Whenever someone complains about the $80 USD sticker price on new games, some folks like to bring up the fact that many Super Nintendo cartridges were retailing for the same price way back in the 90s.

The subtext of these observations is usually that AAA game prices have been effectively static for thirty years, so really, once you take inflation into account, AAA games are cheaper than ever.

A more pointed observation would be that, in spite of those thirty years of inflation, that $80 price tag has managed to become less affordable to the average gamer in 2025 than it was in 1995, which is an indictment that reaches much further than the AAA gaming industry.

Blinding Lights

Originally posted by 0fps

Prompt: Dancing

TW/CW: Boothill's non-swearing, Transcribed Cowboy Accent, Boothill's got some funky shit going on with his eyes, I didn't set out to write this with Boothill/Aventurine but something came over me and the vibes are not not there, barely proofread and I appreciate spellchecks!

Word Count: 1,396

A/N: And so we come to the last ficlet in this series (for now!) I am. So insanely proud of myself for managing to be so consistent with a project for this long, especially one so expansive. Boothill being the final subject is also really like... is serendipitous the right word? He was the reason I even downloaded the game in the first place. I was drawn in by his Western Energy and Gods I am. So glad I was. HSR has become one of my favorite games in recent memory, and it's helped me get my writing mojo back. So thank you Boothill, thank you HSR, and thank everyone who's read the ficlets posted in this series <3 Also also, post writing this-- I CAN MAKE TWO OF MY FAVES BANTER AS A TREAT.

Likes and Reblogs appreciated (reblogs > likes) and Requests are Open! Read this story on Ao3 here! My Ao3 account got suspended for stupid reasons, so there’s no cross post as of right now. On Friday, April 11, this and the following fics will be posted there.

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The dividers in this post were made by @/gamerbot-22 (me!) ☆

© All rights reserved by miHoYo

"Be subtle." Can you believe that? "Be subtle," like that was something he needed to be reminded of. Wasn't his fault that a bounty so big meant folks were on the look-out for him on just about every other planet he landed on. Didn't matter what he did or how he did it, the IPC and its lackeys would always come sniffing around, and then he'd just have to move on to the next place.

Sure, starting out he bothered trying to "be subtle," but after all his time running from the long, gilded arm of the law, it was easier to just be himself. He wouldn't go out of his way to draw attention, but that didn't mean he was staying quiet either.

Case and point: If recon and intel gathering took Boothill to a place with a dance floor, he was going to use it. And neither hell nor high water would stop him from cutting a rug.

This place was definitely different than what one might expect to find a guy like Boothill inside. The lights were bright, reflecting off of the mosaic of coloured glass on the back wall and back onto the dance floor, creating patterns and images for the dancers to follow along with. And the dancers--shirt--they were a whole other beast. Every gown and suit was insanely elaborate, embroidered from shoulder to shoulder and down, with trains and feathers pressed and curled into swirling loops that put some exotic, off-world birds to shame. He had to stifle a laugh at the idea of every single person here simply being some kind of pheasant or chicken all dolled up for the night. Everything in this ballroom was pure spectacle, going as hard as it possibly could just to say it could. He respected it, even if it wasn't fully his thing, and since his contact had decided to keep him waiting for so long, he might as well make the most of it.

Most of the folks on the dance floor were moving in pairs, which only added to the mental image of a bunch of chickens trying to make an impression. He could probably get away with dancing by himself off to the side--and realistically that should've been what he did, considering he should stay easy to grab for when his contact showed up--but all that sounded boring. He wanted to dance, dangit, and he wasn't going to let a little think like a lack of a partner stop him.

No sooner had he pushed off a decidedly ungilded wall, though, he laid eyes on his contact.

"Aw, what the fork--"

Violet eyes shone from across the room, only growing brighter, more prideful as their owner walked over. He was in the local fashion alright, sporting a modified version of his usual gaudy gambling jacket with a train that dragged behind him. If everyone else was a chicken, Aventurine was a peacock, as per dang usual.

"You're here early," Aventurine said, half-walking Boothill back to the wall, away from the dance floor and back into the only somewhat shadowy place there was in this aeonsforsaken light show. The cowboy's disappointment was immeasurable and his night was just about ruined.

"I was here on time," he countered. When Aventurine turned to look at the crowd, doing one quick survey to make sure no one was watching, Boothill pulled his hat down lower. As if that would do anything to detract attention from this horseshirt. "What, needed to preen all yer feathers before you came in?"

