#i love seeing photos of freddie ive never seen before

[benhardyisdaddy]

my plus one - part 2

MASTERLIST 

(hello babes!!! so ive been starved on soft roger so i needed that rlly bad in this part as u can tell lmao i hope u all like it, i seriously have so many ideas and im excited!!) 

Word Count: 1,694

You dreaded airports. You dreaded them even more when you were with Roger Taylor, the famous drummer of Queen. Every person you walked by would gasp and point at him as they get all giddy and weird. You have known Roger since before Queen, so the star struck feeling wasn’t mutual with you. You just saw your best friend and that’s all. Oh how he loved to tease you over it. 

“How does it feel to be friends with a rock star?” he asks right after signing something for a girl and her friends. 

He has a smug look on his face as he smiles. You laugh and roll your eyes. 

“Yeah, okay, Mr. Rock star. Do they know that you still sleep with your tiny stuffed tiger at night?” you ask, a smirk playing on your lips. 

Roger’s eyes go wide as he brings his finger to his mouth and shushes you.

“Shhh! Don’t say that out loud!” he warns you, his voice dangerously low. 

You wiggle your brows as you open your mouth to talk even louder. 

“Oh, do you mean the stuffed tiger you sleep with named Bubs?”

Roger leaps forward and places his hand over your mouth with a warning look on his face. You can’t help but laugh against him as he chuckles as well. The two of you stare at each other as he slowly removes his hand, a faint smile on your faces. Suddenly, the look goes serious as he continues to look at you. You swallow hard and look away fast as you rub the back of your neck.

 “We should get some snacks for the plane.” you tell him as you walk away. 

Roger takes in a deep breath and he agrees with you. The two of you walk through the gift shop and gather what you need. When you’re done, you make your way to your gate. People are still looking at Roger and probably wondering what he’s doing not on a jet. He offered to use his own, but you were more comfortable this way. 

“Ugh,” you groan out. 

“What?” he asks, removing his headphones from his ears. 

You were finally on the plane and in your seats. People were still walking through the aisle and trying to find theirs. You look to Roger and frown hard. 

“The trip’s almost six hours long.” you pout. 

Roger rolls his eyes as he opens up a small bag of chips and throws a few into his mouth, talking with it full. 

“I go back and forth on an eleven hour flight from here to London. I think you’ll survive six.”

Your eyes are wide as your head falls forward just slightly. 

“I don’t know how you do it.” you tell him. 

“Imaykesureidrinakalot”

You squint your eyes and frown. 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full!” you scold him. 

He swallows hard and starts again. 

“I make sure I drink a lot.” 

“Ohhh. Can’t blame you. Can I have one?” you ask, looking to his chips. 

He scowls as you make puppy dog eyes to him. 

“You said you weren’t hungry when I asked if you wanted anything!” 

“I wasn’t, but now I am! Pleeeeeease!” 

Roger sighs and takes a chip from the bag and holds it up. 

“Open up.” he tells you. 

You know what he’s going to do. You open your mouth and laugh as he tosses a chip up and you catch it, causing you both to silently cheer. He throws one again and it hits your forehead, causing you both to laugh hard. Maybe the plane trip won’t be as bad as you think.

***

“Who’s picking us up?” asks Roger. 

The plane had just landed and you all were able to make your way off. You had a hold of Roger’s shirt so you wouldn’t get separated in the sea of people as he carried your purse for you. 

“I think my mom is.” 

“What if it’s Alex and Ellie?” he asks with a smart aleck look on his face. 

You frown and bring yourself closer behind him, your chest practically pushed against his back. Roger’s laughing at his joke as you slip your finger under his shirt and pinch his side, causing him to hiss. 

“Ow!” he yells. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did that hurt? It was funny to me.” you tease back, causing him to frown. 

You finally make it off of the plane and inside the airport. You look around the busy place in search of a familiar face. You find one. You were right all along. Your mom was picking you up. She looks around the room and spots you. A giant smile appears on her face as she hurries to get to you. She opens her arms and pulls you in for a hug. 

“My baby!” she says loudly. 

She squeezes you hard and leans away, getting a good look at you. Her eyes go to Roger and she almost gasps. 

“Roger Taylor, is that you? Look at you! All grown up and so handsome!” she coos. 

Roger blushes and smiles to her. 

“Hi, Mrs. Y/l/n. It’s really good to see you as well.”

“Roger’s doing really well now, mom. He’s in the band Queen!” 

She squints her eyes and shakes her head, not understanding. 

“Who?” she asks, causing Roger to snicker. 

“Queen? The famous band? They’re all over the media.” 

“Oh, honey. You know I’m not much into what’s popular and what’s not. But congratulations, Roger!” she tells him proudly. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Y/l/n.” he says, still trying not to laugh. 

“So,” she starts as you make your way to your luggage. “When were you going to tell me that you two are a couple, huh?” 

You stop walking which results in Roger running into you. You look to him fast as he shrugs and doesn’t know what to say. 

“Oh, mom. Wait, n-” 

But before you can answer, someone’s talking over you. 

“Sis! Over here!” 

It’s Ellie. You hear her voice and your skin crawls. You slowly look to your left and there she is with Alex right beside her. He’s almost frowning as he awkwardly stands there as she grins and waves her hand in the air. You feel like you’re going to be sick, but Roger places his hand on your arm and you’re better. You relax. 

“What are they doing here?” you whisper to your mom. 

She frowns at them and just shakes her head. 

“Apparently Tweedledee and Tweedledum wanted to join in on the welcome party. I told them not to.” she explains.

Before you can say more, Ellie comes rushing up to you and hugs you tightly. 

“I missed you so much!” she squeals. 

“Gee,” is all you can say back. 

You look to Alex and he’s watching you closely. You don’t dare say hi to him. Ellie takes a step back and grabs his hand, making you almost shiver. What makes you feel better is the sheer disgust on your mother’s face as she looks at Alex. It made you love her more. 

“You guys were in a serious discussion. What about?” she asks, curious. 

She’s smiling so hard, her face might get stuck. You secretly wish it does. 

“Oh,” starts your mom. “I was just talking about the new couple in front of me! I had no idea!” 

Ellie looks between you two and her eyes narrow. 

“Wait, you two are dating?” she asks, confused. 

Alex tenses his jaw and stands up straight. Roger opens his mouth to tell them no, but you cut him off. 

“We are!” you say a little too loud. 

Roger’s eyes go slightly wide as he stares at you in disbelief. You awkwardly smile and laugh as you grab his hand and hold it. You show everyone and slowly lean yourself into his arms. 

“We’re… Dating.” you say, forcing a smile. 

Roger, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen a ghost. His mouth is still slightly open as he looks between everyone beyond confused. 

“Oh my gosh?” says Ellie. “That’s amazing! Best friends who found love! Awwww!” 

And a sister who found my ex! Awwww! But you don’t say that. You just give her a tight lip smile as Roger starts to calm down and realize he needs to just go with it. 

“Uh, yeah! We’re just so in love.” he says, squeezing your hand. 

“Here,” says your mom as she pulls out her phone. “Lovebirds in paradise. Let me take your photo. Give her a smooch.” 

Both of your eyes go wide this time as you look at each other. You’ve never kissed Roger before so this was beyond awkward. He stares at you with a fake smile on his face. He’s secretly cursing you with his eyes and you can tell. 

“Alright,” you say as you turn to face him fully. “One smooch.” 

You slowly and awkwardly lean in as he does the same. Your faces are inches apart as you slightly turn your head. You can feel his warm breath on your face and your stomach was going crazy. You did not think this through. You look down at Roger’s lips and then to his eyes, watching him do the same. You lift your eyebrows up playfully, causing him to smile. You both slowly lean in and kiss. You think it’s going to last for a second, but it doesn’t. You close your eyes and lean into him, Roger doing the same. You melt for a moment until you hear the camera shutter. 

“Alright, got it.” she says. 

You both lean back and look away. You bring you hand up to your mouth and graze your bottom lip. Roger’s licking his mouth as his face is bright red. Ellie has a sweet look on her face as Alex just frowns. Roger looks to you and you both let out a breathy laugh.  

“Shall we get going?” asks your mom, turning around to sling her arm around yours. 

You all begin walking out of the airport. You’re breathless as Roger stands next to you. You never imagined yourself doing that in this moment, let alone lifetime. The kiss was sweet and gentle, nothing serious about it…

Right?

Tag List: @shesakillerquueennn @sevenseasofryheisthequeen @ohsnaprogertaylor @jazzman-19@culturefiendtrashqueen @crazysaladchopshop @luckytrashgooprebel @xtrashmammalstefx @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls 

Perm Tag List: @loudxxstar @iambuckyrogers @babebenhardy @ramimalekrp-roleplayerpage @mautand @rogertayolr @mothermercuryy @basics-andthesimplelife @caterinaborgia @discodeakyjazzyjoe @sheridans-dynamos @bethany-cc @onexlittlespark @idontbelievethiss @having-a-freddie-time @denimmay @bensrhapsody @manuosorioh @writing-in-hell @cupcakehardy @toms-irish-girl @a-kind-of-magik @thesecondlastjedi @dianamarie-has-a-blog @ezmina98 @finnbalortrash21 @frostedsugarcookiemint @yourealegendroger @popcrone818 @wronglanemendes @sj-thefan @borhapqueen92 @httpfandxms @haileylansley @arrozsocarrat @quirkydeaky @vanitysfairr @luvborhap @loveandbeloved29 @vousmemanqueez @hearts-to-the-sky @shewantsthe-youngamerican @sherlollydramoine @culturefiendtrashqueen @mamiigg

#benhardyisdaddy #roger taylor #rogertaylor #ben!rogertaylor #benhardy!rogertaylor #rogertaylorxy/n #roger taylor x reader #my plus one #angst #comedy #fic #series #queen #borhap #wedding #part 2 #drama #friends to lovers

[freddiesaysalright]

My Man Part VI

A Ben!Roger Taylor x Reader Fic

Summary: Reader is a Broadway actress currently starring in a West End production of Funny Girl. She’s a widow, thanks to the Vietnam War, but it’s a well-kept secret. She also wants everyone to think she doesn’t care for rock music. She met Roger Taylor when he brought his date backstage. They didn’t start off great, but a party at Freddie’s turned them around. Now, they’re friends. After she was attacked by a director, Roger is there for her. Then she gets a surprise visitor with some wise words for her.

