I spend most of my internet time on YouTube. It's a good website, I like video. But it's gotten demonstrably worse in the past five(?) years. I've posted about this a thousand times because it bothers me so much.
I am not sure exactly what the cause is, maybe changes in the algorithm or maybe better optimization by creators, but YouTubers by and large seems to have shifted from content to "content". Everything on the platform seems to have less substance. It's showier but completely vapid.
Actually it's not quite that, it's more specific. Today, every video has to have a narrative, it has to have suspense and payoff, even if that's completely shoehorned.
A good example of this is Minecraft videos. I don't actually watch a lot of Minecraft videos, but the change is really easy to demonstrate in this genre. The bread and butter of Minecraft YouTube used to be tutorials and let's plays. Tutorials are relatively brief but high information density; the point of a tutorial is to share knowledge with the audience. Let's plays are slower-paced and lower information density, they provide a kind of relaxing background entertainment similar to certain podcasts. The point is to chill out to them. Game Grumps is just about the only big channel still making let's plays of this form (not for Minecraft, just... at all).
Today, both tutorials and let's plays are second fiddle to the ubiquitous challenge video. Challenge videos are brief but low information density. They fundamentally have nothing to say. They have titles like "is it possible to farm 10,000 wheat in Minecraft in a month???", and the creator will attempt the challenge, cut together clips of their exploits in a rapid, high-intensity style, and generally try to craft these clips into a "suspenseful" narrative. They want us to ask "oh no, will he be able to do it????" But the narrative is always cheap and boring because it's so plainly post hoc. These videos provide none of the genuine emergent narrative or casual humor/banter of a good let's play, and none of the information of a tutorial. They're just faux-suspense, faux challenge, all the meat cut out and nothing but the trappings left over. Meaningless.
All of YouTube is like this now. Every video title has to have Big Number. "I dug 10,000 blocks in Minecraft!!!" "I spent 1000 dollars on vending machines in Japan!!!!" "I wore 50lbs leg weights!!!!"
SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP. Give me anything. It doesn't have to be art. Give me information, give me entertainment, give me humor. Give me something, anything, other than Big Number. I cannot express to you the degree I don't care about Big Number. I have never been curious about Big Number. FUCK OFF WITH BIG NUMBER. I don't care about challenges I don't care about Most and Best and Top and Biggest. How about New, Cool, Fun, or Charming? Anything but Most. My god, shut the fuck up about Most forever.
I'm a Most hater. Fuck Most for all eternity.
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Code Red
Pairing: Boaz Priestly x Female Reader
Summary: When you call him for help, Priestly realizes that he finally has the relationship of his dreams.
AN: So I didn’t think I’d ever write for this character, but it was prompted by a lovely anon and encouraged by my friend @thatonewriter15! I hope you enjoy. ❤️
Song Inspo: “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran. “I’ve found a love…”
Word Count: 1,500
Tags/Warnings: Period talk, suggestiveness, mega fluff
He was in the zone.
Four six-inch double buffalo chicken clubs with banana peppers on whole wheat bread (gross, but he wasn’t the one eating ‘em), two spicy Italians, and a tuna on rye.
Priestly wrapped them up with practiced precision and slid them down the line to Piper, Mission Impossible-style. She smiled at his antics and took them and brought them over to Tish at the register.
Priestly had another turkey and provolone on his docket, hold the mayo, when his cell buzzed in his pocket. Today he actually did have pockets. As in, he was wearing joggers, boots, and a graphic tee that said: NO TEQUILA, NO ENTRY.
He swiveled his phone in his hand like a drummer with a drumstick. He smiled when he saw your name flashing across the screen, and he answered it.
“Hey, Beautiful. What’s up?” he asked.
“Boaz, I need you,” you said. To his ears, your voice was sultry, and a bit strained.
He perked up with raised eyebrows.
“What’s holding up the turkey and cheese?” Piper asked.
Boaz held up a finger to the blonde and tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder. His hands busied themselves with the next sandwich order, but he was all too attentive to your every word.
“Oh yeah?” he replied to you. His smile deepened. “Well, that’s convenient. Because I’m craving some of you, baby.”
You gave a breathy chuckle. “Normally I’d take you up on that, but no. I need you. As in, I really need you to do something for me.”
Priestly arched a brow. His brain was already filling up with ideas of how he could best help you. He mentally took an inventory of the “tools” in your nightstand drawer, and which ones he could best use to his advantage when he—
“Uhh, well, I got about one more hour in my shift,” he said, lowering his voice, even as it deepened a notch. “But if Jen covers me, I can be outta here in half the time.”
“Oh my God, good,” you gasped. “I’m in so much fucking pain, you have no idea.”
