#oc: theodore (he/him)

[mattodore]

guy whose “extended one-night stand” regularly deploys polish to call a little mouse

[krys-does-art-stuff]

Wanted some refs for Abby and I had missed doing splash pages, so I did a lil of both.

May 2025

[memento-morri-writes]

Carrion Backstory Chapter 2 - A Crisis of Faith

Chapter 1 [+ author commentary] / Chapter 2 [+ author commentary] / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 [+ author commentary]

pov: Carrion wordcount: 1.8k character(s): Carrion Vice (D&D) canon status: canon backstory vignette trigger warnings: hallucinations, injury, violence, mentions of death summary: after being left for dead by his paladin order, Reverence undergoes a crisis of faith.

Reverence lay on his back, staring up at the moon. In the hours since he had been left here, it had sunk lower in the sky, and now it hung just above the rim of the ravine. The tiny waning crescent reminded him of the edge of a knife. 

A knife like how the rocks cut into his skin if he even tried to move. A knife like the wounds all over his body. A knife like the one that had cut him out of the tapestry of the Silver Order. A knife like the one that had stabbed his heart when Orion fell. 

He shook his head. He was thinking in metaphors. That wasn’t good. Maybe he had lost too much blood. Maybe he would die soon. 

He wondered what death felt like. It had to feel better than this.

Reverence closed his eyes and waited to die. 

Unfortunately, it seemed the Flame had other plans for him. 

He woke to the sun beating down on him, its bright light prying at the edges of his sleep. Slowly, his eyes cracked open. It was daylight now, and the sun was visible over the ravine. That meant that half a day had passed since he’d been left here.

Carefully, he tried to move, get a sense of his body. Immediately, pain shot through him, causing him to cry out. So he was still injured. And badly, it seemed. The paladins – his friends – had nearly killed him. 

If only they had finished the job. 

He closed his eyes and hoped to die.

Time slipped away from him after that. Hours passed without him registering them. He slept fitfully, waking every time he so much as twitched a muscle. His mouth grew dry, and he wished desperately for rain. 

Rain would also help with the heat. It was fall now, and yet he was sweltering. The rocks beneath him absorbed the heat. He was roasting here, like a rabbit over a fire. 

A fire. The Sacred Flame. 

An image danced on the back of his eyelids: His own body, speared on a ceremonial spear, and suspended over the temple’s Flame as though on a spit. The air was thick with smoke, obscuring the temple beyond the first two rows of the pews. 

Seated on those pews were the paladins. His paladins. The people he had traveled with and fought with and laughed with. They were laughing now, but this time it was not with him. They jeered, banging their metal travel bowls together in anticipation of a meal. 

He understood, then: This was what the Flame wanted. It wanted him to burn. He had taken in its light, and carried it, like a lamp lighting the way. But his wick had expired, his use had run out. And now there was nothing left to do but burn. Burn until there was nothing left. 

If it wanted him to burn, then he would burn.

He closed his eyes and reached for the flames.

Hours slipped by as he waded through the fire. In its dancing flames, he saw memories. He saw himself training alongside the other paladins. He saw Theodore instructing him, correcting his stance. He saw Beren laughing, a mug of ale in his hand. 

And in every memory, he saw it. Saw the fire that burned behind their eyes. The fire of devotion. Of loyalty. 

He walked onwards, through the fire. 

Ahead of him, he saw Theodore, arguing with Beren. Arguing about him. About whether or not to kill him. A fire burned at their feet, much larger than the distant campfire that had been there the first time he had seen these events. 

Theodore’s voice boomed, unnaturally loud, coming from all sides. “I will not kill one of my men!”

Beren opened his mouth to reply. But what emerged was not Beren’s voice. It was the roar of flames, almost deafening in volume, somehow shaped into words. “THEN LET HIM BURN.”

The flames flickered and the pair vanished. 

When the flames settled, they were there again, this time leaning out over the ravine, just like in his memory. But this time, Theodore carried a burning torch in one hand. Beren spoke again, but instead of protest, it was the Flame-voice again. “LET HIM BURN.” 