"It's called blending in," the gambler's eyes snapped back to Boothill immediately. Clearly there was no threat. "Something you couldn't be bothered to do, it seems." He didn't bother to stifle his chuckle as he looked Boothill over. True to form, he was in his usual poncho and boots. Aventurine decided not to ask how Boothill managed to get in dressed like that.

"Ain't exactly like I can go to a forkin' tailor and have a costume made up on such short notice."

"You could've tried for something. Honestly, even a normal jacket would be enough t--"

Boothill sneered, sharp teeth branded like knives. "I don' think us just standin' over here whisperin' n' shirt is a great play either, Mr. Fancypants."

Aventurine brushed off getting interrupted. He could work with difficult. It's how he made it this far. And now he had the power to make it fun.

"Is this you offering me a dance, cowboy?"

"Not with that attitude."

The blonde feigned insult, then apology, letting his head tilt over his shoulder as he brought a gloved hand to rest over his heart. "Fine, fine, if you want to dance while we talk, let's. You're right, it probably will make us blend in a little more."

Boothill didn't waste another second. He didn't stop to take Aventurine's hand or guide him along or anything. He just got up from against the wall again, fixed his hat so he could see where he was going, and started to move right to that prismatic, shifting light on the dance floor.

They both made it to the center of the floor, the crowd ebbing and flowing like waves around them, like they were in the eye of a gaudy, gilded whirlpool. It was actually kind of a lot for Boothill's eyes, even with the upgrades. Maybe because of them...

"I take it you're leading then?" Aventurine's voice broke Boothill's concentration, as well as his hand coming to rest on the outlaw's shoulder. At least, for a second, and then the colours started to get to him again.

"As enchanting as it is to dance with an outlaw, you know, I do have places I need to be--"

Boothill lowered his head and shook it. "Huh? Yeah, yeah, I can lead."

"Are you alright?"

"'M fine!" He blinked like a camera shutter, trying and failing to filter out the shifting colours. "Just gimme a second. Gotta get my bearin's. The forkin' lights're... a lot brighter up close."

"Alright, then I'll lead." Aventurine swung around to Boothill's front, taking his right hand in his left one and lifting it to shoulder height. "I take it you know how to waltz?"

He was still catching up. Squinting was helping to make it easier, but the nebulous hues of the lights were bothering him. And then Aventurine had the gall--

"'F course I know how t' waltz, what kinda hick d'you think I am?"

Aventurine's fingers flexed, only holding onto Boothill with his thumb to emphasize his shrug. "Alright, I just wanted to be sure. Be a good lead and all that."

"Yeah, yeah, just get your other hand in place before I change my mind."

"Are you okay? You seem especially prickly." Aventurine leaned his head forward, looking up into Boothill's face to try and get a read on him. He was squinting, and his lips were starting to draw back into another sneer, which were obviously not good signs.

He didn't have the patience to lie. "It's the forkin' light on the back wall. It's makin' my head ache."

"Alright, then let's just--" Aventurine turned so the two of them swapped positions. "There. Better?"

The outlaw's eyes did that camera shutter blink again. He held his eyelids open, focused in on the violet-cyan shine of Aventurine's eyes. It took a moment, which only served to make his dance partner's brows furrow with impatience, but... "Yeah. Better. Thanks."

"Alright," Aventurine sighed, "then follow my lead and listen closely, cowboy, because there's not a lot of time before people come looking for one of us." He shifted his weight to begin, quickly running over the steps to a waltz in his head. The gambler knew how to dance, but it wasn't often that he was away from roulette tables when he was out of his office and in places like this...

Only for Boothill to quickly take the gambler's waist, bucking his arm up onto his shoulder, and swing him around in a circle. Now that he could see clearly, he wasn't going to pass up a chance to lead. The sudden motion pretty succinctly took Aventurine's breath away in shock.

"Well?" Boothill smirked, flashing his sharp teeth and leaning down over him. No wonder the IPC couldn't get their hands on him, he recovered fast. "Get talkin', Mr. Fancypants."

some screencaps from the leaked unfinished cut of the minecraft movie

My sister and I were watching Lost but not paying a ton of attention and then suddenly the TV is like "Okay so we're going to have to remove two inches from the width of the island" and we both like snap our heads up like woah we were literally just dealing with a time travel problem why do we need to make the island a little smaller now? But it turns out the dog had laid down on the remote and turned it to Property Brothers so like bad news for whoever's kitchen they're designing but good news i guess for the Lost people for not having to shrink the island

it really is crazy how quickly people were willing to just let chatgpt do everything for them. i have never even tried it. brother i don't even know if it's just a website you go to or what. i do not know where chatgpt actually lives, because i can decide my own grocery list.

i wisely turned off the notes on this when it was at 700 but oh my god stop telling me what you "just" use it for in the notes shut the fuck up shut the fuck up I AM NOT A CATHOLIC PRIEST, I DO NOT ABSOLVE YOU. WRITE YOUR OWN EMAILS.

