NOTE: While safe to look at, MY CHARACTER ART *WRITTEN CONTENT* FREQUENTLY HAS TRIGGERING CONTENT DEALING WITH ADULT OR UNCOMFORTABLE THEMES. I try to provide warnings in these entries, but may not always do so, and I cannot warn for every possible trigger there may be. I DO NOT CONDONE THESE ISSUES–they’re plot devices, as well as my own attempts to work through what bothers me. (I don’t have access to therapy.) If my blog content bothers you, I strongly suggest just blocking me and not interacting. It’s difficult to randomly stumble across my blog (I’ve been posting for years yet am pretty invisible and unpopular), so if you stop by to criticize my work it must be done deliberately. I’m not seeking critique (as this post already says), and I have my own triggers which I deal with by blocking and avoiding. Please respect my personal space by doing the same. Thank you!

NOTE 2: I have no one to discuss it with, and no readers I’m aware of, so I frequently spoil my own writing here. Since most of this is unwritten/still under development, details may change or even contradict each other at times. The most recent entry is always the more accurate one. Feel free to ask questions if you like. Better yet, visit my Toyhou.se for more info. (I have lots of invite codes!)

(Attempting to create a blog for my dumb art. Entries now backdated; they show correct dates on posts but will only sort by date of actual posting due to Tumblr limitations. Sorry about that.)

WELCOME to Tehuti88’s dumb art blog. Tehuti88 is my main account, so I can’t follow/like anything from here (Tumblr rule). I don’t expect anyone to follow or like anything of mine but just clarifying that. I do always check out the blogs of anyone who does, though!

As you can tell, I’m relatively new to this. I downloaded the Sony Sketch app around August/September 2018 since it seemed low impact and easy to understand, though its options are limited and I’m still figuring out things like layers, which don’t work quite as I thought they would…plus, only a year after I started drawing, Sony Sketch decided to do away with its online functions, including cloud storage/syncing and the online community; so, there goes my ability to share my dumb art with 14-year-old Eastern Europeans. 😐 (The only people who liked my art once in a while always seemed to be young users writing everything in Cyrillic, for some reason.) And I don’t have Instagram or Twitter or anything like that, either.

(2021 update: I understand some features better and now divide my art time between the defunct but still currently functional Sony Sketch (mostly character portraits), and IbisPaint X, where I occasionally create custom brushes. There is also an occasional doodle from Kleki. I now have a Twitter too, though it’s mostly political retweets so I shan’t link to it here…it’s easy to find. Feel free to friend me there if you’re along the same political lines as I am.)

So…here is my “art blog.” I contribute once a day to Reddit’s r/SketchDaily where I am barely noticed (because I post at the wrong time of day, plus I suck), thus my “art” is already hosted on Imgur, so I’ll link to that here. (Update, I’ve stopped doing this since Imgur sometimes compresses art poorly.) UNLESS I SPECIFICALLY ASK, I’M NOT SEEKING CRITICISM OR ADVICE. I know most of what I’m doing wrong and beat myself up for it every time I draw.

I gladly welcome links to online drawing tutorials, though. Right now I’m most interested in learning to draw my own characters since I haven’t found my “style” yet, and I have great difficulty getting everyone to look different from each other. (I’m not good at viewing individual aspects of faces, so everyone I draw looks alike. I would be the worst police witness. 😞 )

You may (maybe not) notice that my drawing descriptions occasionally run long, not just with art info but semi- or unrelated venting. This is because I have no therapist, personal blog, or supportive community to confide in. I’ve been at this for over twenty years so it’s pretty safe to say by now that I’m not going to find such a place. :/ Even here on Tumblr I’m virtually invisible. I know nobody reads that stuff except maybe a person or two who finds it amusing but these are the breaks, I suppose. I don’t use spoiler cuts (mostly because I don’t know how) but it’s easily skipped.

One last thing, I post my character art on Toyhou.se, where I maintain character profiles; you can find that HERE. I have ungenerated invite codes that nobody has expressed interest in so far, and nobody to give them to, so if you’re interested in one feel free to contact me. I like sharing info about my characters so if you ever have a question about one just ask. (I’m far too shy/anxious/boring to maintain conversations about anything else, sorry.)

That’s all I can think of for now. Enjoy my crap!

5/4/24: r/SketchDaily theme, “Star Wars.” Kinda rushed because I’m unfamiliar with this franchise and was in a foul mood with my Internet. :/

[Jabba [‎Saturday, ‎May ‎4, ‎2024, ‏‎12:00:11 AM]]

5/3/24: r/SketchDaily theme, “Free Draw Friday.” This week’s character from my anthro WWII storyline is Private First Class Green Rat. He’s currently not a major character, though he started out in a semi-important role in the first reboot. He’s a complete newbie and is constantly overwhelmed and has no idea how to handle anything. There’ll be more about him later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

Regarding his design, he’s rather chubby, and looks perpetually confused or terrified. He’s young, but not as young as this art makes him look.

TUMBLR EDIT: Plotwise, Green is one of the “newer” Trench Rats, the second wave who were recruited following the German attack on HQ. Development-wise, I knew he dated back to at least the first reboot, circa 2002 or whenever, but had a strong feeling he actually was created prior to that, maybe even around the same time as “original” (developmentwise, not plotwise) Trench Rats Gold, Black, Red, Blue, etc. I just looked at my earliest still-extant version of The Trench Rats, dating to late 1990 (it claims to be based on an even earlier (written?) version, but I have no memory of this, and no evidence of its existence), and although I didn’t remember this either, Green is indeed mentioned a handful of times (always as one of a group of other named Rats), and has exactly one unique line:

Black came up and, seeing the confusion, shook his head. “Hello!”

Purple, Red, and Green immediately leapt to attention and saluted. “Hello, sir!”

Gold twirled his tail and grinned.

“What’s going on?” Black asked, climbing in.

