rosepetalgold

[rosepetalgold]

Currently trying to drop-kick writer's block out of my life by focusing on some short and sweet oneshots so feel free to send me a prompt and a pairing! 💜

OTP Prompt Challenge

Choose a pairing and a prompt and create something with it. You can write, you can draw - be creative!

Meet-cute

Bickering

Hand holding

Cooking together

Blushing

Firsts

Stargazing

Confessions

Morning routine

Sneaking glances

Argument

Grocery shopping

Dancing

Little gifts

Sharing a bed

Family

Pet names

Hugs

Matching outfits

Date night

Secretive

Comfort

Vacation

Washing dishes

Flowers

Sick days

Kisses

Flirting

Adopting a pet

Insecurity

Proposal

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee! And check out my Instagram!🥰

#can be platonic or romantic! #just no romantic ships with patton other than maybe moceit or logicality please and thanks #prompt list #rosepetal writes

[rosepetalgold]

Play Us A Song: Memories

Chapter 1: Memories - Next Chapter - Master Post - [ AO3 ]

Inspired by a prompt on Tumblr by sidespromptsblog Roman falls in love with Logan the moment that the other man knocks on his door asking if he wants a free piano, because he just moved in across the street and he no longer plays. Logan who used to be a music teacher, but quit for one reason or another. And Roman who is a volunteer for the schools drama club, making costumes and props. Or just about anything that they need. And they just so happen to need... A piano player.

Somehow I turned that mostly fluffy prompt into a spiky cactus: a ten chapter treatise on grief, loss, and that time the Universe gave Logan the chance to find the love of his life not once, but twice. Enjoy. The playlist for this story is on Spotify.

CW: past major character death, referenced/implied suicide, some swearing - WC: 1871

---

They were young and independent And they thought they had it planned Should've known right from the start You can't predict the end - Memories, Panic! at the Disco ---

“He was my first—and my only—adult student. Ordinarily, I taught gifted children and teenagers. Or, at least, the children of parents who wanted them to be gifted. I specialized in classical piano education. Twelve of my students auditioned for the Julliard musical conservatory in New York City. All twelve were accepted. One was recruited just out of high school to perform with the Berlin Philharmonic, another two for the Boston Pops.

“I don’t know what possessed me to take on an adult student. There was just... something about him. He was already an accomplished jazz pianist. He’d never had any formal training, never taken even a single music class. He taught himself to play, well, the same way he lived. When he was ten years old, he walked up to a piano in a mall food court and just started banging on the keys until it made the sounds he wanted to hear.

“That’s how he did everything. Run up to it and start trying things until it would work the way he wanted it to.”

Logan looked down at his tie, rubbing his thumbs over the tiny rainbow-colored flowers embroidered over its surface.

“After a year and a half of twice-weekly lessons, he fired me as his teacher. And then asked me out on a date.

“Back when I taught, I would... lie to my students, telling them that Liszt’s Liebestramue No. 3 or Chopin’s Opus 64 was the impetus that drove me to master the piano.” Logan stared at the tie in his hands. “On our second date, I confessed that when I was nine years old, I had heard a pop song on the radio, Piano Man. And I told him the truth. I told him how that was the song that actually inspired me to learn how to play the piano and to stick with it.” Logan took a deep breath and pressed his lips together. He swallowed back a lump in his throat and continued. “On our next date, he handed me a small, wrapped CD case.”

“He bought you the song?”

“No.”

A sound escaped Logan’s throat, halfway between a laugh and a sob. He held the wide end of his tie against his lips and breathed in. The seams were still damp from yesterday’s rain. “No. After our second date ended, he stayed up for the next eleven days . First he searched for and found a sufficiently clear recording of Piano Man by Ghostland Observatory so that he could properly discern the melody. He then composed, recorded, and edited a multi-track recording of himself playing all the parts on the piano he bought after starting lessons with me. First the core melody, then layering in his own new harmonies and compositions until he had created an entirely new piece, all intertwined through the melody of that song.”

“Wow,” Picani whispered out before biting his lips. It was so easy to get caught up in this patient’s stories. He cleared his throat and looked down at his notes, making a small correction. “You know, when you said that Piano Man inspired you to learn to play, I’d assumed you meant the old one by Billy Joel.”

“I had.”

Dr. Picani tilted his head, gesturing gently with his hand, trying to encourage Logan to explain.

