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bamfdaddio · 3 years

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X-Men Abridged: 1981

The X-Men, those back-to-the-future mutants that have sworn to protect a world that hates and fears them, are a cultural juggernaut with a long, tangled history. Want to unravel this tapestry? Then read the Abridged X-Men!

(Uncanny X-Men 141 - 152) - by Chris Claremont and John Byrne, Brent Anderson, Dave Cockrum, Jim Sherman, Bob McLeod and Josef Rubinstein

While I also committed various fashion atrocities at the age of 14 (tye-die and fauxhawks, oh my), even Liberace would find Kitty’s outfits too much. (Uncanny X-Men 149; Uncanny X-Men Annual ‘81)

We dial back from the v. epic scope of the last few arcs. Instead, 1981 is just a lot of fun! We get:

Storm and Emma doing a Freaky Friday!

the X-Men vs. Magneto (again!)

A surprisingly effective Alien rip-off

An dystopian future! (OoOoOoOo)

Last year was the year of the Dark Phoenix, this is the year of Kitty Pryde. That’s not to say Jean’s death is swept under the rug: all throughout, we see her friends mourning her loss or remembering her fondly. (Scott even gets to have a demonic adventure about it.) But in general, Claremont puts Kitty in the forefront, fleshing out his YA-addition to the team. And what would a YA heroine be without a grim dystopia? Roll out the iconic Days of Future Past!

To be fair, 2013 was a dark time for all of us: What Does the Fox Say somehow got to the top of the charts and I was still watching Glee. (Uncanny X-Men 141)

How cool would it have been to see a name like Jonothon Starsmore or Eva Bell on those tombstones?

Anyway, that’s Kate. Kate’s had it rough. Mutants are at the bottom of the foodchain, most X-Men are dead and only a small cadre of resistance fighters remain, Sentinels dominate, and while she is married to Piotr, her children have been murdered. Bleak. Luckily, the rebellion has concocted the plan to shunt Kate’s spirit back in time to prevent this awful future from happening. (You’ve seen Days of Future Past, the last passably good X-Men film, you know what’s up.)

Let’s do the time warp again! 1981!Kitty’s mind gets taken over by 2013!Kitty, who promptly tries to convince the X-Men that a new Brotherhood of v. Evil Mutants will try to kill Senator Kelly, a presidential candidate who tries to put the mutant menace on the agenda. (Mutants tend to blow stuff up when he’s around.) Since the X-Men recently took a literal trip to Dante’s Infero and also befriended a cosmic world-ending entity, they basically shrug and go: “Yeah, this checks out.”

Off to Washington they go (zoommm) and there, they happen upon the Baddest Bitches in Herstory:

“How dare you hate mutants, senator Kelly! We’ll fix that by killing you!” (Uncanny X-Men 141)

This All-New, All-Different Brotherhood consists out of:

Destiny, a blind woman who can see the future. Definitely the eeriest member of this group. Badass lesbian, though that won´t be canon for years.

Avalanche. Greek who makes things shake. Is a long-standing member of the X-Men Rogue’s gallery, but rarely features in the spotlight. I think he got more characterization in four years of X-Men Evolution than he ever did in the comics.

Mystique. Shapeshifter. Ruthless and unhinged, the Cersei Lannister of the X-Men universe. Absolute legend, secretly the wife of Destiny, currently not as unhinged as she’ll be later. Immediately implied to be related to Nightcrawler: it’s the yellow-eyes-blue-skin-combo.

Pyro. Can manipulate fire, not create it. Absolute pillock, in all the best ways of the word. Originally intended as gay, but they decided to make him Australian instead. (?!)

Blob. Big, strong, immovable. We’ve seen him before.

One of the details in this fight I enjoy is that Storm is still struggling with her leadership, although she has a better grip on things than Cyclops:

Wolverine then proceeds to use those iconic but deadly claws about twice per issue for the next, oh, forty years. (Uncanny X-Men 142)

While the X-Men fight the Brotherhood in the present, we cut back and forth to the future. There, the X-Men consist out of some familiar faces - Storm, Colossus, Wolverine - and some surprises: Magneto (in a wheelchair), Franklin Richards (son of) and an unfamiliar ginger girl called Rachel. (She’ll be important later.) We even learn (one of) Magneto’s names: this is the first time he’s canonically called Magnus.

One of the strengths of Days of Future Past lies in its brevity, the way it tantalizingly taunts us with a brutal but familiar future without giving away too much. It’s single-handedly responsible for all those dark future timelines the X-lines are so fond of which will eventually culminate in time-displaced grandsons from alternative dimensions and the impossibility of a succinct answer to the question: “Who’s Cable?” Too much of a good thing and all that.

Still, what Days of Future Past does so successfully is:

Put the idea of the mutant menace back at the forefront, hammering home the metaphor of mutants being a minority. Mutants being put in camps and being forbidden to breed should - regretfully - make us think of all too many real life equivalents. (Specifically, all of the imagery harkens back to the Holocaust.)

It starkly shows what happens should the X-Men lose, reminding everyone of the stakes. The X-Men are here for a reason: bridging the gap between mutants and humankind. If they fuck up, we end up with mutant concentration camps.

It helps that the X-Men in the future almost all die horribly: Franklin is incinerated, Storm is impaled… It's brutal stuff. The only one to survive is Rachel, who wonders if their plan actually changed the future or if they created an alternative timeline. (It did the latter, sorry ‘bout it, Rachel.)

In the present, Kate chases after Destiny, who trains a gun on senator Kelly. I always wondered how this works: if Destiny saw the future, she knew that killing Kelly would trigger a terrifying future. What in the current Marvel timeline made her decide that the Days of Future Past was better? Did she see her own death? Did she see the Onslaught-crossover coming? The Chuck Austen run? What was it?

In any case, time-anomalous Kate stops Destiny from killing Kelly and the future is safe! For now. Kate disappears, Kitty returns to her body and some of the Brotherhood are apprehended. All is well, for now.

After being a key figure in DoFP, Kitty is also the main character in the Christmas special, which is basically a straight up horror and a pastiche of the Alien-movie.

Seriously, John Byrne still isn’t sure why he wasn’t sued by Ridley Scott for this. (Uncanny X-Men 143)

If you love Kitty Pryde? Read this issue. If you’re not convinced you like 80’s Kitty? Read this issue. It’s not continuity relevant and it’s basically Kitty playing the part of a Final Girl in a horror where she’s being chased by a demon, but it’s so good. It showcases all her strengths and her foibles. Kitty’s intelligent, cute (sometimes preciously so) and brave, but she’s also young, self-conscious and hot-headed. And it's not as if the other X-Men automatically adore her: Storm berates her all the time, she’s afraid of Kurt because of the way he looks (though she grows out of that) and she fights with Professor Xavier a lot. Moreover, she has a clever power-set for a young superhero who faces menaces on a daily basis: a thirteen year old who can go intangible is far less likely to have reality ensue on her and be dramatically offed because she's better at protecting herself.