Red relaxed. “Nothin’ much, sir. In fact–”

“We don’t know what we’re doing,” Purple snickered.

“I guess that’s it, sir.”

“At ease!” Black exclaimed, laughing at Green, who immediately relaxed with a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, dropping to the floor in a heap.

Oddly, this very brief interaction, from a very stupidly out-of-character (Black, laughing? 🤨 ) and out-of-date text, is still pretty in character for Green.

Now, on to the reboot, for which I know Green has at least a chapter dedicated to him. Here’s the relevant text I’ve found, recall that it dates back to the early 2000s. There are errors, including that Indigo should have a RED cross on his helmet. And Black being a drill instructor, uh…I have no idea.

Excerpt one:

5: GREEN

WHEN HE FIRST STEPPED out of the Jeep, he already felt out of place. The huge sunken building, the numerous trenches surrounding it at a distance, the Rats standing with their guns over their shoulders–all of it seemed part of another place, with nothing to do with him. He was one of the latecomers; he was sure the First Battalion had all they really needed, after the massacre and all, though they did need four hundred to even their numbers out. He supposed he was four hundred and one.

“Private Green?” one of the Rats standing nearby asked. Green nodded, feeling at least a little relieved that someone recognized him, even though it was probably just because of the color of his cape. Most of the Rats were assigned colors as codenames; those who were wore the color in their uniform, and he had gotten green. Green. Why did he have to get stuck with such a color? At least it fit his state of mind.

“Welcome,” the Rat said, coming forward. Green felt like cringing away. This Rat was huge, towering over him; from the looks of it he could snap Green like a twig. When he stopped and looked down at him Green felt like an ant. The color of his cape was a deep purplish-blue; it reached almost to the ground. He wore the spiked German-style helmet of all the Trench Rats; a white cross was upon it, and a lance-corporal insignia upon his right arm. Green didn’t know what he should call him. Sir? Shouldn’t that be saved for the sergeant and the corporal? Even though he’d probably never really meet them… What about Lance-Corporal? Purplish-Blue Guy? He was absolutely mystified, and he was sure it showed on his face.

“I’ve been assigned to show you to your quarters,” the Rat said. From his accent, Green realized he must be Australian, and wondered what he’d done to end up here. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll have you set up in under an hour. Is that your luggage?”

“Yes–Sir–I mean–uh–”

The big Rat smiled. “You can call me Indigo. Your luggage, heavy, is it?”

“Yes, it is, kind of–”

He cut himself off as Indigo hauled the bag out and swung it over his shoulder as if it were a down pillow. The taller Rat turned and marched off toward the low-set building; Green nearly had to run to keep up with his long strides.

“When’d you decide you wanted to join the battalion?” Indigo asked absently as they descended a set of steps into the earth.

“I–I was drafted, actually,” Green admitted. Indigo nodded. “I actually don’t think I’m very fit for Marine life. My father always said–”

“Well, you’ll get used to it, after a while. If you never see the sergeant, consider yourself lucky. However, sometimes it’s sheer luck that gets you to him. There’s four hundred of us, give or take, and Black doesn’t have time to spend on every single one. That’s why he sends out blokes like me to do the dirty work.” And he laughed raucously.

Green gave a nervous smile that he didn’t really feel. “Is he–is he really as hard as they say?”

“They who? Hard? You kidding me? Half the time you wouldn’t even think there’s a sergeant there. He got quite a reputation as a drill instructor–he never yelled in anybody’s face. All he had to do was stare 'em down.” Indigo chuckled. By now they’d entered a lower system of tunnels, deep under the ground; the walls were damp and there was the sound of dripping water far off. Several sections still showed damage from the severe bombing they’d taken not too long ago, when the surrounding trenches had been gassed and over three-quarters of the original battalion had been killed off… Green shook his head, preferring not to think about it too hard lest he lose what composure he still had. Indigo led him into a wide hall branching off of the main one, then to a door set in the wall. He stopped and pulled out a set of keys.

“These’re your quarters,” he explained. “Right now you’ve got no roomies. Consider yourself lucky again.” He laughed to himself. “But don’t be surprised if you suddenly end up with a buddy. That happens. You’re probably not gonna be the only latecomer here. Seems everybody and their mother’s lining up to join.”

“Really,” Green mumbled.

“Yeah, really.” Yet another chuckle; Green relaxed just a bit. It was good to see such a jovial nature in such a huge rat. As he unlocked the door and went inside, Green following, Indigo glanced down at the shorter Rat meaningfully.

“It’s not always that bad to see the sergeant, though,” he added. “Make lance-corporal and you’ll get a bird of your own to fly, even.”

Green smiled weakly and nodded. The truth was, he couldn’t care less; the sharp-beaked specimens he’d been introduced to already in the stables at the back hadn’t looked very friendly to him. He’d seen the two used by Black and Gold–even their colors matched.

“When’s my shift?” he asked absently. The Rats worked in four-hour shifts, so that everyone got some sleep while all the ways into the underground bunker remained guarded.

Indigo chuckled again. “Oh, you, not for a little while yet. You’ve gotta learn the ropes. I bet you don’t even know your way around yet?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, not–”

“You could see Turquoise about that. He’s been all the way through these tunnels and back, a dozen times and more. Even I could get lost. He doesn’t. I’ll make sure he gives you the ‘grand tour.’” And he howled with laughter and slapped Green on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over.

Green wheezed. “Thanks. I–”

“You’re welcome. Look, here’s your bunk, your space, and everything. Here’s a kind of map–” he pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to him “–not anything detailed, but enough to get you to Mess Hall or the hospital ward if you need anything. If you want to know wherever anybody is, just go to HQ. I’m sure somebody’ll point you out. Now, I’ve gotta get going. It’s my turn to wash out the bedpans.” He just about screamed and smacked Green on the back again. Green winced at the stinging that spread through him. “Bedpans! Ain’t that funny? I’ll see you later, mate.” He turned and disappeared out the door, his howls echoing down the hallway.

