Here, have this bit of fluffy nonsense XD I got the idea after writing about them trying to cook together. I haven't played Overcooked, but I've watched people play it, both in real life and on YouTube, and it's hilarious if they don't know what they're doing, and it's hilarious even if they do know what they're doing.
I know Overcooked is like 4-player at max, but the Jaegers chose a very inconvenient number. I mean, I love them all so much, but five people is so inconvenient. I cross-post on AO3 and fanfiction dot net (I don't know how AO3 treats links and stuff, so), and fanfiction only allows you to pick four characters to put in the summary, so I always have to pick three so one of them doesn't feel left out. Sigh. At least AO3 lets you put as many characters as you want.
Anyways, mini-rant over. Overcooked is 5-player in this fic, and don't ask me how they got ahold of video games in the 1930s.
Yuliy blinks slowly at the TV screen. "...Why are we doing this again?"
"To redeem ourselves from the last time we tried cooking, apparently," Dorothea supplies, sounding just as resigned as he feels.
"...And what makes them think we're going to do any better in a video game than in real life?"
"Because this time, you guys can't ruin my hair," Philip butts in from his seat on the floor.
Dorothea, who sits behind the blonde on the couch, grabs her drink and mimes pouring it over the blonde's head, and Yuliy has to disguise a snicker as a coughing fit.
"For the record, I had nothing to do with that," Willard proclaims, sitting on Yuliy's other side.
"Overcooked is a team game," Fallon says cheerfully, sitting next to Philip on the floor. "And we work great as a team while killing vampires! Well, mostly."
Yuliy pretends not to notice Willard and Dorothea pointedly staring sideways at him from either side. Philip not so subtly elbows him in the shin, and he not so subtly kicks him back.
"Besides, those cookies weren't half bad!"
"Yeah," Dorothea deadpans. "The cookies that didn't end up on the floor or in your guys' hair in your little food fight." Which was sadly very few, because they actually were good.
Fallon ignores her. "And this time, we can't blow anything up in real life-"
"Is there something I should be aware of?" Willard asks suspiciously. He wasn't present during that catastrophe, luckily enough, and only saw the aftermath.
Dorothea waves a hand. "We didn't blow anything up. Much the opposite. Yuliy just forgot to turn on the oven."
"I didn't forget to turn it on," he mutters sulkily.
Philip snickers. "Right, you just set it to ten degrees for three hundred and fifty minutes."
Yuliy huffs, sinking lower in his seat.
"Guys, come on, we're gonna do great," Fallon says, beaming, as he flips carelessly through the instructions. "And we got the professor leading us. What could go wrong?"
"The ever peckish has awoken!"
Philip laughs through his nose. "Oh, wow, look, Fallon, it's you."
"Dude, that yellow spaghetti hair is totally you."
"No, no, the teeth are the defining feature."
"I swear to god-"
"Guys, the round is starting!" Dorothea interrupts, already button-mashing. "Chop chop, get moving!"
Willard coughs out a laugh of his own. "Pun intended?"
"What are you tal—oh, be quiet."
"Fallon, what are you doing in the corner, chop the tomatoes already!" Philip exclaims, dashing straight into Dorothea's character; luckily, there isn't a feature of crashing into people and making them drop everything they're holding like there is in real life.
"I am, my character's not mov—oh, that's you."
"It's been ten minutes already, how have you not figured this out?"
"Gimme a break, there are five of us! How do you chop again?"
"You just—put it on there, and you just chop it!"
"Wow, real helpful, Philip, thanks."
From the back, Yuliy can see the tips of Philip's ears go as red as Fallon's hair from sheer irritation. "I'm going to put you on the chopping board."
Dorothea sighs. "Why did the game put those two on the same side of the board?"
It's not surprising that Dorothea and Willard are actually being productive like a well-oiled machine and managing to get something done amidst everyone else's chaos, since that's how it is in real life too.
"Professor, I need more plates."
"It's coming on the conveyor belt. Can you pass me the dirty ones?"
"On it. Philip, hurry up and put out the orders, or we're going to lose tips!"
"I have to get this out of the oven first, jeez! Yuliy, your legs are so bony."
Yuliy rolls his eyes, half tempted to pull his 'bony' legs up and just put his feet on Philip's shoulders to see how much he'll freak out.
Meanwhile, Dorothea is still barking orders like nobody's business. When Fallon thought they'd survive the game under the professor's guidance...he was wrong.
"Fallon, more tomatoes, more lettuce, more cheese, more-"
"I can't do everything at once! Crap—dropped the tomatoes-"
"Pick it back up!"
"I'm trying, it's—oops, wrong button."
"Good thing we're not being rated on cleanliness," Willard mutters to himself, still working calmly and efficiently, somehow.