I’m sure there are people who thought Sprite was hogging the spotlight, but I, for one, say she brings more to the table than, say, Angel. She’s not the Dawn Summers of this franchise.

Scott also gets a side quest. Poor guy can’t catch a break: first the love of his life dies, so he quits the X-Men, then he realizes he can’t do much else than be a superhero. He becomes a sailor on the ship of spunky captain Lee Forrester, is drawn into the sadistic plans of a demon unironically named D’Spayre and then shipwrecks in Bermuda with Lee.

The X-Men, meanwhile, are tormented by a team-up of Doom (who’s currently Latverialess and working on a comeback) and Arcade, that annoying crony. Locke, Arcade’s dom, has kidnapped the loved ones of the X-Men (Moira MacTaggart, Jean Grey’s parents, Illyana Rasputin and Amanda Sefton) in order to blackmail them into getting Doom to free Arcade. Apparently, Arcade accidentally insulted Doom and DOOM DOES NOT FORGIVE THAT FOLLY.

While the B-Squad (Polaris, Havok, Banshee and Iceman) goes to save Arcade’s hostages, the X-Men sneak into Doom’s castle. Well, except for Storm, who doesn’t give a single fuck and simply flies up to Doom, demanding an audience. Doom likes the cut of her jib and invites her to have dinner. (This is pre-Tinder, so this is a legit way of scoring a date.)

If Storm has a flaw (I said if!), it’s got to be her atrocious taste in men. (Uncanny X-Men 145)

The X-Men find Arcade’s cell empty, while Arcade casually saunters up to Storm and says hi. Storm realizes too late that this is a trap: while the X-Men are all trapped in Saw-like traps, Storm is encased in ‘living chrome’.

If you remember she’s claustrophobic, you know why this is a bad move.

While the X-Men free themselves from their traps - Polaris hilariously has to deal with a murderous merry-go-round - Storm is slowly driven mad in her prison, triggering a worldwide tempest. (She causes Lee and Scott to shipwreck.) Under the threat of Wolverine’s claws, Doom releases Storm - or rather, unleashes her.

“Instead of a Dark Lord, you would have a queen, not dark but beautiful and terrible as the dawn! Tempestuous as the sea, and stronger than the foundations of the earth! All shall love me and despair!” (Uncanny X-Men 147)

The memory of Jean brings Ororo back to herself and she starts undoing the superstorm she created. (If only climate change were reversed that easily.) Their confrontation ends by Storm easily forgiving Doom, because she apparently trespassed on his grounds without adequate cause.

Mkay.

All of Arcade’s hostages return to their homesteads, except for Illyana Rasputin, Piotr’s sister: she’s staying at the mansion for a while. Angel, who’s sort of been a part of the team since the Phoenix thing, has had it with Wolverine and his ‘tude, and decides to quit the X-Men : he doesn’t want to be a part of an outfit that has a killer like Wolverine on it. (Or maybe he’s just mad Claremont didn’t give him any storylines: his presence has been mostly pointless.) It’s too bad he left before Kitty started experimenting with her outfits: I bet he would have loved her ugly-ass costumes.

Equally inconsequential is the introduction of a brand new character, who then proceeds to disappear from the narrative for the rest of the year:

Black Tom has tried to kill you at least twice, but him sending you a long-lost daughter doesn’t give you pause? Ugh, Sean, you deserve Moira. (Uncanny X-Men 148)

Intrigued by Theresa? TOO BAD, WON’T SEE HER AGAIN ANYTIME SOON.

Another new character is the lonely, decidedly mutant looking Caliban, who can sense “people like him” and is on the lookout for companions. Like many lonely people who try and grasp at friendship, he decides to overshoot his shot and ruin the night of Storm, Kitty and Jessica Drew at a Dazzler concert. Because he tries to kidnap Kitty, the girls react a trifle aggressively. When they realize their mistake - the eerily pale Caliban is a simpleton rather than a menace - he’s already fled. No mention is made of the Morlocks yet!

There’s also another dull annual where the X-Men team up with the Fantastic Four to save Arkon’s dimension from the Badoon and yaaaaawn. Far more interesting is the landmark issue #150. Slowly, through the adventures of Scott and Lee Forrester, Claremont has been setting things up for the return of a favorite villain. While the X-Men investigate Magneto’s old base in Antarctica on a hunch of Professor X and tangle with Garruk, Scott and Lee survive Storm’s tempest, only to wake up next to a strange island that seems to have been raised from the ocean.

It’s apparently some ancient citadel from a long forgotten civilization with a fondness for squid statues. (I don’t know man, I’ve never been to the Bermuda Triangle, maybe this is just super-accurate.)The tentacles make Lee Forrester feel very amorous, but before Scott can tell her he is way too repressed to just have sex with an attractive someone he’s known intimately for a month or two, Magneto saves his ass by revealing he, in fact, raised this island from the seafloor.

Oh, Magneto. So extra.

My ambitious little mutant demagogue then proceeds to take the entire world hostage, showing how much he’s grown from the pompous, raving madman from the sixties. (Sure, Magneto is still a bit of a madman, but increasingly, he starts being on the right side of history.)

“I’m trying to make Magneto more sympathetic.”

“Just put him on a page with some bigger villains who are less noble, like the Vanisher, Count Nefaria, or…”

“Reagan, Thatcher and Brezhnov?”

“Er.” (Uncanny X-Men 150)

It’s obvious Magneto is being pivoted as a more noble villain, codified into the well-intentioned extremist we know and love today. Not only do we get the first hints at his past, fleshing out his motivations, he’s also not wrong. Humans are historically not great at taking care of the planet or each other.

When the Russians call his bluff and launch nukes at Magneto’s new island, he quickly disarms them. His retribution is swift and ferocious: the entire citadel is a machine that massively amplifies his powers. He sinks the submarine that launched the missiles, condemning the entire crew to death, and he casually erects a vulcano in a Russian city in Siberia.

Damn. Not messing around this time.

Despite his good intentions, Magneto is still definitely in the wrong: not only because of his methods, but as Scott points out: if Magneto unifies the world under his kind of benevolent dictatorship, all of that will simply fall apart as soon as Magnus dies.

In a way, Magneto is just as big a dreamer as Charles is: Charles believes in peace and integration, whereas Magneto believes his iron fist will be enough to make a perfect world happen. Both of them ignore the reality that acceptance is difficult and messy, because you’re trying to change essential human nature: the fear of the other. Magneto believes in big, sweeping gestures that will fix the world in move, while changing the world is also boring, hard work. One step forward, two steps back. Magneto just wants to leapfrog to his ultimate goal.

The X-Men fly over the citadel, returning from Antarctica, and their plane crashes into the ocean. (Magneto does not brook planes over his territory, humans!) The Professor is also nearby, looking for Scott with Moira, Peter Corbeau and Carol Danvers. The X-Men sneak onto the island, but to their horror, their powers are nullified by some machine of Magneto. They reunite with Scott, who formulates a plan to thwart the would-be ruler of the world.