Treat Yourself

Originally posted by homuras

Prompt: Cake

TW/CW: Bronseele being silly and gay again, shared self-care, callback to Making Up, barely proofread and I appreciate spellchecks!

Word Count: 1,273

A/N: Bronya... The Final Lesbian.... I'm walking some of the same ground as my A/N for Seele but I really love Bronya's character. She's! So interesting, and I love how she's trying so hard to be a good leader after having to take the role on in such a heartbreaking way. I love her, she deserves some self-care and a kiss from her girled friend.

Likes and Reblogs appreciated (reblogs > likes) and Requests are Open! Read this story on Ao3 here! My Ao3 account got suspended for stupid reasons, so there’s no cross post as of right now. On Friday, April 11, this and the following fics will be posted there.

<- Previous Ficlet | Collection Post | Next Ficlet ->

The dividers in this post were made by @/gamerbot-22 (me!) ☆

© All rights reserved by miHoYo

Bronya was doing her best to be humble as a ruler. One of the things that had made her mother fail as a Supreme Guardian was her inability to see herself amongst her people, seeing herself as so far above everyone, especially those in the Underground, that it became her downfall.

Bronya wouldn't let that happen to her.

So, if she could, Bronya walked to events. She wrote her own speeches and had Seele, Pela, and the occasional willing Trailblazer give them a once-over before she even thought about giving them in public. She chose her words carefully, she walked with purpose, and at the end of each day she was exhausted. Having to be so poised, it made her back hurt after so long. And on top of that, all the walking, while it was giving her some nice definition in her legs, was equally exhausting.

The advice she got to reward herself came through a game of telephone. Gepard had heard Bronya in a rare moment, lamenting the tension in her fingers from writing and the soreness in her back.

"Madame Guardian, if you'd like my opinion?"

"I would," she said, resting her face in her sore hands.

"My sister, Serval--"

"I've met your sister."

"I know, but I have two."

"Ah, right." Bronya raised her head, deciding to stare her embarrassment in the face. "Please, continue."

He caught his breath, then started over. "My sister, Serval, when she finishes an especially hard project or commission, usually gets herself a little reward to look forward to when she's finished. It's usually not very big--a pack of coloured strings for her guitar, a new bottle of dye for her hair, things like that--but it's quite motivating." His serious guard facade broke a little as he let a smile work its way onto his face. "I've started trying it myself. Just last night, I rewarded myself for going through some old border reports, and it made the work feel that much more fulfilling-- Not that I don't find my work fulfilling, Madame."

Bronya tried to blink away the growing headache in the front of her skull. "No, it's quite alright. I believe we're sitting in the same boat, so to speak." She heard him let out a single syllable of a chuckle before they turned their gaze to him. "Do you have any recommendations?"

Gepard shrugged, his armor rattling from the motion. "Something you like would be a good place to start. Something for your hobbies?"

She didn't really have time for hobbies. Except maybe roller-skating now, but she couldn't think of any sort of reward for that that she would enjoy. Maybe cute laces for her shoes...?

He decided to lead her along a bit. "Desserts also work, if you're having trouble deciding."

So once her pile of paperwork was done--or done enough, more like--and the sun was already on its way down, Bronya sent Pela down the street to a bakery to pick up something sweet. "Anything," she said, when asked for any preference. "Something that can last, but nothing too... extravagant. And please, feel free to get something for yourself."

"Yes ma'am."

Pela came back after sundown with a cake. And not one of those little cakes that fit in your hands and you could finish in a few minutes, but a sheet cake. That required both of Pela's hands to carry.

Bronya supposed it would last, at least. And the frosting was simple, so it wasn't like Pela had disobeyed or ignored her request. She sent her off for the night with a "thank you" and a polite smile.

She... supposed that she could make this work. With it set on her desk, she was able to consider the size and the approximate serving size and supposed that a slice a day could easily work, for about... two weeks? Give or take a day or so? Although, she wondered if the cake wouldn't go bad in all that time. A cake this big, although beautiful, wasn't really built for one person...