“He misunderstood, or perhaps he just overestimated… me. He listened to every version of every song called ‘Piano Man’, and decided that, given the lyrics and the melody of the Ghostland Observatory version, that was the only song I could have possibly meant.”

Dr. Picani watched as Logan sat back, again tracing the little flowers on his tie. Picani knew from their first remote video session that the tie had been a gift from his late husband, the last of many ties he’d been gifted over their eleven years of marriage. Logan wiped away a few tears, but didn’t speak.

“Did you ever tell him the truth?”

“No.” Logan looked up and met Dr. Picani’s eyes for the first time that session. “I wanted to be the version of me that Remus thought I was.

“So I learned how to play his song.”

---

Logan stood in front of his new house in the pouring rain, one hand pressing his phone against his ear, the other gripping his forehead. He was getting a migraine and the pushy moving company rep yammering away over the staticky line was not helping.

"Yes, I understand you do not need a piano and you cannot start your next moving job until after all items from my move are delivered, however I did not request nor did I authorize you to move this piano. It was marked to be left behind with the rest of the large furniture to be donated."

Logan grit his teeth, listening to the rep's inane justification, staring at the biggest guy he'd ever seen, huddled under a too-small umbrella, giving him a death glare and trying to push a sopping wet clipboard and pen into his hands.

He nearly growled into the phone. "I’m not your ‘babe’ and I don't care what you do with it, I don't want the damn piano in my house!" Logan shivered, his barely contained rage doing little to warm his body as the rain soaked through his jacket, shirt, and pants. "I didn't move 2,405.2 miles across this god forsaken country just to bring it all with me!"

Logan listened to the rep on the phone for one more minute before finally snapping, "Fine, I'll sign the damn form. Then will you release my deposit and get this truck out of here?"

Logan clenched his jaw, yanking the clipboard and pen away from the mover and scrawling his signature. Control rapidly slipping through his weakened grasp, Logan had the choice between anger and anguish and he chose the former.

Later, tonight, in the privacy of his home, he could indulge in the latter.

"Where should we put it?" The burly mover was joined by the second biggest guy Logan had ever seen. Logan scowled at them, a hair's breadth away from completely letting loose and telling them exactly where he'd like them to put that piano.

Instead, he took a deep breath, water dripping down his face, coating his glasses and obscuring his vision. "In the garage, please."

He stomped back through the puddles and onto the uncovered porch, ringing out his jacket and shaking the rain from his hair. He stood there, shaking from the cold, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hiding away in his house. He shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling the rain just sopping right through the linen weave. He quickly opened his front door, took out his phone and car keys and left them just inside the door, closing it behind him.

It was his first night in a new town and the last thing Logan needed was to be forced to find a place to fix a waterlogged phone or shorted-out car key fob.

The rain poured down as he stood on the uncovered porch, arms crossed in front of his chest, glaring at the movers as they moved his old piano into the garage. If there was more than just rain wetting Logan's cheeks as he watched, no-one would ever be the wiser.

---

An hour later, the moving truck was peeling back out of the driveway. Logan waited until the truck cleared the large Magnolia near the edge of the lawn, scowling as he watched the driver execute a multi-point turn in order to back around the corner without nicking the fifty-year old tree. Logan scowled, wondering if the driver would have been as careful had he not watched his departure.

Shaking his head, Logan turned and reached for the front door, anxious to finally get out of the rain and find some dry clothes in one of his boxes. He shivered, pressing down on the ornate brass handle.

It wouldn’t budge.

Blowing out a quick breath and driving both hands through his hair, raking it back and away from his face in an attempt to stop at least some of the rain dripping down over his glasses and obscuring his vision, he tried again. The handle wouldn’t move. He tried the other side. No luck.

Crouching down, he peered into the space between the double front doors and could see that the lock was engaged. He leaned his forehead against the cold, wet door.

Fuck.

Logan stood up, patting his pockets in the unlikely chance that he had only thought about leaving his keys inside with his phone to protect them from the driving rain. No. His memory was correct. He had left both his keys and his phone sitting on the hardwood floor, just behind the door.

Just behind the locked door.

Logan squeezed his eyes tightly together, hands in fists at his sides. He blew out, and sustained for as long as he could, counting up to thirty-seven before finally gasping in a lungful of air. Try the garage.