While the rest of the X-Men go to trash the machine, Storm, Kitty and Lee infiltrate the control chamber where Storm finds a sleeping, shirtless Magneto. Once again showing her terrible taste in men, she is not weak in the knees at the sight of a sleeping Magnus: instead, she contemplates killing him.

Storm knows how dangerous he is, but she also knows that he’s a great man who’s fighting for ideals, no matter how misguided. She hesitates too long: Magneto stirs, suspects an attack and tosses her out of the window, to her death.

Magneto quickly undoes the sabotage the other X-Men have wrought to his machine. A fight erupts. Storm, meanwhile, has managed to grab hold of a ledge. She crawls back up and smashes an important-looking computer, restoring everyone’s powers.

The battle turns grim, but Scott sends Kitty away to wreck Magneto’s machinery. She sneaks off, following Scott’s orders and destroying both Magneto's power-up device and all of his plans by phasing though the computer circuitry. Magneto senses this and furiously gives chase. Overcome by rage, he attacks Kitty and disrupts her phasing power with a magnetic bolt, seemingly killing her?

Everything about this story beat is great: mama bear!Ororo, mournful Magnus and even the fact that Kitty’s godawful outfit serves a narrative function: highlighting to us (and Magneto) just how young she is. The fact that Kitty’s Jewish is just icing on the cake. (Uncanny X-Men 150)

And thus, the softening of Magneto commences. 1981 might be a year with wildly varying narratives, but it has given us at least three enduring legacies to the X-Mythos: a new kind of Magneto, a fondness for dystopian futures and the character of Kitty Pryde, who's really come into her own this year.

Ugliest Costume: Kitty! Purposefully, but still. Best costume, by the way, goes to Destiny, with her creepy, creepy golden mask. Just imagine this lady casually strolling across a battlefield, eerily calm and collected, dodging everything you throw at her. Awesome design.

Best new character: I usually pick one character - what good is having a shared award when declaring the best of anything? - but this year, it’s going to one of my favorite couples: Mystique and Destiny. Can’t wait to see more of them.

Most audacious retcon: Blob somehow retroactively becomes a member of the original Brotherhood, which is not what happened. Ever weirder is Xavier pondering that he never met Magneto before his attack in X-Men #1, while their cordially adversarial relationship rooted in a youthful friendship would soon become a cornerstone of the X-Men.

What to read: Uncanny X-Men 141 - 143 and 150 - 152

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chronic-ghost · 4 years

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TELL ME ABOUT THE SETHKATE tell me tell me tell me

Remember like 5ever ago when we wrote out all of season 4? So I went ahead and wrote some of it down. This is a portion of the scene where Theresa Roberts, the FBI agent, reveals herself to be Seth and Richie’s long lost mother:

*~*~*

“Who the hell are you? Or maybe, what the hell are you?”

Roberts made a face, her tan skin cracking around the corners of her mouth. She slid her glasses up through her bangs and rubbed her eyes, as if they grew tired of straining so often. “Look, I ain’t a culebra if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“The fucking FBI knows about culebras?” Richie began, but Roberts only waved him silent.

“No, shit for brains, or else every cantina from here to the Yucatan would be shut down and crime-scene-ed the fuck up.”

“So then who are you?” Seth found his voice and leaned forward. He knew in his bones he had come across this woman before, and it was rare Seth Gecko ever forgot a face. But in his memory, this one was blurred, marred, as though it was a picture that had been dropped in a house fire. And yet it was there, blackened on the edges of his conscious.

“And no tricks, goddamn it. You be straight with us.” Richie pushed the barrel even closer.

But still, the agent remained unphased. She only sighed, staring into the bottom of her now empty beer glass, and the dark lines of her eyes stood out in sharp relief. “You’re not going to like it.”

“How ‘bout you leave that up for us to decide?” Seth hissed.

As though his words had shaken her from a distant reality, the woman’s eyes rose up and fell on Richie. Delicately, she reached forward and put two hands around his, the one holding the gun. He jerked once, but froze when the two made eye contact.

“Lady— I swear—,” Seth cocked his gun.

“Oh, hush, you big bad wolf.” Roberts chuckled and squeezed Richie’s hand. His twisted mouth denounced horror, but his eyes— he was being led again. She then looked at Seth and the familiarity in her smile caught his next string of threatening vulgarity in his throat. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna. Richie. Seth. I’m your mama, and some bad shit is on its way, and you need my help.”

Seth blinked twice before something resembling a coherent sentence tumbled its way into his mouth. “Well, that’s a first, I’ll give it to you . . .”

Roberts frowned. “I’m not lying, Seth. It’s true. I know I haven’t been what you boys need, but I promise, I’m here to fix things.”

What was rapidly replacing the fuzzy white space in his brain resembled the sound of bones cracking, teeth grinding, a painful snap somewhere in your chest. He chuckled, humorless. “Wow. Whoever sent you must have some giant cajones. I’ve heard of a long con, but this—,”

“I am not lying.” The edge to her gaze returned and she turned more towards him than Richie. “Eddie always said you were more stubborn than rough side of jack ass—,”

“Oh, you’re talking to Uncle Eddie now?” Rage was bubbling up through his chest. Something black and hot, tasting of hatred, curdled in him. “Hate to break it to you, but good ol’ Uncle Ed’s been dead for quite a while now. Shoulda done your homework on that one.”

“Seth—,”

“I know this is hard to get through that thick skull of yours— which you got from my side of the family— but you have to trust me. I left for a good reason and now I’m trying to help you.”

Seth heard his teeth grind together. “And what reason was that? To join the fucking FBI?”

“Seth—,”

A lance of pain flashed behind her light eyes. “I left to protect you both from what’s coming.”

“Yeah, hell’s coming, and it looks a lot like my bullet and his five little friends—,”

“SETH!”

“What is it, Richard?” He snarled, still not looking away. When his brother didn’t respond, he tore his gaze from the light eyes across from him.

Richard Gecko was at peace. It was a though someone had cracked his chest open and a light so fragile was pouring out of him, it could have turned blood into water. He was still clutching her hand. “Seth, it’s her. It’s really her.”

Theresa Roberts watched Richie with a tender smile. Every ounce of hardness was gone and what was left was a radiance so inviting, it called to a different time, a different place, a different reality than the shreds of memory of a childhood in Kansas City with Ray Gecko as a father.

“That’s it, baby,” she crooned. “Remember who I am.”

They were evaporating. Melting into some effervescent place Seth could not see or reach. His blood pounded in his ears and the finger on the trigger twitched.