Theodore reached out his hand, and dropped the torch. It fell, tumbling down towards where Reverence lay on the ledge. Despite it being a barren shelf of rock, the flames caught. He could feel their heat. Feel the way his chains warmed until they were burning his skin. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came. 

Above him, Theodore turned away. “Put him out of your mind. Soon he will be nothing but Carrion.”

The flames engulfed him, obscuring Theodore from view.

Reverence burned away.

He woke, thrashing against the chains. It hurt, the pain almost blinding, but that didn’t matter. If he did not break free, he was going to die. And, he realized for the first time, he did not want to die. He wanted to escape, and to get out of this ravine. To hunt down Theodore and destroy his life as Theodore had done to him. He wanted revenge. He wanted to live.

The world took on a purple tint, growing hazy and distant. His muscles screamed in agony. The chains were too tight, cutting into his flesh. He bellowed in pain. They were choke him. Squeeze the life from his body. He was going to burst, or implode.

And then he was free.

The pressure on his body vanished as the chains broke and  fell away, clattering into the depths of the ravine. Euphoric, forgetting about his wounds, he leapt, scrabbling for a handhold on the rocky cliff. His long, knife-like claws dug into cracks in the rock. Slowly, every muscle burning, he ascended. 

Reaching the top of the cliff he staggered forwards, away from the edge. As he stumbled, the world grew in size around him as his body shrank. The pain that he had been trying his best to ignore slammed into him with its full force. 

His legs buckled under its weight and he fell to his knees.

He was dying, he was sure of it. He couldn’t die, not now. Not now that he was free, now that he understood! Desperately he reached out, searching for the golden-orange light of his magic. There was nothing but the cold and the dark. 

Of course. The flames had burned him. They would never heal him now.

BItter laughter bubbled to his lips, harsh and dry. He fell sideways, ignoring the distant pain from the impact. With great effort, he rolled onto his back. Above him, the sky was dark. The moon had vanished. He found himself falling again, but this time falling up, into the welcoming dark. 

He closed his eyes and waited for impact.

Time became a river again, with him borne along by the current, blissfully unaware. Every so often the world became real again, awareness surfacing like an island. 

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

A burst of pain in his shoulder. 

“Oh, fuck.”

A gentle touch.

Stinging pain.

A groan, from somewhere inside himself, more animal than human.

“I know, I know. It hurts. Just try to relax.”

The crackling of a fire. 

Cool water on his lips.

“Drink.”

Before he saw anything, he could hear. He took in the sounds of the world. The crackle of a fire. A rhythmic zing sound, over and over again. Zing, zing, zing. And underneath it, someone humming. He was not alone.

Extending his awareness to the rest of his body, he checked what he could feel. He lay on his back on something soft. A bedroll, maybe? No, too hairy. A pelt of some kind, then. He didn’t hurt, at least not much. There was a soreness that permeated every inch of his body, but it was nothing compared to the agony from before. Wiggling his fingers and toes, flexing the muscles in his arms and legs, he checked his range of motion. He could move. That was good. Maybe even fight if he needed to, though he didn’t want to test that theory.

He cracked open his eyes. Above him, he saw the branches of pine trees. Beyond that, the night sky, and the thin line of a waxing crescent moon. Slowly lifting his head, he looked around. A fire lit a small campsite, tucked amongst the trees. No tents, only his pelt and an empty bedroll. A rabbit roasted on a spit over the fire.

Beyond the fire hunched a figure, bent over some task. They appeared to be the source of the humming as well as the other noise. They didn’t seem to have noticed that he was awake yet. 

Carefully, as quietly as possible, he sat up. Glancing down, he saw he was shirtless and barefoot, though he still wore his pants from the Order, ripped in several places and stained with blood and dirt. He looked around for a weapon. 

There, by the other bedroll. A sheathed sword. 

He inched towards it, stepping as lightly as he could manage. But he was still sore, and clumsy. 

