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catboygirljoker · 5 months

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Ok so if it was guaranteed we’d get some good Xigbar/Luxu scenes in future games regardless, ehixh would you find most interesting or satisfying:

-He sticks it out with the foretellers now that he’s reunited with them, and continues to go along with whatever the next phase of the plan is?

-he only sticks around long enough to fill the foretellers in on the basics, before possibly going back to Radiant Garden and helping them out?

-or he washes his hands of all of it, and takes a vacation to do whatever he wants for a while, and people keep running into him?

(I want to add to the Xigbar fuel so I hope this is enjoyable)

ooooooough thank you for the ask!!!! uhmmmmm

well. full disclosure that i havent . actually played 3 yet. i mean clearly i Know Some Things that happen in 3 but im waiting for my partner to be able to play it before i do. so watch this spot i guess!! i will have more coherent and concrete thoughts once ive actually played the game. and also watched all the dark road cutscenes and also melody of memory

my thoughts thus far: kingdom hearts seems to be setting up luxu as another major character in the series. i doubt he'll be permitted to fuck off to wherever (as much as i think he deserves to) and i wouldnt really want that anyway! i wanna see what all this is building up to.

it seems to me like the master of masters is going to be the next Big Bad (idk if this is a given to everyone in the fandom). i assume luxu will stick around with him and the foretellers for at least a little while. my hope is that he gets the axel treatment—hes on the side of the big bad for a little while, then gets a character arc, some pathos/sincere emotionality, and a face turn with an outfit change and everything. i'd be sad if the pretty obvious manipulation and exploitation that luxu was subjected to under the Master never amounted to any change of heart for him. it'd be cool if we got to see how that affected him in detail, but like, kingdom hearts as a series isnt really About Trauma, so that may remain the realm of fanfiction.

but really the most important part of the "axel treatment" is that he would get the highest honor a character can receive...a nendoroid. please squaresoft i would do anything to be able to buy a $60 PVC figure of my Guy

#in terms of xigbar fuel i have literally given myself an arm injury working on a super ambitious angsty luxu drawing #ive been in the mines on that for several hours a day for coming up on a month now . so!#id say dont worry about xigbar fuel but lets be real being injured has taken a little wind out of my sails so i appreciate this sm 🙏#asks #kh #blakeposts

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internetrodeo · 5 years

Text

Ehixh self-introduction

Ehich was my Internet handle before DLTQ. EH ICH. Or Which.

The German ICH ('me') is spoken with a guttural sound, while the English word 'Witch' or 'Which' is with a dental sound.

I started using Ehich in 1998. I used it when I that spring was chatting in strange arenas. I used Ehich as my first blog name, on LiveJournal in early 2000. I used Ehich when I hit on girls online. That sounded wrong but I don't care. I hooked up with a girl called _________ using the Ehich name in 1998. She was from Hong Kong. We dated for 5 years. In the end, we both moved on. I had www.ehich.net back then. But I later gave up on that domain. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Ehich was a meditation. Of my wish to both look at the externals (dental) and the internals (guttural) of life. Of my goal to both be in the world, and forsake the world. Look outwards, and inwards.

I also moved on. New phases. So in 2003 I decided it was time to go for a 4 letter handle. From 5 to 4. From Ehich to an acronym. I spent a weekend, stuck in a room. Read Camus, and thought about the Internet. And I realized that I always preferred questions. Answers aren't important, but good questions are golden. If you ask the right questions, you can open up all kinds of Pandora's boxes. So I ended up centering my acronym around questions. OK. So what is there about them? Well, I was still quite young then. My father had just died, but I was only 25. I had gambled away 100K USD in a furious week, but I was still only 25. I had wanted to kill myself after thinking far too many times about my father's words to me when he was on his death-bed, and I had gone to visit him before he died, and he had become furious. Screamed and thrashed his arms around. "Why are You here? Who told you? WHO TOLD YOU?!"