“This can’t be you,” he muttered as much to himself as anyone else. “You’re dead—,”

Theresa grinned and her gaze slid across to the other brother, this time her eyes gentle, almost playful. “No, baby boy, I ain’t dead. I ain’t been dead for—,”

CLICK

“You might not be dead right now, but in about two seconds, you could be.” Kate, dressed in dark jeans and a black long sleeve, held the extra pistol in her hands, the barrel pressed sharply into side of Theresa Roberts’ head.

A fourth presence broke the spell, and Seth let out a heavy breath in his chest. “Jesus Christ, Kate, it’s you.”

“Why is the FBI extorting the Gecko brothers?” Kate snapped. “I saw you arrest them. What could you possibly want?”

Roberts only grinned. “And who is this little spitfire you’ve dragged into your illicit operations?”

Kate jabbed the gun forward. “That’s no concern of yours. You guys okay?”

Richie nodded dumbly, still staring at Roberts.

“Kate, it’s not what you think.” Seth’s voice sounded weak, even to his own ears.

“Why are we discussing this? Let’s get out of here.”

Roberts eyebrows raised, her mouth twisting. “Mhmm, your girl means business. I like her.”

Seth was suddenly exhausted. Kate’s arm was straight and sturdy, just like he had shown her. Her dark red hair glowed purple in the dim lights. “This woman isn’t FBI. She isn’t extorting us.”

“She’s our mother.”

Kate blanched. Her eyes flickered between Richie and Seth. Her fingers adjusted and readjusted their grip around the gun.

“What?”

Roberts leaned back, out of the line of the barrel and glanced up at her would-be attacker. “You’re very pretty to be living a life like this. With these two knuckleheads. What, did you lose a bet?”

Her arm tightened again. “You’re going to lose a lot more if you don’t shut the hell up.”

Seth hissed impatiently and stood. He grabbed Kate’s hand and shoved it to the ground, his fingers interlocking with hers around the gun, but he wouldn’t look at her in the eyes. He was already raw. He didn’t want to know what she would find in them. He ignored the rush of heat he felt once again being this close to her, touching her again, unprompted but necessary.

“Richie’s right. This is our mother.”

He had already been standing too close to her for too long. He stepped back, hand extended in mock-welcome. “Kate Fuller, meet Theresa Roberts. FBI agent. Maybe.”

*~*~*

So that was the very end of the snippet that I have. Maybe you write the next part? ;)

#sethkate #fdtd #from dusk til dawn: the series #seth gecko #kate fuller #richie gecko

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: November 2nd Author: Kate Huntington Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: Season 8/9 (before Mary comes back) Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader. (Sam, Castiel, John, and Mary mentioned) Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Warnings: Angst, grief over loss of family, fluff, sad!Dean Word Count: 2276 words Summary: The 2nd day of November, the day Dean’s mother died, is always a tough one to get through. This time however, Y/N is by his side to offer him support. Author’s note: This is a sad oneshot, people. But on this day, November 2nd, the day when it all started, it’s more than fitting. Beta’d by @winchest09 & @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish

The two on the display of the alarm clock flicks into a three as minutes slowly pass. 8.03 PM, it's almost time. Troubled, Dean lets the air escape from his lips and returns his gaze to the ceiling of the bunker. He hoped that after an exhausting hunt like the last, he’d be asleep by now.

It took the hunters four days to track down a ghoul in Savage, Mississippi. Add a fourteen hour drive back home to that and you’d think he’d be out like a light before even reaching his bed. Unfortunately, it’s quite the opposite and he wishes they had run into another job on the way over to Lebanon, so that at least his mind would be occupied. But with no new cases lined up, he remains lying on his back motionless, sheets pulled up to his chest, one hand behind his head.

His jaw clenches as he thinks of the tragedy that struck so many years ago. After all that time it should be easier, right? It should be less hard to deal with days like these, time heals all wounds after all. But not this one. This wound is the foundation of all his illnesses, of all his problems, of his life.

He removes his hand from behind his head and settles back into his pillow, running his fingers through his hair. Again he glances aside at the neon numbers that tell the time. 8.08 PM now. He squirms a little, annoyed by the space he has all by himself. The bed is much cooler than usual, it seems bigger too. It’s because Y/N is missing from it.

He had withdrawn into his room a couple of hours ago and failed to invite her to come with him like he usually does. Now that he thinks of it, he has been giving her the cold shoulder for at least a week, so no wonder that she didn’t follow him to his chamber. Why does he do that? Why does he push everyone away who cares about him whenever life gets hard? He didn’t mean to ignore her on the ride home, he didn’t mean to snap when she adjusted the heater on the dashboard when she got cold. He didn’t mean to shove her hand away when she comfortingly laid it on his leg as a sign of support. Yet he did and he feels like an absolute dick. She is only trying to be there for him, to be the supporting girlfriend. But he can’t have it, he can’t accept it. If she witnesses how broken he truly is, why would she possibly want to stay with him? And yet treating her like dirt isn’t exactly delivering the message that he wants her with him either. Shit, he’s such an idiot.

Then the timepiece on the nightstand changes again, hitting 8.11 PM. His eyes linger at the display and he swallows back the lump that started to build in his throat. Eleven past eight, the moment the clock in Sammy’s nursery stopped ticking. The moment Azazel set foot in that room and fucked it all up. Dean averts his gaze away again and shuts his eyes. Four years old at the time, but he remembers so many details. He remembers the intense heat from the fire, his mother’s horrifying screams, the smell of burning flesh, his father handing baby Sam to him.

Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don’t look back! Now, Dean! Go!

That’s when his mission started, that’s when the four year old grew into an adult. That moment right there changed everything. That moment when his mother died.

Soft creaking of the door interrupts his vivid memories and when he opens his eyes he sees Y/N, peeking inside his room. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she excuses herself timidly. “Just wanted to check in.” “It’s okay,” Dean replies, voice raspy. “I’ll get my stuff.” Almost shameful, she moves into the bedroom and picks up her duffle bag, but Dean stops her. “Where are you going?” His questioning eyes are softer than they have been for the last couple of days. For the first time this week he seems genuinely worried about her and she ceases her actions. “I can take a hint, Dean,” she returns, fiddling with the handles of the bag. “Look, if you wanna end this, I get it. I'll move out.” “What? No!” He sits up, regretting every action or word that made her feel unwanted. “C’mere.”

He can see that she has been longing for his invitation. Despite her efforts to hide it, tears shimmer in her eyes and it’s only now that Dean gets how scared she was. It couldn’t possibly be that she thought that he was going to break up with her, right? Insecure, Y/N moves closer and sits down on the edge of the bed. Bruising has started to surface on her right jaw, visible signs of the fight she had with the ghoul. He didn’t even ask her if she was alright.

“I’m such an asshat,” Dean muddles, realizing the effects of his behavior as he grabs her hand and squeezes it softly. His eyes meet hers and beg for forgiveness, but that’s not what she’s after. All she wants is to understand what is going on in that mind of his, why he’s building this Berlin Wall around himself. “It’s alright,” she assures, glancing down at their locked hands as she moves her fingers over his battered knuckles softly. “Just… Please explain to me what’s wrong. If I did something to upset you, then I--” “You didn’t,” he promises, trying to soothe her by gently cupping her face. “You think I’m acting this way because of you?” She shrugs as her bottom lip begins to tremble. Unable to prevent her eyes from welling up, a single tear comes down her cheek, Dean wiping it away when it reaches his thumb.