Green, now that he’d been left alone, rubbed his sore back, certain he’d acquire a large bruise. Not that it mattered much. He’d tolerated plenty bruises enough in basic training. With a sigh he slumped down on his bunk and stared up at the ceiling. He almost wished Turquoise, whoever he was, was there to show him around now. It seemed he’d be doing nothing else important for a while.

Excerpt two:

8: TURQUOISE

A TRENCH WALL collapsed and blood went streaming along the ground, muddying the earth.

Turquoise stared at the ceiling–or rather, the bottom of the bunk just above him–frowning as the image kept repeating itself in his head.

He wasn’t certain why it wouldn’t go away…they usually did, pretty quickly, but this one stayed with him, and gave him an anxious feeling. No, anxious didn’t quite describe it…he had a bad feeling.

A knock came to his door. He shut his eyes and let out a small annoyed sound. He’d just managed to get back to his own quarters for a brief rest, and now this. Why did people always seek him out?

“Go away!” he shouted, putting his hand over his eyes.

A voice he didn’t recognize came through the door. “Um…Sir?”

He lifted his hand and blinked. Who was that? With a sigh he pushed himself off the bed and went to the door, opening it and peering out. “What?” he snapped, before noticing that the Rat standing there wore a private first class insignia and held his hand up to his brow in a stiff salute.

Turquoise stared at him.

The private didn’t move, merely stayed frozen that way.

Turquoise shifted one foot awkwardly. He didn’t recognize this one, so it was obviously a newbie. He was shorter even than Turquoise and wore a green cape. Logically…Turquoise decided his name must be Green.

“Uh…” he said, breaking the silence. The private’s eyes shifted but otherwise he didn’t move. “PFC…Green…”

“Yes, Sir!” The private looked astounded that Turquoise knew his name.

“You can put your hand down, Green. I’m not the sergeant.”

“Yes, Sir.” Green did so, but stayed at attention.

This time Turquoise sighed inwardly. Though almost everyone in the Trench Rats bore a relatively low rank, those who were lower in rank always seemed to submit to those who were higher–sometimes to a fault. As a mere lance-corporal he felt he in no way deserved the title “Sir,” yet privates were calling him that all the time. On occasion even lance-corporals called other lance-corporals “Sir,” but thankfully that was only when one was in command over the other…otherwise he didn’t think he’d be able to stand all the “Sirring” that seemed to go on.

He had to at least try. “You don’t need to call me Sir, either, Green. I’m just a lance-corporal here.”

“I’m sorry, Sir–I–uh–Lance-Corporal–I–uh–” Turquoise modified the expression on his face, to indicate that the private could say what was on his mind. “The truth is, Sir, uh, well, I just feel better calling you–I mean, uh–well–I’m only a PFC here, and you are higher in rank, so…”

“Well…that’s okay, I guess…what do you want, Private?”

Green seemed to relax slightly. Here’s a person who could become used to routine, Turquoise thought. “I was told to get in touch with you, Sir. You see, I’m new here, and–”

“Indigo sent you, didn’t he?” Even as he said it Turquoise wasn’t certain how he knew. “To have me show you around.”

“–Yes, Sir.” Green gaped at him.

“I suppose that’s okay, too. Hold on and I’ll be right along with you.”

“Yes, Sir.” Green stood absolutely immobile while Turquoise went to the stand in the corner and splashed water in his face, shaking his head–the strange vision had left him feeling fuzzy and distracted. The last thing he needed to do was show some newbie around while he was half out of his head. He shook his hands off and turned back to him, but kept rubbing them together almost unconsciously.

“So you’re new here, huh.” It wasn’t even a question. Green answered anyway.

“Yes, Sir. I just got set up in my room, but I thought maybe it would be better if I, uh–got to know the place first. Someone told me where the main HQ is, but so far that and my room are all I know.”

“Well, you should know where Mess Hall and the hospital ward are, too. They’re both in the West Wing. Your room is here in the East Wing.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s where most quarters are.” He said that to let Green know he wasn’t God, he didn’t know where everybody’s specific room was. That was, not unless he’d been shown who lived there. Then he didn’t forget.

“Yes, Sir.” It didn’t work; Green was still looking at him like he should be put up on a pedestal and worshipped.

Turquoise swallowed. His hands were still shaking. He felt like he needed a drink. “The North Wing is still shut down after the bombing. Indigo forgot to tell you about that, didn’t he.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“There are many smaller tunnels leading off of all the wings, but Doomsday mostly is in control of those. Those tunnels are where most of the wiring and electronics for this place are stored. I’ll show you a few of the more important ones later, in case you get assigned to work with him.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Doomsday is our chief engineer, by the way.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You probably won’t see him much.”

“No, Sir.”

They reached the intersection of the four main wings; Turquoise stopped and briefly glanced in each direction, sheerly out of habit. It wasn’t as if he needed to get his bearings.

“They’re serving soup in Mess Hall,” he said, sniffing the air, though when Green sniffed he didn’t seem to smell anything. “Rice soup. Supper starts in a few minutes. I’ll get you there a bit early if you like.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s the North Wing.” He pointed out the portion of hall to the right; it went on for a short distance before they could see sawhorses blocking off the way, and what appeared to be a caved-in section of the roof beyond that. Green swallowed. Turquoise merely went on ahead.

“Mess this way.” Green hurried to catch up as the lance-corporal strode off. Turquoise waved his arm at an entrance on the left-hand side of the hall, from which was issuing a lot of noise; evidently there were other Rats who wished to start supper early, too. Green sniffed and licked his mouth. Turquoise continued on, past the hall, so he had to leave the cafeteria behind.

“The hospital ward is directly ahead. It suffered some damage during the attack, but it’s mostly fixed up now. Lieutenant Burgundy is in charge down there. Lance-Corporal Lyndsey Skye is the head nurse. You’ve already met Indigo. He’s one of Burgundy’s interns.”