Priestly blinked, and any thoughts of kinky fun times came to a screeching halt. Concern took over when he realized that the strain in your voice wasn’t from the sexy kind of need.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.
“I’m out of Midol, my uterus is rioting like it’s a Vietnam War protest, and…oh yeah, I need more tampons too,” you said. “But I legitimately cannot move from this couch.”
Priestly couldn’t help but smile in amusement.
“Ech, I hear ya. Are we in a Code Green, Code Yellow, or Code Red situation?”
Jen glanced over at him from where she was mopping the floor, and she gave him a questioning look.
What’s wrong? she mouthed.
“Code Red, definitely,” you answered with a sigh.
Priestly grimaced in sympathy. He mouthed back to Jen, Code Red.
She nodded in female understanding, and raised a hand that said, Say no more.
“Okay, yeah,” Priestly replied to you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”
You released a sigh of relief. “And if you want to throw in a Snickers, I wouldn’t hate it.”
He chuckled at that one.
“You got it,” he said. “I’ll be home in T minus an hour, give or take.”
You groaned. “Can’t you just steal a DeLorean or something?”
“You know, I could, but that would mean I’d be going back further into the past before you even needed to call me, and I’d still probably be making sandwiches since I’ve been working here since damn near 2000 B.C. But you know what, they should really call that movie Back to the Present, since they don’t actually go to the future until—”
“Okay,” you had to laugh, even though it was edged with discomfort. “I’ll see you later.”
At the supermarket, after his shift at Beach City Grill, Priestly had most of the supplies he needed for a successful mission. All he was missing was his old enemy on Aisle 2.
Once again, he faced a wall of tampons. All bright colored boxes and numbers and sizes…
Okay, not Code Green, so not the slender ones that might as well be match sticks. Not Yellow, so no to Regular…ah! Here we are. Super Plus.
AKA: Code Red. Complete with leak guard, no latex. He grabbed the blue box and threw it into his basket of essentials, including no less than three assorted chocolate bars and a pint of Ben & Jerrys. He knew his girl, and you liked your Half-Baked ice cream with chocolate chip cookie dough and brownie pieces.
He brought over his haul to the checkout line. Sure enough, Gerry, one of the locals, was finally old enough to buy a case of beer by himself. He glanced at the blue box Priestly was taking out onto the conveyor belt and smirked.
“No slender regulars this time?” Gerry remarked.
Priestly’s smile was tight. “No, Gerald. Slenders are for pussies.”
“Literally,” the blonde beanpole snorted. “What, your girlfriend got a heavy flow this month?”
Priestly rolled his eyes, and his mouth pressed in a line. The word flow still kind of grated on him like nails on a chalkboard, but what irked him more was this guy imagining any part of your intimate parts.
“All right, my girl’s flow is none of your business,” he said. “Once you hit puberty and grow your first pubes, you’ll understand.”
Gerry floundered while Priestly continued on to make his purchases. Even the cashier was smiling, trying not to laugh as he silently gave Priestly his props for a burn well made. Priestly shot the guy a nod and a smile before he left with his spoils.
“Honey, I’m hoooome,” Priestly sing-songed.
He stepped through the door with his keys still jangling in his hand. He was trying to balance the big bag of groceries while closing the door to the apartment he shared with you.
Your head perked up from the living room couch, and your hand slowly curled up, beckoning him over. Priestly obliged you. He peered over the side of the couch and smiled at the way you were all curled up under a throw blanket, already in your pajamas, while FRIENDS reruns played on the TV.
“Finally,” you said with a tired smile. But not the kind of finally that just meant you were impatient for the goods he carried. The kind of finally that also meant you were happy to see him.
He laid a comforting hand on your head, leaned down, and pressed a kiss above your brow. You held him there by the collar of his shirt, prompting him to kiss you for real. Your hand moved up his tattooed neck and your nails gave the back of his head a little scratch, careful not to disrupt the blue mohawk.
He reluctantly pulled away from your lips, just enough to try and gauge how you were feeling.
“How’re you holdin’ up?” he asked.
“Like a beach umbrella in a hurricane,” you replied wryly. “You got the stuff?”
Priestly held the grocery bag tucked under his arm like it was a drug deal.
“Oh, I got the stuff, if you got the money,” he said.
You nodded, and your small smile turned mischievous. “I got your money, Big Man.”
With your hand delicately hooked behind his neck and the other gliding up his arm, he didn’t realize he was falling into a trap.
You tugged his arm hard enough to try and get him to fall over the back of the couch.
“Hey!” he yelped. Yet he also laughed while you tried your best to pull him overboard.