To her, the signs were clear, though. He pushed her off, declined any affection and refused to talk to her. Maybe after being together for five months he got bored with her. Face it, Dean’s relationship track record isn’t very impressive; he hasn’t been able to hold on to a woman for very long. Why should she be any different? “Hey, look at me.” A pair of green orbs stare into her soul when she dares to meet them. The warmth coming from his dark pupils takes away some of the doubt, but not nearly all of it. “You are the best thing that happened to me in a long, long time. You couldn’t possibly do anything wrong. This is not on you, you hear me?” he tells her, remorseful. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

His eyes bounce between hers before he comes closer and presses a soft and tender kiss on her lips. It calms her down in an instant and she answers him gratefully. It’s amazing how Dean is able to wash away her insecurities, but then again he always had that effect on her. The lack of his love drowned her in doubt so overwhelming that it caused her to question everything she stands for. But the presence of it, well… let’s just say he is able to make her feel so incredibly special, that she could take on the world.

When Dean opens his eyes again and creates a little distance, her smile that had faded over the past week is back. He mirrors the expression, but can’t prevent his heartache from showing too. Although he convinced her that she didn’t trigger his behaviour, it’s clear as day that he’s carrying a burden around that is forcing him on his knees. “Then what is it, Dean? Please tell me,” she asks again. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

He nods, but breaks eye contact nonetheless. Talking about the things that keep him up at night has never been his strong suit. He can’t even remember the last time he talked to anyone about his mother, except for Sam, who used to occasionally ask about her death when he was younger. Even then he wouldn’t waste more than a few words, too afraid it would surface emotions that he was glad to have buried so deep. But when he looks at Y/N again, he does the one thing he has never done with any woman: he opens up. “On November 2nd, 1983, my mom was killed by a demon,” he starts off. “Today is the anniversary of her death and it’s uh - it’s always been a tough day for me.”

He gazes away into nothingness as the warm light from the lamp on the bed stand shimmers into his teary eyes. She watches him, her mouth slightly opened in shock by this devastating unravelment, as compassion for her partner grows. “Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas… They’re not really that much of a celebration when you barely have anyone left to spend it with,” Dean continues. “I was right there when it happened. Even though I was just a kid, I remember and… I-I don’t know, I just can’t seem to be able to let it go.”

As he tells her what happened that dreadful night, she folds back the covers and snuggles up next to him, filling the emptiness that was there in her absence. Turned on her side facing him, she listens to the story, leaning on her elbow as her free hand grips his. “The thing is… that if she hadn’t walked into the nursery that night, Azazel probably would’ve left her alone. She would’ve seen her kids grow up, Dad would most likely still be alive. Sam and I wouldn’t have learned how to fire a gun at the age of six,” he scoffs as he rubs his brow. “We would’ve had a childhood, a home… We would’ve been a family.” His voice breaks on the final word and he keeps quiet, knowing that anything else would come out shaky. He tries to focus on the ceiling light, hoping that if he does, he will be able to keep it together. As he struggles to stay strong, Y/N continues to run her thumb over his hand, not letting go of his grip.

“I know it’s a dysfunctional one, but you have a family, Dean. Sam, Cas, me… We’re in this together,” she speaks wisely, trying to comfort him. “And I didn’t have the pleasure to meet your mother, but I bet she’d be damn proud of you after everything that you have done for the people you care about, and not just for them. You saved the world, Dean.” He keeps staring at the ceiling, shaking his head. He’s not a hero. He started the damn apocalypse. He tortured souls in Hell. He did unimaginable things. After swallowing thickly, he dares to test his voice again. “This is not the life she wanted her kids to be raised in.” He knows. “It would make her so sad if she knew we're hunters…”

The tightness in his chest overwhelms him, it pushes the tears that were gathering in the corner of his eye over the edge, causing them to run down his temples. He doesn’t want her to see this side of him, this weak and vulnerable excuse of a man. But he can’t help it, he can’t stop himself from breaking over his mother’s death for the first time since she passed. He fights the shake in his breath, the tears that keep gathering. Even as a kid he would bury it, stuff it all down and hide it for no one to see. It was one of the first things he learned in order to protect himself. But tonight, he can’t keep his grief at bay.

God, he misses her. He misses hearing her voice when she sang ‘Hey Jude’ to him before bedtime. He misses how she smelled like spices and cinnamon whenever she was baking pie. He misses how she hugged him whenever he needed comfort. He misses her so damn much. He chokes back a sob, his free hand running over his face to cover it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Y/N hushes. “It’s okay, Dean. Come here.” Y/N ushers him to roll into her, folding her arms around him. He lays his head against her chest, the steady metronome-like heartbeat coming from it calming him. It helps to steady his breathing, despite her tight cradle. He has never felt so safe with anyone except with the one person he is mourning over, and so he lets himself go. For the first time, he doesn’t feel the slightest uneasiness in their hug and at that moment he knows. He knows that whatever this is between the two of them, as long as Death doesn’t intervene, it is going to last. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? Death always intervenes, Death always takes a hold. It’s only a matter of time, like it’s only a matter of time before November 2nd passes. And like every year, tomorrow it will be easier to look up, to get out of bed, to fake a smile. What is different this year, though, is that he has someone by his side who understands why.

It takes a while before Dean’s respiration calms, before his eyelids stay closed. Finally, he’s asleep, but she won’t let go of him and continues to stroke his hair, pressing a soft kiss on his head every now and then. She won’t let go until it’s November 3rd.

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creepynoodleheadcannons · 7 years

Text

Torture Fic-continued

Rating-F

Pairing-Brim mentioned

Hah you thought you could escape the heartbreak? It gets worse

Also this is for emphasis, noises, flashbacks, and thoughts.

This is for extra emphasis

And this is for just tags

//WARNING-BLOOD, GORE, TORTURE, ABUSE, AND MORE HORRENDOUS SHIT ON THE WAY, IF ANY OF THIS IS A TRIGGER OR MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, PLEASE CLICK AWAY PLEASE AND THANK YOU I WILL WRITE SOME SOFT AND FLUFFY SHIT LATER THAT WILL BE MUCH NICER FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO HATE THIS\

Now then, let’s begin.

She smiled to herself, heading up the dark stairway, feeling proud of what she’d done.

That was, until she heard a soft click from the doorknob.

“Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh SHIT.” She whispered, frantically and quietly heading down the stairs. Tim glanced up at Sally, worry and…there was no way to describe the look in Tim’s eyes. Pure horror was close, but it was much worse. Worse than any fear she had ever had.

