Ted was born in the mid-1920s in Santa Fe, New Mexico. He is rather secretive about a lot of aspects of his childhood. He has a lot of turmoil that he only ever discloses to people he can really trust with that informmation. He'll maybe occassionally off-handedly mention something, but unless your name is WIlliam Blake Rose, he will probably not tell you the full extent of his childhood. What he will tell you that his escape from it was literature and creative writing, especially poetry - it's always been his passion.

He always felt something wasn't right with the world and detested the discrimination happening around him. African and Asian Americans were treated like garbage and the subject to extreme propaganda. Mexican Americans such as himself had it really rough, even in a state built on their culture. Hell, the Navajo that were trying to enjoy life in their own land were treated like absolute shit. When he became older and wiser, his worldview only got more bleak. He always had a feeling something was very wrong about the mindsets of a lot of his peers had - The first wave of the Red Scare was at its height and it was very swiftly turning people into caullous monsters towards anything that wasn't traditional values - censoring or even outright discriminating anything that was beyond wholesome traditional values. Why was this all okay, he thought.

Ted mainly got by through working at nightclubs. He picked up quite a few skills, such a playing multiple instruments, cooking, doing stand-up comedy, painting, and of course, his main passion, poetry. Being the man that wore many hats, he swiftly became affiliated with the local pachuco community - swingin' zoot suiters who knew how to live! At this point, he realized he was gay, which was just another sin according to anyone outside his little pockets of support. He liked to fool around with some of the other men in his circle and even partook in underground queer acts. His happiness wasn't eternal however. During World War II, there was heavy backlash against these pachucos. They were everything that overzealous patriots hated; they smoked pot, they were provocative, they promoted exploration of gender identity, they liked the devilish sounds of jazz and swing, and they refused to conform. They were seen as violent rebels that needed their ways destroyed. Ted had become a victim of this cruelty. The ghouls that did this claimed it was in retaliation of their zoot suits being a horrible waste of resources in trying times, but that was merely an excuse to discriminate.

Ted was used to this song and dance. It was so normalized to him that if he had something good in his life, it was inevitable it would be savagely ripped out of his hands. What was the point? Well... he had really honed his craft and wasn't willing to throw it all away yet. He solidered on and continued trying to make a living off all the skills he had acquired. Though, he did think that perhaps he needed to live more cautiously... The trauma of being beaten to near-death lingered inside him and made him question if he needed to assimilate to survive... No, no. He had to be true to himself and remain such, that was how he wanted to enjoy life... but the temptation didn't leave him.

His twilight years were during the 1950s. The push for traditional values was becoming more and more blatant now that the war was over and the Baby Boom was here. There was no other way or else you were a dreaded commie. Oh sure, those short films educating the youth about things like getting prepared for dinner seemed harmless enough, but Ted knew the real intent behind them. It made him feel uncomfortable, but at least he was finding moderate success in the Beat Generation. He still adored the nightlife and hung around the free-spirited rebels who also rejected this cultural push. Still, his fears were a stormcloud over his head; a constant clash of wanting to be true to himself and wanting to ne out of harm's way. His already-poor mental health was shattered. He was bitter, angry, and ill-tempered. He became callous and reckless, which turned some peers away. This all tumbleweeded into a series of poor decisions. He caved into the pressure he was under and attempted a lavender relationship. He met a woman who was a major jazz enthusiast. They actually were pretty close friends besides this, which somewhat aided in Ted gaslighting himself into thinking this could work out.

It did not work out. He still struggled immensely. He stooped to resorting to a secret affair to get what couldn't out of her. A fellow jazz performer and poet who was much less shameful about himself was secretly meeting up with Ted, blissfully unaware that he was involved with an affair. Ted felt swirling vortex of satisfaction and shame. He was living a double-life that was eating him up inside. He wanted to confess to his secret lover what was really happening.... only to find that the venue they met up being raided by the police and he witnessed his forbidden partner being beaten and hauled away. The man saw Ted from the corner of his eye. "RUN!!!!," he screamed. Ted simply obeyed without hesitation. He was absolutely devastated, miserable as can be. Not only was his soul crushed by the discrimination he had witnessed, but he felt responsible for it. It was understandable. If this affair wasn't happening, his lover wouldn't have gone to this targeted venue. More importantly, the guilt of him being increibly selfish and betrayal both his girlfriend and this man with his dishonesty and cowardice really god to it. His selfishn acts culiminated into the worst decisions he's ever made. There was no coming back from this. What he had done was unforgivable. This was his bed, he was going to lay in it and go to The Other Place.

