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actress4him · 4 years

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Whumptober 2020 - Day 9

I've gotten multiple requests (and one threat) for a part 2 of the previous chapter, and since I did enjoy writing that AU and already had somewhat of an idea of how it would continue in my head, I'm gonna try to write one. I'm currently writing Day 23, which means I have several prompt days left I can try to stick it in. If that doesn't work, I'll either do a bonus chapter at the end, or repost that fic separately with the second part added.

This one's definitely another dark one. I may have gotten slightly carried away with the whump. So make sure you check the warnings before you read! There's a lot of them! I also may have gotten slightly carried away with the syntax of these aliens...haha. We've got a little bit of Shiro in here, but mainly it's Red who gets her turn in the spotlight with Keith.

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Day 9 - “Take Me Instead”/Ritual Sacrifice

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: human sacrifice, alien religion, a little bit of fantastic racism, non- consensual drug use, lots of non-consensual touching (not sexual), death mention, forced stripping (not sexual), nudity (not sexual), very vague references to child abuse if you squint, drowning, fire, burns, wrist cutting (not self-harm), blood, wishing for death (not actual suicide ideation)

Of all possible ways to be woken up, the sound of Shiro struggling to breathe was certainly not one of Keith’s favorites. He was on his feet the moment his groggy brain realized what he was hearing, but was immediately put into the same headlock that he could see his roommate for the night in. It wasn’t often that someone could get the jump on either one of them. Keith was going to blame the fact that the cowards had struck while they were asleep.

The cowards, in this case, were the Luktorians, a race that had seemed perfectly nice up until this moment. A bit odd, perhaps, and difficult to understand - Lance kept insisting they sounded like drunk Yoda - but peaceful. They had rather human-looking faces, offset by the various shades of blue skin they sported and the fact that they had impossibly long and skinny necks and four arms. It was those four arms that held him in place now, one around his neck, one across his chest and shoulders, and two latched onto his wrists.

“Shh. You Paladin calm yourself must. Harm no mean we you.”

“If you don’t mean us harm, then why are you attacking us in our sleep?” Keith growled.

The alien holding Shiro spoke up. “Need only have we of him. Sleep may you.”

“I don’t think so.” Keith attempted to lunge forward, but made it nowhere. “What do you need him for? You’re not taking anybody anywhere without some answers!”

A slight smile came over the pale blue alien’s face. “Come have you at a time perfect. The night tonight of the sacrifice great is.”

Keith’s brain stuck on one word out of that gibberish. “Wait, sacrifice? What do you mean, what sacrifice?”

The Luktorian behind him bent his long neck forward to look him in the face. “A sacrifice it is for enemies our protection from. Away keeps the Galra the goddess great and harm us others who would.”

“Okay, we can understand that,” Shiro finally broke in, though he seemed to still be struggling with the arm that was around his throat. “But, uh...that’s what Voltron is here to do. Right? We’re making an alliance with your people so that we can keep the Galra away. S-so...maybe you don’t need a sacrifice this time.”

A stormy look came over both the alien’s faces. “Claim do you the goddess great with equal to be?”

“N-no, no, that’s not what I was saying.” Keith was glad that Shiro knew at all what they were accusing, because he was lost, himself. “I’m just...thinking that perhaps your goddess is the one who brought us here. Perhaps she’s already protecting you, using Voltron.”

They seemed to consider this for a moment, and Keith held his breath. “Perhaps,” one answered at last. “Must make we if so the goddess great a sacrifice to thank.”

Keith let out a groan. There didn’t seem to be any way they were getting out of this one easily. But they still hadn’t actually heard what this sacrifice actually entailed, so maybe there was hope yet, though based on the late night choke hold he wasn’t counting on it.

Shiro seemed to be on the same train of thought. “So, um...what exactly do you need us...me...to do? How can I help?”

His captor smiled again, and Keith decided he did not like that look at all. “Quietly must come you prepared the altar for to be. Short running time is.”

Shiro paled visibly even in the dim lighting. “Right. So...I’m the sacrifice.”

Keith lunged again. “No! You’re not sacrificing him, I won’t let you!”

The Luktorian tipped his head to the side and regarded him as if he was a child. “Warrior strong the Paladin Black is and ties to the Galra has close. A candidate perfect is he.”

