Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lucas goes to the kitchen, following the scent of eggs, and finds Marth.

At first he considers leaving it alone and skipping breakfast, but his stomach growls and that shuts up that notion. He can just step into the kitchen and grab a granola bar, or something, and it won't be that hard.

On the other hand, Marth is cooking. And Lucas will have to eat it, or else he'll hurt Marth's feelings, and he would feel bad for that.

In the midst of his thinking, he barely registers that Marth is already looking with him, and that already makes the decision, doesn't it.

"Morning!" Marth calls, beaming, scraping a handful of spices out of the cupboard and dumping a metric ton into the pan. "If I knew you were here, I would've made more eggs."

"Ah." Lucas edges towards the pantry.

"You know..." Marth scrunches his face in the weird way he does when he's thinking hard. "I can make more eggs, come to think of it. You can have this plate, if you want!"

Lucas fakes a smile. "I'm not really--"

Marth is still talking, for some reason. "It's an old family recipe. I still can't do it quite as well as my granddad, but I can try! I do take constructive criticism." Lucas finds himself cornered, between the wall and the counter. He starts writing his will, in his head, and wonders what his gravestone will look like. "Here lies Lucas, 2006-2021. Poisoned to death by Marth the Bad Cook, who probably does not have a sense of smell." Marth is still talking. Lucas feels lightheaded, and finds himself sitting down at the table. There is... something in front of him, presumably an omelette if it can even be dignified with a name. It is gray and black around the edges and there is a mound of pepper on top. Lucas pokes it with a fork. One half of it wobbles. The other does not.

"Don't feel bad, I can make eggs for myself," Marth says, hovering directly next to Lucas. He is grinning and his breath smells like some kind of spice. Was he eating it directly out of the bottle?

"I don't like eggs very much."

"Oh, poo. Just a bite." Marth would be growing fangs right now, if he could possibly do so. Lucas hopes he knows what he's doing. The alternative... well, the alternative is that Marth cooks this bad on accident, and that's difficult to fathom.

Lucas lifts a fork and, very gingerly, cuts off a piece and brings it to his mouth. Well, as close as he can bear to bring it, anyway. Marth watches silently, in what Lucas hopes is anticipation. Like a lion waiting for a deer to turn its back, or somebody waiting for the poison to take its effect on someone. The second hits uncomfortably close to home, and Lucas eventually brings himself to smell it--not taste it, smell it, and it smells like rotten eggs and--

PAAAAH-CHOO!

The piece of omelette goes flying off the fork and settles on the front of Marth's tunic.

Marth's tunic. As in Marth, who is currently fighting back tears. "I guess you don't like it very much," he warbles. Sobs are ripping across him, even if he tries not to show it.

Lucas would like to deny his accusations, but that would mean he'd have to try to take a bite again, and he's really not in the mood, so he wordlessly stands and leaves the room before Marth remembers he has a sword.

He passes Kazooie as he half-speedwalks down the hallway, shakes his head at her, and keeps moving.

A scream rattles down the hallway shortly afterwards. Lucas can not find it in himself to make it his problem.

Chapter Text

All Kirby eats now is salad.

Palutena watches him more than she probably needs to; she knows he's an independent boy and he can take care of himself, but she can't help but keep an eye on him now and then, and therefore she can't help but notice that his usual meal of donuts and ice cream has been replaced with lettuce and tomatoes and celery.

It's late in the evening when she passes him and Wii Fit Trainer on a bench in the courtyard together, holding a fairly one-sided conversation where the latter is dishing out health facts and the former is making an occasional noise of interest, and she know's that's absolutely the cause and she can't help but clutch her staff a little tighter as she passes because this can't be good for him, can it? Kirby's a developing young... well, thing, and he needs more than broccoli and carrot sticks, doesn't he?

And the next day she relays the story to Bayonetta and she says Palu, you're too worried about him and Palutena chatises her for using that stupid nickname, and she says she's going to get up and go talk to Kirby no matter what Bayonetta thinks she should do because Bayonetta is in her snarky mood again and will probably shoot down any plan of action possible.

"Hey, that's unfair," is what Bayonetta replies with, even though she knows it's absolutely true, and she lets Palutena go with a gentle roll of her eyes and not much else.

The journey to the break room is easy and she finds Kirby there without any sort of food in his hands, which is slightly unusual and very disturbing, and Palutena sits down and pats his head in the way she knows he likes. He looks up at her, smiles, and shifts into her lap, and it is only now that Palutena figures she should probably decide what to tell Kirby.

Should she have decided this earlier? Probably, but the happy expression on Kirby's face gives her enough strength to proceed.

"Kirby, you've been on a diet lately, right?"

"Poyo," Kirby says. That would be a 'yes'. Probably.