“Yes, Sir. I didn’t know that, Sir.”

Turquoise tried not to grind his teeth. This “Sir” thing was really grating on his nerves. He pushed open the doors to the ward. “Trench Rat ward is to the left, refugees and outside patients to the right. Hello, LC Skye.”

Skye came forward with a tray in her hands. It held a bowl of soup. “Good evening, Turquoise. I was just bringing this to our lovely German patient. Who’s this?”

“This is PFC Green. He’s new here. I was showing him around.”

“Do come in. I’m sorry to say the doctor’s out right now. Probably taking care of his arm.” She shrugged and turned away, not explaining, disappearing behind the curtain blocking off the private ward.

Turquoise followed her in, so so did Green. He tried to look in the Trench Rat ward, but a curtain was blocking it off as well. Turquoise assumed he wondered if anyone was in there…and how badly they might be hurt.

He tried to shove thoughts of the collapsing trench out of his mind…

Nurse Skye was taking the tray over to the Nazi patient, who sat glowering at her from his bed. There were three others on the ward, and they all stared at Green as he went past. His face grew red. One of them leaned over toward another and whispered something in French. Turquoise very nearly felt his ears burning for the embarrassment the private must be feeling right now.

He then got a better look at the patient. “What–what happened to his head?” he asked, a slight note of alarm rising in his voice. He hadn’t noticed that nasty gash before. It had been sewn up, but from the looks of it, no one had bothered to use anesthesia.

“Oh, he and the good doctor got in a bit of a tussle earlier today. Gold had to break it up and whip some sense into him. With the butt-end of his gun, to be exact.”

Turquoise cringed. Green paled. Turquoise could guess what he was thinking: This corporal is starting to sound like a pretty nice guy. He had a sudden mental image of Gold, snarling and savagely ramming the gun into the already-weakened Nazi’s head, grinning wickedly as the prisoner went down. Then he had to shake his own head again. Who had thought that one up, himself or Green?

He glanced at Green and saw the sick look on his face and felt his question had been answered.

Skye went toward the patient and offered the tray. The Nazi kept glowering, even when she offered some kind words in German. Turquoise stepped forward; Green followed. The Nazi turned and glared at Green, but when he looked at Turquoise the expression on his face changed. When he spoke to the lance-corporal there was a plaintive tone to his voice. Turquoise sighed and said something in return. Skye only frowned and shook her head.

Green leaned toward her. “What was that?” he whispered, curious. “It looked like he was…asking him for something.”

“He’s asking when he can be let go. He doesn’t like it here, with Americans. He wants to go back. For some reason I suppose he thinks Turquoise will help him out. That’s how a lot of our patients are. Turquoise isn’t even an intern here and the patients look up to him more than they do to Burgundy.” A shrug and a sympathetic look. “But we’re not going to be able to let him go. He could always go back and tell the Nazis where our HQ is. And we can’t let anybody know that. Not even the British. There’s always the chance someone we don’t want to know could find out.”

Turquoise managed to listen in on them while listening also to the Nazi patient. In truth he only half listened to both. He stood with his stare far away while the patient kept talking to him in German.

“When can I go from here?”

“I’m sorry but you’re a prisoner now. You can’t go.”

“I swear I won’t let them know of your Headquarters. They won’t learn it.”

“I’m sorry but you still can’t leave. Make the best of it here.”

“You must let me go. I can’t survive here! That doctor will kill me first! You must let me go!”

Turquoise didn’t respond to him this time. He turned away, back to Skye and Green, speaking up as the patient raised his voice in protest. “Maybe we should go now. Dinner should be starting. Follow me. Thank you for showing us in, Nurse Skye.”

“You’re welcome, Turquoise. Do come again when you’re able.” She had to raise her own voice to be heard over the Nazi, who was now practically shouting to get Turquoise’s attention. When he didn’t get it, he slumped back in bed, ignoring the soup she offered him.

Turquoise rubbed his head, suddenly aching, and headed for the doors, hearing Green trotting to catch up, and Skye serving dinner to one of the other patients, replying to his questioning murmur, “Oh, he’ll get over it. Once he finds out Lieutenant Burgundy doesn’t have a vendetta against him. I’m surprised he hasn’t considered poison in his soup if he thinks Burgundy is going to kill him…oh, no, there’s no poison in there, Sir…you must believe me.”

Except three:

9: GREEN

TURQUOISE LED GREEN into Mess Hall, mumbling something about going to see the refugee compound at some other time; Green wasn’t certain what he was talking about as he wasn’t paying much attention anymore. He was too busy gawking around the crowded room to notice much of what the other Rat said. He hadn’t thought the room would be so big, or have so many people in it.

Several Trench Rats glanced up at him as they went past, but only briefly, before turning back to their dinners. Turquoise led him to the food line. “You just pick up what you need. I’ll be sitting over there. Come over when you’re finished.” Rubbing his forehead, he walked away to join two other Rats seated at a nearby table.

Green swallowed and made his way up the line. He took the absolute minimum he could without sacrificing the entire meal. Any other time he would have been starving, but today he was far too nervous to eat much. When he got back to the table he saw Turquoise in apparent conversation with one of the other Rats–or rather, the other Rat talked to Turquoise, while Turquoise listened. One of them was dressed in blue, with a lance-corporal’s bar on his arm; the other was in gold, with a corporal’s bars. Startled, Green nearly dropped his tray, but Turquoise waved him over.

“This is Lance-Corporal Blue and Corporal Gold,” he said. “This is PFC Green.”

“Hi!” Gold greeted. He held out his hand. Green set his tray down so hard some of the soup spilled over the side of the bowl, and he saluted. There was a pause. Gold shrugged and gave a halfhearted salute back. Then he waved his hand for Green to sit down.