He ran down the steps toward the garage, careful to use the stepping stones between the sidewalk leading to the front door and the pavement of the driveway. He knelt down, pulling up hard on the garage handle. It, too, wouldn’t budge. Both the front door and the garage appeared to auto-lock when closed. Logan shook his head. It was a safety feature that on any other day, he would appreciate.

But not today.

Logan stood shivering in the rain for a few minutes. He let the rain fall down over his glasses, his hair falling forward, plastered to his forehead and falling over the top edge of the eyeglass frames. His jacket, shirt, and pants were sopping wet, clinging to his body. He felt his toes squish in the rain that had seeped down through his socks, gradually filling his leather shoes with water. He stood there until his fingers started to grow numb in the early November downpour. Finally, he walked all around his new house, checking each window, trying the backdoor, even the storm cellar. Everything was locked and secure.

He tried not to think about the kettle, mug, and tea that he’d packed in his “first night” kitchen box when he saw the weather forecast for the day of the move. He tried not to think about the “first night” bedroom box with a fresh set of sheets to cover the mattress left by the movers and the soft pajama bottoms and thermal top. He tried not to think about how overwhelmingly stupid he had been to leave his keys inside the house.

Logan walked the entire perimeter of his house. After trying the front door and windows one last time, he sat in the puddle on the top step of the porch. How much more wet could he get? His eyes trailed over the front yard and he noticed a large stone near the roots of the magnolia. Walking over, he hefted it, eyeing the small pane of glass next to the front door. The rock would handily break through the glass. He’d be sure to trigger the security alarm, but he had the pass code scrawled out—and encrypted, he wasn’t a complete idiot—on a slip of paper in his wallet.

Nodding to himself, Logan marched back toward the door and up the steps, raising the rock in his arm, ready to bash the win—

“Hey, what are you doing? I’ll—I’ll the cops.” --- @tsshipmonth2020 @demon9980 @sidespromptblog

#absolutely so stoked to read more of this! #as someone who plays classical piano pianist!logan has such a special place in my heart #and this first chapter was written beautifully #i'm fully invested #the piano being put in the garage made me gasp like a victorian lady about to topple onto a fainting couch #dear god someone please put that instrument in a climate-controlled room before it goes horribly out of tune #but it was such a good insight into logan's state of mind! #it really illustrates how deeply he must be grieving to turn his back on something he once loved #i'm really interested to see how if at all he begins to heal and pick up music again #fic rec #major character death #(past) #cw suicide #(referenced/implied)

[rosepetalgold]

I forgot how lonely it is to write original fiction.

Where are the kudos? The subscriptions? The comments? The people cheerleading me chapter to chapter? Where are the kind words and compliments and reassurances that what I'm writing isn't complete crap? Where are the unhinged emojis? The asks on Tumblr? Where are my mutuals in my dms apologizing for not reading the latest chapter right away (side note, you know you don't have to apologize at all, right??). Where is the fanart? Where are the recs?

Where is my motivation to keep going?

It's something I've been thinking about a lot, actually, lately. How the experience of writing fanfic is so unique. How you already have an audience, willing and waiting and captive. And that's really it, isn't it? You have an audience. It's almost performative, writing fanfic. It's being on a stage, a one-person show (or two, if you do it with a friend); it's getting live reactions to your performance, it's feeding off the energy of the crowd and informing it back in a feedback loop; it's improvised, sometimes, in almost-real-time. It's building something that you couldn't have built by yourself. A thing that takes on a life of its own.

It's an experience you can't get writing original fiction, and, honestly, not having it is making it hard to write something original at all.

[rosepetalgold]

EXCITED TO ANNOUNCE THE START OF WRITERS SIGN UPS!!

Please fill this form to enter, this year we are signing up writers first so as to welcome people better and spice things up! sign ups will last 3 weeks for writers, and in a lil more we will announce sign ups for artists and betas, I hope to see you there and please share this with your friends who you think might love to participate!!!

writers form

#thomas sanders sides big bang 2024 #tssbb 2024

[rosepetalgold]

"Oh, it's alright... I've grown~"

Hi, it's been years, but I started rewatching Sanders Sides cause I missed it, and of course, I immediately had to paint Janus, my beloved snake boi, again 😌🐍

#this is such a cool concept! #and an amazing execution of it!! #i love that patton is the one in shadow and janus is in the light #the symbolism there is *chef's kiss* #ts patton #ts janus #ts art