She glanced around, desperately looking for something to hide behind. Her eyes caught a large desk, the front covered in a small velvet cloth.

“Guess the operator likes drapery.” She laughed to herself, dashing beneath it with the bag in her hands. She made it under the table just before his heavy, creaking footsteps made their way downstairs, getting closer and closer.

“Good Morning Timothy, how was-” “don’t even think of talking to me you sick bastard. Just get it over with.”

If he had a face, he would be smirking about now.

“Now, is that any way to talk to your boss? This is only temporary. Two more weeks, and you’ll be free to go.” “Said that a month ago.” He mumbled, a hand making harsh contact with his face. “Your time was extended because you had yet to learn how to behave. I informed you of the reason of this stay. If you can survive this, you can make it through anything I send you to. If not, then you weren’t cut out for the job.” His deep, ominous voice spoke in a joyful tone, his facial muscles forming a smile of sorts. “Now considering today is a ‘good day’ for me, I’ll allow you to pick.” He walked over to the velvet draped desk, Sally’s breath stalling for as long as possible. He turned back to face Tim, holding two tools.

“Screwdriver or saw?”

“Please…no more. I’ve proved I can make it. I definitely can. I can make it out there on my own-” “if you are captured they will put you through much worse. We are not finished. If today goes well, I’ll cut three days from your session. This has to work, and has to be done completely.” He spat, grasping the tools. “Now. Pick. One.”

It took a moment for his defeated voice to speak up. “Screwdriver.”

“Excellent, I was honestly hoping you would pick such tool.” He set down the saw, grasping the screwdriver. His hand was firm, no hesitation in his movements as he tore through skin, eventually cutting through the delicate flesh of his abdomen again, some of his intestines exposed. Sally’s stomach churned, the memory sticking itself into her mind. God did she want to forget it, she wanted it to be another memory that stuck, not that one. Anything but that one. But she didn’t have a choice.

It was there.

Her hands grasped the ice bags, small tears slipping down her cheeks. She wanted to help, to save him, but she couldn’t. She could risk her own death, and especially his. She couldn’t let him die. Not now. Not ever.

It was almost hours before he was finished with the stabbing, tearing, beating, and anything else the operator felt obligated to do. It felt like years to them both. He finally grasped his chin, tilting his head up. “I have some buisness to attend to. Don’t. Move.” He made his way up the stairs, his heavy footsteps trailing off. She finally came out as the door clicked shut.

Back to work.

It was another hour before she managed to sew and clean him up, giving him a soft hug that little sisters give their brother when he’s upset. She knew she should leave then, before he comes back, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave. She wanted to stay, to help, but she knew it was for the best. “I’ll be back tonight. Don’t draw attention to it. Any of it.” She said quietly, almost running up the stairs. As the door shut behind her, she almost started sobbing then and there. Her body was shaking, hands bloody from her stitching. It felt wrong. Not her helping him, not the blood, not the pit in the bottom of her stomach. It was the idea that she had to sew up her best friend.

She missed him by a second. As soon as the bathroom door was shut, the front door was opened. Her heart raced, silent tears begging to fall. She couldn’t cry. Not now. Not until she was alone. Completely alone.

Two weeks, she told herself. Two weeks, and he’s done. No more torture. No more stitches. No more beatings. No more initiating.

As she scrubbed off the dried blood, she had time to think. To think over the possibility that Tim never made it out of that basement except for in a bag. The possibility that they got caught and he was beaten to death. The possibility that she couldn’t help him anymore. The possibility that he was dead, and what little life she had left was gone.

Fully.

For the next week and a half, it seemed like the operator never left the basement. He only came up when required, no more 'business’ to attend to. Tim was the only thing on his…did he have a mind? A conscious? A heart? Of course he didn’t, or he would have stopped. She didn’t have a single opportunity to go down and to help him. She snuck down once to get him some water, but was almost caught.

She couldn’t risk Tim’s life like that again.

As her, Brian, Kate, and Toby for once sat together on a couch, silent, she felt the tears. The hot, bubbling tears begging to burst from her eyes, to stream down her cheeks, to show everyone her secret. Her and Tim’s big secret. The one that could kill him.

But she couldn’t help. This sweet little innocent girl wasn’t so innocent, but she couldn’t help the floodgates from opening. Brian whipped around, quickly shoving Toby out of the way. Her hands wrapped around his torso, clutching onto his hoodie for dear life. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her, the other two stunned. “Sally, what’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Think Sally think! There has to be a way to lie about this. I know it’s bad but I have to. Her mind crammed to come up with some way to get out of this.

“I…I just miss Tim.” She muttered, not removing her hands from his jacket. “I know hun, I know. I miss him too. He’ll be back soon, I promise.” She couldn’t help but notice the uneasiness in Brian’s voice. If only he knew the truth, she thought. If only.

“Brian, face it. Tim hasn’t been back for weeks since the operator sent him out. Months. He’s not coming back. He’s probably dead by now.” Kate snapped, glancing down at the small girl. “He’s not coming back Sally. Might as well accept it-” she was stopped when a gloved hand slammed across her jaw. “Would you stop?! He’s coming back. He is. That isn’t up for debate.” His voice carried heavy anger, his underlying hatred leaking through. However, she couldn’t help the thought pressing on her Brian. “Now I’m a negative person, but you’re j-just an asshole Kate. Now shut the hell up and get out if you’re going to keep this up.” He practically growled through that. Toby sat back down on the other side of Sally, reassuring her he was still out there. Kate just stood there, awestruck. Her hands clenched into fists as she stormed out.

But one thought kept pressing on her brain.

Why didn’t he only stutter once?

Ever since the episode, Brian hasn’t left her side. It was almost three days later, and he was still there, sitting beside her on that old couch.

That was when they heard the scream.

That horrible, wretched scream that made her want to rip her ears off.

The one that put Brian on edge.

He had no idea where it was coming from. She knew though. It was the basement they didn’t know they had.

“Sally, stay right here. I’ll be back. That sounded like Tim, and I’m willing to take any lead I can get.” He stood up, pulling down his ski mask. “Brian n-” but it was too late. He was gone. And she was terrified to be alone.

It came again. And again. And again. It was like they never stopped. Her eyes were filled with tears, her throat raw from her loud sobs, her hands shaking. She grasped onto the stuffed bear in her hands, the one Tim gave her when she had gotten there.

It couldn’t have been six years ago. They were content living on their own, stuck in that cabin. They were all playing poker when the operator came back.

With a surprise.

A girl who couldn’t have been more than six came in, stuck to his leg. The second the door opened, she fell to the ground with a small thud. She had blood on her small face, anything that wasn’t scraped was bruised. It looked like she had a walk in the woods for about ten years.

“I have work to do. Take care of her or something.” The basic line when he brought home someone new. Usually Tim was first to take the swing to start the fight. They always had a fight to see if they could make it out here. If they could survive the life.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get this one.” Kate pulled up her sleeve, hand clenched into a tight fist. Before she could walk forward, he stepped in front. His hands slammed to her chest.