“So you’re new here?” he asked, picking up a piece of bread and proceeding to tear it apart with his hands. Green nodded, his throat stuck. The corporal…wasn’t quite what he’d expected. He was too short, taller than Green but not by much, shorter even than Blue. And he didn't look like the kind of person who would hit someone in the head with a gun butt. Not at all.

“Yes, Sir,” he finally managed to get out.

“Oh, the 'Sir’ type. Okay. So you got done stamping those letters, huh?”

The question obviously wasn’t addressed to him, so he didn’t answer. Turquoise sighed and rubbed his eyes, ink still staining his hands.

“Yes. Every last one. Copper took them, though, so if they end up in the wrong place, it’s not my fault.”

“Turquoise here is what you call an eternal pessimist,” Gold said to Green, as if the other Rat couldn’t hear. When Turquoise gave him a nasty look he went back to the subject. “Just so long as they’re done. They’re supposed to be delivered–tomorrow, is it?”

“I thought it was tonight. He already left, right?”

“Left, right–that’s crazy talk there.”

“Look, did he leave or didn’t he? Copper said he had to have them by tonight…it’s tonight, I figure he has to have them by now!”

“Okay, all right, just joking. I thought he came back by now…didn’t his company come back in?”

“Do I look like I was there?”

“Of course they did,” Blue cut in. “I’m here, aren’t I? Where the hell is your head tonight, Gold?”

“Well, that’s kind of what I was getting at…I mean, shouldn’t you be gone? Silver and the others were supposed to raid that whatchamacallit, that camp. I heard he scoped it out, if they don’t do it tonight they’re gonna lose their chance.”

“That’s up to Echo and Charlie Companies. Mine’s still stuck here. Just to irritate you, dear.”

“Whatever, just so long as he did whatever he had to do with those papers so I don’t get held responsible. Look, bread angel!” Gold held up his piece of bread to reveal what he’d been working on; it resembled the outline of an angel with wings. Turquoise didn’t seem interested; Blue smiled over his soup. Green just stared.

This guy whacked a Nazi with a gun?

“He’s deep in thought,” Gold said, tracing patterns in his soup with a spoon and grinning at Green. “Right now he’s got to be thinking something deep, something profound. WHAT’RE YOU THINKING, GREEN?”

He said it so loudly that Green snapped out of his thoughts and actually blurted out what was on his mind.

“I don’t see you hitting him with a gun, Sir!”

Blue’s hand froze on its way to his mouth with the spoon. Turquoise looked up. Gold gaped across the table.

Green turned every shade of red humanly possible. He wanted to just drop his head in his soup and die.

Then Gold started laughing. Green’s first thought was to turn red again; then he realized Gold was laughing more at what he'd said than at Green himself. So he simply got…confused.

“Yeah,” Gold said as soon as he could control his laughter, “I suppose it is kinda hard to imagine. But it just kinda happened.”

“You really did hit him?” Now that the story was confirmed Gold seemed to come more down to Earth; he wasn’t the savage Trench Rat brutally bashing a Nazi’s head in with his gun. “In the head? With the gun?–I mean, Sir.”

Gold took a mouthful of soup. “Yeah, I did. But only 'cause Burgundy yelled to do something. Before that all I was doing was gawking at him.” He started laughing again, a weird choked sound. “Somebody smack me before I shoot soup out my nose.”

“God.” Turquoise this time, shaking his head and putting it in his hands.

“So you’re the one who’s been keeping the lieutenant in business?” Blue inquired, blowing on his soup.

“No, it was just him, just that one guy. Nurse Skye and I have reached an agreement that I will not be held technically responsible for any other injuries that occur as the result of my gun hitting someone’s head. Technically.”

This time he and Blue started laughing. Green tried a wavery smile. He hadn’t imagined the Trench Rats as being anything like this at all…these people were too…normal.

“I’m sure Burgundy will agree too,” Blue said.

“Make him sign something,” Turquoise added, “and I’ll put the official stamp of approval on it.”

They started howling now. Green couldn’t help joining in, forgetting all about his food. For several moments they tried to catch their breath, gasping and heaving.

“What, that’s all you got?” Gold asked, noticing Green’s tray. “That won’t keep you going! You should be eating like me, now–”

“You’d need Gold’s metabolism too,” Blue said. “Or else you’d balloon up.”

“Like his head,” Turquoise put in.

“Oh, yeah now, that’s funny. Eat like Turquoise does and you’ll just blow away. Watch out for any strong winds.”

“I wasn’t hungry,” Turquoise retorted, sounding slightly offended.

“You’re just like a camel, Turq. You live off of something besides food. Someday we’re gonna find out just what that something is.”

“And try it out on Gold,” Blue finished, and they laughed again.

“I hope you gentlemen aren’t having too much fun without me?”

Gold stood up and gave a dramatic bow as Skye appeared, carrying her own tray. “So you’ve finally decided to join us common folk!” he exclaimed, giving her his seat. She gave him an odd smile as he moved to Green’s side. “What dragged you away from sickbay, LC?”

“The sound of charming company in the Mess Hall. Cackling their brains out.”

“Careful. Gold threatened to spew soup from his nose,” Turquoise said.

Skye wrinkled her nose. Gold tossed his bread angel at Turquoise, who ducked. It landed in another Rat’s soup several feet away.

“Did not, at least not anytime recently. Make yourself at home, LC. There’s plenty of room, and plenty of food.”

“Not for long. Gold’s taking it all up. Look, poor Turquoise is going to fade away.”

“Ha!” This time Gold flicked a spoonful of rice soup at Blue. It smacked the lance-corporal in the face and he sputtered. Skye and Green had to force themselves not to laugh.

“A bunch of animals,” Skye said to Green and Turquoise, as if including them in on a big secret. Gold got up and grabbed Blue by the shoulders, knocking off his helmet and rubbing the top of his head with his knuckles.

“Aw, Blue here’s not an animal. It’s just me being my stupid old self. Blue, be a doll, and replace my piece of bread. I think I lost it in somebody else’s dinner.”