Word Count: 2.6K

Tag List: @bohemian-war @kittygirlno @rebelrebelyourefaceisamess @rockyroadthepastryarchy @goodoldfashionedloverboyy @jennyggggrrr @discodeacygotmorerhythm @x1975sos @slytherinxval @cyndagoaway @doingalrightt @lovvliies @hopefully-aesthetically-pleasing @capsparrowtara @they-call-me-peaches @hyosong @riddikuluslypotter @orchideax  If you’d like to be added, let me know!

Part I  Part II  Part III  Part IV  Part V  

Part VI here we go!!!

You spent the next few days at home, recovering. Roger stayed with you all the time, leaving only for band stuff and to shower and change. You thought about telling him he could bring some things over, but you weren’t sure what kind of message that sent.

It was Roger who told you that you absolutely could not go back to work. You agreed only because there wasn’t enough makeup to cover the bruise around your eye. You also couldn’t bear the thought of performing “You Are Woman, I Am Man.” It made your stomach clench to even think about. You gave Gary the excuse that you were ill, and he bought it.

Three days after your assault, you were relaxing with Roger on your couch. You were reading your old copy of Jane Eyre, while he dozed beside you, his arm draped lazily across your shoulders. You’d always loved Jane Eyre. When times were hard, you read her story again. You told yourself that if she could overcome the things she did, you could overcome the trials of your own life.

As you read, you came across a line that struck your heart in a new way: “I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, great and strong! He made me love him without looking at me.”

You stopped. Closing the book, you glanced at Roger. He looked at peace as he slept, even with his head back and mouth slightly agape. You watched his chest rise and fall with each breath and remembered when you first met. He was acting so arrogant and you were so annoyed. Now he was at your side in the most dire situation you’d ever faced. How could this have happened? You, who were so sure you would never love again after losing George, were falling in love with Roger Taylor?

He didn’t even really look the same to you. Before - and perhaps still to others - he was the great Roger Taylor, drummer for Queen and womanizer extraordinaire. Now, he was just Roger, who held you close and punched your agent and slept on a lumpy sofa for you. Roger, who was talented and smart and passionate. Roger, a man you respected. A man you loved.

But what could ever come of it? He was also your best friend. Had his feelings changed? Had they ripened into this exciting and painful extra emotion? You weren’t even sure if you wanted an answer.

A knock at the door interrupted your thoughts. Roger shook awake and met your eyes. His sleepy face could have melted all the snow in Siberia. Your heart skipped a beat.

“You wanna get that or should I?” he asked, smirking.

You smiled. “I’ll get it.”

You padded over to the door and peered through the peephole. With a gasp and a cry of delight, you yanked the door open and threw your arms around the visitor.

“Jack!” you cried. “Oh my God!”

He laughed and spun you around. When he put you down, you saw Roger at the door. He looked between you and Jack and frowned.

“Roger,” you said. “This is my brother, Jack. Jack, this is Roger Taylor.”

Roger’s face immediately shifted and he smiled. “Oh, nice to meet you.”

He held out his hand and Jack shook it.

“So it’s true,” he said in almost a whisper.

“What’s true?” you asked.

Jack held up a copy of the issue of In Tune about you and Roger. “You’re doing it with the drummer of Queen!” He pulled you into a tight hug, rubbing the top of your head to mess up your hair as much as possible. “I’ve never been so proud of you!”

Roger looked away, grinning like an idiot.

“Get bent!” you laughed, shoving him off. “He’s just a friend.” You felt like you were lying as you said this. “Come inside, will you?”

Jack followed you into the flat, clapping Roger on the shoulder. Roger closed the door behind you. At last, Jack took in your face.

“You look like shit,” he said, playfully.

“Shut up,” you returned, rolling your eyes. “It doesn’t help that you just ruined my perfectly sloppy ponytail.”

“Did you get into another fight?” he asked.

“I’m sorry - another fight?” Roger interjected.

“She had an eventful youth,” Jack said.

Roger raised his eyebrows at you. You ignored him.

“Jack, what are you even doing here?” you wondered. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled, but it’s such a long trip.”

“Dear Mother and Father sent me after some of their English connections saw the magazine,” he explained, waving it around again. “I’m supposed to set you straight.”

“What does that mean?” Roger asked.

“It usually means she and I get drunk together and then I lie to our parents about it,” Jack told him. “I was kinda iffy about this one but it was a free trip to London, so I thought - what the hell, I wanna see her show anyway.”

“I haven’t been in the show for a couple days,” you said solemnly. “Bruises look especially bad under stage lights.”

“You’re going to have to explain that,” he replied. “Do I have to beat someone up?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I once tackled you to the ground and made you eat dirt.”

“So?” he returned. “I was like twelve.”

“I was twelve,” you corrected. “You were seventeen.”

Roger snorted and you looked smugly at your brother.

“You know what, that’s fair,” Jack admitted. “But I do still need to know what happened to you.”

You looked down. “Just a really shitty director.”

“Did he try to casting couch you?” he wondered.

You could only nod. Jack pulled you close. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” He kissed you on the head. “I love you so much and if I were as strong as you, I’d tackle that asshole to the ground and make him eat dirt.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you clutched his shirt and chuckled. “You’re an idiot and I love you.”

Roger looked at the pair of you incredulously. “You two are giving me emotional whiplash.”

“Sorry, Roger,” you said.

“Oh, are you on a first name basis?” Jack teased, letting you go.

You looked at him and it hit you all of a sudden that you hadn’t called Roger “Mr. Taylor” since Mark’s attack on you. It just came so naturally now.

“It’s a recent development,” Roger said. “I’ve been begging her to stop with the ‘Mr. Taylor’ but she refused.”

“Some habits are hard to unlearn,” Jack said. “But I’m glad she’s opening up.”

The corners of Roger’s mouth turned up, but stopped when he looked at the clock.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, looking at you. “Rehearsal. I’ll come back after, yeah?”

“Please do,” you replied.

He grabbed his things, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and left with a final wave.

“See ya, Roger,” you called.

“Great to meet you!” Jack added as the door closed softly behind Roger.

Jack whipped around and looked expectantly at you.

“What?” you asked, more defensive than you meant to sound.

“You love him,” he said.

“Of course I do, he’s my best friend,” you answered, too quickly.

“You know damn well I meant you’re in love with him,” he said. “Like wanna marry him, fuck his brains out, and have his babies.”

“Jack!”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong.”

You looked deliberately away from him, biting your lip.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “So why aren’t you with him?”

“There’s a lot that goes into answering that,” you began. “You know me. I over-analyze every part of what I’m feeling until I’m ready to explode.”

“Break it down.”

“I still feel guilty about moving on from George.”

“Okay. And?”

“Roger and I are such good friends, I’m worried if I tell him how I feel, he’ll reject me and I’ll lose him.”

“And?”

“I’m still feeling weird about being touched after being groped by that director.”

“And?”

“That’s it,” you said.

“Liar,” he accused.

Glowering at him, you crossed your arms over your chest. “It’s true.”

“There’s something else.”

You groaned.

“Just tell me!” he insisted.

“I’m…” you trailed off, unsure how to word it. “I’m afraid that I...I won’t be able to please him...y’know...in that way.”

“Are you serious?” Jack returned.

“Yes!” you cried. “I’ve been with one person ever in my life, and I was married to him. Roger Taylor has been with - I dunno - every woman in London. And you should see the women he takes out, Jack. They’re head-turningly beautiful women.”

“Well, according to this bullshit magazine, he hasn’t been out with anyone since you eloped,” he said.

“We haven’t eloped,” you said.

“Anyway,” he began. “I should tell you that your sexual prowess probably doesn’t matter to him. And you’re every bit as beautiful as any of the girls he’s dated.”

“You haven’t seen them.”

“I don’t need to. Remember my first trip home from college? I brought back my roommate and he fell in love with you?”

“What?” you returned.

“God, I was so pissed too because I was convinced he was gay. Then we were up late at night talking, and he said you were so beautiful and all this other crap until he fucking cried.”

You giggled. “I’m sorry I ruined that for you.”

“So yeah, you’re pretty, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed.

“And I do think Roger returns your feelings,” he continued. He held up the picture of you on the magazine. “I mean, look at his face here.”

You did. Roger was laughing as he looked at you in the photo. His arm was around your waist to have you near him. His eyes shone like the moon. Your expression was much the same.

“He looked like that every time he looked at you,” Jack said. “That’s how you look at the love of your life.”

Your face fell at those words.

“I know you feel guilty about George,” he said, not needing an explanation. “I loved him too and I know you risked everything for him. But he loved you so much. He’d never want you to stop living your life on his account.”

“I know,” you said.

“And honestly, I think he’d be damn proud of you for getting Roger Taylor,” he joked.

“I kinda think so too!”

You laughed together and for a moment you felt like you were a teenager again. Joking around with your big brother and the whole world ahead of you. You would never have guessed you would end up where you were.

“And as for the physical stuff after being hurt by that director,” he continued, serious now. “That’s just gonna take time. But I have a feeling that whenever you’re ready, Roger’s gonna be there for you.”

“You got all of that just from the way he looks at me?” you asked.

“It says a lot,” he said with a shrug.

“Thanks, Jack,” you replied. “I’m so glad you’re here to listen to my crazy.”

“What are gay big brothers for?”

When Roger returned that evening, you were nursing a glass of wine. You and Jack had killed a bottle while catching up before he returned to his hotel room. Now, you were back to your book. Roger smiled as he entered your living room.

“Hey,” he said. “Your brother clear off?”

