#Roger Taylor Outsider tour

[not-the-coffee-machine4]

Roger forgetting the words to his own song lmao

Roger at Guildford last evening 🥺❤

Credits to Vanessa Grein!

[the-bau-quinjet]

Timeless

Summary: Steve breaks up with singer!reader because he doesn't want to hold her back. He starts to question everything after hearing the song she wrote for him.

Warnings: life in the Instagram era

word count: 4695

a/n: 100000% inspired by Timeless by Taylor Swift. i did not proofread this bc I am lazy so I do apologize for whatever typos there are

Masterlist

"I just don't get it," Steve overheard the young women talking while waiting in line for coffee. "She could literally be with anyone and she's gonna pick some old guy who literally fought in World War II?" He already had an idea of where this was going, but the response confirmed his fears.

"I know! Like Steve Rogers is hot but that's so weird! He's like 100 years old," she scoffed.

"A man out of time and probably out of touch," the first replied. "I bet he's totally holding her back."

Steve decided to forgo his coffee, simply turning around and leaving before things could get more awkward for him. Dating you has actually been when he's felt most at home in this century, but that doesn't mean he no longer struggles with his new present day.

Hardly a day goes by without you or someone else having to explain something to him, whether it be an insignificant reference to some tv show or more important information on how certain technology works. Suffice it to say, he feels like his age does show. It's something you've talked about in your relationship, but clearly, something Steve still struggles with.

He decided to walk back to the tower using the time to really think about what was best for you in terms of being with him. The first day the two of you met had been a particularly bad one for Steve, but somehow you managed to cheer him up. You've basically been inseparable since.

The more he thought about it, the more sure he was that those women were right. He was holding you back. You spend so much time with him, and at the tower in general, that you haven't really been living the same way you were before.

Before you met Steve, you had just finished your first world tour. You were always traveling or in and out of the studio. Now, you spend all your time in New York and you haven't had so much as a single performance outside of New York in the two and a half years you've been with him.

As he walked the last few steps up to the tower, Steve had already made his decision.

-

You were practically bouncing up and down on the couch as you waited for Steve to get home. After months of writing and recording in the home studio Tony set up for you, you could finally surprise Steve with some new songs. The one you were most excited about hadn't even been recorded yet. You were just too excited to share the lyrics to wait.

You couldn't help but reminisce as you waited, thinking about the first time you'd ever met. After your tour, all you wanted to do was go home and sleep, but Tony had personally invited you to his latest gala and your manager really pushed for you to go. Turns out, it was the best decision of your life.

The sound of the door opening down the hall broke you out of your daydream. The telltale sounds of Steve hanging up his jacket and tossing his keys in the dish by the door confirmed your suspicions.

You nearly tripped over the coffee table in your effort to greet him, but the look on his face stopped you dead in your tracks. "Steve?" you asked. "Are you okay?"

He sighed in response, one hand running through his hair as he looked at the ground. After a few seconds, he managed to meet your eye, but it did nothing to ease the nerves you were now feeling.

"Did something happen?" you asked just as he spoke up.

"We should break up."

His words felt like a physical blow in the silence that followed. You leaned back into the arm of the couch, suddenly unsure of everything.

"What?" you barely breathed out the question. The emotional whiplash was too confusing to process this quickly.

"I just, I don't think we should stay together. I wish I had more to say, but that's it." Steve cut straight to the bone, his own heart breaking. Still, he thought it was for the best.

"Oh," you barely managed to reply, still reeling from the shock. "Um, okay. I'll just... I'll just go."

You walked blindly down the hall and out the door, not even considering what you would do with all of your things that were in the apartment. You didn't even grab your purse, so you couldn't realistically leave the tower. Instead, you headed straight for the studio.

It felt like if you were recording a song about Steve, you could pretend that conversation didn't just happen. You could live in the past for just another few hours before reality finally hit you.