As Keith continued to struggle, Shiro did his best to lock eyes with him. “Keith, it’s okay. We’ll...we’ll figure this out, it’ll be okay.”

“No, it’s not okay, Shiro!” He had one more thing to try. It was a long shot, and Shiro would hate him for it, but he had to try. “Listen. You want somebody with close ties to the Galra? Then take me.”

“Keith, no!”

He ignored the interruption and made direct eye contact with Shiro’s captor. “Shiro...the Black Paladin...has been hurt by the Galra just as much as your people have, maybe more. His ties to the Galra are like yours. But me…” He sucked in as deep a breath as he could. “I’m part Galra. I’m a warrior, too, and you can’t get any closer to the Galra than me without sacrificing a pure-blooded one. Take me.”

Silence fell as everyone stared at him. Keith stubbornly refused to meet Shiro’s gaze, not wanting to see the pain that would be there.

“The truth think you do tells he?”

“Mm, think I does he.”

A definitive nod. “The sacrifice be then shall the Paladin Red.”

Now it was Shiro’s turn to struggle and lunge. “No! No, I’ll do it, I’ll go with you! I’ll be your sacrifice, okay? Just leave him here, leave him alone!”

Keith gave him a tight half-smile. “It’s okay. It’ll be fine.”

The pale blue alien released his one arm from Shiro’s shoulders so that he could reach into his pocket and pull out a small vial. Popping it open with his thumb, he poured the powdery substance over his captive’s head. “Sleep.”

Immediately Shiro’s eyes dropped shut and his chin slammed into his chest. The Luktorian deposited him gently back onto his bed and threw the blanket back over his legs. “Wake not the others and he will morning until.”

Keith clenched his teeth. Guess that rules out the possibility of screaming and alerting everyone out in the hall.

The royal blue alien holding him moved his top two hands down to grip his upper arms, finally leaving his neck free. “Come. Prepare the altar you for must we. Fight or your mind change not do or back come will we the Paladin Black for.”

Right. Cooperate or lose Shiro. There wasn’t even a debate to be had. He would always, always protect Shiro anytime he had the chance. He was his brother, in everything but blood or law, and he had already been through far too much for someone so young. Don’t you think you dying will be hard for him? He quickly pushed that thought aside. Yes, it would, but not as much as suffering at the hands of more aliens would. Besides, the team needed its leader a lot more than it needed its hotheaded half-breed.

Keith didn’t pay very much attention to their trip through the many intersecting hallways, lost in his head. He only became aware of his surroundings again when they entered a long, narrow room that was lit by torches along the walls and smelled very strongly of something perfumy and definitely not from Earth. Several other Luktorians, all dressed in the same simple white shifts, stood with their hands clasped in front of them, waiting.

His escorts wasted no time in handing him over, holding a brief, whispered conversation with a periwinkle-skinned female before exiting. Periwinkle clapped her hands, and the two that now held his arms, Grey Blue and Sky Blue, pulled him further into the room. He wanted to resist. He wanted to fight and kick and bite and spit so, so badly. All the instincts that he had been cultivating since childhood were shouting in his ear that he should not be letting someone drag him around like this, that he was bound to get hurt soon, but he squashed them back down with one single word. Shiro.

That almost wasn’t enough once they got to the apparent designated spot and Grey and Sky swiftly began stripping him. The shirt was one thing, but when they went for his belt and pants he panicked. “Hey! No, wait, stop, what are you doing?”

Periwinkle appeared in front of him with one eyebrow arched. “Told was I that a sacrifice quiet, good would be you. A problem there is?”

Keith’s shoulders heaved with shaky breaths. For Shiro. For Shiro. For Shiro. “N-no. No...problem.”

“Good.”

The stripping began again immediately. Clenching his fists and squeezing his eyes shut, he sent his mind somewhere far, far away, somewhere that was bright and happy and no one was touching him without his consent. By the time he had finally gotten his mind occupied, he was stark naked and being prodded forward to the next checkpoint.

Paladin. Hurt?

No, Red. I’m...I’m okay.

More Luktorians were waiting for them around an oval-shaped pool of lavender water. As Keith was positioned at the very edge they began chanting something in low voices. He was too busy worrying about what was about to happen to him to try to decipher what they were saying, and with good reason, too. Almost as soon as the chanting began, a set of hands landed on his back and shoved.