"Well... I know Wii Fit Trainer's kinda gotten into you, but I just want you to know you don't have to be on a diet, alright? You're just the perfect size as you are."

"Poyo."

"Yeah," she says, even though she's not particularly sure what Kirby means. "It's alright to eat something a bit more... well, filling, once in a while, alright? Maybe more than that."

And Kirby says something else, and Palutena wonders what Bayonetta would be saying if she saw this (something sarcastic, probably) and she says a goodbye that Kirby probably doesn't hear and she stands and walks towards the doorway.

She is ambushed by Bayonetta. "Something sarcastic, probably," she says, smugly, and Palutena is about to ask how she knew but she hears commotion behind her and Bayonetta points as smugly as it is possible to point and Palutena turns to see Kirby in the midst of swallowing Piranha Plant.

"That's not what I meant," she utters, and she considers breaking them apart, though Incineroar already seems to be on the job.

Bayonetta pats her shoulder. "I told you so. You owe me ten dollars."

And Palutena is about to ask why, but Bayonetta summons the contract that says that Palutena has to give Bayonetta 10 bucks whenever Bayonetta is right, and frankly, Palutena doesn't remember signing it, but she knows full well that Bayonetta will make up a situation where she did and then she will owe twenty dollars.

"I hate you," she says.

Bayonetta smiles. "You love me."

Chapter Text

Shulk walks into the kitchen and it looks like something died in the pan.

Not his problem, really, and he opens the fridge and starts looking for the sandwich he made a few hours earlier. Turkey, lettuce, American cheese, the works, and his mouth is watering just thinking about it, but he stops a little short when it's not there, at all, and he thinks about maybe looking somewhere else for that but the fridge doesn't work like that--sort of, it's both infinite and has just enough space for whatever you put in, and it shows you whatever you want to grab, and it's complicated and Shulk doesn't have a clue how it works, he just lives here, but there's gotta be enough fridge space for 80... well, not all of them are people, but--

He's getting off-topic, he knows, and his stomach is growling, and he turns just in time to see Mythra come in.

Eating a sandwich.

With turkey on it.

He reaches for his blade, but stops himself. Not yet, Shulk. You don't know if it's yours.

And Mythra waves at him and puts the sandwich on the counter and opens it up, and it has the exact ingredients he chose specifically to make the perfect turkey sandwich--mustard, turkey, American, lettuce, and just a scraping of mayo, and she makes a passing comment about how there's not enough mayo on it and she pulls out the jar and basically scoops half of it out and starts spreading it on the sandwich, Shulk's sandwich, and Shulk wants to faint because Mythra is desecrating the culinary equivalent of a holy site.

"Mythra," he says, in a warning tone. Maybe it was a mistake. Wasn't it? Maybe she's just messing around and his sandwich is hiding under impossible geometry, or something, and maybe that sandwich isn't his.

But she tosses her head and laughs and says: "I know this is yours, I just thought you could make your own."

And then she takes another scoop of mayo and starts spreading it on and that's it, that's fucking it, and he shoves the blade into her stomach and then Lucas walks in and sobs.

"You didn't see anything," Shulk growls, and Lucas turns and runs.

Chapter Text

pyra go to magdonal and she eat hot chip and tghen she fall into ball pit and drown, the en

Chapter Text

Captain Falcon urgently wishes he had come up with a plan.

That's an exaggeration. He already did. He needs a better plan.

'Sneak into Samus' room using the window, do something, and then use her armor' was not very detailed, as it turns out, and did not account for the fact that Samus is asleep. She is either a light or heavy sleeper, based on when Cap asked her if she was a light or heavy sleeper and it wasn't suspicious at all in the slightest, and then he forgot the moment he walked away and decided he would remember it when the time came.

The time comes. He does not remember it. He is trapped between the window and a floor covered with stuff, laundry and knickknacks and what could be weird alien technology things. Cap does not know; he is not Samus. He is Captain Falcon, and he doesn't entirely trust himself to walk all the way over that to get to the armor suit that's waiting five... ten feet away, maybe fifty? He's not bad at estimating distance, it's just dark. Probably. He considers parkouring back out to somewhere he has any idea what he’s doing, like anywhere else, but Dark Pit gave him a lift up to here and he’s feel embarrassed to leave so soon, and also he does not really know how to parkour. Moving on.

Staring at Samus, who rolls over but does not wake up, and then looking at the floor, which is decidedly stationary, Cap takes one step and finds carpet. And then another, and then another, and he decides at the last second to leap across the rest.

He lands in front of the suit, noisily, and Samus snorts, but she does not wake up. That is good, except when he tries to pull the arm cannon off of the stand, an alarm starts going off and then the light flicks on and he swallows very loudly.