“He went to his hotel room,” you said. “But he’s gonna be here for a week at least. He wants to see me in the show before he goes.”

“Are you ready for that?” he wondered, taking a seat.

You draped your legs across his lap. He gave them a gentle pat with his warm hands.

“I think I will be,” you assured him. “Nothing lifts my spirits like being on stage.”

“I admire your resilience,” he said.

You stared at him for a moment while he toyed with the fluff on your socks. You were suddenly overcome with affection for him. You smiled to yourself, and resumed comfortable silence. Roger did eventually get up to pour himself a glass of wine and then switched on the TV. You loved just existing in the same room with him.

That night, you awoke from a deep sleep from the noises in the living room. Thinking Roger had just left the TV on, you got up and headed out to switch it off. When you emerged from your bedroom, you were horrified to see the noises were coming from Roger. He was moaning, covered in sweat, and thrashing on the couch. You recognized this from the nights when George was home from Vietnam. Roger was having a nightmare. A PTSD nightmare.

You flew to his side, calling his name softly so you wouldn’t startle him. You pressed your hand onto his shoulder, and you felt how clammy his skin was. Gently, you rubbed up and down his arm until his movements slowed. He twitched away from you a few times, and you would back off for a moment before trying again.

“Roger,” you said, a little louder now.

His eyes snapped open, and he looked at you. For a split second, he moved away, as if he didn’t recognize you. Clarity swept over him and his hand shot toward you to cling to a bit of your nightgown. His chest heaved with his labored breathing, so you placed your hand over it. You could feel his heart pounding like a jackhammer.

“I’m here, Rog,” you said, cupping his face with your other hand. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

He tried to sit up, but you didn’t let him.

“Easy,” you soothed. “Just rest now, my darling.”

His breathing was still shallow, so you inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.

“Can you do this with me, Rog?” you requested. “Come on, deep breaths.”

He closed his eyes and followed your lead. You kept a hand on his chest to feel his pulse as you settled him. His grip on your clothing relaxed as well.

“Are you alright?” you asked, when he opened his eyes again.

“Yeah...just a stupid dream,” he muttered.

“It looked pretty serious to me,” you said.

“S’nothing,” he insisted.

You didn’t answer and you shifted your body so that you were laying beside him. Without prompting, he buried his face in the crook of your neck as he hooked an arm around your waist. You dragged your nails gently across his back and hummed absentmindedly.

“Sing something for me,” he said.

“What would you like to hear?” you asked.

“Anything,” he told you.

You cleared your throat and began the first song that came to mind.

“Somewhere over rainbow, way up high,” you began.

He pulled his head back and looked so intensely at you, it took your breath away.

“How’d you know?” he wondered.

“What?”

“That’s the song my mum…” he trailed off. “After my dad was...extra rough, I guess. She sang that for us.”

You realized that must have been what he was dreaming. You ached with sympathy.

“You want me to stop?” you offered.

“No,” he said, returning his head to your shoulder. “No, don’t stop.”  

“There’s a land that I heard of, once in a lullaby…”

As you sang, you considered everything you discussed with Jack, and realized he was right. What you and Roger had was special. You cared about one another in a way that was deeper than bones. It was your souls that spoke to each other. The only thing left to know was who was going to act on it first.

If happy little bluebirds fly

Beyond the rainbow

Why, oh why can’t I?

#queen #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x you #ben!roger x reader #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben!roger taylor #ben!roger imagine #roger taylor imagine #queen imagine #queen fanfic #brian may #gwilym lee #john deacon #joe mazzello #freddie mercury #rami malek

[metaphoricallyroger]

With Love, From Me to You - iii of iv [R.T.]

Summary: One-hundred ways to say ‘I love you’ over twenty-eight years.

Words: 3,387

Warnings: Implied smut.

Note: This follows both Bohemian Rhapsody’s and real-life events (generally for dates, minor plot etc.), picture whichever Roger you fancy! The title is taken from ‘From Me To You’ by The Beatles.

--

51. (1977):

“Were you seriously just checking out that woman’s legs?” It wasn’t much to ask, you thought, to have a little attention from your boyfriend whom you haven’t seen for weeks.

But apparently, said boyfriend was too engrossed in the leg length of a party attendee.

“Her legs were longer than Brian’s, how could I not look?”

“I noticed too, but that doesn’t mean I stare when I’ve got my girlfriend sitting on my lap!” You screech and ignore his childlike poking to get a hold of your cigarette.

When Roger goes quiet, you look to the left to find him smiling affectionately at you. You raise your eyebrows, waiting to see what he wants.

“Can I hold your hand?”

His cheeky grin wins you over.

--

52. (1977):

The day seems to drag on and on as the rain slides down the windows of the recording studio while Queen tries to lay down tracks for their latest album.

Roger sighs and takes the headphones off after having finished his harmonies and watches Freddie put his own on, ready to do just as Roger had been.

“Taylor, your girlfriend is here,” the sound technician drones into the microphone without sparing you a glance.

Roger barrels through the door of the control room, much to the protests of his bandmates, grinning widely.

“I thought you had work today?” He says, giving you a surprised kiss.

“Got let off early. Thought you could use a distraction,” you smile. Roger returns it, immensely happy to get out of the studio if only for a brief period.

--

53. (1978):

Your head pops out of the duvet, peering at Roger with puffy eyes.

“I’m sorry that I made you cry,” Roger holds up the flowers he nicked from the neighbour’s yard which were really weeds.

“It’s not your fault,” you wipe at your red nose, “I’m hormonal on my period.”

“I really shouldn’t have eaten the last of that chocolate, I’ll buy you more, I swear.” He puts the ‘flowers’ on the bedside table and crawls into the bed.

He pulls you onto his lap, cradling you much like one would a baby.

“You will?”

“I’ll get you two,” he smacks a kiss against your cheek.

--

54. (1978):

Your hand moves across Roger’s forehead as he rests himself in your lap.

“One more chapter.”

“Roger, you’re falling asleep.” You can’t help but smile at the sleepy man who continuously burrows his nose into your thigh as you turn the pages of your book.

“It’s because you’re rubbing my head. You’re to blame here.”

You remove your hand but the fussy Roger grabs it and puts it right back to where it was.

“I think you’re tired because you just got back from tour. But if you insist, one more only.”  

The blonde on your lap is suddenly quiet, asleep.

--

55. (1978):

You and Roger lay side by side late into the night when neither of you can sleep and this usually resorts to a game of questions until one of you falls under.

“Do you ever think about having kids?” He asks one insomnia-filled night. It wasn’t uncommon for questions to turn to the future, but the topic of children was yet to appear.

“With you?”

“With whomever,” he gestures in the air and you can feel the breeze on your face as his hand lands on the bed again.

“I’ve never really liked them if I’m honest.”

“Oh,” he says, sounding dejected.

“I think I’d like kids with you though.” You roll onto your side to look at his shining eyes.

“You would?”

“Yes. Could you imagine tiny Roger’s running around? We might prematurely age Brian.”

“Can we start now?” Despite the darkness, you can see his profile shift as he wiggles his eyebrows.

“We can practise how not to get pregnant.”

“Deal,” he rolls you to your back and climbs on top of you, laughing.

--

56. (1979):

“Have you ever thought about getting married?”

“Are you asking me if I want to get married to you?” You roll onto your stomach and prop yourself on your elbows, looking at Roger as he does the same.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“And you decided that four o’clock in the morning would be a good time to ask?” His tongue-in-teeth grin is all you need to know.

“Seemed like as good a time as any.”

“Alright.” Your hand subconsciously begins to trace around your ring finger where one was yet to appear.

“That a yes?”

“Seems so,” you mock and giggle when he bites your lip, dragging you back down to the mattress of a hotel in Hamburg.

--

57. (1979):

Brian has been graceful enough to lend you his camera after you left your own at home, and you were using every moment of your day with Roger to snap photos of the sights (which mainly included your fiancée in them).

“Love, you’re clogging up the flow of traffic, we’re going to get yelled at.”

“Yeah, but look at all of this, doesn’t it excite you?” Your hands make a sweeping motion over the city. You can’t decide what to focus on, the stores and markets Tokyo have to offer are unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

“Seeing you excited makes me happy. Now come on,” he takes your hand, “let’s go get ripped off by a stall owner.”

--

58. (1979):

“Come on, let’s go outside.” Roger gives you a gentle tap on the arse.

“Why?”

“Because you’re about two seconds away from eating that pencil you’re chewin’.” You’ve decided to quit smoking after years of doing so, and it wasn’t proving as easy as you thought. The pencil acts as a placebo and aided a bit, aside from the fact that you’ll need a new one soon and probably dental work.

“What’s the point in this walk? It’s chilly.” You drag your feet along the concrete of the footpath that’s damp from afternoon showers.

“It’ll keep your mind off it. Besides,” he raises his eyebrows, “you get to look at my perky arse when I walk.”

Roger turns where he is leading you and presses a kiss to your cheek.

“Could you get your cigarette breath out of my face, please?”

“You’ve got cigarette breath too, I don’t know what you’re complaining about.” He plants an even sloppier kiss for effect.

“Not for long anymore, trust me, next time you’re home from tour I’ll be minty fresh.”

“Is that a promise?” He tilts his head, and you could compare him to a puppy if you thought about it.

“More like a threat.”

--

59. (1980):

Freddie has taken it upon himself to be the EMCee of the event and has decided that people have been sitting around for far too long and not having any fun. A soft, romantic ballad that neither you nor Roger knew plays from speakers, clearly showing that you both were not in charge of the music. It’s time for your first dance as a married couple.

“Can I have this dance?” Roger glances up at you from where you just finished talking to guests at another table.

“Thought you’d never ask, Mrs Taylor.”

--

60. (1980):

After sneaking out of your own wedding, you and Roger stand in a conveniently unlocked, large, supply cupboard.

“You sure you want to do this?” You grin, leaning on your husband’s shoulder, “we’re the bride and groom, I think we’ll be missed.”

“Who cares?” Roger bites his lip and smirks. “It’s our wedding, after all.”