“Yes, Sir.” Blue retrieved his helmet, picked up his tray, and walked away.

“See what a gentleman he can be?” Gold asked the other three as he left. “And you called us animals–”

“Not particularly. I was specifying you.”

“Oh, now, LC, that hurts. Just when I thought you felt something for me.”

“That’s the indigestion talking, Corporal.”

The endless banter and innuendoes seemed very out of place to Green, but as the others didn’t seem very insulted by it he didn’t complain. In fact, he rather liked it. He didn’t feel quite so anxious anymore; it was almost like home.

Which was a place he didn’t count on seeing again anytime soon. So, he told himself, he’d better get used to it here. This was going to be his home, now.

…All righty, that’s it.

Taking a look at this last scene in Mess Hall, it appears to be an updated version of the original scene where Black arrives and Green salutes, then collapses; I didn’t include it as it was off topic and quite stupid, but what Black is walking in on is a bizarre conversation the Rats are having in D-Day’s room. There’s even a joke reference to using the five W’s and H (what, when, where, who, why, how–though these are not the words actually used) in the conversation, similar to the inane “left, right” joke in the newer version. Anyway.

Green has apparently always been intended to be the “absolute newbie” stereotype–enlisted not of his own free will, afraid of weapons and confrontation, extremely anxious to please authority, completely out of his element. He’s short, soft, and chubby. According to how my art turned out, he even has a baby face. Of course he expects the fabled Trench Rats to eat him alive. And is surprised when they don’t. Aside from this, I’m afraid, there was never much more developed of his character. He wasn’t intended to be that deep or interesting. And so far, he hasn’t appeared yet in my mental brainstorming for this second reboot. What this means, however, is there’s plenty of room for development.

I can’t commit to Green becoming an important character yet, though he has potential. He hasn’t revealed any particular past to me yet, though his mention of his father in the conversation with Indigo–“I–I was drafted, actually. I actually don’t think I’m very fit for Marine life. My father always said–”–hints at some possibilities. It looks like his father knew he’s not the fighting type, and likely either discouraged him from getting involved in the military/any fighting lifestyle, or criticized him over it. Repeatedly. Green acts exactly like someone who’s been relentlessly downtrodden and belittled by someone he looks up to and wishes to make proud. So in this newest story version, I’d have to assume he’s likely not drafted, he enlists willingly. THEN has second thoughts. Being drafted and then deciding to throw himself into it is still a possibility, though.

I can easily imagine Green going through some sort of character development arc where he gradually becomes more proficient and secure in his abilities, though he’d be quite stumbly and bumbly at first. My imagination is toying with him surviving by sheer luck for a time, for example, being the one who manages to miss getting hit by German sniper Ratdog, and Ratdog’s consternation afterwards. (Ever-scathing Klemper could be on hand to say, “How did you miss that shot…?”) This could be a running gag though it’d be more interesting if he did eventually just start to get better at things. I imagine that him witnessing all the horrible stuff that happens throughout the story could turn him jaded and cynical, though I wouldn’t want him becoming like, say, Citrine. I’d prefer him to cling to SOME of his idealism and belief in humanity.

BUT…there’s the alternate possibility of Green either getting turned, a la Anna Julian, OR just turning himself into a sort of bad guy, a la Revell. That could be a pretty interesting possibility from a character one would not expect. It would be difficult to pull off convincingly, so if I did go that route, I’d have to tread carefully to avoid it devolving into caricature. He’d have to have a damn good reason to turn.

This is all my convoluted way of saying…I had little time to draw this week and needed somebody easy and uncomplicated, so here Green is. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ But as I said! Potential! He could become a much more intriguing character when I have time, and when he decides to start talking to me. He has father issues…I suspect his story, if/when it emerges, will have something to do with that.

[Green Rat 2024 [‎Friday, ‎May ‎3, ‎2024, ‏‎12:00:11 AM]]

5/2/24: r/SketchDaily theme, “Were-Beasts.” I drew a wererat BECAUSE I COULD!

[Wererat [‎Thursday, ‎May ‎2, ‎2024, ‏‎12:00:15 AM]]

5/1/24: r/SketchDaily theme, “Floral Garlands.” Floral garland arch.

[Floral Arch [‎Wednesday, ‎May ‎1, ‎2024, ‏‎12:00:07 AM]]

4/30/24: r/SketchDaily theme, “Grocery Or To-Do List Without Using Words.” Due to cleaning up for some home remodeling I had time for only a very quick B&W doodle today. :/ It’s the same basic premise as the only thing I could think of for a finished artwork, though.

[Grocery List [‎Monday, ‎April ‎29, ‎2024, ‏‎11:18:03 PM]]

4/29/24: r/SketchDaily theme, “Something That Makes A Terrible Sound.” Another joke I’ve already used, but anyway…

[A Terrible Sound [‎Monday, ‎April ‎29, ‎2024, ‏‎12:15:08 AM]]

4/28/24: r/SketchDaily theme, “Roadtrip.” I’ve used this joke before but I couldn’t think of what to draw.

[Road Trip [‎Sunday, ‎April ‎28, ‎2024, ‏‎12:00:06 AM]]

4/27/24: r/SketchDaily theme, “Animal Alliteration.” Not knowing the exact animal alliteration theme ahead of time, and knowing from repeat experience that if I submit art later in the day it won’t be seen, I’ve decided to go off theme today, BUT if this turns out to be an entire alphabet thing, I’ll simply submit each theme the following day. (EDIT, I see it’s a one-off. So all right…I guess my artwork today…is a distinguished Doberman! 😋 )

Today’s work is one I’ve been wanting to do for a while. I’m disappointed in that he bears the same looking-down-my-nose glower as my earlier “Herr Himmel” art, but otherwise it’s mostly okay. Perhaps a future attempt will turn out even better.