The heavy, ashen-wood doors to her grand office opened, forced forward by a very familiar, squared-off set of shoulders.

"Your office light is on," Seele said pointedly, quickly sliding out of the way of the door. "I thought you said you were done for the day."

Bronya gestured to the sheet cake on her desk. Light scolding aside, this was actually a pretty lucky break for her. With Seele around, this cake could both last, and not go to waste. "I am. This is my reward."

"You got a cake?" She trotted up the stairs to get a better look. She only got more confused when she actually saw it. It was wide and flat and completely blank, like a sheet of freshly fallen snow. "Huh."

"It was Captain Gepard's idea." She crossed her arms loosely, staring down at the confection. "A reward to make all the work I've done today feel a little more rewarding, and to give me something to look forward to."

"Are you going to eat the whole thing?"

"Oh, of course not. I don't need a reward that badly."

"Then why get one so big?"

"I... failed to be specific when I asked Pela to pick it up."

Seele stared at her. Then she snorted, not bothering to hide the noise. She similarly crossed her arms, rocking back on her heels and then forward on her toes with a glint in her eyes. "Well... I mean it's definitely a start if you want to relax after working yourself half to death."

Bronya decided to brush past the teasing with a smile. She picked up the knife that came with the cake to cut it, and offered the handle to Seele. "Would you like to do the honors? I think I would feel more relaxed and rewarded if I had some company."

Seele took the knife without a second thought. "Yeah, if you want me to hang around with you eat--"

"--You're not having any?"

Seele turned her head so fast her deep purple hair went flying over her shoulder. "Huh?"

"I asked, are you not going to have an--"

"No no no, I heard that part." She pointed at the cake with the knife's rounded blade, her brows pinching together again. "I thought this was for you?"

"I told you I wasn't going to eat the whole thing, didn't I?"

"Well, yeah, but I meant in one sitting."

Bronya was starting to feel that headache coming back. The banter was cute on any other night, but she was ready to eat this reward and go to bed. "Seele, my love, do you want to quietly eat some cake with me before bed, or don't you?"

Seele's whole face went pink. She was brave about so many things, but not pet names. She was frozen for a couple seconds, simply staring into the middle distance past Bronya's forearm as her brain tried to process the words.

Bronya wondered if she might've broken her. "Seele--"

"Yep!" Seele cut out two pieces of cake so quickly that Bronya wondered if they hadn't been pre-cut in the store. "Want to bring these to the fireplace in the other office?"

"Alright, but I might fall asleep there."

And Seele, the love of Bronya's life, a proud woman who was not to be kept down for long, looked the Supreme Guardian dead in the eyes and with barely restrained adoration, said "Good, then I can carry you to bed."

Bronya smiled through the rising warmth in her face. Maybe the company was more of a reward than the cake.

Hey, Diddle, Diddle

Originally posted by delsshitposts

Prompt: Chores

TW/CW: Pre-canon, possibly canon divergent, strange but silly dreams, barely proofread and I appreciate spellchecks!

Word Count: 1,073

A/N: Misha! My son! My beautiful dream-like anomaly! I had a bit of a hard time figuring out what I wanted this ficlet to be but I ended up with a pretty fun idea I think :3c Also we only have two more people after this: Bronya and Boothill! The first person to guess who will be our final ficlet gets to request an ultra-special ficlet of their own! More details here!

Likes and Reblogs appreciated (reblogs > likes) and Requests are Open! Read this story on Ao3 here! My Ao3 account got suspended for stupid reasons, so there's no cross post as of right now. On Friday, April 11, this and the following fics will be posted there.

<- Previous Ficlet | Collection Post | Next Ficlet ->

The dividers in this post were made by @/gamerbot-22 (me!) ☆

© All rights reserved by miHoYo

As the pocket watch struck seven o'clock in the evening, Misha finished his supper and settled onto the cot that had been modified from a cupboard.

He had had a good, long day of work in this little hotel, ferrying bags and goods from the lobby and the kitchen to the rooms. With his Grandfather out on the sea, a lot of the work fell onto Misha's narrow little shoulders. He didn't mind much--it was honest work, after all--but he was glad to be rid of it for the day. The overhead lights were off, his nightlight was twinkling softly in the corner, and he was under the freshest covers he'd felt in a long while. Truly, tonight would be a great night for some proper dreaming...

...