[rosepetalgold]

i am. so sorry if i have ever used the phrase “i have an au where—” and led you to believe that there is an actual fic out there for you to read rather than, at best, a post where i explain the concept, and at worst it is simply something that lives in my brain

[rosepetalgold]

confident Virgil my beloved

#oh i need more confident virgil in my life #it's so underrated #ts roman #ts virgil #prinxiety #ts art

[rosepetalgold]

This one looks like jello ☆☆

#i love how vibrant this is #and so many details! #the googly eyes on everything are amazing oh my goodness #ts remus #ts art

[rosepetalgold]

Based off this

#oh i love this style for roman #it suits him so well #the pretty boy deserves some vintage vibes as a treat #ts roman #ts art

[rosepetalgold]

I was going down memory lane and the urge to draw these freaks again, came. Not fully satisfied with how they look but I personally think it’s a massive improvement from how I used to draw them

It’s nice to see how much I’ve improved :D

#these look so cool! #the combination of line art and color is such a vibe #the characterization is on point #and the different styles for the backgrounds and names suit them all so well! #the snake for the s in janus' name is amazing i love it #ts logan #ts roman #ts patton #ts virgil #ts janus #ts remus #ts art

[rosepetalgold]

i look at you (and i dream)

Summary: Roman tells Logan what he’s thinking about and discovers his dreams might be closer to reality than he’d dared to imagine.

Relationships: Romantic Logince

Warnings: None! Pure domestic fluff!

Word count: 962

Notes: Title inspired by Mikrokosmos by BTS

Read on Ao3 Masterpost

-

“Roman, are you even listening to me?”

Roman blinks, emerging out of the colorful tapestry of his thoughts to find Logan staring at him from where he’s paused chopping vegetables for the dish he’s concocting for dinner, one eyebrow arched in a silent question.

“Sorry, my love,” he says sheepishly. “I just got caught up daydreaming.”

Logan sighs, shaking his head not unkindly as he returns to his cutting board, the slightest upturn of his lips betraying that he mustn’t be too put out by Roman’s lapse of focus. “I suppose it would be too much to ask for your ambitions of fame and grandeur to wait until I was done telling you about my day.”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t thinking about any of that.”

“Work, then?”

“No, not that either.”

“Then what on earth were you daydreaming about?”

“You.”

Logan casts him a sideways glance, clearly baffled, even as his knife doesn’t falter in its steady rhythm. “I’m right here.”

“I know,” Roman breathes, not even trying to keep the wonderment out of his voice at the truth of such a simple statement, still unable to quite believe that this was real, that Logan was here, was choosing him, was his. “But I look at you and I just can’t help but dream.”

But his words only cause the puzzlement furrowing Logan’s brow to deepen. “I don’t understand. What could you possibly be dreaming about?”

Roman laughs under his breath, answers dancing over one another in his mind like so many bits of dandelion fluff caught in a breeze, too many to ever count. Where to even begin?

“Everything.”

He shifts closer, gently finessing the knife from Logan’s grip and laying it on the counter before taking his lover’s hands in his own.

“I dream about waking up next to you every morning and watching the sunset next to you every night. I dream about seeing you land your dream job and finally being recognized for that endlessly brilliant mind of yours. I dream about buying a house together out in the country like you want and us making it our own. I dream about surprising you with homegrown roses on idyllic summer mornings and slow dancing in the dark with you on starlit winter nights. I dream about all the days I’ll come home to you and all the ways I’ll fall even deeper in love with you and all the countless quiet moments I’ll get to just be by your side as we grow old and gray.” He laces their fingers together, marveling inwardly at how readily Logan reciprocates the touch, palms warm and steady against his own. “I dream of us, of the life we’ll lead, of the future we have together.”

Logan only stares at him for a long moment, gaze searching his own as a hint of pink begins to tinge his cheeks, and Roman can’t help but smile softly at the sight, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to the bloom of color.

“You really think about all that?” Logan’s voice is slightly choked, words scarcely more than a whisper, and Roman draws back, a twinge of worry flickering to life in his stomach, but Logan’s grip tightens around his, keeping him from retreating.

“Of course I do. You’re it for me, Logan; why would I ever dream about anything else?”

Logan doesn’t even bother replying, simply tugs one hand free from Roman’s fingers, wraps it around the back of his neck, and pulls him into an ardent kiss.

Logan had never been as much of one for words as Roman was, had always tended to struggle a bit to vocalize his deepest feelings, but Roman doesn’t need a long-winded reply, not when the press of the other man’s body against his is all the answer he needs.