“She’s six Kate. Maybe seven. She’s a child regardless. We don’t kill children here, not the ones he brings. The last was Lazari, remember that?” His voice was laced with a venomous tone, pointing to the back of the cabin. “Leave us be. Me and Brian will take care of her.” “And me!” Toby spoke up, stepping forward. “Ah yes. And. Toby.” He mumbled, ignoring Kate, who stormed off.

It was a while before they got her cleaned up, washing off all the blood and dirt. Brian managed to brush her hair out, braiding it down.

It was Tim she spoke to first.

“Thanks.” She said softly, her hands wrapped around her knees.

He felt a smile creep up onto his lips, but couldn’t bring himself to show it. He pulled his mask down, continuing to sew up the small dress. She was wearing one of Toby’s old sweaters which was wayyy too big for her small form. However, it managed to keep her warm. The entire time Kate stood in the back, arms crossed.

It was after the third night of screaming Tim decided to do something.

He spent about two days on it, meticulously stitching the sides. He had no idea how to make stuffed animals but it couldn’t be that hard, right?

It was. It had two different buttons for eyes, the ears were off, hands were too small, and stomach patch was wonky.

She loved it. She absolutely loved it.

It was the first time she had really spoken to someone, the first time he had seen her smile in the weeks. She wrapped her tiny arms around his leg, flashing a prize winning grin.

After almost two hours, she heard the door click shut. The operator walked through, cleaning his bloody hands with a rag. Oh dear god. Oh holy shit. Something’s happened. Something went down and now he’s dead. Her thoughts ran through every possible scenario, tears welling up in her eyes.

That was before she heard the door slam open.

Brian ran inside, Tim leaning against him. Sally snapped up, her emotions a damn mess. She glanced at his dismemebered figure. It gave her a steady emotion.

Horror.

His limbs were sliced in every possible place. His jacket was torn off, blood covering it. His flannel was stuck to his bleeding form. His legs, dear god the pain wasn’t even fathomable. Any type of laceration that could exist was there. His wrists were the worst. Raw. The metal must have cut to the bone.

She almost got sick again. Her stomach churned with each sight.

He seemed unconscious. Hopefully.

Brian quickly made his way back to their shared bedroom, Toby sitting in the corner. His eyes darted up, lifting his goggles from his face. “Holy s-shit-” “shut the fuck up, we can be astounded later. Get some water, stitches and such, anything that you can find that’ll help.” He ordered, Toby quickly leaving. Sally stood beside him, holding onto his hand. He turned his head to face her, eyes lining up with hers. They were red, irritated. They must have burned. He flashed a small smile before blacking out.

It was a few minutes before Toby came back in, setting everything on a table beside the bed. He they both watched as Brian stripped his shirt off, almost gagging.

It was worse. So much worse.

His intestines were exposed, as were parts of his ribs. There were red marks everywhere like he had been whipped with something. Sally just about screamed.

Brian proceeded to pour water on his entire front, flushing out any unwanted fluids and particles. Toby handed him anything he asked for, turning away once he started stitching. Sally stayed beside him, holding his hand the entire time.

It was almost an hour before things started to calm down. Toby had left to see the operator, and Brian stayed to look after Tim. He planted a few gentle kisses on his stitched forehead, brushing his hair back. “It’ll be okay Tim. I promise. We promised, remember? It’ll be okay.” Sally, similarly, refused to leave. She wanted to be there when he woke up. And damn was it a while. It was almost midnight before he awakened, screaming until he couldn’t breathe. Brian grasped his shoulders, holding him still. “Tim! Tim, it’s okay. We’re here, it’s gone, it’s okay.” He whispered, glancing into his bright, terrified eyes.

He glanced around the room, not bothering to hold back the tears. He quickly hugged Brian, fingers digging into his shoulders. Sally watched, unable to understand. She didn’t know, but had a simple idea.

She jumped up on the bed, joining in. They stayed there for a minute, holding onto each other. Honestly, they were scared to let go. Afraid that if they let go, he’d drift away. Tim felt like he would as well.

They talked for hours about what he was told to say. That he was captured by some enemy who wanted information. Sally listened patiently, holding onto his arm.

They knew the truth. They knew what really happened. While the person hired to do it was masked, Tim and Sally both knew what really happened.

However, it seemed better. Completed. Gone, but not forgotten. Joyous, but not okay. But some day, one day it would be.

After almost two months, he could walk again. Turned out that he had shattered his tibia, and had to be in a cast. He was finally settled in. And finally convinced he was okay.

They were just in the main room, talking about nothing special. It was actually peaceful. The serene tranquility of silence. Of calmness. She felt some unease, but had no idea why. It was okay. Things were okay. He was okay. Everyone was okay.

It was the door ripping open that shook her loose. Her hands quickly went to Tim’s arm, scared he was back for him. However, he had other plans.

Brian’s scream erupted through his throat, tearing past his lips into a hoarse cry for help, and one that sounded seriously angered. Weapons flew through the air again, hatchets, knives, even Kate herself went forward to get the bastard.

But he was too quick.

Tim stood up quickly, stumbling forward. He ran straight up to the door, which shut in front of him. But that didn’t stop him. Sally watched at he ran out the house, screaming for him to let him go. For that bastard to wait before he killed him. For the operator to let him go. For him to take him instead. But they both knew he was gone.

Tim fell to his bruised knees, blood leaking from split stitches. Tears leaking from his eyes. Pain leaking from his cracked heart. He screamed. The most agonizing scream anyone has ever heard. Worse than the ones in the basement, worse than the ones for Jay, worse than the ones begging for him to kill him already. Sally stood beside him, thick streams of tears leaving her eyes as well. Not again. She thought, grasping Tim’s hand.

Not again.

#I'm sorry guys this is what you voted for #mable hornets and creeps au #marble hornets #creepypasta mentioned #Sally Williams #Tim Sutton #Brian Thomas #Kate the Chaser #Toby Rogers #Ticci Toby #angsty #fanfic

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ntrending · 6 years

Text

Lightning, meet snowstorm: The makings of thundersnow

New Post has been published on https://nexcraft.co/lightning-meet-snowstorm-the-makings-of-thundersnow/

Lightning, meet snowstorm: The makings of thundersnow

When Winter Storm Grayson plowed into the East Coast earlier this month, it brought a few unwelcome gifts—namely brutal cold, power outages, coastal flooding, and whiteout conditions from Virginia to Maine. But the blizzard also gave parts of New York and New England the chance to experience the rare and thrilling weather event known as thundersnow. It happens when a snowstorm produces thunder and lightning, and has been known to send meteorologists into ecstasies of delight.

It might seem odd to have lightning flashing in the middle of a blizzard. In fact, thundersnow isn’t really that mysterious. “Lightning and thunder, they don’t care about the calendar, whether it’s January or any other month,” says Antti Mäkelä, a climate scientist at the Finnish Meteorological Institute in Helsinki. “If conditions in the atmosphere are favorable then lightning can occur and it’s the same type of lightning that occurs in the summertime.”