"Hey, we're working based on the five-second rule, alright?"
Dorothea is also working efficiently in tandem with the professor, just not calmly.
"Hurry up, Fallon!"
Yuliy winces, because she's sitting right next to him, and in his humble opinion, she really doesn't have to be shouting. Fallon doesn't seem to think so either.
"Calm down, Dorothea-"
"Move faster, people!"
"God, I feel like I'm in Hell's Kitchen."
"What was that, Philip?!"
"What kind of restaurant serves just onion soup anyways?" Philip asks, hacking away at onions with abandon.
"It does seem like a bad business move," Willard comments, calmly plating a, well, plate of soup and passing it to Dorothea to send out.
"Must be the best onion soup in the world," Fallon remarks, pausing to crack his knuckles.
"Guys, keep chopping!"
"Please don't yell, Dorothea."
Yuliy is seriously going to have to invest in a pair of earplugs if this is going to be a regular occurrence. At the very least, he's not sitting next to Dorothea again. Maybe she'll be less hyper-fixated if she's sitting next to the professor. At least Yuliy will still have hearing in one ear. Or maybe next time, he'll just sit on the floor. Preferably, he'll be on the other side of the house, far away from the entire game; that would be nice.
"Sorry." One second later: "Someone get more onions, NOW!"
It's the sushi round now, and things haven't gotten much more coordinated. Somehow, they're still earning enough stars to progress in the levels, and Dorothea hasn't given up her attempts to maintain order in this dumpster fire of a kitchen.
"Yuliy, what are you doing? Put the rice on!"
"And—no, it's cucumber, not fish-"
"Wait, put it on a plate—no, the cucumber-"
"Are you even reading the orders?!" Philip bursts out. He probably would've been elbowing Yuliy if he wasn't so busy button-mashing.
"Yuliy, what the fu-"
"Now, now, everyone," Willard tries, still calmly moving from one station to the other, "we have to work together here-"
"That would be counterproductive," Dorothea deadpans.
There's a muffled, spluttering sound coming from somewhere near Yuliy's knees that sounds vaguely like laughter. Meanwhile, on the screen, a chibi blond chef is dashing in front of the cutting board every time the ginger tries to use it.
"Wait—stop—Philip, get out of the way! Are you—are you trying to troll me?" Fallon actually sounds surprised by this revelation.
"Philip, stop trolling Fallon and give me the soup!" Dorothea barks, and Yuliy sinks lower in his seat, having all but given up on trying to get her to keep it down.
"No, this is funny!"
"Give me the soup!"
"Whee!" Philip cackles, and Fallon explodes.
"Did you just push me off the truck?!"
"Whaaaaaat? Noooooo, of course n—oh, shi-"
Dorothea groans as Philip turns into a 5-second timer in a red bubble, having walked right off the side of the truck.
"You had a full plate in your hands!"
The board setup itself gets trickier as they get into the harder levels. With five of them trying to each just get around, it's absolutely ridiculous.
"Ugh, it's only one block wide, we gotta be going the same way—Philip, stop pushing me around!" Fallon protests indignantly, trying to mash dash in vain.
Yuliy can't see Philip's expression from the back, but he's sure it's diabolical.
"This is the one time I can actually push you around, I'm not wasting it!"
"You guys, quit messing around already!"
A steak goes sailing across the screen, and Philip does a double take.
"You can throw things?!" he demands, voice skyrocketing in pitch. "Can you, like, throw them at other people?!"
"Don't you dare," Fallon warns, but Philip's already trying to pelt him with tomatoes.
"Aww, it doesn't work."
Dorothea, meanwhile, turns into even more of a control freak at this revelation, barking orders for people to throw things here, throw this there, and Yuliy wants to leave.
A shrill beeping noise blares accusingly at them from the speakers, and Fallon is losing his mind.
"What do I do with this soup? Do I just let it burn?"
Sadly, Yuliy doesn't think this is at all an inaccurate depiction of what real life cooking soup might be like—Fallon losing his mind at the first sign of trouble, Philip being unhelpful, and Dorothea trying her best to maintain order when Willard's not saying anything.
"No, don't just let it burn—oh, god-"
"AHHHHHHH! SOMEONE PUT IT OUT PUT IT OUT PUT IT OUT-"
Yuliy himself is feeling the urge to scream right now, truth be told.
The level ends, mercifully, and Philip smacks his forehead against the controller.
"Good grief. Great idea, Fallon, let's just let the soup burn down our kitchen-"
"It was a stressful situation, and I think we already established that I am not the picture of grace under fire!"
"Stop—stop pushing me into the void! Stop it! Philip!"
Fallon: "Everything's gonna go great. wHaT cOuLd gO wRoNg?!"