“You’re going to have to help me with my dress.”

--

61. (1980):

Whilst in the South of France on your honeymoon, Roger decides on both of your behalf’s that it is important for him to buy a Ferrari.

When you get the phone call that Roger just trashed his car, your fear-riddled mind thinks that he’s been gravely injured. That clearly isn’t the case because your husband is the one talking to you and still swearing in that high-pitched tone he affects when he’s angry.

“You’ve crashed your car?”

“No, I didn’t crash, the bloody things shit itself and caught on fire!” You hear a thump from the other end of the line and can picture Roger kicking the phone box in frustration.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, but my Ferrari is.”

He sounds more upset about the car rather than the fact that he could have died.

“Roger, I don’t care about the car, just about whether you’re okay. Where are you?”

During the time it took him to tell you where he was you had already grabbed the rental car keys and ran your fingers over the teeth of the Mercedes one anxiously.  

“Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”

--

62. (1980):

A bulky letter awaits Roger as he returns to his hotel room after soundcheck for the concert in Pittsburgh. He picks up the phone to call home, knowing with the time difference you’d be the only one left awake in the house at this time.

“Hey, love.”

“Did you get my letter?” Too electrified to contain yourself, you ask before you greet him, worrying that the letter you gave to Brian to give to Roger somehow got lost in the woes of international travel. You gave specific instructions, that he was under no circumstances allowed to open, and it was to be handed off when Roger became homesick or too stressed.

“Just did, but I haven’t read it yet. Should I now?”

“No!” You screech. “You have to wait until I’m off the phone.”

“So should I hang up now?”

“You have to tell me about your day first,” you know he can hear your teasing tone.

Roger begins telling you about his day, holding the phone between ear and shoulder, discreetly opening the letter and watching polaroids slip out with a smirk.

--

63. (1981):

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you wince, “my stomach just feels a bit off. That’s all.”

“Would you like me to rub your stomach?”

“I’m not one of Freddie’s cats.” Even with those words, you lie between Roger’s legs, back to chest so his hands flit comfortingly across your stomach.

--

64. (1981):

“I figured out why my stomach has been weird.”

“I told you not to eat that old take out. Didn’t you learn from that disaster years ago?” Roger barely spares you a look from the magazine he is reading.

“You’re going to be a father in the near future.”

His eyebrows hit his hairline as you sit next to him.

“I’m what?”

“You, me, parents.” You punctuate each word with a slight kiss.

“Parents,” he trails off, eyes stuck on the inconspicuous bump under your dressing gown.

--

65. (1981):

You were practically falling asleep next to Roger on the lounge at Freddie’s party despite the raucous and debauched atmosphere.

You adjust yourself against his shoulder and brace yourself as another server comes to offer you champagne once again.

“She’s not drinking tonight.” Roger easily dismisses the servers but takes a flute for himself.

“You pregnant or something, Y/N?” You look up at Brian who has a knowing look on his face.

You have a look of elation as you glance at him, causing the band members around you, family really, and their wives to all laugh.

--

66. (1981):

“Look after your Mum, okay?” You struggle to hold back a laugh as Roger gets down to his knees in the middle of the busy airport. He speaks directly to your stomach and his lashes flutter when he feels movement under his placed hand.

“They’ve still got two months before we meet them, I’ll be fine, Roger.”

“I know, I just worry.” His brows draw together as he looks up at you.

“I’ve got plenty of help, and Mum and Chrissy will be a wealth of knowledge. Believe me, this baby is well looked after, and so am I.”

You wrap one arm around his neck and your free hand over his, still resting against your stomach. You had thought that the constant touching on Roger’s behalf would drive you up the wall, and it has to a certain extent, but now you knew you are going to miss it.

“I’m still calling every chance I get.”

“You’d better.” You share a kiss before he pulls away with a smirk after the boys call out to him.

--

67. (1981):

“Watch your step.”

Roger helps you up the stairs to the nursery with a careful hand on your lower back. Typically, him fussing annoys the living daylights out of you but because you knew what he was doing today it was a welcome fussing.

“What do you think?” His hand uncovers your eyes.

“You did all of this?”

You were shipped out of the house to spend some time with Mary while Roger, with the help of his band members decorated and put together the flat-pack furniture you’d been seeing arrive the previous days.

The room has everything a baby could possibly need, and the change table was already stocked with enough nappies, wipes and baby powder to sink a battleship.  

“Well, I did get some help from Fred on the decorating and Brian and John with the cot and such.” He blushes and rubs the back of his neck.

“But it was your idea.”

“All mine.” You wrap your arms around his neck and sway with him gently, kissing his stubbly jawline every so often.

“I think the baby will be very happy here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” you smile whimsically, “especially with this.” You walk over to the cot and pick up the stuffed lion you had given him all those years ago.

“How could I forget about him? He’s important to us.”

--

68. (1981):

“You did well.”

“Only well?” You grin down at the tiny, fragile figure in your arms you have given life to. Roger passed her back once she started to fall asleep, and she now rests with her hand tucked in a fist under a rosy cheek.

“She’s perfect already, I’d say you did amazing.” His eyes are glistening with unbridled joy as he glances down at the yet-to-be-named Baby Taylor.

“Yeah, I don’t think we need anything for Christmas this year,” you joke.

--

69. (1982):

You and Roger practically went into hibernation mode after you had Zoe, and haven’t seen the band since before she was born. They all sit in your living room, passing her back and forth between each other and cooing every time she lets out a little grunt or a happy noise.

“Would you look at that, the little darling looks like Rog.” Freddie notices as he looks down at the baby currently snuggled in John’s arms.

“She’ll have his chin, I bet,” John smiles at the sleeping angel.

“Oh God,” Brian moans, “another Taylor running around.” You can see he doesn’t mean it as he has a small smile on his face when Zoe wraps her finger around his tightly.

Roger feels slightly defensive over his new baby, but he knows Brian is just ribbing him and smirks at the taller man.

“Yeah but this one is extra important because she’s half Y/N.”

--

70. (1982):

Since she was born, Zoe hasn’t slept through an entire night, and it was beginning to take its toll on you and Roger. You both love being parents, but the intimacy you once shared is no longer the same.

The intimacy comes in quiet moments when you’re looking after the baby, and you get to watch Roger’s smiles and one-sided conversations with her. It’s an even deeper form of intimacy that only comes when you share the role of caregiver.   

“Roger, I’m tired, I’m not really in the mood.”

“Want to watch the telly instead?” Roger pulls back from where he was sucking on your neck and settles next to you, already grabbing for the remote.

“Are you sure?” You worry your bottom lip.

You miss being in bed with Roger, and the way he makes you feel when he’s pressed deep inside you, but you’re just so tired.

“I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to.” He plants a kiss on your cheek and positions himself so you can lay on his chest, hand rubbing his hip.

--

71. (1982):

Roger pays an extravagant amount for flowers in the shop down the street from the restaurant where your work dinner is taking place. He knows that no expensive bunch of flowers can make up for being late to something that means a lot to you.

“Love! I’m so, so, sorry,” he tries to catch his breath as he finds you, about to get into the car.

“I really didn’t mean to-”

“No, I get it. Busy being a rock star and all,” you don’t even look at him as you unlock the doors, handing him the keys to drive.

“It’s not that at all,” he pleads, “I swear I didn’t mean to be late.”

“Whatever, let’s just go home.”

--

72. (1983):

“Look, Zoe, there’s your daddy,” you coo to the toddler waddling beside you.

“Hi, Bubs!” He calls to her. You and Roger barely stand three feet apart, arms extended in case she falls over. He missed her first steps but won’t miss her fully walking on her own as her little feet stomp over to him to wrap around his knees.

“Hello,” you smile as Roger scoops the giggling girl into his arms.

“I’m so glad to be back,” Roger sighs. You wrap one arm around his shoulder in a hug and let him guide you out of the busy airport.

--

73. (1983):

“Say it, say ‘dada’, Zoe.” You watch Roger with wide eyes as he moves his head side to side with every syllable.

“She’s not going to say it if you tell her to.”

“She will just you wait. Taylor women are very smart, just need some persuasion, that’s all.” He grabs the lion out of her hands and holds it above her fair head.

“Dada!” She finally shrieks and extends her arms to try and grab her lion back.

“See! So smart, just like her mother.”

“I’d yell too if you snatched my toy away.” You still sit down next to the pair and celebrate with them, mainly Roger, because Zoe’s too young to get why this is a big deal.

--

74. (1983):

You’re standing under the warmth of the shower spray when Roger barges into the room, raging about something or other to do with a new song.

“I’m trying to understand, Roger,” you sigh.

“I feel like I can’t tell you anything anymore,” he leans against the bathroom sink. You open the glass door of the shower with wide eyes, uncaring about your nakedness, paralysed.

“What? You’re my best friend, you absolutely can.” You grab onto his elbow when he scoffs and goes to turn away.

“I know I can. I want to, believe me. It’s just … hard.”

“It may take time, but you can tell me anything.  Surely you have to know that.” You hold out your hand and invite him into the shower.

--

75. (1983):

Roger opens his eyes with a groan as the bright mid-morning sunlight streams into the room due to your opening of the curtains and windows.

“It smells like a brewery in here, get up.” You pull back the sheets and begin to remove them, rolling Roger’s dead weight across the mattress as he isn’t making any attempt to move.

“I’m hungover,” he moans.

“Whose fault is that hm? Not mine.”

“Can’t you leave me alone for once? I don’t feel well.” He rests his palm across his forehead and looks up at you with pleading eyes. It doesn’t do anything.

“That would have worked if you didn’t throw up all over my floor at four o’clock in the morning. You’re an adult, not a five year old. You should know when you aren’t feeling well.”

“I don’t know I’m not feeling great when I’m that drunk!”

“I understand that you’re having troubles with the band but if you keep coming home drunk, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to sleep.”

“You’re going to kick me out? Of my own house?”

“I paid for half of this house too, don’t forget.”