His own sister had betrayed him. My aunt, my father's sister, had betrayed him and his law, his law that "Nobody is to tell my oldest son that I am dying." She called me up one morning, had finally found me. She betrayed his law, his last will, his wish to not see me again. The last time he saw me was 5 years earlier, in 1998, when I had tracked HIM up. It was bloody hard. It took 2 months. But I finally found him in _________. And I travelled there. And knocked on his door. He opened. He opened. And asked who I was. What I wanted.

"The last time you saw me, I was 2 years old. You left me!" I told him, with anger, hurt, sorrow. His eyes widened. Widened and widened. And widened. And widened. Then: "Raymond?"

Yes.

It is I. Ehich. Eh? ICH? Eheieh. I am what I am.

Yes. I am Raymond.

He shouted at me. Why did I come there? Was I hysterical, like my mother? No. I am only half of her. You were married with her for 3 years, remember? You married her. Then I was conceived. Then I was born. You still sailed the oceans. You sailor father fucker you. A mistress in every harbour. A cliché so thick.

He calmed down. Asked me to come inside.

He asked me if I wanted coffee. I said yes. We drank coffee. He was 41 then. I was 20. It was 1998. I had moved from Denmark to Norway in December 1997. To study. To find my father. Confront the basterd.

We talked. For 2 hours. I finally knew why I am so different from my mother, in most mood states. I got my mood genes from him. He told me why he had left me. Me and my mother. He found someone else. Not just any mistress, but someone to live his life with. To have children with.

Me: I have siblings?!

He: Yes. 2.

Me: How old are they?

He: Your sister, _______, is 16. Your brother, _______, us 12.

Me: - - - - - - - -

He: Yes. It is true.

Me: A sister?

He: Yes, ________. She lives with her mother in ________.

Me: You left them too?

He: Yes, we divorced 2 years ago.

Me, to myself, murmuring "A trail of children"

He, heard it, nodded. Serious. Direct.

At the end of our 2 hour talk, I left.

We exchanged phone numbers. Email addresses.

"We will keep in touch", he told me.

I smiled.

I had not forgiven him. But I was ready to establish contact. I had missed him all those years, days, minutes.

He changed his phone number after I left. He deleted his email account. Throw away phone, number, email, relationship.

I tried to track him up again. Reached his girlfriend, the one he lived with when I had tracked him down, when I visited him. She screamed at me. "He left me after you visited us! You bastard! It's all your fault!" she then hung up the phone.

I was 20. I was not ready for That. So. I gave up. I stopped the hunt. I did not want to destroy the lives of more girls. More of his trails.

But. I had gained a sister, and a brother, in the process.

I tracked them down. Visited them. And their mother. They all greeted me warmly. They never understood why he did not want to be a father to me. To be there. At least sometimes. Once a year.

He was there for them at least. Stayed with them until he had enough. That was more than 2 years of the children's lives, at least. More than his first attempt of being a father. The first. Without practice. Hating the chains. Was he Supposed to stop having the girls, one in each harbour? Brazil, Egypt, USA, Netherlands. Etc.

So. In 1998 after I lost my father again and gained 2 siblings, I found the Ehich. Handle. Name.

In 2003, 5 years after my visit to him in 1998, I one morning received a phone call from my aunt in _________, Northern Norway, near the border to Russia. She asked me if I am Raymond, son of _______. Yes, he is me. I am him.

Her: "I am your aunt" Me: "Oh, hello! Never heard of you, sorry"

Her: "Your father is dying. He is at the hospital in _____" Me: "What?! He is in My own frigging city? Dying? At the hospital?"

Her: "Yes. Listen: If you visit him before he dies of cancer, don't tell me it was me who told you, okay? He would never forgive me"

Me: "Okay. Thank you. I guess I will go to the hospital now."

I went there immediately. When I arrived, I asked for him by name. The nurse: "Who are you?" Me: "I am his son." The nurse: "His son? Really? I have never heard of you." Me: "I am the son he always avoided, since I was 2."

She told me that they were about to move him, from the regular room in the cancer department, to the part of the hospital that are for those who are dying. "Wait here", she told me.