...Then he rolled onto his side and saw his little table. Right there, right where he had been sitting for his supper, was his bowl. With the spoon still in it. And his glass, too, which was mostly empty aside for a few drops of water that would be impossible to properly drink.

He knew that he should get up and wash those dishes. He had the time now, and most definitely wouldn't if he left them until the morning. Not unless he woke up early, which was something he'd rather not do. And besides, he never woke up early. He only ever woke up with his clock, with its tick-tick-ticking, waking up exactly at six on the dot and never a moment earlier or later. If there was a way to set his internal clock back even ten minutes to rinse his dishes in the morning, he didn't know how.

But at the same time, he was exhausted. He had been on his feet all day, and now that he was under his blankets he was ready to just shut his eyes and go to sleep. Misha had had a rather wonderful dream about a train and Mr. Pocket Watch the night before, and tonight felt like the night where he could continue that story and truly see where it lead him.

For minutes and minutes he laid there, staring at his bowl and spoon and glass, trying to will the dregs of soup of of the old porcelain and into the ether. He could spare a few seconds to put clean dishes away in the morning, couldn't he?

And all the while, as he stared and wished and hoped for his final chore to do itself, his Grandfather's watch tick-tick-ticked, on and on and on into the night. It was soothing, really. Even after all these nights with it, it's gentle clicking was enough to make his eyes heavy...

NOPE. STILL AWAKE. He was still awake. Yes, yes, he was wide awake still. He just needed to prepare himself to leave his little cot and he could wash that dish and actually get to bed. Yes, that's what he'd do. Misha could be responsible, and he could wake up tomorrow with the pride of knowing that he'd done all of his chores before bed.

That was... until he saw his bowl and spoon get up. They got right up, as if waking from slumber, and stretched their new arms over their head with a sleepy twist and groan. Monsieur Bowl's face was red and concave, covered in the dregs of the warm tomato soup Misha had made himself for supper, while Madame Spoon had flecks of basil in her silvery hair, distracting from the smooth reflection of her face.

"Oh, Madame, your hair!" Monsieur Bowl cried upon seeing his partner, pressing a mouth to his dirtied cheek. "I think you're in need of a bath, my dear!"

"Me need a bath?" Madame Spoon responded, shocked at the audacity on display. "Take a look at yourself, beloved!" She spun on her flats to show Monsieur Bowl the back of her head. Basil aside, he could see his reflection, caked with supper and distorted in the curves of Madame Spoon's wavy hair.

Still, he did not want to believe that his porcelain face was so easily sullied. "My dear, you're mistaken! The mess is all on you! You were practically swimming in soup earlier this evening, while I merely held it for you!"

Misha watched as his dirty dishes argued, lamenting back and forth about who was truly dirty and who should go take a shower before they go to bed. It was fascinating in a strange way, watching them both bend over backwards to try and pin the mess on the other instead of recognizing how they were both dirty, especially as the minutes turned to hours and the night turned to dawn.

Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, when the two dishes' voices were going from the bickering, they reached a truce.

"I've worked up such a sweat arguing, my dear," Monsieur Bowl admitted, a bit sheepish as he pressed his back to Madame Spoon's. They had both taken to sitting on top of the table, his legs dangling while she kept hers tucked close. "I think I shall need a shower before bed."

"I have, too," Madame Spoon sighed. She looked at her hands and saw how the shining silver had fogged from her hot breath. "We shall both need showers, I think."

"I'm sorry for calling you dirty, my dear. Can you ever forgive me?"

" Of course I can. I am sorry too, beloved."

Misha smiled to himself, satisfied on their behalves but entirely too exhausted to offer the proper congratulations. Still, he supposed he should offer them a sign of support, for being able to work through their argument after all that time.

He lifted his hand to wave at them, hoping to get their attention, only for his own to be stolen away by a soft, familiar sound.

Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick...

As the pocket watch struck six o'clock in the morning, the familiar aroma of milk and toast wafted into his narrow bedroom from the kitchen.

Misha got up from his cot with a start, nearly stumbling out of bed when the realization hit him. His dishes hadn't worked through their issues; they were still sitting on the table with soup dregs caked onto them.

"Oh no, oh dear!" He quickly gathered up his dishes and stumbled into the kitchen. He could at least get them in the sink before it was time to go greet his guests.

Don’t mind me just shooting green aura into your eyes as you read this auaaauhuaaaaaaaaaaauauauuauaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauaaaauaauuuuuuuuuuuuuauuuuuuuauauauaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

don’t fucking heal me

Oh god you wish this green shit healed

Radioactive

mydei