Thundersnow does have its dark side, though. Winter thunderstorms can be particularly dangerous exactly because they are so unexpected. Fortunately, we’re getting better at forecasting and understanding thundersnow.

Hang on. If it’s the same as regular lightning, why don’t we have thundersnow all the time in winter?

Thundersnow storms tend to be a little smaller and weaker than the storms that produce lightning in spring and summer. However, both types of storms need moisture and air currents traveling upwards to produce lightning. “You need instability in the atmosphere; that’s kind of the fuel that drives thunderstorms, and drives those upward motions,” says Matthew Kumjian, an atmospheric scientist at Pennsylvania State University in University Park.

Inside the cloud, rising particles collide with those falling down and become charged. The negatively charged particles gather at the bottom of the cloud, and the smaller, positively charged ones wind up toward the top. Eventually, the cloud will build up enough electricity that some is discharged as lightning.

In winter, these elements come together less frequently than during the warm season, Kumjian says. “A lot of the normal, day-to-day snow bands that people might experience in the northern part of the country, those often do not have the right ingredients to get the type of instability that you need to get the thundersnow.” However, it can sometimes be created in lake-effect snow as cold air moves over relatively warmer water, or when air is forced to rise in strong nor’easters.

Thundersnow storms typically only manage to produce a handful of lightning strikes, while summer thunderstorms can produce thousands of zaps per storm, Mäkelä says. Often, thundersnow storms won’t even be able to form lightning until an airplane triggers it by flying too close to a heavily charged cloud.

The areas that experience lightning during a snowstorm also tend to be those that receive the heaviest snowfall. As with summer thunderstorms, “Most of the electrification occurs in that same area where the heavy precipitation starts to come down,” Mäkelä says.

How rare is thundersnow anyway?

Short answer: we don’t know.

Some areas do get more thundersnow than others, including those near large bodies of water and parts of the mountainous western United States. Japan and Finland seem especially prone to thundersnow because they have so much coastline, Mäkelä says. Another hotspot is the Palmer Divide, a large ridge in central Colorado that lies between Denver and Colorado Springs. When winds slam into this formation they can be forced upwards, creating the lift needed to kick start the processes that eventually lead to lightning.

Over the past few decades, scientists have tried to figure out how often thundersnow strikes. “These types of events…ended up looking like they were extremely rare, maybe only happening a few times across the entire United States per year,” Kumjian says. “But in recent decades we’ve been developing better tools to detect lightning flashes.”

A few years ago, he received funding from the National Science Foundation to investigate thundersnow in Colorado. That year, Kumjian and his colleagues reported 17 different thundersnow storms in the northern part of the state alone. “The previous climatology said that part of the country should only have less than one per year, so I think it’s probably safe to say that it’s more common than once thought,” Kumjian says. However, “The jury is still out on exactly how often this happens.”

The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s GOES-16 satellite has been collecting information on lightning flashes across the United States, and might be able to give us a more detailed picture of thundersnow, he says.

Is it dangerous?

Thundersnow is a problem for airplanes. In Finland, planes are actually more likely to be struck by lightning in the winter months because pilots know to avoid thunderclouds when it’s warm out, but may not take the same precautions in colder weather, Mäkelä says. On one day in October 2011, ten different planes trying to depart from or land at Helsinki Airport were struck by lightning. When Mäkelä interviewed the pilots, some reported being temporarily blinded or deafened. The temperature on this day was a little above freezing, so the storm they were traveling through wasn’t quite thundersnow, but it did demonstrate how much rarer cold-weather thunderstorms are—and how little pilots expect them to produce lightning.

Fortunately, airplanes are built to withstand lightning strikes. But the combination of thundersnow and airplanes can still be dangerous for people on the ground. A couple winters ago, a plane that was trying to land at Helsinki Airport triggered a lightning strike that passed to the ground and hit a house, which then burned down, Mäkelä says.

And for people outside, there’s probably even less warning that thundersnow is about to strike than you’d get with a warm season storm. “People are generally not expecting it to lightning when it’s snowing outside so there’s always that element of being caught off-guard that makes people a little more vulnerable,” Kumjian says.

Plus, the fact that thundersnow doesn’t produce a lot of flashes means you’re even more likely to be caught by surprise. And even if there was a previous strike, you might not know about it. “The snow itself can kind of muffle the sound of the thunder, so you don’t hear the thunder as far away from where the flash actually occurs as you would normally in a warmer season thunderstorm,” Kumjian says.

That said, the chances of getting struck by lightning during a thundersnow storm are much lower than in summer storms, which produce many more lightning bolts.

So can we predict thundersnow?

Forecasters are getting pretty good at identifying which areas will have a high risk of lightning during an event like Winter Storm Grayson, Kumjian says. “And indeed, the big cyclone was actually pretty electrically active.”

And once a huge winter storm is underway, we might even be able to predict imminent lightning strikes. Forecasters have identified a distinct radar signature associated with strengthening electric charge. It happens when ice crystals in the cloud get caught by the electrical field. This makes the crystals tilt instead of drifting with their longest sides facing downwards like a sheet of paper you’ve just dropped. “When you get these kind of tilted ice crystals in the cloud, that does something to the radar signal that shows up pretty clearly,” Kumjian says. In nor’easters, he’s seen that this indicates a strong electric field is forming and a lightning flash may happen in the next five to 20 minutes.

This radar signal can only be caused by ice; raindrops are too heavy and fall too quickly to be much affected by the cloud’s electric field. “So it’s either higher up in a normal season thunderstorm or anywhere in a thundersnow storm,” Kumjian says.

The signature wouldn’t really be that useful for summer storms; there’s not much doubt that a developing thunderstorm will produce lots of lightning. But thundersnow is another story. “The radar signal might be an intriguing way to start to give you that short-term heads up that something is happening,” Kumjian says. “When you see it, at the very least I think the forecasters can say there is a much higher risk of a flash occurring sometime in the next 20 minutes.”

He plans to keep investigating how often thundersnow really happens and where it occurs most frequently around the country. Studying these storms could reveal how much buildup of electric charge is needed for a cloud to produce lightning on its own. “We could definitely learn something about the fundamental processes associated with lightning,” Kumjian says.

He himself has only experienced the joy of thundersnow on one occasion. It happened during his time as a graduate student in Oklahoma when he stepped outside during a blizzard. “Within a couple of seconds of me standing outside, I heard a fairly loud boom and quickly jumped back inside because it took me quite by surprise,” he says.

Still, he said, it’s always exciting to hear—if not see—this rare phenomenon in action. “It’s basically just like a thunderstorm in the warm season, just it happens to be snowing outside,” Kumjian says. “But it still doesn’t take away from the magic of it.”

Written By Kate Baggaley

#Environment

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