Keith could swim, that wasn’t a problem. The pool wasn’t even deep enough to worry about needing to swim, anyway. But the liquid - probably not water, he now realized - was heavy, and pulled him down to the bottom with no chance of fighting his way up. More importantly, it was scalding. He just barely kept himself from opening his mouth and screaming as his skin burned.

An instant later, multiple hands grabbed his arms and yanked him back up into the cool air. He was in the midst of panting for breath and shaking from pain when he was assaulted again, this time with rough sponges that scoured every inch of his body. It was becoming harder and harder to detach himself from reality, and more tempting every moment to punch every single one of these aliens in the face and race back to the safety of his team.

But he couldn’t. He had to stay for Shiro.

Paladin! Come?

No, Red. Stay. You can’t come.

His toes gripped the edge of another pool, this one deep purple, and he at least knew what was coming. More chanting, another shove. This time it was like breaking through an icy lake, making all his muscles seize up instantly. When he was pulled out, he was shivering uncontrollably.

The chanting continued as some kind of oil was poured from an intricately painted vase over his head, turning his already wet body slick and shiny. Lastly, Periwinkle produced a garland of pungent blue and purple flowers - the source of the perfumy smell - and set it carefully atop his hair.

“Ready the sacrifice is. Us let proceed.”

Just before the procession left the room, Grey and Sky wrapped a strip of silky fabric around his hips and knotted it on one side. Well, I’ll die with some of my dignity intact. At least there’s that.

The ceremony was apparently taking place in a cathedral-like space. Strange music was playing as they entered, with the Luktorians deep, humming voices singing along. Hundreds of them were gathered, their waving, bobbing heads almost looking like an ocean.

Directly in front of Keith and his parade was a steep set of stairs leading up to a platform. A Luktorian in heavy purple robes with the deepest blue skin he had seen so far stood at the top, looking down on them. They halted at the foot of the stairs. Deep Blue, probably a priest, was saying something, probably initiating the ceremony, but Keith’s heart was pounding too loudly in his ears for him to hear.

Forward again. Up the stairs - eleven total. Counting them kept his mind off of what was coming, even if it was only for a few seconds. Then they were at the top, and the priest was placing a hand on Keith’s head. Even after everything he had been through over the past hour, the touch still made him flinch.

More indecipherable words as his eyes zoned in on the stone structure looming in the background, oval shaped, like the pools. The altar. Already he could see orange coals glowing in the open space underneath it, and his breathing kicked into high gear.

Of all the ways to die. The fact that it was idiotic and humiliating was bad enough, but now he knew he would die by fire. Just like his dad. Just like his nightmares since he was six.

For Shiro. For Shiro.

Grey and Sky dragged him forward. He was more resistant now, only because his body was momentarily winning over his mind, but no one seemed to care anymore. They lifted him off his feet, holding him up high and parallel to the ground for only a moment before lowering him down onto the metal grate.

This time Keith did scream. The metal had been heating over the coals for who knew how long, and it seared into the bare skin of his back. While he was busy blinking back the tears that sprang to his eyes, straps were expertly tightened over his ankles, thighs, chest, biceps, and throat. His arms had been positioned out away from his body, resting in two troughs that angled down toward the lower part of the altar.

Paladin hurt. I come.

Red...Red no. You can’t. I have to do this...I have to.

A knife flashed in the light over his head and he jumped, jarring the burns on his back. Biting down on his lip, he let out a quiet whine.

I come! Paladin needs.

I...I do need you. But…if you want to help me, then get the others to try to wake their Paladins. You can’t save me until we make sure the others are safe. He didn’t expect it to actually work. Whatever substance the Luktorians had used was probably stronger than a mental bond. But at least maybe it would keep Red occupied, pull her away from having to listen to his panicked thoughts.

The priest was standing over his right side now, the knife he had glimpsed held aloft in his hand. “The sacrifice first now - the blood spilling of.”

Before Keith could think to react, it came swooping down and sliced deep into his wrist. He cried out through gritted teeth. As the priest circled to the other side, he twisted his head as best he could to look down at the damage and saw blood flowing rapidly over his hand and down the trough. A second later, his left wrist was cut open as well.

Already he was growing lightheaded and nauseous. As the priest faced the audience and droned on about who knows what, Keith let his eyes slip shut.