Rough practice sketch.

Character and design notes will be in my art Tumblr, tehuti88-art.

TUMBLR EDIT: This is Freiherr Louis (von) Dobermann, of course. He already has a detailed writeup HERE, with more info HERE, HERE, and HERE. His Toyhou.se page (full profile not up yet) is HERE.

Dobermann here wears an old-fashioned Prussian-inspired outfit (I didn’t include the rough sketch’s epaulets, too fancy), with the kepi (AKA “that f**king hat”) he was given by the city authorities, along with the honorary title Inspector, following his monetary contributions during the flu pandemic. He also earned the nickname “Der Wächter Der Stadt,” or Watchman of the City, thus the label on his kepi. He hates this hat, but grudgingly wears it for official meetings.

I took massive and mostly intentional artistic liberties with his medal. It’s an Iron Cross First Class from WWI. From what I read, these had no ribbon, and were not worn around the neck. The Iron Cross Second Class did have a ribbon–copied here–yet also was not worn around the neck. The similar Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross could be thus worn, but it was established in WWII, meaning Dobey did not earn one. (Lt. Hesse has this medal.) Now, I’m puzzled, while looking for images I came across one from WWI (meaning, not the Knight’s Cross), showing some official German guy, appearing to be wearing an Iron Cross at his throat. I finally located it again: Field Marshal Paul von Hindenburg awards the Iron Cross to soldiers of the 3rd Foot Guards, of which he was part of in his early career. Date and place unkown. Fotoarchiv für Zeitgeschichte (1915). Now, that could be some completely different medal, I don’t know, the Iron Crosses are like all I know. (Don’t get me started on wound badges or whatever.) But it looks like an Iron Cross, around his neck. I didn’t know they weren’t worn like this when I drew the sketch, but did look it up before the final drawing. Although Wikipedia and Quora say otherwise, I decided to give my First Class a Second Class ribbon, and put it around Dobey’s neck. He loathes wearing his medal almost as much as he hates the hat, so again, he must be attending some dreadful social function.

I wish I had the skill for a full-body portrait, to emphasize Dobey’s build: Tall (maybe around 6'4" or 6'5"), lanky, broad shouldered yet narrow waisted, a V shape. Contrasted with Hesse, who much resembles him, yet is a bit shorter (I think 6'3") and more muscular.

Please see the links above for Dobey’s character history, which I needn’t rehash here.

[Freiherr von Dobermann [‎Saturday, ‎April ‎27, ‎2024, ‏‎12:00:20 AM]]

4/26/24: Dare I…? 😨

[Rough Dobermann Sketch 2024 [‎Friday, ‎April ‎26, ‎2024, ‏‎6:11:48 PM]]

4/26/24: r/SketchDaily theme, “Free Draw Friday.” This week’s character from my anthro WWII storyline is Amelia de Groot, without hat (top drawing) and with hat (bottom drawing). She’s a newer character though she’s been around for some months now, just without a name. She’s a rich heiress who fosters troubled children; she appears in Gold Rat’s backstory, taking him in after the authorities remove him from his home, and helping him deal with his dyslexia. She’s flamboyant and odd, but well meaning. There’ll be more about her later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

Regarding her design, based on Gold’s approximate age I gave her a Twenties-type hairstyle. She’s a bit overly glamorous and so often wears jewelry and ridiculous hats–the design of this one doesn’t make much sense to me, but oh well. It’s a modified version of the one from my “Fancy Rats” art.

TUMBLR EDIT: I already covered most of Miss Amelia’s (guess I’ll call her that?) part in the backstory in Gold Rat’s entry. I don’t know her personal backstory yet, and possibly never will. I’m assuming, based on the details given in Gold’s entry, that she, too, loses her family at a relatively young age, inherits their vast wealth, and is left with her own ideas on what to do with it all. She’s an eccentric, outgoing sort, so I imagine she spends a good deal on herself first of all–she likely already owns the lavish family home, so she probably buys herself fancy clothes, throws parties, attends galas in her ridiculous hats and jewelry, all that. Lots of old money folks kind of look down their noses at her, but she’s fun and well known.

Somewhere along the way, though, she gets a new idea about how to spend her money: fostering children who need a special touch. There has to be some reason Gold, and the others, hit her so hard, though I’m not sure what it is. I have the feeling it’s more personal than simply witnessing the suffering of others. Her knowledge of what exactly Gold’s problem is, when she meets him at the group home, hints that she either knew someone else like him, or has similar issues herself.

It’s never indicated in his entry, though based on Gold’s behavior, I suspect he has more than simple dyslexia going on; it often goes hand in hand with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, which also fits Gold pretty well. AND, Miss Amelia could fit such a description; she’s superficially charming, yet seems to have difficulty forming meaningful connections to others (aside from her fosters); she easily covers up her insecurities and shortcomings by talking fast and tossing money at things. (Gold hasn’t money to toss, but he’s a damn good fast talker.) Anyone who doesn’t know either of them well could describe both as frivolous, shallow, hyper, insincere, impulsive, scatterbrained, and desperately attention seeking, when none of this is the truth, these are just the side effects of the underlying issue. If Miss Amelia is indeed dyslexic, I think her case is milder than Gold’s, and she copes with it better. I’m just about certain that at some point, however, either she or someone close to her was called stupid. And so when she first encounters young “Arthur,” and learns how everyone has written him off as stupid, this hits home, and she’s determined to make the most of him.

As I said, for whatever reason, Miss Amelia decides to supplement her parties and social events with some good works, and she makes looking after problem foster kids her good work. Others are skeptical of this at first–she has no children of her own, no husband, doesn’t seem to have a maternal bone in her body–but what she does have is lots of money, a huge brownstone, and perseverance. She uses her numerous connections to smooth out the foster process and be given access to children that might not otherwise be so easily granted; the fact that she targets difficult children who nobody else wants to deal with makes the process even simpler. She’s just a silly rich lady in a big hat, what harm really could she do, especially since many of these kids come from abusive or broken homes. Luckily for them, she has no sinister motives, and many of her kids are grateful to be given a room of their own, three warm meals to eat, and to not be beaten or called stupid all the time.