He had to toss the bag of groceries to the floor next to you, but he managed to get over and onto the couch without crushing you. He probably smelled like old sandwich and mayonnaise, but you didn’t seem to care.
You just helped him settle in behind you, with your back to his chest. This was the only way you’d find comfort for your lower back. It had been aching since you woke up this morning.
You grabbed his closest hand and guided it under your overlarge sleep shirt, then under the waistband of your panties. You laid his warm hand flat against your cramping lower belly.
Priestly pressed a kiss behind your ear and tucked his arm underneath your head. He felt the rise and fall of your sigh as you leaned back against him, and his smile softened.
“You’re gonna fall asleep without digging into your treasure trove,” he teased. “I even got your favorite ice cream.”
You glanced at him over your shoulder in interest.
“Half-Baked?” you asked.
“Yep, for extra brownie points. Eh? See what I did there?”
Your body shook with a quiet laugh. You reached your hand back to touch his bearded cheek this time. Your fingers toyed with his many earrings.
“Did you know that you’re my favorite human?” you said. “Like, ever?”
He smiled against your neck. “Could’a sworn I was your third favorite, behind Ben and Jerry.”
“Nope, just you,” you said, snuggling back further into his warmth. “Thank you, baby.”
Priestly realized then that he’d found it.
He’d really, honest to God found the life he didn’t think he’d get, with a woman who didn’t want him to change; who just wanted him to be here.
Though he smirked when you reached for the bag and dug out the pint of Ben & Jerry’s.
“That’s what I thought,” he said.
You giggled. “Shut up.”
AN: Priestly was such a fun character lol. I rewatched 10 Inch Hero this past week and this was the first thing I thought to write! If you liked this, let me know! (And if you want more Priestly.) 😘
Read the Prequel!
If you liked Code Red, read the start of their story:
▶️ The Miracle Man
Priestly Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Tag List:
(Lovelies from my "Everything" tag list. If you want to be tagged on Priestly stuff specifically, check out the Tag List link in my bio.)
@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog
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do you regret it?
Martyn huffs and turns over. He glances at his wrist. Forty minutes left, and it feels good.
do you regret it?
The first thing he’d done after he realized he still had time was bury his axe. The second thing is pillar all the way up to the top of the sky net. Sitting on the edge of it, well, it’s a little risky, but it’s not like there’s anyone to push him off of it anymore. If he’d gone and lost all his extra time by falling off of a ladder or something, though, he hopes someone would mock him for it. That’d be worth mocking, right there.
do you regret it?
He harvests all the wheat that was left behind. He thumbs his nose at the sky as he does; he vaguely hears ghosts complaining. Suckers. His wheat now. He can have all the bread in the world. Hell, all the cake, even—if he heads back down and gets a cow he can make himself a proper feast. Nothing like the party he’d rigged to blow.
Doesn’t really feel like climbing down, though. If he’s gonna live out his glorious, glorious extra time, he’s going to do it in the luxury of the sky.
do you regret it?
He watches the sun set. The horizon is so far away from here. It glitters across the scars of water and the crooked towers. Gods, if the server isn’t ugly, though. Ugly as sin. At some point, people had stopped even really bothering to make it anything else.
He’d say it’s a pity, but. He remembers when people used to bother making things pretty. He remembers it well. Hah. Imagine doing that.
Imagine making a place pretty enough to be a home when you know it’s just going to be torn away from you entirely in the end.
do you regret it?
“Shut up,” he says.
do you regret it?
“Why would I regret it?” Martyn says incredulously. “You know, if you want a tragedy out of me, you aren’t going to get it. No one ever told me betrayal feels this good.” He spreads his hands. “Whole server to myself, now, until my clock finishes running down. I think I’ll build myself an actual base. Finally have time for that, don’t I?”
do you regret it?
“Morons, the lot of you,” Martyn says, huffing. “You’ll make up the answer you want to that question on your own regardless of what I say.”
do you regret it?
Martyn ignores it. “Actually, screw you. I’m not building a base, I’m building a dick. Yeah, take that in your family-friendly death games. Haha. No one can stop me now.”
And suddenly, it is completely silent. No Watchers, no ghosts, no Listeners, no haunting refrain. It is Martyn, and it is the cobblestone dick he’d started building, and it is the sunset, and it is the ticking clock.
No one can stop him now at all.
He gets partway through before stopping. It doesn’t even really look appropriately crude. He looks over the edge. It would be fast. It would take him to where he can properly gloat about his victory.
But he has to savor it first.
The silence rings in his ears. “Survival base,” he says. “I’m going to build it in a tree.”
No response.
…good. They’ve gone away. It’s for the best.
He starts work on the treehouse and he’s only halfway through when the clock stops ticking and he can’t breathe anymore and he drowns on dry land.
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