The humming stopped.

“Oh, good, you’re awake.”

He looked up and saw that the hunched figure on the other side belonged to a rugged-looking human man with weathered skin and a tangled mop of black hair. There was a wide grin on his face. In his hand gleamed a knife, which he was sharpening with a whetstone held in his other hand. Zing, zing, zing.

He must have seen the fear on his guest’s face, because he laughed and raised his hands. “I don’t mean you any harm. It would be a waste of all the time I spent dragging you back from the brink of death.”

He gestured to the rabbit on the spit. “I imagine you must be hungry. Come, sit.” Taking the knife, he sliced off a perfectly roasted slice of meat, letting it fall onto the plate. He held it out in the direction of his guest who still crouched near the bedroll. 

The sword was so close. But if this man had saved him… The smell of the roasted meat hit his nose and his stomach growled. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d eaten but he knew it was days. 

Warily, he inched closer. When the other man made no move to attack, he snatched the plate of meat from his hand. Not bothering to wait for utensils, he picked it up and began to eat. It was the most glorious thing he had ever tasted. It was gone in seconds. 

He looked up and saw his rescuer holding another plate. “Do you want more?” 

He nodded vigorously. “Yes,” he rasped. Then, as an afterthought, “Please.”

His rescuer nodded. “Of course. But first, tell me: Who are you?”

He wasn’t sure what was going to come out of his mouth until it did, but once it was out he knew it was the truth. “My name is Carrion.”

[ginsays]

some small shenanigans doodles of my partner's d&d character, who is himself very small.

sometimes you're masquerading as another guy and give someone a very nice totally not evil ribbon because you like them and they take that VERY personally

[hiraethsdumbassry]

more poppy playtime doodles because the new chapter comes out tomorrow!!

[morrigan-sims]

Knight-Commander Theodore Marshall

Carrion's former mentor and father figure, and the commander of the Knights of the Silver Order. Just a Dad trying his best. Regrets nothing more than leaving the boy he knew as Reverence for dead. Unfortunately for him, Reverence Carrion is alive, and wants him dead...

[closeup of his face and official art reference under the cut]

[anonomi]

Drew my engineer oc Theodore (+ my spy oc who is in the role of being a sack of potatoes over the shoulder). They were supposed to be sketches but i got too into them

[palmolli]

Not my usual Zelda posts... not even close, but here's my Roblox OC, Micheal!!!

By day, he works at a pizza place, but by night, he's battling beasts of all kinds with his trusty m9, and of course, his beloved blunderbuss.

Text: "Hi, welcome to pizza bros!" "Son of a blunderbuss... I crashed my car :("

[the-clay-quarters]

there was name talk last night? :3c

Flint is Silverstein's original name, now used as his first name, chosen/given like all other clay men still haven't decided my hc on that oops. Silverstein was chosen with not too much thought, picked from various names he heard around the docks in his first days in London. He goes by his surname because he is a Professional, Thank You, and mostly talks to people on business terms.

Theodore Pembroke is her full given name, with Cordelia being picked up later on. She probably could have changed her surname on account of mostly abandoning/disowning her parents, but she had been called Pem/Pembroke most of her life already, even more so when she was experimenting with gender and names; it's her name now, not her parents'. She goes by all her names interchangeably :D

Vincent Bell is a slight bastardisation of their name in order to avoid issues raised by the english having to contend with foreign words. Their full name is Vícenç Creuer Libèl·lula, which loosely translates as Vincent Cross Dragonfly; double surnames from Spanish naming conventions. Their name is actually Catalan, not Spanish, as they (and their family) are from Barcelona and in the right company they will be Very proud about that fact. They only really go by Vincent and probably won't realise you're refering to them if you just use Bell.

(fun fact! spanish doesn't have ç or l·l and only has one direction of accent/tilde)

[missninapea]

Dr. Theodore Alastair Woodcott🪐🌌

So I gave him a name change cuz I thought it'd be cute and whimsy lol✨✨

[cowboybrunch]

Hi Sav!

