punished for your audacity of existing.

Those that follow his orders are no better as far as you’re concerned and they don’t deserve you being nice even if it encourages poorer treatment. Your pride refuses to bow.

Truly one of the worst parts of being in stuck here is all the noises and chatter in languages you can barely understand. Strangely there is one troll that speaks suspiciously well and far beyond what could have been picked up from scraps or books. She introduces herself politely as Callista, always happy to chat if you’re willing or asking how you’re holding up being a mere fleshbag in all of this. Others hiss and sneer your direction as though you as little better than any of the humans on the other side of the iron so you figure it better to keep your mouth shut and bide your time instead even if the words are appreciated. Standing out is dangerous in the outside world and it seems that even the prisons of Camelot is little better. In the fitful nights of rest you can snatch should they ever contain dreams, they always involve your escape. Time must have been passing in some form but everything felt the same with no daylight to track and the scant food you were allowed erratic when it arrives at best. It could have been days. Could have been months with there being no true way to tell and it only further fuels your desire to get out of here once and for all. When it happens though none of their swelling numbers could have suspected a thing and even with the power of hindsight, you remain completely blind right up until it happens.

The goblins burst into a series of quiet chittering, trying to push one another out the way for a better look at the figure who must be descending the stairs. That gets everyone’s notice despite they’re clearly doing their best to make as little noise as possible and your angle is too poor to see so well. Another human you don’t know the name of is reaching their hand through the bars all hopeful but you know better than to tempt fate like that as it wouldn’t be the first time a cruel trick was played. Somehow though the murmurs sound different than any time before and it is enough to make you actually pay attention. Being here taught you more patience than your guardian ever managed so you choose to remain silent as footsteps cross the stone, listening to the increasing gasps when they come. Only now can you catch the sight of a red blaze framing an uncovered face that is almost familiar and it sits at the tips of your memory. When she speaks, all creatures and person alike immediately fall into a hush.

“I’m here to help and all I ask in return is that you harm not a soul during your escape. There is not much time and this might be your only chance, please use it wisely.”

What follows is the impossible sound of metal being jammed into locks and doors creakily swinging open. Exalm lu! The trollish voices cry as they carefully making their way for the stairs. All have to watch their feet for the skittering gnomes or blocking the way for others. Bol chula! Shout the goblins before scattering with the expectation of their brethren to follow. While some salute their saviour, others merely grunt appreciation out of not willing to hang around anymore than necessary.

“Always knew you were a good one.” Callista smiles as she gives the woman a rough pat on the shoulder while passing. She waves in your direction to make sure you won’t be missed in your back corner while the numbers of captives continue to thin.

“Guess this is where we’re parting ways, kid. See ya on the other side!”

You lift your hand to show you heard but are unable to say anything with your throat so parched. When your own turn comes, you don’t like the look of pity that flashes on the woman’s face when your long-held dream is mere moments away with the removal of the blasted bars.

“I believe this belongs to you.” It is spoken so gently as she takes one of your hands in her own and places a very specific tool there before folding your stiffened fingers around with a soft smile. She ignores your confusion as you stare between it and the eyes you now realise belong to royalty.

“Run and never look back. He does not plan for any of you to survive long beyond dawn and you will have to go far further than the rest. I wish you all the luck magic can grant you.”

She’s already moving on to the last few stragglers when a word manages to croak into existence that you hope she understands. Quickly you join the hurry, snatching a hooded cloak to hide your face and not wanting to risk any spells lest you accidentally get trampled in the panic. Every step you take feels lighter and as you break into the open air it feels like the first time you have been able to breathe in your entire life. For one joyous moment you enjoy the cold night air before the brutal reality reminds you that you’ll never be safe here again.

After you flee the kingdom, it’s fringes and then beyond you refuse the novelty of rest when you can keep increasing the distance between there instead. You never once do you risk looking back, not until you’re sure even horseback would struggle and your face will be little more than a travelling curiosity in this unknown town you stumble over. With a bit of difficulty you barter your way to a bed of some kind and the means to bathe wanting to finally be rid of the grime and dirt that has plagued you for so long. It is when you wring the last of the water from your hair that you are oddly reminded of how natural freedom could be where you don’t need to constantly look over your shoulder. Not everything has to be how things did when his laws tightened it’s grip and called for your death. War is coming, there’s no doubt about that now with so many who can carry tales of his cruelty to their homes, and if there’s any mercy left in this world may their noble ‘King’ choke on his victory if a blade doesn’t get him first, you think bitterly.