You pause and try to take a softer tone, brushing sun-streaked golden hair out of his eyes.

“I just want to help you, Roger. You don’t want to tell me what’s wrong and I’m already worried about you. Would you like a hug?”

Roger half crawls, half wiggles his way over to you.

#roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy x reader #bohemian rhapsody imagine

[angrylizardjacket]

ask your destiny to dance [12] {Roger Taylor}

[masterpost]

“Oh Ashley, it’s so good to see you.” Freddie’s mother seems absolutely delighted to see Ash at the door when she opens it, a few weeks after the album’s recording, on the morning of Freddie’s birthday. She quickly wraps the girl up in a hug, and Ash hugs her back tightly. “It’s been too long.” She scolds, beckoning Ash through into the kitchen. “Farrokh and his friends are in his room, and I’m sure Kash is somewhere, but I have some things for you to take home.” And she produces a tupperware container full of baked goods, and Ash’s chest tightens a little.

“Mrs Bulsara, you really didn’t have to-” Ash tries to decline, but Freddie’s mother pushes the container into her hands with a fond smile.

“Nonsense, it was no trouble; Freddie tells me how you live up on the campus, all that junk food, and so far from home?” She clicks her tongue, shaking her head as she heads back out to the dining room. “You need a mother’s cooking. Don’t worry, I’ve added plastic forks; I’ve been told you don’t have any in your kitchen.” She says, and Ash flushes, embarrassed but thankful.

Freddie’s mother never says it outright, but they both know that she knows that Ash had been kicked out of home before she’d become friends with Freddie. After the first few times Ash had come over to work on a uni project with Freddie, she’s invited to stay for dinner, and Freddie’s mother always gives her leftovers to take home with her. Jer, after three years, treats Ash like family, and Ash, when she thinks about it too hard, wants to cry out of love.

“Kashi, come set the table, lunch is almost ready.” Freddie’s mother calls out, and Kash gives Ash a hug in greeting when she comes to collect plates.

Ash sits herself next to John when everyone’s arrived and lunch is served, and Roger sits himself right next to her. Kristin’s with him, which irks Ash for reasons she doesn’t want to think too hard about, but Ash smiles at her and makes small talk, and it makes Kristin looks a little less uncomfortable and out of place.

The mood around the table is bright, even with Roger and Kristin being a little too cute for Ash’s taste. Mary’s father signs stories about Mary and she translates for the whole table, bashful and sweet, and Kash ask Ash across the table about her latest designs, and the boys all talk excitedly about their album, and then Freddie’s mother is saying how nice it is for Farrokh to bring home a nice girl like Mary.

“What does that make you, Ash?” Roger snickers, and Ash elbows him in the ribs, suppressing a smile of her own.

“A horrible young woman.” Ash says airily, and Kash giggles across the table, and Jer tuts.

“Ashley is a good friend; Mary is…” and she trails off, making gestures at Mary, who is squinting a little.

“Farrokh?” She asks, and Freddie’s mother relaxes, smiling with a hint of confusion. Wondering aloud if Freddie had ever told them about his heritage, though neither Ash nor Roger were paying them much attention.

“A horrible young woman?” Roger’s grinning at Ash, voice low, and she’s smirking back at him, amused.

“You heard me.” She murmured back, sitting back in her chair, arms crossed and confident.

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit, you can be a right demon when you wanna be.” He chuckled, and Ash snorted, watching as Jer stood up and made her way to the living room, returning with some photo albums, much to Freddie’s chagrin.

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?” Ash watched Roger out of the corner of her eye, and he held a hand to his heart, shaking his head gently, grinning. Ash leans over, voice quiet enough that she was sure only he’d heard, “but from what I recall it takes two to start a fire.” And Roger’s smile became more genuine as he realised she wasn’t trying to be bitter, but that she was actually making light of their little excursion in Scotland. It’s when he gives her shoulder a squeeze, and Ash feels her own smile soften, that she sees Kristin frowning at her. Ash’s smile drops, and she turns quickly, looking at the photo in front of Deaky, trying to tune out where Roger and Kristin were talking beside her.

Ash has seen all the family photos before, they were pulled out the second time she’d stayed for dinner, and she distinctly remembers Freddie almost face planting into his mashed potato out of embarrassment. This time, at least, he’d absconded to the piano, and was singing himself Happy Birthday to try and drown then all out. Ash leans back in her chair, watching the situation unfold, watching Roger leave Kristin with a gentle reassurance to go sit beside Kash in Freddie’s now vacant seat to look at one of the photo albums, and sees Kristin give her a tight smile from the corner of her eyes, gesturing to the photo album Deaky and Brian were poring over. Ash gives up her seat easily, sitting in Roger’s now empty one.

“I thought Freddie was born in London.” John muses, and Kash laughs. Roger’s got an arm around the back of her chair, leaning in to look at the photo album, but he’s so close to Freddie’s little sister, and Kristin doesn’t seem to be paying him much attention, and Ash feels the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

“Oh he was, at the age of eighteen!” She grins brightly, and Roger looks up, catches her smile, and objectively Kash is pretty, Ash knows this, but Kristin is right there, and she knows his knee-jerk reaction to pretty girls at this point. Kash turns and asks Freddie about his change of name, from Bulsara to Mercury, which sets off their father, and Roger’s leaning back in his chair, watching Kash speak as he smiles slightly.

The phone goes off, and Kash excuses herself to answer it, and finally Roger catches Ash watching him, and gives her a confused smile, as if he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.

The call is for Freddie, and Kash comes back, slotting herself back into the conversation with ease, and Ash is about to throw a bread roll at Roger. When he leans in to murmur something to her, something she knows is far too forward for a man sitting across from his supposed girlfriend, Ash just feels a sinking disappointment, and her gaze drops as Freddie’s father coughs pointedly. Roger’s still got some cooked onion on his plate, pushed off to the side, and Ash doesn’t even care to ask before she starts picking at it, not letting Freddie’s mother’s cooking go to waste and to give herself something to do that isn’t lobbing cutlery.

“Freddie tells me you’re a scientist.” Jer breaks the silence, turning to Brian, who smiles brightly.

“Astrophysicist, actually.” He corrects cheerfully, before his smile turns sharp and he points directly at Roger. “He studies dentistry; he’s a dentist!” He announces, and Roger snorts, crossing his arms, at the same time as Ash almost choked on her food.

“I was never a dentist.” He says, defensive, where Ash’s ‘he was never a dentist’ is more derisive, and Roger shoots her a wounded look, before frowning. “Are you eating my onions?”

“He’s a dentist.” John snorts. Poor Kristin looks confused, Ash pays her no mind.

“Were you saving them for later?” Ash asks, shoving the last of them in her mouth while making eye contact, and he squints at her, looking like he’s trying hard not smile, before Ash turns to the rest of the table with a mouth full of onions; “He’s a biologist, whatever that is.”

The rest of the table looks at her like she’s grown an extra head.

“She said I’m a biologist, whatever that is.” Roger translates through her mouthful of food and accent with ease, and his smile is smug when everyone else makes noises of understanding.

“Everyone, I have some news;” Freddie announces, coming back to them all. He looks a little shell shocked, and the rest of the room quietens down automatically. “That was John Reid, calling from EMI; they manage Elton.” his voice shakes, he’s holding back so much, “someone gave him a demo of our recording, and he wants to meet with us, possibly even manage us.”

The band are in shock. Ash feels like her heart’s bursting with pride as she stands abruptly, moving to throw her arms around Freddie after he’s done hugging Mary.

“Happy birthday, Freds, this is incredible.” She murmurs, and he holds her so tightly, laughing, a little bewildered at the whole surreal situation.

Stepping back, Ash goes to sit back down, but her seat’s occupied, and so she finds herself in Roger’s lap where he’s taken back his original seat. They don’t give each other time to be shocked, just let themselves enjoy the moment of excitement as they wrap their arms around each other in an ecstatic hug.

“This is awesome!” Ash says quietly, and Roger just laughs a little where he’s got his face buried in her neck, hidden for all her bushy hair. It doesn’t last long, Ash hops up and gives both John and Brian hugs of their own, and she doesn’t like to think about how good it felt to have him hug her again, or how Kristin barely speaks two words to her after that.

A week later, the day of the meeting, Ash is laying at the edge of Freddie’s bed, watching him dig through his closet. Both of them were frustrated, and Freddie flung another jacket at her, and it landed squarely on her face, a button hitting her cheek and making her yelp.

“I asked you here to help, Rocket, now please; which colour shirt?” Freddie huffs, pulling out three different shirts, all in different bright colours. Ash bites her lip.

“Freds, you don’t want me to dress you for a business meeting. Business meetings are fucking boring and I hate boring. And I hate grey.” She whined, and Freddie shook the shirts at her again.

“Darling, that’s exactly why I want you to help me; this is a band meeting and no-one’s gonig to care about us if we look like every Tom, Dick, and Harry.” Freddie muses, and Ash sits up, intrigued; “Deaky’s going to dress like a father, Brian’s going to be unfortunately sensible, and Roger doesn’t know how to button his shirts up past his ribs, which might work on girls, but not on executives; please help me convince Reid we have some semblance of style.”

“The purple one.” Ash answers immediately, barely waiting a moment after he’s finished his spiel to point at the bright purple shirt. Freddie grins, already pulling off his shirt to put on the one she’d suggested. Ash makes her way to the closet beside him, looking through all his jackets and jumpers for anything potentially eye catching.

“I was thinking,” Freddie starts carefully, reaching past her to pull at something white and leather hanging up near the end of the railing, “this one.” It’s frilled. Not like the frills of a skirt, more like a frill-neck lizard.

“I love it.” Ash is bright-eyed when looking at it, absolutely enraptured with it. “Freds where did you get it?” She demands, clutching the edge of the jacket in her hands, looking at it with a starry-eyed gaze; Freddie’s never seen her so enamoured with his clothes before, or any clothes that weren’t her own.

“Op shop down East.” He said, flush with pride that she was to taken with his jacket.