I’m sorry, Shiro. I know you’re gonna be so angry and hurt when you wake up tomorrow. Just remember...I did it because I love you. You’re my brother.

“The sacrifice second now - the flesh burning of.”

His breath hitched and he pressed his lips together, trying not to make any more pathetic noises, but his rapid breathing gave away his terror. He could hear the clunk of wood echoing below him as more fuel was thrown in, and the crunch of coals being stirred. Mere seconds later, a flame flared, and he sobbed despite his efforts as it licked his already raw back.

The Luktorians were chanting again, the whole assembly, and they sounded like a hive of bees in his ears. More flames jumped up, higher and higher. He was full-on weeping now, and he didn’t even care. It was so much worse than his nightmares had ever been. He could only hope now that it would consume him quickly, or that the blood loss would take him first.

Please...please just let me die…

Paladin! We come!

His eyes flew open just in time to see five beautiful, colorful Lions burst through the roof of the cathedral, mouths wide open in a chorus of ferocious roars.

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hudders-and-hiddles · 7 years

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It's not the end! Please keep hope for them. ❤

I understand where you’re coming from, nonny, and if you want more, then please, absolutely keep hope that there will be a series 5 and that it will be everything you dream it will be.

For me though, at this point I would very much like for this to be the end, if this is how they’ve chosen to proceed. I won’t deny that the show they have given us through TAB has been beautiful and well-crafted, and I would have loved to see more of that show. I don’t know what happened with this series, but all of that seems to have gone out the window. Here we get plot holes so large you could drive a freight train through them. And yes there have always been plot holes–even small ones crop up in the most carefully crafted of stories–but there are so many nonsensical things done here or plot lines that start and then go nowhere or are waved away again with a single line of exposition that it’s sometimes hard to see the threads of story that remain around them.

What I find most unforgivable though is the drastic 180 in characterization for almost everyone. We get Mary being repeatedly tied to actions Sherlock believes to be related to Moriarty and drugging people and running off to do whatever the fuck she wants even though it means continuing to lie to and gaslight the husband she’s supposedly trying to protect, and then apparently some kind of wildly over-the-top, sacrificial death is supposed to redeem her completely. We get Molly who was given the chance to finally move on and get over Sherlock in s3, and then she’s just been dragged kicking and screaming back into s1-style pining hell for the purpose of… actually I’m still not even really sure what the purpose of that scene was other than emotional cruelty to everyone involved. We get Mycroft who was so concerned about protecting Sherlock that he apparently ensured his baby sister remained locked away in a secret prison facility for her entire life, and then he still brings James Moriarty to have a fun little chat with her, despite knowing that Eurus wants him there entirely because he wants to fuck with Sherlock. We get John promising to look after Sherlock at the end of TAB, and then he does nothing of the sort anywhere in s4–ignoring his growing drug abuse problems, beating the shit out of him, going so far as to barely even protest when Sherlock threatens to actually kill himself to end Eurus’ game. (I honestly have a ton more complaints about what was done with John this series, but I’ll stop there for now.)

Sherlock is the only character who hasn’t really done some kind of ridiculous flip-flopping here, but what they put him through in TFP in particular was entirely unnecessary. He has repeatedly sacrificed everything for John, has again and again shown his heart in how he treats his friends and his clients, particularly with [the woman he thought was] Faith Smith who he spent all night with just to keep her from killing herself, and the writers here decided that for whatever bizarre reason he really just needed to hug his rapist, murderer sister, who he didn’t even know existed before this episode, in order to be fully humanized. But he already was. He already was. The real highlight of this series has been that they showed that off so well–Sherlock was incandescently human throughout all three episodes–but really he’s been so human for so, so long now. Since the moment that he stepped off of a rooftop to save three lives. Hell, since the moment he asked a suicidal army doctor to move in with him and took him out on a case because he thought it would give that man a purpose again. Sherlock’s beautiful heart has always been on display. TFP wasn’t at all necessary to show us that. We could all see it–all of us except Mark and Steven, I guess.