Miss Amelia soon proves to be up to the task. Due to her personal experience, whatever it may be, she has a magic touch when dealing with children and adolescents that others may have given up on or see as not worth the trouble. She fixes them up (though she herself would never use such language, never viewing her kids as broken or in need of fixing), then they move on, either back to more suitable family, or to official adoption. Miss Amelia doesn’t keep them, she can’t, as most aren’t hers to keep–they have family still–and she isn’t a motherly sort, so she doesn’t adopt. She’s always wistful to see them go, but keeps in casual touch when she can, and accepts it when family asks that she refrain. She keeps an album with photos of all her fosters (a picture from when they arrive, and one from when they leave) and browses it fondly from time to time, and holds on to and cherishes the crafts and gifts her kids made or gave her. The sadness she feels whenever her time with a foster comes to an end is offset by the good she tells herself she must be doing, based on the faces in the photos in her book, the heartbroken “befores” and the hope-filled “afters.”

Then, along comes Arthur, the boy with no one left to take him, the boy everyone has given up on, even his own father. Miss Amelia acts on impulse, because this time, it feels justified. Tells the quiet, withdrawn little boy that she can help him, if he comes to stay with her, and after she works her magic, and makes the words on the pages make sense, invites him to stay with her for good. (She does cover her bases by visiting his father to ask if he’s indeed relinquished custody of his son to the state…his unequivocal response is given in Gold’s entry.) The look on Arthur’s face, as always, is what tells her she made the right choice. I’m not sure if she officially adopts him or not (his entry says she “officially takes [him] in,” though the phrasing’s a bit odd), but he effectively becomes her son, the only one of her fosters she keeps. He thrives under her care, comes to call her “Mom,” and promises to keep in touch with her after he enlists in the military and heads off to war. And he does so, even though he’s never been big on writing or reading letters.

Miss Amelia’s magic touch remains with Corporal (then Sergeant) Gold Rat during his time in service. He befriends Lance Corporal Mahogany Rat, whose social awkwardness often inadvertently offends others, and helps steer him in the right direction, without making him feel like an idiot, to avoid such complications. He treats rescued test subject Kolten, a proposed Nazi superweapon who’s widely regarded with terror, with empathy instead, realizing that he has the mentality of a young child, and replacing his black badge reading “Blöd”–stupid–with a new patch emblazoned with his name. He chats with and gets to know Kolten’s father, former SS Captain Otto Himmel, while transporting him back to his son following his trial; Himmel takes few of his belongings with him, but they include Kolten’s art, the book Frankenstein (which Gold has read), and a box stuffed full of letters. In this one way, Himmel is Gold’s polar opposite: He’s extremely well read, fluent in multiple languages, and a prolific and gifted letter writer, having maintained a one-sided correspondence with his deceased wife for many years. Gold marvels over his dedication to the written word. Himmel, picking up on Gold’s reluctance with the same, declines to treat him with disdain; “My Kolten can’t read a word,” he says, “yet he’s the brightest person I know. He makes up for what he lacks with other talents. He’s never once disappointed me.” Gold recognizes the look he sees in Himmel’s eyes–pride, and love so strong his heart must want to burst–because he remembers seeing the same look in Miss Amelia’s eyes. He tells Himmel about her, how she wasn’t his true mother, yet felt like she was; Himmel replies, “Some of the strongest family do not have to share blood.”

A more recent development is Gold meeting Miss Amelia again. He decides to remain in Germany after the war, having begun a relationship with Romani resistance fighter Mirela, yet makes plans to pay Miss Amelia one last visit in the States. Mirela’s never traveled far from home, and helps care for her father Nikolas, so stays behind, though she’s anxious whether he’ll truly return or not. Gold sails to the US and disembarks in New York; while wandering the dock looking at the signs and trying to find the agreed-upon meeting place, he hears a voice advising him to take a breath and take his time to let the letters sort themselves out. He turns to find Miss Amelia–her formerly red hair much grayer now–and the two embrace. They spend his entire time there catching up and visiting familiar spots. Gold is wistful when the time comes for him to return to Germany; Miss Amelia surprises him when she asks if it’s all right if she accompanies him. She already bought herself a one-way ticket. “My foster days are long over,” she muses; “I don’t have anything left keeping me here. I do, however, still have you.” When Gold warns that the process of moving to Germany may be complicated–the country is being divided between the Allies, and the area Gold and Mirela live in is largely going to the USSR–Miss Amelia brushes this off, saying she has plenty of money and connections still that can help. (The Trench Rats have their own agreement with the Soviets.) She inquires if Gold doesn’t want her to come along; she’ll honor his request, if so, and take no offense–yet she means it when she says she’d like to go with him. Once he’s sure she means it, Gold agrees, and they set off.

Mirela is of course surprised when Gold returns with a fashionable older woman in tow; once he introduces her, however, she gives Miss Amelia a big hug. Gold has told her about Miss Amelia before, and Mirela knows just how important a role she played in his life. She introduces Miss Amelia to her father Nikolas, and he smiles and shakes her hand warmly. They stop by Himmel’s house, where he lives with Kolten and a group of children he’s adopted following the war–like Miss Amelia, he loves children, and his large house is constantly full of their presence. He and Miss Amelia, and Himmel’s partner Johanna (a former schoolteacher), get along especially well. Gold doesn’t mind that they enjoy discussing books together at length…even though he’s not really into it himself.

[Amelia de Groot 2024 [‎Friday, ‎April ‎26, ‎2024, ‏‎12:00:06 AM]]

[Amelia de Groot 2024 2 [‎Friday, ‎April ‎26, ‎2024, ‏‎12:00:34 AM]]