disclaimer: do you want me to say it in spanish? no.
notes: LONG TIME NO SEE YA LITTLE SHITS. srsly tho i'm a terrible author i'm sorry. (here have an entirely new story to make up for my lazy ass)
notes2: semi-encouraged by my partner in crime, milk ghost. check her out, yo. you won't regret it.
playlist: 'Up in Flames' by Ruelle. Also the 'Pilot' episode of the Welcome to Night Vale podcast.

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[chapter one]

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City made of thin glass,
Smoldering in pitch black
Sin so thick you can't see the stars,
Can't tell good and evil apart

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x

Townsville, USA.

A small, quiet Midwestern town with a population of only two hundred. A place where everyone knows everyone, the local diner is open twenty-four hours, and there are more family-owned businesses than anything else. A place where barbecues and bake sales are weekly events. A place where nothing bad ever happens.

At least, that's what they want you to think.

x

"Have you seen this?" Blossom Utonium blinks as a newspaper titled The Townsville Tribune is slapped down on the lunch table next to her tray of food. The redhead swallows her bite of sandwich before gingerly picking up her angry sister's hand and moving it so she can actually see the paper. A bold headline responsible for her sister's rage screams back up at her from the top of the front page.

FIELD HOCKEY CANCELLED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE

Blossom raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "What do they mean, 'cancelled until further notice'?"

"That's what I said!" Buttercup practically screeches, plopping down on the bench next to Blossom. "They can't just cancel field hockey! It's the beginning of the season! Our first game is scheduled for next week, damn it!"

"Does it give a reason? Maybe the team didn't have enough players." Blossom says, pulling the paper towards her so she can read the actual article printed underneath the headline.

"We have enough damn players," Buttercup grumbles, crossing her arms. "I know we do. We've been practicing since the first week in August."

Blossom's eyebrows furrow as she reads the brief explanation for the cancelled sport.

FIELD HOCKEY CANCELLED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE
By: Susan Chen

Principal Callahan has confirmed that as of today, field hockey practices and games are cancelled. The field in which our female athletes play is now off-limits to students and faculty alike. When asked for a reason why, Principal Callahan explained that "[the faculty] have seen several strange helicopters flying overhead at various times of the day, and since we have no idea what they want, we're preventing students from being put in a potentially dangerous situation".

The Townsville Tribune also questioned Coaches Coleman and Hyatt about these helicopters. Coach Hyatt described them as having "detailed, mural-like paint jobs", and Coach Coleman said the helicopters were painted with "birds of prey diving down".

Principal Callahan did reassure us that Sheriff Hopper has been alerted and the field was investigated. The helicopters were spotted again, however all attempts to communicate with them via radio were unsuccessful. Sheriff Hopper told Principal Callahan that until those at the police station make contact with the helicopters and find out what it is they're looking for, there's nothing they can do except forbid activity in that field.

As such, our Lady Tigers will unfortunately have to turn their focus towards their studies until basketball season. Better luck next season, girls!

"Buttercup, did you read the actual article?" Blossom questions slowly, setting the paper down on the lunch table but not taking her eyes off of it.

"No, I was more focused on the fact that they cancelled fucking field hockey."

Blossom says nothing, simply pushing the paper towards her sister. Buttercup heaves an aggravated sigh but begins reading.

"Hey girls!" Bubbles, their third sister, chirps as she sidles up to their usual table, lunch tray in hand. She smiles brightly and takes a seat across from Blossom. Seeing Blossom's troubled face and Buttercup's increasingly confused one, her smile falters. "What's up? Is something wrong?"

"What the fuck?" Buttercup exclaims. "There's no way this is real."

"What? What's real?" Bubbles asks, not following along.

"Here, read this." Buttercup hands her the school paper. Bubbles cracks open her Gatorade as she reads the front page. With each line, her eyes grow rounder until she presses a hand against her mouth and looks up to meet her sisters' gazes.

Bubbles lowers her hand. "That's so—"

"Weird, right?" Buttercup jumps in. "Like, that's just plain weird. This is Townsville, for crying out loud! The last weird thing to happen was old Mrs. Jones claiming she saw angels in the parking lot of the grocery store, and everyone knows she's batshit crazy anyway so that doesn't count."

"Maybe they were from that government research facility nearby?" The blonde suggests half-heartedly, but Blossom shakes her head.

"No, government vehicles are usually black, darkly tinted, and unmarked. Helicopters with detailed paintings of birds of prey on them? That's odd and not subtle in the slightest. Definitely not the government."

"So where are they from? What do they want from us?" Bubbles questions nervously. Buttercup can't hold back a small laugh.

