#this is so dorky abshabajsbajab

[autisticlancemcclain]

The music gets more intense — heavier bass, faster drums, and the shrill screech of an alien instrument he can’t name.

Lance smirks. Oh, hell yeah. He is going to crush this level.

Heh. ‘Crush’. Because this dinky game is an alien version of candy crush, basically.

Lance takes a deep breath, narrowing his eyes and squaring his shoulders. He sweeps critical eyes over the shining little animated pictures of alien plants, carefully assessing which ones are all lined up, ready to make his final winning move and —

The game freezes.

“No!”

A loading symbol turns for a couple seconds, and then a green pop-up covers half the screen — preventing Lance from playing the game, but not from seeing the timer in the corner of his phone tick down to zero.

He lost.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Now, losing a game to a pop-up is annoying. Be it for an operating system update, a text, whatever — all frustrating.

But this particular pop-up?

Oh, this popup is a thousand times worse.

It’s bright green (like, in-your-face, kelly green), with dorky black typewriter font, and a very familiar, bespectacled icon siting proudly to the left.

Pidge.

Lance grabs the pillow next to his head, shoving it in his face and screaming as loudly and for as long as he can. Of course it’s one of Pidge’s dumbass pop-ups, and of course it came up in the middle of his game. Because Pidge has an uncanny ability to know when she can be as annoying as possible, at any given time.

After screaming himself hoarse, Lance whips the pillow at the wall, sighing. He’s already lost, and it’s not like he can out-hack Pidge. The only way to get the damn pop-up to go away is to fucking interact with it. Ugh. He glances back to his screen, reading the stupidly persistent thing.

Your phone just got hacked, loser. LOL.

Lance scowls. God, she is so fucking annoying. He angrily presses the ‘okay’ button at the bottom, because it’s the one and only option. It clicks to a new popup.

However, I have just one question for you…

Lance hits ‘okay’ again, trying to get this shit over with. He wants to go back to his game, so he can finally beat the level. (It’s humiliating, but Lance is kind of addicted to candy crush-type games. There’s something about the deep, gravelly voice that plays when a level is cleared successfully, praising you for a game well played…well. There’s no action in space, okay? Lance is deprived. If a sexy disembodied voice telling him he’s doing a good job is the only action he’s going to get, then he’s damn well going to take it.)

(In fact, when he first was blasted into space, after the whole Sendak debacle, he was bored as hell in the stupid MedBay cots for a checkup that he played the game for hours, just to hear the voice. Of course, his phone eventually died, and then he realized that even if he did bring his charger to space, there was nowhere on the stupid space castle to charge it. He now had, in place of a phone, an electronic brick, basically, and that meant no photos of his family, no texts to look back on, nothing. And he didn’t know when he’d see them again. He’d cried for hours. Thank God for Altean mind-meld helmets that doubled as memory projectors, or Lance would have cried himself into space sans helmet.)

(But, anyway. Back to Pidge’s annoyance.)

Just one, teeny-tiny, baby question… the stupid popup reads.

Lance presses ‘okay’ for what feels like the millionth time, wondering what the hell Pidge needs so badly that she’s being a shit about it.

…Can you please bring me a sandwich?

Oh, Lance is going to kill her.

He’s going to kill her dead.

With a fury he didn’t know he was capable of, Lance slams the ‘no’ option as fast as he can, and continues to slam it when it just leads him to more pop-ups that ask the same question.

“For fuck’s sake, Pidge!” he shouts, after several minutes of unsuccessful refusal.

Ugh! Little sisters are so fucking annoying. Lance hates not being the youngest anymore. How dare the universe punish him for being an annoying younger sibling for so many years.

Gritting his teeth, he finally concedes, clicking the ‘yes’ button and scowling as a stupid happy face pops up. He stomps over to the kitchen — he knows damn well that if he doesn’t bring her a stupid fucking sandwich then she’ll keep sending pop-ups because she is a jerk — and assembles the most mediocre sandwich he could possibly make, taking care to pick the only plate in the kitchen that Pidge hates (it makes a horrible screeching noise if you accidentally scratch it with your nails) to place it on. Then he stomps over to Pidge’s workshop, kicking to door open and practically slamming the plate on her workbench.

She grins at him sunnily, placing her hands under her chin and tilting her head as if she is the picture of innocence.

How dare she. How dare she use the move that Lance uses when he’s being intentionally frustrating.

“Thank you,” she says sweetly.

Lance glares at her. “Texting is an option, you thick-shelled cockroach.”

She shrugs. “You would’ve ignored my text.”

“You could always — oh, I don’t know, make your own damn sandwich!”

“Not a chance, Lance-pants,” she says, turning back to her laptop. “Not a chance.”

Lance mimes strangling her when her back is turned, Homer-Simpson style. It makes him feel marginally better.

As he stomps back to his own room, he resolves to get her back. He may not be a tech genius, but —

He smirks.

He has four older siblings. Pidge only has one. Lance has been perfecting he art of driving siblings insane since he could walk — longer than she’s been alive.

He’ll get her back.

———

based on this post