#i blame the xbfam

[mawofthemagnetar]

“Hey, peeps,” Xisuma said as he strolled into the room, “Anyone know what ‘rizz’ is supposed to mean? I saw one of the kids in the hub use it in chat and I’m a little lost.”

Jevin, sitting in the corner snacking on a cinderblock, visibly cringed.

“Shishwammy! I thought I knew you better! You know exactly what that means. Or do we have to talk about the parrots and the bats again?” Keralis pretended to look scandalized, and Xisuma rolled his eyes.

“No, Keralis, this one starts with an “R.” Anyway, does anyone know?”

“Is it like dabbing? Or updog? That was the fad last week, I think.” Joe called, barely glancing up from his book.

“No, no, no! Dabbing never went outta style. Hang on, lemme ask the weird people on the birdwatching group chat about this rizz thing. They think I’m cool!” Bdubs said, before hammering on his comm’s keyboard.

“The speed of memes these days is enough to make your head spin.” Joe sighed, closing his book with a snap, “I finally added “cringefail” to my lexicon and I bet it’ll be it’ll be passé by next week.”

“I just ignore the memes. They do things; it no bother me.” Keralis said brightly, and Joe hummed thoughtfully.

“Y’know, that’s probably a good way to be. Why waste time trying to keep up with-“

“I GOT IT! THE WEIRD BIRDWATCHING PEOPLE! They say it’s like…charisma? Like, cha-RIZZ-ma…oh, I see, that’s very clever. So like- I have a TON of charisma, so I have- LOADS of rizz-“

“Oh, Bubbles, you don’t need to tell me twice-“

“QUIET, YOU- and like, Xisuma, he’s got. Negative rizz! Yeah that’s what it is.”

“Seems a bit silly to me, but what do I know?” Xisuma sighed.

“Well, the natural progression of language can’t be stopped. Either you accept it or make yourself crazy. Let the words do what they will.” Joe said, opening his book again.

Finally, Jevin piped up from his hidden corner.

“Every time you people try to understand a new meme, it causes me physical fucking pain, and I don’t even have a nervous system.”

[mawofthemagnetar]

NPC Grian Gets A Job

You, a modern minimalist architect who has done nothing but produce sterile white hellscapes your entire life, arrive in the 96th circle of Hell.

To your shock, it is a lush and verdant place. Rows of quaint stone and wood houses line perfect picturesque streets. Colourful flowerbeds and gorgeous classical architecture surrounds you. Trees grow wild and untrimmed. The only metal is copper roofing and wrought iron door-knockers and fence gates.

And you hate it immensely.

As you set off down the lovely cobbled streets, you come to realize that this place never ends. It’s an endless sprawling labyrinth of quaint rustic homes, roads forking off each other in all directions, forever. Eventually you finally, FINALLY wander to the edge of “town” (is it truly a town if you haven’t seen a single soul?) and find…a construction site.

Eager to break up the monotony (and give yourself something to do) you rush to the blueprints left lovingly on a sawhorse and examine them. Another rustic house. You’ll fix this. Grabbing your trusty ballpoint, you click it and set about sketching up something nice. Clean lines. White walls. White concrete. Square. Colour? God forbid, it’s not the fashion! After a few minutes of redoing the design, you look up.

“HELLO,” a man(?) clad in a red sweater shouts at you, “DO YOU WANT TO BUILD A RUSTIC HOUSE WITH ME?”

You stare at the man.

“No. We’re building something nice here. Something new.” You say, gesturing at the page.

The man’s face darkens like an encroaching storm as he glances at your page. At once, the illusion of colour in his eyes fades away, and you find yourself staring into two blank steel balls with a glowing red pit in the centres.

“THIS IS MY REALM WHERE ALL THINGS ARE RUSTIC AND ALL THINGS ARE HOUSE. DO YOU WANT TO BUILD A RUSTIC HOUSE WITH ME?”

You swallow uncomfortably. Something tells you “no” is a bad response.

“YOU HAD TO THINK ABOUT IT. I THINK YOU NEED TO GO IN THE CLOSET. IF YOU CAN LAST TEN MINUTES IN THE CLOSET, I WILL ALLOW YOU TO BUILD THIS NOT RUSTIC HOUSE.”

You swallow and nod slowly. That…certainly sounds like a deal.

“DO YOU AGREE?”

“Sure.” You say nervously.

“GOOD. I LOOK FORWARD TO SEEING THE RUSTIC HOUSES YOU WILL CREATE FOR ME.” The man says with a smile.

He snaps his fingers.

You blink.

When you open your eyes again, you’re inside of a small, cramped, dark closet. The walls are wood and it smells of must and mothballs.

It’s…boring, but safe enough?

“YOUR TEN MINUTES BEGINS NOW.” The man announces from outside.

And as the walls begin to drip like white paint around your fingers, you realize that it wasn’t a deal at all.

Nine minutes later, you are sketching out a design for a wonderfully quaint rustic house.