"You sound like you think they're aliens or some shit," she chuckles. Bubbles pouts, crossing her arms defensively.

"They could be!" She argues. "You don't know they're not! Sheriff Hopper said they haven't been able to make contact, for all you know the helicopters are from Mars!"

"Let's hope not," Blossom pipes up, giving her sisters a wry smile to try and relieve tension. "I'd rather not have to fight an army of Martians trying to enslave Earth's inhabitants."

Bubbles shudders. "Ugh, that's so creepy. Now I'm going to be paranoid about bird helicopters flying around watching us."

"Aww," Buttercup simpers. "I'm sure your big, strong boyfriend can protect you."

Bubbles throws a carrot stick at her. "Don't make fun of Boomer!"

Buttercup laughs and ducks the flying food, while Blossom rolls her eyes. "Girls," she reprimands lightly. "Don't start a food fight."

"Did someone say 'food fight'?" A new voice jumps in as a tall, black-haired boy takes a seat next to Buttercup.

"No!" Blossom says sharply, sending him a glare. Butch Johnson pouts at her.

"Rapunzel, you're no fun," he groans. Then he turns to Buttercup. "You seen the newspaper yet?"

"What? You mean you actually read it?" Buttercup gasps dramatically. "Quick, someone mark today down on the calendar!"

"Fuck off," Butch shoves his shoulder into hers. "Seriously, though, do you know?"

"Yeah," Buttercup frowns. "It fucking sucks. Why the hell are suspicious helicopters flying over Townsville, of all places?"

"Maybe they're with that research facility on the other side of the woods." Boomer, Butch's brother and Bubbles' boyfriend, comments as he slides onto the bench next to Bubbles. He kisses her cheek in greeting.

"Blossom already shot down that theory," Buttercup shakes her head. Boomer raises an eyebrow in silent question.

"They're too conspicuous," Blossom explains. "Government vehicles aren't painted with any sort of design, least of all giant birds of prey."

"Not like we can do anything about it," Brick Johnson mutters, setting his tray across from Boomer, next to Blossom. He folds himself down onto the bench and takes a bite of his sub. "The radios at the police station are shit, not to mention the actual police force itself. It's no wonder we haven't figured out who they are."

Blossom frowns at his write-off of the Townsville Police Department, but even she has to admit he has a point. Equipped with only about 20 people, half of those being volunteers, the police station is understaffed and run-down. Luckily, Townsville never has any reason for the police department to take action.

Until now, that is.

"As much as we don't like it, it looks like all we can do is wait and see." Blossom sighs, going back to her lunch. Buttercup grumbles about the unfairness of it all under her breath, but lets the conversation go for now. The six teenagers are soon joined by several more friends and talk quickly turns to things like homework and school gossip.

x

Professor John Utonium sighs as he packs up his briefcase. Glancing around his classroom one last time, the high school science teacher locks his door behind him and heads to the front of the school. His daughters should be home already, since it's almost 6:00 PM. Hopefully Bubbles or Buttercup has made dinner. (Blossom isn't allowed to cook ever since the Pressure Cooker Explosion two years ago.)

The scientist glances up towards the sky nervously as he makes his way through the school parking lot to his old station wagon. The sky is clear but growing dark, the sun gradually setting. No helicopters around.

He climbs into his car and starts it up, driving away from the school and in the direction of his home, his thoughts on the faculty meeting the principal had called a few days ago, and the day's school newspaper. He, like all the other school staff members, had absolutely no idea what the helicopters wanted or where they came from. It's definitely strange, and John worries for Buttercup—she's especially passionate about field hockey, and finding out the season is cancelled would both anger and disappoint her greatly. He hopes her sisters can help talk her out of said anger. They've always been so good about supporting and looking out for each other.

Professor Utonium arrives home at precisely 6:18, entering his house at 6:20. The smell of lasagna and garlic bread enters his nose and he smiles.

"I'm home!" He calls as he shrugs off his coat and sets his briefcase down in his office.

"Welcome back!" Bubbles says from the kitchen.

"Hey Dad." Buttercup greets as she brings a plate of garlic bread to the table. Blossom is just finishing setting out the plates and utensils, so she comes around the table to give her father a hug.

"Hi Dad," she smiles, but it's not as bright as usual and there's a small crinkle of worry on her forehead.

"Blossom?" John asks, concerned. "What's wrong?"

Blossom glances back at Bubbles and Buttercup, who aren't paying attention. Leaning up to whisper in her father's ear, she tells him: "I think something is wrong with your seismic monitor."

Now he's confused. "What? Last I checked it was in perfect working order. Besides, that's more a hobby than anything significant. Why, did something happen?"