I waited. Then I looked in the corridor. Sat on a chair. Then I noticed a bed being rolled by two other nurses towards me. I looked at the creature in the bed. Face in pain. Cancer-filled tongue hanging out of the mouth. Below the cheek. "Poor man", I thought.

Then.

Then I saw his eyes. Brown, like mine. Intense, like mine. But seething with anger, hatred. He stared at me. Glared. I looked back. Shocked.

The nurses rolled the bed past me. He did not say a word. But he was clearly Not happy to see me.

Fine. I was expecting that. I get it. I am not a retard.

I sat on the chair again, as if struck by lightning. All the years. And now he truly was dying, at age 46. Pappa. Dad.

A few moments passed. I then heard a wild scream. Looked to where it was coming from. Arms, thin arms, raising from the bed that was still being rolled towards the elevator. That scream has haunted me since.

I spoke with the nurse. She came back. "They are moving him now", she said. "I saw", I answered.

Her: "Ohh... OH!"

She connected the dots.

The bed. The scream. My white face, as if I had seen a ghost.

"Yes", I said.

She: "Let me talk with him. Wait here".

She followed the bed and the screams that were getting fainter.

She came back an hour later. She was sad. But also triumphant. Years of experience had helped her here. She said: "He finally agreed to meet you. Can you wait an hour and then visit him at room ______?" yes, sure.

I went there an hour later. Fuck. Fuck. Fucketi fuck. I dreaded it. I did not want more screams. I hate screams. My mother is a screamer. She screamed all through my childhood. The left-behind mother.

I met him. We talked. He barely could talk, but it was loud enough. I learned a lot about him. His life. He was calm. Resignated. Had given up.

Then he said: "I do not regret one second for not having contact with you all those years".

I nodded. I got it. That kind of honesty rang true. He was waiting for the shock effect. For me to react in tears, sobs, cries, screams, accusations. I gave him none of that. I am not my fucking mother, you bastard.

I nodded. I said: "I understand that. No regrets. I hate you for being away all that time. I hate you for being such a weak coward". He smiled. He understood. Was there a glimpse of pride in his eyes?

But when I asked him about my sami roots. The roots from his side. He flared. Angry. "There is no sami blood in our family!" OK ok, got it. Thinking to myself: "Weak coward. Liar."

I left him. Wished him a good death. His pain spiked, he glared at me. But then smiled. A small hint of a laugh.

I never visited him again. He died a few weeks later. At his funeral, I did not shed a tear. That would have made him proud. I drank a ton of vodka. Gin and tonic. And I gambled. Gambled it all away. Slot machine numbness. Gambled it all away, and more. Took debts. Lost that. Ruined myself. Had tons of unsafe sex. But my body withstood. My mind still had signs of life.

That is when I found DLTQ.

Don't Lose The Question.

A constant reminder.

What the question was back then, well, that question you can get over my dead body.

Ehich. DLTQ. I later had other domains. DLTQ.org. RMND.org. Etcetc.

I blogged. Vlogged. Vlogged my heart out. Got rid of my gambling addiction/escape. Cut down on the sex as well. And In 2005 in one of my diary books I drew a line. 2006. Moved back to Denmark. 2009. Moved back to Norway. 2010 married the then gf. Had a son. He is now 9. I am still married. To the same woman I married in 2010.

Ehixh is simply Ehich with an x. The X factor. www.ehixh.com once had secret subdomains. They are maybe still there, in the dark underbelly of the Internet.

Why I ride? I ride the Internet, and the Internet rides me. I ride the electrons and neurons. The flash of associations. To lives lived and memories collected.

My rodeo style is my own. You will see. I will not put my name after each post, signing it. We are not retards. If the system won't let you know what I did vs others, then that is not my problem.

Ehixh. Is me. Or a part of me. At least. Or a negative image of me. Where black is white, and white is black. Inverted. Inert. Enter the rodeo circle, the horse is mightier than the pen. The horse will throw us all of. We get bored. Or tear up. Or scream at the Internet for allowing this vileness. These meme machines.

Ehixh signing in.

#drawing #Storytelling #Life_lived #ehixh #introductory #Hello

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