“Freddie if you ever lose or destroy that jacket, tell me; this is the best jacket you’ve ever owned.” She said, suddenly very serious

“You’re taking the piss.” He huffed, rolling his eyes. “What are you gonna do, make me a knew one every time I lose it?” Ash frowned, looking up at him.

“Freddie I’d kill to work with leather like this, take risks like this in such a traditional medium; the work on the collar is impeccable.” There’s nothing but absolute sincerity in her voice, and Freddie is reminded sharply that most of her wardrobe she’s made herself, that this is the life she wants to be a part of more than anything. “If I get even half an excuse to make something like this, I’ll take it.”

“Alright.” Freddie tells her with a firm nod, taking her by the shoulder. “Well then, Ash, I’m asking you seriously; I want you to become the band’s official stylist; when we make it big, we need to have a look, and I trust you to make us stand out.”

Ash is lost for words, heart beating in her throat as she clutches the leather jacket tight in her hands. Nodding profusely, a smile comes over her face, and Freddie hugs her tightly.

“You’ve got a gift, darling, I want the world to see it.” He says, and Ash holds him so tightly as a laugh escapes her, a little wistful, a little bit dazed.

“So do you, Freds, you’re gonna be a star.” She mused, and he pulled back, fixing her with a fond smile.

“Well then you’d better make sure I look my best.”

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#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x oc #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #borhap imagine #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #mary austin #ask your destiny to dance fic #queen #queen imagine #the angry lizard writes

[freddiesaysalright]

My Man Part IV

A Ben!Roger Taylor x Reader Fic

Summary: Reader is a Broadway actress currently starring in a West End production of Funny Girl. She’s a widow, thanks to the Vietnam War, but it’s a well-kept secret. She also wants everyone to think she doesn’t care for rock music. She met Roger Taylor when he brought his date backstage. They didn’t start off great, but a party at Freddie’s turned them around. Now, they’re friends.

Word Count: 2.1K 

Tag List: @bohemian-war @kittygirlno @rebelrebelyourefaceisamess @rockyroadthepastryarchy @goodoldfashionedloverboyy @jennyggggrrr @discodeacygotmorerhythm @x1975sos  If you’d like to be added, let me know!

Part I   Part II   Part III

Over the coming weeks, your time with Roger became as sacred to you as the hours you were on stage each night. He was so open and fun and passionate, and he brought that out of you whether you realized it or not. In the years after losing George, you became a ghost. A shadow of a woman who went through the motions. You only showed energy on stage. With Roger, you were alive. You were an active participant in your spirit flourishing. Even Gary told you that your Fanny Brice was improved. You sang more soulfully, your jokes hit harder, and your tears meant more.

You could not place when exactly Roger had done this for you. But you guessed it was the slow chipping away at the wall around your heart. It had taken years to build. Now came this idiot drummer with a good smile and wicked humor. It made you incredibly happy but more conflicted than ever.

You could not deny your attraction to him after that first of several erotic dreams about him. Even when you were awake and he touched your arm or hugged you, you thought about what it would be like. Not only to make love to him, but to be his. To give him your heart completely.

Then you remembered George. True, it had been years, but he was the only man you’d ever been with. And you thought the love you shared with him was once in a lifetime. When he died, you told yourself there was no way you could ever feel that again. But with Roger, you felt the butterflies and the happiness. It was less hopeful than with George, since you were terrified of being hurt more than ever. Your heart was beaten and battered and you did not think you could take it if you lost Roger too. All the emotions would hit you at once and you’d get so overwhelmed. Weirdly enough, the person to calm you down was always Roger.

You also hung out with the band a lot. They were always popping over to each others’ places and spending time, even outside the studio. It was very sweet.

One day, you were at Roger’s and he was playing around on the drums. You liked to watch him play because his focus was incredible. You got to see how seriously he took his craft. It reminded you of all your late nights going over lines or pushing your voice to hit a note just once more. You had never realized how much went into drumming before.

“How do you do that?” you wondered aloud.

He stopped. “Do what?”

“Look so effortlessly talented.”

His brow furrowed. “Are you joking?”

“No!” you assured him. “You just make it look so easy.”

“It’s not,” he replied, smiling a little. “But don’t you think you do the same thing?”

“I don’t look like I’m having nearly as much fun,” you said.

“I disagree.”

“Could you teach me?” you asked suddenly.

His face lit up like the Fourth of July. “Hell yeah!”

He beckoned you over and let you take a seat behind the drum set. He stood behind you and guided you through a couple beats from Queen songs. You struggled through it, often doing the same thing with both hands.

Chuckling, he said, “Let me help you.”

He wrapped his hands around yours and moved them for you, slowly. His touch was soft and warm and you could feel his breath on your neck as he leaned over you. It sent a shiver down your spine.

Then he watched you attempt it again. You couldn’t help but notice the way he bit his lip watching you play. After a few more tries, you got it on your own.

“I nailed it!” you cried, excitedly. “But seriously, I don’t know how you do this.”

“Years of practice,” he returned. “Just like you, I expect.”

“That’s true.”

“Can you teach me something?” he asked, a sly look on his face.

“What could I possibly teach you?” you returned.

“Teach me to dance,” he said.

“I suppose I can try,” you agreed. “Move the couch back and I’ll move the coffee table.”

You did so, and it left ample space for the pair of you. He met you in the center of the room, and you were barely a foot from one another. You moved to adjust his arms for his frame before coming to stand in front of him again.

“Have you ever done the foxtrot?” you asked.

“Never in my life,” he told you.

“Okay,” you said with a laugh. “It’s not too difficult, I swear.”

You showed him the basic steps; what to do on which count and how to hold his frame. You felt a bit flushed at times when he was holding you so close. You took a turn about the room, and he finished with dipping you, causing you to laugh.

“Very good!” you praised as he led you upright again.

“Have I swept you off your feet?” he teased.

You rolled your eyes.

“I’ll just have to keep working on it then,” he said.

“Let’s put the furniture back,” you said.

Just when his living room was returned to its usual state, the door burst open. In walked Freddie, John, and Brian. They looked at Roger expectantly.

“What is it, guys?” he asked.

“Did either of you read the latest issue of In Tune?” Brian asked.

In Tune was a gossip magazine specifically about musicians. It was generally considered garbage, and yet they still sold out on shelves. Even a fake scandal was better than nothing, apparently.

“No,” you answered. “My eyes happen to be attached to my brain.”

Roger sniggered. John tossed you the magazine.

“You two made the front page,” he said.

“What?!” you gasped, looking at the cover.

It was true. There was a photo of you and Roger leaving a movie theater. The headline read, “Roger Taylor’s New Flame! A Secret Wedding?” In the corner, they had placed a close up of your left hand where your wedding ring was visible.

“Alright, Y/N, front page!” Roger joked, offering his hand for a high five.

You gave it to him, grinning. “Tony’s be damned, this is the greatest accomplishment of my life!”

They all laughed.

“How did you find this?” you asked.

“Saw it on the news stand,” Brian explained.

“I was just so thrilled they weren’t talking about me for once,” Freddie added.

“Did you read the article?” you wondered.

“No, we figured we’d wait and share that with you,” Freddie said.

You checked the cover and saw that the story was on page thirteen. Eagerly, you flipped to it and began to read aloud; “Roger Taylor, drummer for the infamous rock band Queen, was spotted coming out of a London cinema with a mystery lady last weekend. We suspect the pair eloped and have been together for months, as Taylor has not been seen in public with the usual amount of bimbos around him - now, that’s rude - for several weeks. Also, the new woman wears a plain band on her left ring finger. Could it be the playboy drummer has settled down at last? We intend to find out more! - Ugh it just goes on about women you’ve taken out before.”

“Do they really not know you’re the star of a West End show?” John wondered, taking the magazine and scanning it. “That seems rather ignorant.”

“That’s In Tune for you,” you said. “All about the rock stars and disco divas. Nothing about us poor, untalented Broadway performers.”

“It does mention you were seeing Grease,” John pointed out.

“Well, that is vital information,” Brian said.

Freddie looked at Roger. “Really? Grease?”

“She likes musicals!” Roger returned indignantly. “Also it was a cheap, late night showing.”

“A right Prince Charming, you are,” Brian remarked.

“Shut up,” Roger retorted.

“Really, you’d think you could splurge for the new Mrs,” you chimed in.

“Alright, next time I’ll take you to Paris,” he said. “How’s that for romance?”

“Can we still go see Grease though?” you said through a laugh.

“Sorry, but John Travolta’s head is too large for his body and it freaks me out,” he replied.

You giggled. “What the hell?”

“It’s just a thing,” he said with a shrug.

“My darlings, we’ve got to be at the studio,” Freddie interrupted. “We’re already late.”

“Only ‘cause we picked you up first,” John said.

Freddie grinned and then looked at you. “Would you like to come along?”

You shook your head. “I’ve got to get home before I head to the theater.”

“Want me to walk you home, Y/N?” Roger offered.

“No, thanks, I can make it,” you said.

“Have a good show,” he told you.

“Break a leg, darling,” Freddie said. “And come have dinner with us when it’s over.”

“You’ve got it, Mr. Mercury,” you promised.

You left after hugging them all. As you walked, you reflected. Each time you left Roger, your guilt subsided a little. You felt lighter than air as you entered your own flat. But your thoughts were interrupted when your phone rang.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Y/N,” the voice on the other end of the line was your agent, Stephen. “Are you busy?”

“Not at all, what’s up?” you asked.

“I’ve got incredible news for you,” he said. “There’s a production of Oklahoma in the works for here on West End, and the director is in town today. He called me and asked if you’d be willing to try for the part of Laurie!”

You nearly dropped your phone. Laurie was your dream role. The one that made you want to be an actress in the first place.

“You still there?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said, a little breathless. “I’m just - you know how I feel about that role!”

“I do, dear!” he returned. “I’m so excited for you! Can you meet him tomorrow at his hotel room?”