Admittedly, yes, there are parts of this series that I have liked, in all three episodes. There are parts I have even loved, including the majority of TLD where both Ben and Martin’s talents were given so much beautiful room to play. But Moftiss have made egregious, unforgivable missteps here, sacrificing so much of their previously careful storytelling and characterization at the altar of the “cleverness” of the Eurus puzzle. And the sad part is that it wasn’t even really a puzzle. The thing about puzzles is that there have to be clues there to help you figure them out along the way. When Mary was revealed in CAM Tower in HLV, there had been clues throughout TEH and TSOT that she wasn’t perhaps the woman she seemed. There were no clues within the story that pointed to Eurus being the woman John was texting or being Faith Smith (and what even was the purpose of her doing either of those things anyway? yet another thing that was never addressed). There were no clues that Moriarty’s “final problem” that he referenced way back in TRF was ever going to turn out to be a jigsaw prison game with Sherlock’s unknown, psychopath sister. This wasn’t a puzzle. It was a mess, and they went all in on it, reshaping their characters and outright ignoring the show’s history to cram this series into a Eurus-shaped tin. And it didn’t work. It didn’t work, and I don’t want to see more of this version of the show.

#i'm not even touching on johnlock or queerbaiting here #but simply from a story and character perspective #this series was largely a mistake #if we're not on the same page here i totally respect that #if you loved it by all means continue to do so #but this is where i'm personally at on things #i just can't justify the sacrifice of so much of everyone's characterization for this #s4 #tfp #anon #replies #suicide tw #drugs tw #rape tw

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tarnishedhalo · 3 years

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Baz:

Doc-Wagon Platinum

Shhh.

It’s a sound he hasn’t heard in ages. Since before he learned what death was, before he learned what it could rob you of, who it could. Before he learned that suffering didn’t always build character. Sometimes it just fucking hurt like hell with no end in sight. Before words carried real weight in a tiny mind that still saw the world as something new, and untainted. So many befores, wrapped up inside such a tiny sound.

And for moments it quiets everything. The maelstrom of memories and guilt his mind is trapped in. Brings to the surface all the brighter seconds of his life. The seconds that still live in the walls of this house. Like ghosts passing among the corridors. Seen from the corner of his eye, but when he turns to look at them gone as though they were never there. He’d forgotten how soothing that sound could be. How soothing it had been, once upon a time, on the lips of someone else. Someone very different from the person that utters it now. Someone smaller, gentler, wiser.

Shhh. Este în regulă puiul meu. Mama este aici. Shhh.

The world outside goes still. They stop moving for reasons he can’t fathom, then a jostle and rearranging…settling…sinking into something forgiving. And it’s like a knife to the back. The excruciating knowledge of where he is, and where he isn’t. Because no this isn’t what he deserves. The distress of that pitching the liquor about in his stomach, the ocean that’s soaked through his veins burning. A struggle to get up. A struggle to try and drag himself back to the place he’d been hauled away from.

But the truth is while his mind perceives he at least makes it off the couch, onto all fours to crawl back—he doesn’t. An arm is about all that moves and even then only just before it’s falling back against his middle. Too weak and too weighted down to face the judgement even if it’s the only way to make it all stop. Why had Riley stopped him? Riley knows what he did and still he didn’t leave him. Didn’t let him drown.

Damn you.

At least that’s what he would say if he could. Would say if he really meant it. But no matter how much he thinks he deserves it. No matter how much he knows it would put a stop to everything, he doesn’t really want that. Not because it’s death that he fears, because it’s not that. It’s the unknown after it that keeps him fighting. It’s the fear that where ever it is his parents earned places, he might not end up there too. Scratch that, he knows he won’t. Not after…..

…..When it’s over, so they say…. She was just a kid. …..it’ll rain a sunny day. I know…. She was just… …..shining down like water…. She was…. ….I wanna know… She… ….have you ever seen the rain…

Blue hues stare hooded and unseeing of the physical world. The easy words and rhythmic smoothing of his hair chasing away… Numbing the parts the liquor didn’t. Everything’s to mixed up to understand where it’s coming from, or where it’s taking him. To much like film on the cutting room floor, kicked about and woven together until he can’t keep any of it straight anymore. Can’t tell what’s real and what’s memory until it doesn’t matter anymore. Until he’s drifted away from it, or it’s drifted away from him. Mumbled and slurred words falling away from his lips; half out of tune and fractured. Heavy eye lids giving up what ground they still held, head lulling ever so to one side.

“…..wanna know…..rain……on a sunny day….”