How does it go? O hubris, wax wings, too hot to wear them, something along those lines, and Samus is blinking at him and he's blinking at Samus and the alarm is in the process of brutally assaulting his eardrums.

"Cap?" she says, her voice breaking, and she rubs her eyes and whatever else people do when they just woke up.

"Uh," Cap says, "uh."

"Why are you in here?"

His voice finally catches up to the rest of him. "I am not me. Uh, I mean, not Captain Falcon." He wishes his voice did not catch up to the rest of him. "This is a burglary."

Samus blinks at him.

Very slowly, Cap brings a finger to his lip and shushes Samus. He's not entirely sure what he's trying to do anymore.

Samus seems to miss the point. "Is this a prank?"

"No, it's a burglary, I just said. Go to sleep or, uh, I'll kill you." That came out wrong.

"That seems violent."

"It's because it is, because, uh, I am not Captain Falcon. If Captain Falcon were here he'd beat me up hardcore, just for the record."

Samus blinks at him again.

"Hardcore," he reiterates, softly, just in case Samus missed it.

Samus shakes her head, yawns, and stretches. "I don't think he would."

"Why?"

"I just dunno if he'd be strong enough. You could probably beat him up pretty easily, to be honest. Hardcore."

Cap can physically feel his ego disintegrating. "You don't mean that?"

"Well, I'm not sure why you would care, considering you're just a nasty burglar and all--"

"I'm not a burglar, I'm Captain Falcon!" He's almost to tears at this point. "How did you not notice? Why would you say that? What if that were a real burglar?"

"If it were a real burglar you would've beaten him up by now, why are you in my room?"

Cap opens his mouth, but Samus holds her hand up. "No lies. Or I'll kick you. Right in the nose."

Being kicked right in the nose sounds less favorable than lying, at this point. Cap swallows. "I wanted to try on your suit and, uh, shoot things.”

“You can already punch perfectly good.”

“Well... yeah—“ Captain Falcon rubs his massive bicep— “but... I want to try projectiles for once.”

Samus tilts her head, stretches, and stands out of bed. Cap notes at this point that the suit is twice his height.

“Aw, did Richter zone you out again?” she says. It’s framed condescending but still sounds genuinely comforting, and Cap doesn’t really know what any of those words mean.

He nods, swallowing. “It was Simon, but yeah.” A memory of the game washes over his mind, painfully. He thumbs the cross-shaped bruise on his stomach. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“You broke into my apartment and you don’t want to talk about it?” Samus steps past Cap and fiddles with the stand; a piece slides off easily this time, and without the alarm going off again. “Well, fair enough. I’m sorry to say, though, this is not going to fit you.”

She holds an arm cannon next to Cap’s arm cannon, kazzow, and he finds that it’s much longer than his forearm. And heavy.

Cap frowns. “Maybe I can...” He sets his hand on the middle of the cannon, around where his arm would cut off. “Just... karate chop this? Make it shorter?”

“I am not letting you karate chop millions of dollars worth of machinery in half, Cap.”

“I could bring some duct tape—“

“No.”

“Oh.” Captain Falcon rubs his head. “Well, that’s cool, and everything, I think I’ll just... go, here?”

“I would appreciate that,” Samus says, in a way that is not too altogether brash-sounding. “Listen, about the projectiles thing, meet me in the caf tomorrow and we can throw things at Kirby, okay?”

“What?”

“Good target practice, he just eats whatever you throw at him. Bring some silverware. And a burrito, if you could. Bean and cheese. Two. For personal consumption.”

“What?”

Samus laughs. “Please get out now.”

Captain Falcon is pushed out of the door by Samus and is left more confused than when he started, maybe, he’s not really sure of anything and he mostly just wants to go to bed.

But hey, Samus did say something about projectiles, and that’s a good thing—he realizes DPit is standing in front of him like he’s waiting for something.

“So?” he says, after tapping his foot impatiently for a long time. Cap has no idea what this means.

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Did you guys...” he looks around and lowers his voice. “Do it?”

Captain Falcon looks around too, in case he’s missing something. He doesn’t find anything except a stain on the carpet that might be new, but he’s never been to this floor before, so he wouldn’t know. “Do what?”

Dark Pit sighs and facepalms. “Did you have sex with Samus?”

“Oh.” Cap shivers. “Ew. No. I tried to put on her suit and triggered an alarm and she woke up and we talked and she said something about lunch and projectiles and burritos I think and then I left. I think that’s it.”

“I flew you up to the window so you could talk about burritos?”

“There were... other things.”

And then Pit stomps away, and Captain Falcon begins wondering how he’s supposed to get bean and cheese burritos, and [meta joke about worldbuilding], the end