You froze. Meeting a stranger at his hotel room seemed odd. It was far from professional. You normally met a director or producer at a theater if they didn’t have an office.

“Is everything okay?” Stephen asked. “I know it’s a bit unorthodox, but he’s heading to America in three days to meet with the guy he wants for Curly. If you want me to tell him you can’t - ”

“Don’t be silly, I’ll go there,” you said, trying to sound more easy about it than you were.

“Great, I’ll let him know,” he said. “He wants to meet at two.”

He gave you the address and you wrote it down. You thanked Stephen and when you hung up, you squealed.

“I’m going to be Laurie!” you cried, pumping your fist in the air.

Later that night, you met up with Roger and the guys for dinner like you promised. As soon as you got to the restaurant, you ran to Roger and leapt into his arms. He spun you around and kissed your cheek.

“What’s got into you?” he wondered.

“I got the best news before the show tonight,” you said.

You explained to them what your agent said and they congratulated you. Roger was silent, though.

“What?” you asked.

“I don’t like the idea of you meeting him in a hotel room,” he said. “It’s sketchy.”

“Come on, Rog, you heard what she said,” Brian said, comfortingly. “It’s an unusual circumstance. I’m sure they’ll meet again properly, but she’s got to get her foot in the door.”

“Thank you, Mr. May,” you said, and then turned back to Roger. “Can’t you just be supportive?”

He frowned but agreed. “Of course. Congrats, Y/N.”

“Thank you,” you returned, but the tension remained the rest of the night.

When dinner was over, Roger did walk you home. As you fell in step beside him, his silence made you crazy. It felt childish but you refused to be the first one to speak. If he had a problem with how you handled your career, that was on him. You had nothing to apologize for.

“Can I see that address again?” he said, coming to an abrupt stop.

It was an odd way to begin an apology, but you obliged. You fetched the slip of paper from your bag and handed it to him.

“This is right around the corner from the studio,” he said. “Will you come by afterward and tell me how it goes?”

You beamed. “Of course I will!”

“Wonderful,” he returned and then gave you the directions. “You will be careful, won’t you?”

“You know me,” you said. “I’m always careful. Plus, I’m a grown woman. I don’t need protecting. Okay?”

With an irritated sigh he said, “Okay.”

“Thank you,” you returned. “Now, get me home, I’m getting cold.”

He didn’t reply, but took you under his arm for the rest of the walk.  

#queen #roger taylor x reader #ben hardy x reader #ben!roger x reader #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #ben hardy #ben!roger taylor #ben!roger imagine #roger taylor #roger taylor x you #queen fanfic #queen imagine #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #rami malek #gwilym lee #joe mazzello

[angrylizardjacket]

Holding Court In A Crown {Roger Taylor}

Sequel to And All The Queen’s Men {Roger Taylor}

A/N: 3630 words. Giselle is fun to write and I love her. Another article style, based off of many conversations between @ginghampearlsnsweettea and I. Let me know what you think.

[And All The Queen’s Men ‘verse masterpost]

HOLDING COURT IN A CROWN - GISELLE TAYLOR in conversation with Vogue UK about her fashion evolution through the decades. (Published June, 1991)

When stepping into the Taylor home, it becomes immediately apparent that this is a home in which public image has always been very important. Gold and Platinum albums alike line the front foyer, shining reminders of the achievements of both artists who reside here. It’s surprisingly modern, hardwood floors and large windows that allow light to stream in, though the house itself is smaller than one might expect. Giselle herself greets me in the front hall, looking carefully casual in a flattering, warm yellow summer dress, that hits just above her knees, and a pair of matching yellow slip on shoes.

I’m lead through the house, past closed doors, one of which I’m told is a personal recording studio, into a open-planned kitchen-dining area. It’s a strange marriage of two aesthetics, no pun intended, the German-inspired open planned living with the dark counters, appliances, and features that make the space feel a little smaller, though it comes together to make something modern and chic, and perfectly suited to both Giselle and her husband’s images.

“Roger’s with the girls,” she tells me, referring to her daughters, pouring us both a glass of water in some of the fanciest crystal glasses I’ve ever seen, “not that he wouldn’t jump at the chance to talk about his “fashion choices”,” her air quotes, not mine, “but I thought I’d spare you the half hour argument about the wine stain, and all the other, sundry fashion choices of mine that he likes to take credit for.”

Giselle herself admits that she’s always been very fortunate in terms of fashion, “I mean, I look good in everything,” though there’s an air of self deprecation about it, “Actually, I’ve had a certain liberty with my work attire that not a lot of people have, unless you’re in the entertainment industry.” What began with a rented cocktail dress bloomed into one of the most influential fashion timelines of the 70s and 80s.

Beginning her career in an establishment modeled after American prohibition-era speakeasies, Giselle started off wearing cocktail dresses rented from the pub itself. “I actually did start off as a waitress, but for that you just had to provide your own black pants and white top, you know, wait-staff attire.” When the pub’s regular singer leaves, Giselle auditions to be her replacement, “they were just grateful I could fit into her dress, I could lipsync for all they cared.” Except, as well all know, Giselle can sing, and begun to make a name for herself in the community that frequented the pub.

Pulling out a polaroid of herself and music industry giant Ray Forrester, she shows me the only proof she has of the dress that started it all. It’s a rather ill-fitting, wine-coloured, sateen slip dress, it looks cheap, and according to Giselle, “it itched like crazy, it was cleaned once a week, and I was just glad that I was the only singer, some of the members of the jazz band had interchangeable costumes.” We both shudder at that, and she puts the photo on the counter.

As soon as she was given some modicum of control over her wardrobe, she took full advantage of it. Without a coherent aesthetic solidified by the release of her first album, Giselle admits she used the tour for Velvet Roses to experiment with both fabrics and styles. I personally have always favoured the midnight blue, velvet bouffant-style dress she wore during her stops in Belfast and Paris, but she goes on to praise the white, silk slip dress she had during her stop in West Berlin.

“Silk! Oh the silk, I dream about that dress sometimes,” she laughs a little, and now that we’ve begun to discuss her tour outfits, she leads me upstairs, “at the time it was the most comfortable thing I’d worn… ever; being able to work, to perform in something so luxury? It was a blessing.”

Her closet, at least the closet she stores her tour garments in, is separate from her bedroom, and locked. She’s got the key in her pocket, prepared, of course, for the interview, and as we step in I can hear the hum of a dehumidifier, and feel the chill of the air conditioning.

“It’s my one real extravagance.” As she turns on the lights, we’re greeted to the sight of a room, approximately four meters deep and half as wide, lined with railings that are practically stuffed with garment bags of varying sizes, and the end of the little room has a built in area for her jewel toned and bejewelled shoes alike. Three mannequins pose in the ample amount of space in the centre of the room, each wearing one of her most iconic outfits.

Each section of the racks around the side are carefully labelled by year, and it takes only a moment for Giselle to go through the section labelled 1971 before she’s pulling that same white dress from a garment bag. It still looks pristine, and when she offers for me to feel it, I understand what she’s saying.

“I’ve always tried to keep a very high standard in term of the materials I wear,” it was the first part of her aesthetic identity that was formed. “I’d never really had access to luxury on this scale before; I’d lived in sweaters and jeans for most of my [university] days; I was one of those girls in the little skirts and beaded tops at clubs- I lived my life in gogo boots every weekend of my first year.” Apparently she still has her favourite pair in the back of her personal closet, but seems hesitant to show me.

When asked what prompted her aesthetic shift, she reveals her passion for luxury stage-wear was only part of the decision. “I’d go on stage in silk pyjamas like Hugh Hefner if I could, but it’s not my brand.” Forrester was a big motivating force behind her solidification as the picture of elegance.

We get to the first of the mannequin dresses now, the fitted, black, off the shoulder cocktail dress, shining with sequins and beads, a perfect frozen reminder of her performance on Top of the Pops. To see it in person, still pristine, I get hit with just a hint of nostalgia, as does Giselle herself it seems. Marvelling at it with arms crossed over her chest, I’m granted a closer look at what was quite possibly the most iconic outfit of the 1972 lineup on the hit British musical program. The gloves themselves are more intricate than first imagined; what was assumed to just be red glitter is actually hand stitched, red sequins from the tips of the finger all the way to the wrist where it fades to chunky, red glitter, glued on and somehow width standing the test of time, to then dissolve into fine and sparsely scattered red glitter from the mid-forearm to the elbow. The beads and sequins on the dress itself are affixed with barely noticeable, shiny red thread, that gives the dress dimension up close. Giselle cites Gothic Romanticism as an inspiration to add depth to her jazz-bar persona, as well as the theatrics of musical theatre, going so far as to called the dress the ‘Merry Murderess’ despite the fact that the musical Chicago premiered almost three years after the dress’ initial debut.

Despite this look being regarded as one of her classics, and therefore setting the standard for her public image for the years to come, there’s no denying that Giselle didn’t enjoy experimenting with her outfits.

“I’ve never technically worn pants on stage,” as we move further into the room, she begins to pull various garment bags from the racks seemingly at random, “skirts, skorts, shorts - which some might argue are close enough - dresses, and even full jumpsuits, but never actual pants; I’ve always been worried that they were too masculinising for my act.” Moving on to the rack labeled 1975, she pulls out a particularly slim bag, and from it she pulls a pair of shorts made of what looks like liquid gold, but I know is made of velvet, with suspenders to match. It hangs over a sheer, flowing, cream crop-top with bell sleeves.

This outfit is cited as the first time she had deviated from her skirts and dresses, though the outfit itself is still exquisite and has an air of regality. “I was in Phoenix in ‘74 when I wore this; I’d had it included in my repertoire for the Hand Held Heart tour in case it became especially hot,  which, being Arizona in the summertime, it was.” It’s here we start to see the influence of other artists bleed into her work; the occasional feathery flamboyance borrowed from Elton John, the avant-garde pattern and makeup work popularised by David Bow, and of course, the extravagance and glitz of Queen’s Freddie Mercury.