Blossom bites her lip. "I think it's better if I show you." She looks back at her sisters. "We'll be right back, girls."

"Okay, Blossom!" Bubbles hums good-naturedly.

"Don't be too long, dinner's almost ready," Buttercup relays to them. Blossom nods and walks out of the kitchen, her father right behind her.

The two walk down the set of stairs leading to the basement and John's lab. As a certified research scientist with a master's degree in chemistry, he built his own personal lab in his basement, and Blossom often assists him with experiments.

"I was just cleaning up earlier when I heard the monitor start going crazy," Blossom discloses, her voice somewhat anxious. She opens the heavy metal door and they head inside the white, sterile lab. "The readings were off the charts."

"What do you mean?" John questions. Blossom picks up several sheaves of paper, all with wild zigzagging lines sprawled across the charts. She shows them to her father, and his eyes widen considerably. He checks each paper twice, then setting them aside to see if the seismic monitor is malfunctioning.

It isn't.

"How is this possible?" John utters, face pale and disbelief evident. "According to this, Townsville's magnetic fields have completely shifted! We should be experiencing major earthquakes and foundational collapses!"

"I know," Blossom agrees. "But I've checked the news, the Townsville Times, even radio reports—nothing. No mentions of any earthquakes, minor or otherwise. Townsville hasn't so much as shuddered in the last twenty years."

"Impossible," John whispers, staring unblinkingly at the seismic measurements.

After a few moments of silence, Blossom speaks up. "Dad...what does this mean?"

John looks up at meets her rose-pink gaze. He's quiet for a minute before replying. "I don't know, Blossom. I don't know."

x

"Home sweet home," Butch grins as he opens the front door, Brick and Boomer filing in after him. The green-eyed teen immediately collapses onto the couch, stretching out to take up the whole length. He drapes an arm over his eyes. "Ugh, why must school torture me so?"

"You're such a drama queen," Boomer snorts, snatching a pillow from a nearby armchair and launching it at his brother. Butch squawks as the pillow smacks him in the face.

"What do you fuckers want for dinner?" Brick calls out from the kitchen. "We've got a ton of leftovers in here."

"Let's just finish those," Boomer shrugs. "Fend-for-yourself night."

"Fine with me." Butch gives a thumbs up from his position on the couch.

"Alright, but don't wait until fucking midnight to eat something, got it? We have school tomorrow." Brick instructs.

"Sure thing, mom," Butch teases. Brick scowls and slaps his brother's head as he passes through the living room on the way to his bedroom.

"Ow, the fuck?!"

"Quit being a smartass," Brick grouses.

"Can't—it's my job." Butch says smugly.

"More like it's the only thing you're good at," Boomer quips, pulling Butch into another one of their squabbles. Brick just rolls his eyes and slams his door shut behind him.

A few hours later, as he's eating a plate of pot roast and mashed potatoes at the kitchen breakfast bar, Brick's phone buzzes with a text.

From: Pain In My Ass

Tomorrow, 6:30, Darcy's Diner. We need to talk. Bring your brothers.

Brick frowns at the vague text from Blossom. The six of them had all grown up in Townsville together; their dads were old college buddies so it was inevitable their children became friends. Usually, Blossom wasn't so cryptic with her text messages. Brick thinks back to that afternoon, at lunch—her disturbed expression at those damn unidentified helicopters and her anxiousness throughout the rest of the day. He quickly types out a reply.

To: Pain In My Ass

We'll be there.

x

[Several Days Earlier]

x

The thud-thud-thud-thud of hurried footsteps echoes down a wide, empty hallway. Overhead, fluorescent lights flicker and buzz randomly. A lone man dressed in a rumpled white lab coat runs down the halls, panting and sweating. His face is almost as white as his coat, and he glances behind him every so often. Rounding another corner, he spies the industrial elevator lying at the end of the corridor. Putting on a burst of speed, he makes it to the elevator in seconds and punches the button repeatedly, still glancing behind him.

The elevator dings as it opens and he leaps inside, pressing the button to close the doors frantically. Just as the doors start sliding closed, he breathes a sigh of relief and glances upwards to silently thank the heavens.

He catches a glimpse of something dark and slimy and tentacled before he's snatched up and devoured whole.

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dun dun DUN.

i had fun writing this (at 2 in the morning smh) but tell me what you guys think? want me to continue? leave a comment!

just to let you know, if i do continue this it's probably gonna get a hella lot darker...just saying

IF YOU CAN FIGURE OUT WHAT REFERENCES ARE IN HERE TELL ME IN THE COMMENTS AND WE CAN SCREAM TOGETHER

psa: i fucking love all of you readers, silent or not! :)

peace out girl scouts,

queen caffeine