Damn you.

Bitter. Harsh. Angry without the capability to do the damage it wants to.

It echoes from somewhere underwater. Somewhere Riley can quite ignore as it comes washing over him. And it’s funny because the kid doesn’t know half of it. All that Riley has bargained and bartered of himself for Bastien’s sake, and even longer for Beth. He’s sacrificed body and blood, given up life and limb on an altar that isn’t about vanity though he likes to make it seem that way because it’s better for people to believe in his arrogance than his fear of failure. He’s damned because he’s already given his God two middle fingers and pissed on centuries of doctrine. That while he sees himself as a soldier and a crusader, that maybe there’s truth in the fact that he’s every bit a monster as people see in the boy and in his sister. He just hides it a hell of a lot better.

He lets Baz root around his own psyche. The doubts and bruises that he’s built callouses over. Things from the past that are so much harder than the most cherished heirloom to give up, to let go of because of his innate sense of guilt. With time and effort spent, he could unravel those things too, tuck them away somewhere unreachable. He could rewire the faulty connections. He could fix and tweak all the little impairments that lingered and kept Baz from being his quote/unquote Best Self. But the thing Riley knows that his sister has yet to figure out, is that while, yes.. their miracles and magick CAN in fact do that, change and fix and presumably make better, that may not exactly be their place. Hubris says that they can master whatever they like but wouldn’t that change everything the siblings loved about him? Yes. Would it make Baz any happier in life? No. Those two things are very concrete reasons that he keeps hands off and puts up mental police lines-do not cross.

But he’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t half tempted.

Because no matter what else he is, he’s a guardian. A protector. Has been his whole life and while he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, Riley is just as concerned if not more so than Beth. So he moves past memories that are like furniture and emotions like walls. Visits Baz’s house over different periods of his life without looking too closely. He knows what he wants and what he’s looking for and he’s guided there by screaming ghosts of guilt. It is exhausting. But he keeps singing and soon enough, Baz is singing too, little more than a whisper but it’s there in all it’s broken up lyrics. From there he wanders to those latest crimes the kid’s stacked up against himself. He takes mental snap-shots of the mission, blow by blow, and his teeth grit so hard they should shatter. Because this? This is gross and unconscionable. Something no one should be forced to do, especially someone not trained and supported to do so. And once he’s got it securely locked up in his own head where it will never be forgotten, Andy begins to tug and twist at the memory. He changes the girl’s face into the vague and ordinary visage of everyone’s idea of John Smith. Some one so average that it won’t haunt B’s nightmares. That won’t register as such a horrible sin that he needs to punish himself over and over again to try to ease the breaking of his misplaced heart.

And he knows that the memory will stay forever changed unless someone with greater mastery than his own goes rooting around and gets lucky enough to notice that it’s been altered in the first place. He constructs a Crusader’s seal to both bind and ward that from happening. He also draws on his command of time to do this in the time it appears to sing the song in it’s entirety. And as a parting gift? He meddles with Baz’s brain chemistry to make sure he’s got a good buzz, warm and sleepy and comforting, but that won’t leave him with the nastiest of headaches in the morning. Then carefully he walks himself back the way he came. Familiar halls now that he won’t forget either. Which is the weight and cost he has to pay for being able to do what he does. But at least Riley knows he’s built to carry it.

He leaves no fingerprints and locks the door as he lets himself out, his hand still physically lodged in Baz’s hair. He rolls his neck and listens to it creak before forcing a twitch of his lips. “Didn’t think you knew that one, B. Like that thing you have with movies and not paying attention to what people are saying. Maybe they won’t be coming to you to sign a record deal or nothin’, but you’re not half bad.”

His tone is teasing, a pointed jab that is only half mean when weighed against the truth, the typical kind of bullshit that normally comes out of his mouth. Ordinary, everyday banter that he’s pretty sure Baz doesn’t half get even when he’s in top fighting condition, which he is anything but at the moment.

His tongue lolls out and dampens his lips as he takes a breath. “You feelin’ any better because I kinda wanna grab us a couple beers and just wind down from the day, but if you’re still not feeling yourself, we could just stay here.”

#rugini #Clutch|Baz Barton #BvO #Snarky and Clutch|The BrOTP #Under Bold Skies|MCU #Brooklyn Stories|New York #Crash This Train version

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