“You always have to specify that it’s [Freddie Mercury],” she’s very serious on this point, holding up her iconic, short, incredibly sheer white, long-sleeved fitted dress, marbled with red sequins to protect her modesty. It’s reminiscent of the red and white shorts Mercury had been known to favour on tours. “The others, while, yes, they could be well dressed on occasion, [Roger Taylor]’s lime green jeans aside, they never had the flair or audacity that Freddie had to be truly influential.”

After recording a cover of Queen’s Jesus for her third album, Giselle entered into an unofficial partnership with the band, which she tells me included a collaboration with Mercury himself on their costumes.

“I’d spent a long time trying to merge my style and my musical origins with modern aesthetics; I worked very closely with a designer, since it’s not technically my strong suit.” She pauses for a moment, and we make our way to the mannequins again, this time to the second, a floor-length, evening-gown style dress in lilac, capped sleeves, looking as though it’s tie-dyed with blackcurrant glass beads instead of fabric dye. “Getting to collaborate with the band was easy enough; I did talk with [Jim Beach] regarding the use of the song, but he ultimately he ruled that it was up to them, and so once that connection was established, I actually asked Freddie to help me with some tour outfit designs.”

People often assume Giselle is referring to her team contacting Queen’s lawyer, but she goes on record now to explain that it’s not true. “I’m a lawyer, my own lawyer, and I also work for several big-name bands in the music industry today. EMI picked me up halfway through my final year, but I still continued to go to [university], and I did actually intern under (sic) [Beach] while writing my second album. “ I’m assured that she had just regular suits in her personal closet; three, in grey, black, and cream, well fitted, ‘but not why you’re here’ she adds with a self-deprecating smile.

The lavender and blackberry dress was one designed by Mercury himself, the pale lavender representative of elegance and femininity, while the darker blackcurrant is used to bring depth to the dress the same way Giselle’s unwavering, calculated persona brings depth to her performances. It was Mercury’s idea to interweave the two in the tie-dyed style, keeping Giselle’s traditional aesthetic through the glass beads and the cut of the dress.

As we continue along the timeline, it’s clear to see the effect Mercury had on Giselle’s stage wardrobe, the use of geometric patterns coupled with bold colours, and more glitter and sequins than you can shake a stick at becoming more prominent throughout the late 70s, somehow still managing to keep in line with her traditional aesthetic simultaneously.

“I refuse to wear print.” She’s adamant about it when the possibility of wearing a garment like Mercury’s vest with his cats painted on it comes up. “Geometric doesn’t count; the texture in my wardrobe is always going to be,” she pauses for a moment, searching for the right word, fingers brushing through the fur of the fur-cuffs of a long-sleeved purple velvet number, “diegetic.” She settles on, and it’s clear what she means; patterns on her clothes are always wrought through beads or diamonds or fur or other things attached. “It’s the reason I have it locked, [Lilith Taylor, 7] has left the ‘indiscriminately grabbing things that feel nice’ stage a few years ago, but Rosie [Rosemary Taylor, 4] is just at the tail end of it. They’ll have free reign of this place one day,” she looks around at the fashion legacy she has built for herself, she wears an expression of pride, though it’s more focused on her daughters than the clothes themselves, “but for now I want to keep choking hazards and expensive furs out of danger.”

Around the very end of the 70s to the beginning of the 80s we see a return to form, with the resurgence of her form-fitted cocktail dresses. “There was a lot of change happening in my life at that time, and as much as I enjoy experimenting with my looks, it helped me feel secure to know I was in what was objectively my strong suit, pun not intended.”  According to her, she’d just begun seeing Roger Taylor, and she used her fashion choices to exercise control in her life that she felt she was losing.

“My private life has always been very private, now here I am with the man who trashes drum kits and throws TVs out window; I was so afraid that every time people took a photo of me, or even looked at me, they’d think I was compromising my morals or integrity - which I’m not, and I wasn’t then.” She quickly clarifies. “Our personal history is not void because of where we are now, but Roger and I have also changed as people, and we’re allowed to have our feelings change. I’m honestly a little offended people think I we would have gone through all we did for mere publicity.”

Speaking of Roger, I’m a little surprised her wedding dress isn’t one of those on the mannequins, but I understand her choice, and we’ll certainly get to that soon. Her wedding dress sits at the back of one of the racks, carefully distant from any of the year labels. As she removes it from the garment bag, she gives it a softly nostalgic smile, brushing the fabric gently. “This should really go in my own closet.” It’s unlike most of her other outfits here, such a pale cream it’s almost white, floor-length and sleeveless with a Roman-inspired cinched waist topped with what I hesitate to even call ruffles, their drapings so loose it’s reminiscent of curled hair rather than a traditional ruffle. The material is so soft and light that even on a hanger it looks a little ethereal. It’s simple, elegant, and the very sight of it brings joy to her face.

“’81.” The year is surprising, as is the revelation she shares about how they celebrated their tenth anniversary a few months prior. Putting the dress away, we move to the early eighties, and it’s almost cyclical the way we’re brought back to the ‘Merry Murderess’ aesthetic with the lineup from her ‘The Bend Before The Break’ tour. 

“Everyone and their mother seems to have read the article [All The Queen’s Men, Rolling Stone, 1985] and figured out I was in a shaky place at the time; it’s again about having that modicum (sic) of control. Part of me reverted to portraying myself in the way when I felt like I was at the height of control in my relationships and career. It’s a pretty aesthetic,” she gently pulls a velvet, wine-coloured cocktail dress from the rack, giving it a gentle pat, “it made my stage presence feel good, honestly.” It doesn’t sound bitter, but she puts the dress back. 

Apologising for a moment, she explains the large gap between ‘82 and ‘84, with her Finally, Sunlight tour. “After coming home from the [The Bend Before The Break] tour, I took some time to myself; I was, of course, still writing, but I couldn’t really perform or make any big public appearances after like, July in ‘83, because I was quite pregnant, and, again, I’m a private person.” The Finally, Sunlight tour is known for two things, Giselle wearing gold, silver, and copper, in any and every way she could, and the Atlanta Breakdown.

“I wore metallics because Finally, Sunshine is about my baby girls, and they are so precious to me.” As was made clear in the Rolling Stone article, Giselle and Roger lost one of their twin daughters to illness in Autumn of 1984, though Lilith survived, it took a devastating toll on the couple. Moving past that, we’re finally brought to the crown jewel of the collection; her Live Aid dress.

It’s almost the antithesis to the ‘Merry Murderess’, though it shares a similar neckline and off-the-shoulder style. The Live Aid dress, which Giselle calls ‘Queen Midas’ for reasons I’ll get into later, has a white, crushed velvet bodice with an inbuilt corset, and basque waistline. Beneath the waist is a enough layers of thin and flowing georgette to become completely opaque, like a waterfall from the waistline, the colours fading from a bright, sunshine yellow at the hip, to a rich, sunset orange by the knee, and finally to a smokey, warm-toned charcoal where it brushes the ground, with gold jewels dotted around the bottom and creeping almost to the knee in some sporadic places, reminiscent of embers in a fire. Her gloves are white velvet, and just like with the first of her most iconic outfits, it’s gold sequinned fading to actual glitter and diamonds. 

“I took a hard look at where I was and what I had achieved, and... whether or not I can help it, I effect people, through my music, my actions, through what I wear, and can be a double edged sword. Sometimes it can hurt, or I can hurt others by saying or doing the wrong thing, but sometimes I find myself wanting for nothing; everything I’ve held close has turned to gold. I wanted to show that, to be able to be a part of something that gives back to the world where it’s given me so much.”

With all her most well-known outfits having been covered, there’s one more that comes to the top of my head; the jacket of 1980. The tabloids had a field day with her choice of wardrobe as she stepped out of a car with the rest of Queen wearing a salmon and green floral, double breasted suit jacket, with silver buttons and silver stilettos, with sheer, thigh high white socks held up by a garter belt, hair fashionably messy, but makeup pristine. The deviation from her usual pristine image had shocked both paparazzi and public alike, however the daring outfit had quickly been lauded as one of her best, many publications who ran photos even citing it as the entertainment industry’s hottest innovative look of the decade. Even since it has stood the test of time, and has been attributed to the rise of patterned and bold suit jacket purchases by men and women alike, with the outfit have been cited as inspiration for more than one celebrity’s red carpet look. 

Now, however, something, possibly amusement, possibly annoyance, crosses her face, and she tells me it’s not here. The jacket is Mercury’s. “We were on our way to a party being hosted by [Elton John], and I’d only been with Rog for a few months at this point; so we’re in the back of the limo with the other [members of Queen] and Roger’s spilled his wine on my nice, white cocktail dress.” It seems like a bittersweet memory, and she reminds me of her earlier comment about the ‘wine stain argument’. “In hindsight, everything worked out, but at the time I was absolutely livid; very nearly killed him in that backseat. Poor [John Deacon] literally had to drag me off of him. [It] took both him and Freddie to hold me back when Roger got out once we arrived, and they had the driver circle the block again so I could change into Freddie’s jacket, which he so kindly lent to me.”

From her tone, and her following comments about how her husband likes to bring it up, it seems as though it’s a well worn argument of how Roger Taylor enjoys taking credit for the look, though Giselle doesn’t seem like she enjoys giving him the satisfaction.

“My image has always been about how much I can control what people see of me, and to have that control taken away by a careless action, it really hurt. A man like Roger, in the entertainment industry, is never going to face the kind of scrutiny that I do, it’s the reason you’re here at all, talking to me about fashion rather than say, how difficult it is to be a practicing lawyer in the music industry while raising two beautiful daughters. And I still write music on occasion. But people remember what you show them, how you present yourself; my tour wardrobe is a reflection of the persona I let interact with the world, and it’s beautiful, and a legacy that will probably outlive me to some extent. 

“Do I regret any of my fashion choices? I don’t really have the liberty to, do I? And either way, they’re part of the reason I’m where I am today; I made a niche for myself that was built initially on my aesthetic, if I’m being generous, so I suppose I’ll always be grateful to it.”

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