Smash-cut to decades later at the untouched shrublands. There awoken a man who had been reduced to nothing but bone. Was this a sick joke??? Ted wanted a cruel punishment for his horrible actions. Was being undead a cruel enough punishment? Probably! Not too many skeletons going out into town! He was a freak, a monster metaphorically and now literally! What to do now??? Just wander aimlessly away from people, he guessed. He tried that for a while, but quickly realized that wasn't satisfying. There was a massive difference between feeling like he deserved to be alone and actually being alone. The only things he had to his name were his banjo, an umbrella (that's also been reduced to a skeleton), and his notebook of some the poetry he wrote in his former life - somehow that survived. He felt so conflicted - He was extremely hesitant to ever interact with another person after his misdeeds, but there was a spark of curiosity. He had no idea how much time has passed since his last trips around the sun, nor was he aware of everything he had missed. Maybe if he was given a second chance at life, he could give life a second chance right back.

Thankfully, not actually needing anything the average human would need to survive made a nomadic lifestyle of busking much possible. Some couldn't get past his unsettling appearence, and it made him very insecure. It was a dark reminder that he felt like an unnatural being not fit for this world. Regardless, there wasn't much else he could do. This however did give him a great amount of wanderlust - it made perfect sense, having a grueling life in one city would give anyone that. Plus, hey, he had this whole new life ahead of him, and it was a new life with a wealth of new opportunities. He started travelling all over the southwest, slowly gaining almost a mythical reputation as this mysterious man who wrote strange an abstract work and then disappearing into the aether shortly after leaving his mark. He had an insatiable appetite for new scenary and had not an ounce of yearning for fame - he just had stories to tell and only needed enough to further explore. This cross-country journey became an international journey once he got the means to. At first, he was only merely visiting England but... something would change his plans forever.

The London clubs and pubs fancied his poetry, and one night, he was set to perform alongside a budding act, a brother duo called the Roseate Tones. After the show, the older of the two brothers enthusiacally called the skeleton over to sing his praises. He was absolutely enamoured with his talents and just how unique he was. Ted is somewhat taken aback by such a response, especially from someone who had such a beautiful voice and stylish flare. It didn't take long for them hit it off as friends and they've even joined forces with Ted becoming the duo's songwriter. This new iteration of the Tones were slowly becoming successful, but Ted couldn't help be worried for the older brother. W.B. was not in the greatest shape - he was severely underweight, taking hard drugs, having way too unhealthy and dysfunctional relationships in a short timeframe, and had explosive outbursts. Ted was very patient and sympathetic for his friend, but couldn't enable any of this. He was open and honest about how he was brought up and how it all fell apart and he didn't want his friend to follow that path, especially when he had Jeff, his vulnerable younger brother who had only recently escaped his parents' home. He stressed to W.B. that he was worried that he wasn't going to get the second chance of life like he didn't and needed to take better care of himself. W.B. agreed and he went into rehab.

Nearly two months went by, and after W.B. was clean, he swore to not make the mistakes he made again. Ted held him to this and promised to keep him in check. It seemed that the older Rose brother's treatment had helped him immensely, as his nuturing and loving demeanor became much prevalent rather than his destuctive, chaotic lust fueled by trauma and insecurity. Ted felt himself become less selfish too now that wasn't constantly living a life of needing to fend solely for himself. They became eternally grateful for each other and how they've helped each other throughout their time together. Ted was grateful for making him feel wanted in a world that never felt accepted in, while W.B. was grateful for Ted's sagely patience and willingness to help him course-correct. This evergrowing bond turned into a romantic relationship, and eventually marriage.

Ted, W.B., and Jeff moved to the United States, though Jeff moved away from the couple due to creative differences. Ted of course stayed with his husband, though he continued to help each brothers' solo careers. Things, of course, were about to get more interesting...

W.B. started mentoring a newcomer to the music world, Wacky, and said mentorship grew into actual friendship. Ted happily welcomed the younger adult with open arms and made friends with him too. He later learned of Wacky's past of unfair treatment and judgment, then complimenting him for his tenacity. Wacky didn't consider himself brave, just kinda stubborn and afraid to do anything that would traumatize his peers, but Ted assured him that he did the right thing by soldier on even at his lowest points. Ted also admired the young man for wanting to be an advocate for others, much like his husband. He was very much on board with a musical project that was ingrained with the intention to keep peoples' spirits up for the fight against hatred and scorn - it was something that was very much needed in his formative mortal years that he never quite had and the thought of someone could still be going through what he did was pretty damn sickening. Smash cut to two intergalactic troubadours coming to Earth being allured by their music and passion for love. The cosmic prince, Prince M, and his adoptive child Really believed they were part of their own universal mission of spreading these values, so they happily obliged to joining their band. Of course, two extraterrsial beings coming to join a band was absolutely bewildering, but Ted accepted them - just because they were so different didnt mean they weren't full golden intent and he quickly admired them for their efforts. This was the beginning of the Sunshine Lovers, but to the gang, and especially Ted, it grew into much more than that. Ted finally had had a family he could truly call his own. There was finally a true purpsoe to his life he could cling to, surrounded by a group of people (besides just his husband) he could feel safe around.