Logan, though, apparently isn’t content to let his reaction do all the talking for him.

“I know that not many people would call me a dreamer,” he says as he pulls back, gaze so open and vulnerable in the golden rays of the late afternoon light that Roman’s heart squeezes in his chest. “But I want that too. That future. The two of us. You.”

“It’s ours,” Roman vows. “And I’m yours.”

They meet in the middle this time, an intoxicating press of lips that tastes of hopes and dreams and happy endings, and oh nevermind all his indulgent imaginings about what might be, this is all Roman could ever want.

If this is his reward for daydreaming, he really needs to do it more often.

Entirely too soon Logan is drawing back again, rosiness now fully blossomed across his cheekbones.

“We don’t have to have a house in the country,” he says as if his brain has just caught up to Roman’s earlier words, the delay in processing entirely more endearing than it should be. “I know you like the city.”

Roman shrugs, sure the expression on his face can only be described as utterly besotted as his hands find a home in the familiar curve of Logan’s waist, pure affection melting through every inch of his body. “I can compromise as long as there’s no bears.”

Logan chuckles, low and bemused.

“No bears,” he promises, and with the way his eyes are sparkling with amusement, what else is Roman supposed to do but kiss him again?

“Love you,” Logan murmurs against his lips, the words still enough even after all this time to send butterflies dancing through Roman’s stomach like it’s the first he’s ever heard them. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too,” he whispers, and here, with Logan in his arms, present and future inseparable from each other for one breathlessly suspended moment, he can’t dream to ask for anything more.

-

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!): @darth-does-stuff

#reblog!

[rosepetalgold]

saw this on the vanilla extract™️ post and i was like SANDERS SIDES.

tell me i'm wrong, i dare you. also i need someone to draw this tbh because i don't think my skills can encapsulate the sheer chaos.

#this is so perfect i love it so much #ts art

[rosepetalgold]

i had a moment

#him!! #he has so much character! #ts roman #ts art

[rosepetalgold]

So I know virgils eyeshadow has definitely intensified as the videos progress and his character develop, but he's not the only one with striking eye makeup.

In his first three canonical video appearances, remus's eyeshadow is a much darker, grey color that feels like a subtle reference to virgils own eye shadow, but much less intense.

However in the 5 year anniversary, his eyeshadow is a bright, vibrant blueish purple that really stands out against his green and black outfit (in a good way!!!)

Later in the third incorrect quotes video and the holiday episode, we see him keep the bluer color, but it's a fairly lighter shade.

My headcanon: he was excited/happy to be included in a group celebration and decided to dress up a little extra for it, and liked the color so much he kept it for later appearances.

[rosepetalgold]

you’re the one, you’re the one, you’re the one

in my heart, in my bones, in my soul! 🩵

#i'm not even a big logicality shipper but this is adorable #and i always love logan with nail polish #he deserves it #ts logan #ts patton #logicality #ts art

[rosepetalgold]

Dukeceit Week day 6 - Fire/Philosophy.

It has been zero days since Remus set the mindscape ablaze!

[ID: A comic with four panels, drawn in a cartoonish style. In the first panel, Janus stands in front of window blinds; he is wearing his canon outfit and is colored in yellow, with a small bowler hat floating above his head. In the second panel, Janus is still standing in front of the blinds, but now he is calling out, saying, “I am totally NOT cold right now.” The “not” is written in yellow, indicating that it is a lie. In the third panel, Janus smirks evilly as a huge fiery explosion appears directly beside him. In the fourth panel, the explosion has subsided into flames around the room, and Remus is now crouched beside Janus. Remus is grinning wide with sharp teeth and is colored in green; he is exclaiming, “Not on my fucking watch!” Janus is still smirking, but is looking at Remus now. /End ID]

Keep reading

#listen i love this an absolutely unreasonable amount #this dukeceit dynamic is impeccable your honor #they deserve to be shameless partners in chaos #janus' expressions in the second panel and his smirk at the end are killing me #and his little floating hat! is the cutest detail!! #i adore all of it op #ts janus #ts remus #dukeceit #ts art #cw fire

[rosepetalgold]

oh, he could not break surface tension he looked in the wrong place for redemption

#oh this is some delicious logan angst #i love it #orange being the one to reach out to logan is always just *chef's kiss* #ts logan #ts orange side #ts art