Reposting My Butch Ruby With A Bonus Butchfemme WR :P

The Fine Print

With the Summoning for Dummies book, Ruby is sure she'll get a cute corgi in no time. She, and Maria had wanted one after all. Then again she really should have read the fine print.

Huge hand to @amelia-yap for letting me play in her sandbox and making some incredible art!

Undertow’s origin story

Prologue The gunfire was deafening. Bullets ricocheted off the outer and inner walls and the explosions of grenades shook the apartment complex as the Canadian soldiers and American marines stood their ground against the oncoming onslaught. The walls have long began to crumble under the constant hailstorm of bullets. Four casualties in the squad of ten. One dead, two barely conscious and one still fighting. The medic was trying to two of the injured soldiers while avoiding derbies and bullets ricocheting in the room. Staff Sergeant John Nash of the U.S marines sat against one of the walls below a hole an RPG impact made. He was frantically changing the magazine in his rifle. He hit the bolt release with the heel of his hand while watching the bolt carrier snap the ejection port closed. Quick as a flash, he sprung to his feet and rested the handguard on the lower edge of the hole, he lined up the iron sights on a target and pulled the trigger. The small red sprays from the body uneased him, but it meant that the shots hit their mark. Firing two rounds at a time on semi auto, he cut down one enemy down after another. “They're coming up the the stairs!” shouted a voice over over the radio system. John ducked back behind his cover to give the order. Someone link up with Foley and hold the stairwell!” John ordered over the radio. “Drenth!” John shouted, catching the attention of one of the Canadian soldiers as he was helping the medic put a splint on the leg of one of wounded soldiers. “Finish up helping Clarke and take position here to cover the courtyard!” Drenth replied “You got it!” to John as he primed a grenade and threw it out the hole. The sergeant rose up and fired into the street, taking a bit of pressure off the courtyard of another building across the road. The Canadian soldier slipped up behind John and patted his shoulder to signal he’ll take watch. As John made his way to the balcony, Drenth rested his rifle on the ledge of the hole and fired into the street. John rose up and aimed the underbarrel grenade launcher on his rifle towards the entrance of an alley where two or three men ran into and fired. The 40mm grenade detonated as it hit the wall just inside the alley enterance. “Bobcat 2-1, Bobcat 3-1! Do you copy!” The call was from the sergeant of another squad in the lobby of the building across the street they were covering. John ducked down behind the concrete barrier and pressed the talk button on the mic for the radio. “Go ahead 3-1!” “We planted the fireworks, but we can't leave, break! The AO’s too hot and we have multiple casualties, break! We need CASEVAC and reinforcements, now! Over!” John switched his radio frequency to contact their command base. “FOB Matrix, this is Bobcat 2-1! Do you copy, over!” John shouted into the mic. “Bobcat 2-1, FOB Matrix. Send traffic, over,” the radio operator replied. “Bobcat 3 planted the noisemakers, but we've got multiple wounded and at least two KIA, break! We’re heavily outnumbered and outgunned with about four snipers taking pot shots at us, break! Over a dozen and a half foot soldiers with automatic weapons are still kicking and have already breached the crows nest, break! Requesting air support at our AO! How copy, over!” John waited for about fifteen seconds for a reply, in till he heard what he didn't want to hear. “Uh… negative Bobcat 2-1. I say again, negative. RPGs have already shot down two transport choppers on the other side of the city and convoys have been mobilized to evacuate any survivors, break. All chopper support has been grounded until further notice, break. Will send info if situation changes, over.” John angrily hit the heel of his boot against the floor at the news. “Where the fuck is that air support?!” shouted a marine as he reloaded his rifle. John switched his radio frequency back to the closed comms for the squad. “Bobcat, be advised! The RPGs are too big of a risk for the choppers! Two transports were already shot down! We need to hold out on our own!” John said over the radio. “Sonofabitch!” a marine swore to himself as he pulled a pin from a grenade and lobbed it into the street. He then leveled his rifle on the ledge and started firing again. The exchange of bullets and explosives escalated as more hostiles flooded the streets below and fired their automatic rifles at the squad's position. As one of US marines continued firing his light machine gun at the oncoming targets in short bursts, he saw a single greater danger than the dozen plus human targets. A pickup truck had rounded the corner with four more gunmen and one man on a heavy machine gun. “We’ve got a technical rolling in!” he shouted as the gunner opened fire. The men and women of the squad hit the deck as the half inch diameter bullets hit the thick reinforced concrete walls inside the room. Most of them made it, except one. As Ben landed on the ground, he swore he felt something wet splash on the right side of his face. He brought his right hand to his face. He removed the gloved hand from his face to see that the liquid didn't just dampen the fabric. The substance coloured it… in crimson. “NASH!” The marines and Canadians on the floor turned their heads to see their XO’s body. John had taken a direct hit from a 50 calibre bullet just below the collarbone, blowing apart his upper torso. He died almost instantly. Ben still laid on his stomach at the gory mess that was Sgt John Nash as the world went quiet. All he could hear over the silence of his mind was blurred voices and muffled sounds of rock hitting rock as his eyes tried to take in what was happening around him. A young American marine was on a knee against an inner wall looking like he was hyperventilating with panic. One of the other marines near the balcony wall lobbed a grenade over the wall, trying to lighten up the heat so the squad could fire again. Clarke and one of the other troops jumped on top of the wounded men to protect them from the flying debris, still staring at the dismemberment. Then, Ben’s eyes fell back on John's corpse as the pool of blood still stretched from his body and began to dampen Ben's uniform under the armour. In his eyes, it felt like he was lying there for hours. His mind was completely blank. He felt frozen, as if every joint in his body locked. He had forgotten how to breathe, his lungs started to panic for oxygen. Within his mind, there was only one question running through... What now? 

I painted this painting in 2015. It was in my house before it was bombed. All my paintings were erased from existence, and this is one of them.

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They complement each other

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