“What a fantastic excuse to break out the good wine.”

♣ - A fading memory

Memories are not meant to be held onto for forever. Even those claimed by a heart most dear begin to crack and fade akin to old photographs becoming blurrier sepia smudges as indistinct from any other despite any and all attempts to prevent as such. You may bolster them to stave the decay off that bit longer, use little reminders of what has been to help keep them alive far beyond the moments that originally bore them. Everyone does it for a variety of reasons and there’s an entire industry focused around mementos in both the tacky and legitimate. In his case perhaps he is a little overly sentimental about these things centuries on compared to most but it simply couldn’t be helped. There is just so much that happened that he never wants to forget and being around longer simply meant there were far more of them to pick from. They range from the littlest moments like the first-time trying his beloved twizzlers after Zoe had suggested it, stories that were told in only conversation over a few drinks he was probably not meant to have but got into the spirit of things anyway, places history would later consume without a trace left as borders that formed countries shifted this way and that, all the people who he had loved dearly… It didn’t feel right to let these things fade into nothingness, not after they’d meant so much.

Within a small box squirreled at the back of the wardrobe with a simple lock circled twice by a ward there is a stash of letters. Ranging all the way from a lost love in the country firmly known as Nahan  written in a neat Giripari script and wrapped in a ribbon of silk, from ‘friends’ that may well have been a bit more whereas others really do match the word to the tee. They are written in so many different languages and covered in the faintest traces of age, fingerprints and small tears at the edges where they had been read over and over under candlelight or something more modern. Each one is precious in their own way. None of these have ever been carried by a raven though, too much risk should they ever be discovered, but at least those particular correspondence the other party is still around. He's got piles of journals too. All carefully written in code through paranoia and the oldest of them barely able to hold onto their pages without threatening to spill their contents everywhere if even looked at funny. These ones are very different than any research done on the arcane, indeed these are more of a scatterings that he does not want lose, ones which trace a journey through towns, countries and across entire continents. The more recent ones even contain candid photographs harkening back to the days before mobiles and cloud services.

Douxie is sitting with one of the journals on a bed and having a careful gander. This one dates from the 16th century according to the notes he'd set before beginning any entries, back when kingdoms or empires ruled strong, boats had cemented themselves as a permanent fixture and discoveries poured in scarcely known by a humble traveller until presented themselves first-hand. The pair had found themselves in what would be dubbed the Ottoman Empire whilst following the coastline and ending up in, hm Izmir it might have been? Or fairly nearby at least. There were a lot of voices coming from the seas and inland being spoken so it was nice not standing out so much for a change. Even mentioned it at the time too from the looks of it. Does vaguely remember a man that stood a bit shorter than he does who took nonsense from nobody and humour even less but any attempts for more than those few words of description completely escape. Did he have green eyes or were they blue, he wonders. Was his hair barely growing off his head or halfway down his back? Did he imagine a necklace of an iron anchor or was that yet another face in the crowd of thousands who did instead? It’s a hateful blur riddled with guilt and with no one to blame.

With a drawn-out sigh he flops backwards allowing it drop onto his lap for pressing an arm over his own eyes out of not wanting to be blinded by the ridiculous fluorescent that flickered if you looked at it too much. Cheap motels for you, they just loved screaming tacky or badly maintained.

“Hey Arch, do you remember Kadri at all?”

From the scoffed sound from the pillows the answer would be a firm yes. He must have noticed which one he was reading from and put two and two together who he meant or they didn’t know many Kadri’s that stood out. Either way.

“Why pray tell are you thinking at all about that braggart?”

“Hey be nice, his baklava as amazing! You know he had to put a big show on for people so nobody would question it. Still surprised he told me the actual reason he even knew how to make it, mean can understand being worried I’d take it the wrong way.”

“True enough I suppose and he was kind enough to give you the recipe with the hazelnuts I believe it was? Perhaps you should try it again sometime assuming you can locate what it needed.”

“Eeeeh should be fine, think nowadays other places have been copying. Might be a nice little tribute? A guest being a cherished member of the family and all that. Certainly how he treated us according to what I’ve got written here.”