Happy STS! In relation to this post, I'd love to hear more about Theodore! What is one thing that you've not yet been able to work in into your WIP about him? A personality trait, a specific scene, etc, for example!

-- @mrbexwrites (in disguise <.<)

ooo what a good question!! thank u for the ask (and for letting me ramble about him <3)

i think this is kinda present in botrd but i havent really nailed it yet, but he is so similar to his mother, especially as the story progresses and he kinda falls into his role as the heir of death, he who will tame the river, etc.

like the more he fights against his nature, the more it overtakes him. to the point where eventually he starts using the same phrases that she uses.

theres one specific parallel that i'm thinking about where his mother says she wants him around because he's not afraid of her, and then way later in the story he's freaking out and the thing that calms him down is rosalie telling him that he doesn't scare her.

like! is he evil by nature? or is she not as bad as he thinks?

and i think this is really the true tragedy of his character (which is why it's soo important to me to get it right). as much as he lies and resists and pretends, he can only ever be who he is.

ANYWAYS. on a lighter note:

botrd/judas wept taglist (ask to be +/-)

@vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @fortunatetragedy @autism-purgatory @rosesonneptune @cartoonghosts

@dyrewrites @whoevenknowswhatimwriting @jev-urisk @mrbexwrites

[yulgurr]

look at the silly guy walking around abyssal library for no suspicious reason at all

[living-in-a-fantasia]

Theodore

[mjs-oc-corner]

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜 𝐝𝐢 𝐍𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢

𝐛. 𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟕𝐭𝐡, 𝟏𝟗𝟎𝟗 — 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐢𝐨 — 𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐰 — 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 — 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 — 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲 — 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭 — 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 — 𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 — 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 — 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬

and here we add another di napoli kid to the list lol i’d be lying if i said they weren’t my favorite family in the entire fandom. again, lots of thanks and love to @endlessly-cursed for brainstorming ideas for theo with me!!<33

[insert-witty-drawings-here]

Luka is the prince of a neighboring country, he's the second prince so he doesnt have a lot of responsibilities. That gives him a lot of time on his hands, so he uses it to visit Teddy (and his court wizard Nero who hes trying to court) and bother him. Teddy thinks of him as a brother of sorts, but still finds him somewhat annoying lol

[aggsh-shs]

Idk you nor am I in any of the fandoms you’re in (judging by your pinned post) but I saw your post where you said Pls ask about my OCs and I felt that on a personal level SO IM ASKING!! TELL ME ABT YOUR OCS

HI I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!!!

IM GONNA START BY TALKING ABT MY GOOD OMENS OC BECAUSE HES THE MOST DEVELOPED

HERE HE IS, HE IS MY BABY

His name is James Henry Theodore Jackson Greenbourogh and he says his entire name every time. He’s Crowleys best friend and an immortal.

Basically he was born in 1573, and God saw his family suffering from starvation. So he gave James a test (unbeknownst to him), either he could steal from the neighbor or he could stay pure and God would grant him food to last their whole lives.

James (15 at the time) had no idea about this test so he took from their neighbor and was cursed to never age. His family was then killed in a fire as punishment.

FLASH FORWARD A BUNCH OF YEARS

James and crowley are besties but he gets drafted into WW2. He’s scared but he goes bc how bad can it be.

He meets a boy, Duncan, and they fall in love. Duncan eventually gets shot and dies in James’s arms. James then finds the guy who shot him, pins him down and beats the shit out of him before shooting him as mercy.

PRESENT DAY

James lives with crowley and they’re silly together. He’s not allowed to sit in the front seat bc “That’s reserved for Aziraphale”. James is the #1 aziracrow shipper. He has been since he met the angel.

There were three times James sat in the front seat. 1, on the way to Duncan’s funeral. 2, after he tried to off himself in the 90’s, and 3, after the divorce.

I KNOW THIS WAS SUPER UNCOORDINATED BUT I WAS SO EXCITED SOMEONE ASKED SO HERE!!!