You still had the music pulled up in the recording booth. You'd gone so far as to take out some of the most inspiring pictures that lead to this song. There were plenty of pictures of you and Steve, but also the old black and white photos you found in the antique shop.

Thankfully Tony set things up so you could record on your own if you wanted, so that's exactly what you did.

Down the block there's an antique shop and something in my head said stop, so I walked in...

-

Instead of facing your emotions head-on, you dove into your work. You recorded every song you had left for the album, only contacting your manager and the label when things were finished.

They had a few things to tweak, but the record was ready not even two weeks later. Since you'd already been teasing the songs on tik tok, your label agreed to a surprise release. Thirteen songs would be released at the end of the week.

With the album ready and the date picked, you switched focus to scheduling performances at award shows and TV interviews. Anything to keep you from the gutwrenching reality of your emotions.

- Steve wasn't doing much better. His mood was foul and everybody could tell. Seeing as you were avoiding everyone by staying in an apartment owned by your label, the team tried cornering Steve for information.

"What the hell happened with Y/N?" Nat finally asked when Steve brushed off the slightly less invasive questions about how he was doing. He simply shook his head, glaring at an unphased Natasha.

"Have you listened to her new album?" Sam asked, trying to break the tension before all hell broke loose.

Steve tensed at the mention of your music. He had not listened to it, but the mere existence sent him into a spiral. In his eyes, it proved his point. Two and a half weeks without him and you were already releasing music. Something you hadn't done in the two and a half years you'd been together.

"Just leave me alone," he all but begged. Listening to the songs he knew- or at least strongly expected- would be about him was too much to even consider. He shook off the questions with the sheer desperation in his eyes. Everyone could tell it was hitting him hard, but not knowing why they broke up made it difficult to try and help.

-

Things continued much the same for the next month. Steve avoided all things that reminded him of you. You worked every second you could, desperate to not have to think about how everything went wrong.

In those few moments when you had actually thought about Steve, you more than anything wanted to know why. It had gotten so far as to you hovering your finger over his contact, one split second from calling when your manager phoned you instead.

"Hello," you answered, desperately trying to hide the strain from your voice.

"They want you to perform at the Grammy's," your manager, Gina, wasted no time with pleasantries.

"Oh my god," you didn't know how to feel. "That's in three days!" This album meant so much to you, but it was entirely about falling and being in love with Steve. How could you perform one of your best love songs on one of the biggest stages in music with a broken heart?

"Do they want a specific song?" Somehow your mind kept working even though your heart was breaking all over again.

"You get to choose," Gina continued to gush, but you couldn't listen. Having to choose was almost worse. You managed to tune back in for the last bit of information. "I know it's weird because you're not nominated, but nobody expected Rihanna to have to pull out. The news is her baby is the picture of health though! Since this is so last minute, they need to know what song the day after tomorrow for scheduling purposes."

"I'll do Timeless," you blurted out. Having to make the decision would be the worst part, right? So now you can just prepare and deal with it.

"You sure?" she asked, wary of it being one of the most detailed love songs on the album.

"Yep!" The enthusiasm was easy to fake. You were excited to perform at the Grammy's, and this is the song you're most proud of. It'll be fine.

"I'll let them know! Check your email for the itinerary. Bye!" she hung up in a flash, leaving you alone with your thoughts again.

Steve's contact was still pulled up on your phone. It felt like it was mocking you. Of course, Timeless would be the song you blurt out in a panic. It was the one you were most excited for him to hear. You can't imagine he's listened to the album. He might not even know it was released. A Grammy's performance was the closest to a guarantee that he'd hear it.

Now you just had to practice singing as if it wasn't going to emotionally wreck you.

-

"We've been invited to the Grammy's," Tony burst into the room with no preamble.

"Who's we?" Sam asked, already planning the suit he would wear in his mind.

"Four of us, bird brain," Tony replied swiftly. "Normally I'd be all over this, but I promised Morgan I would build her big girl bed with her tomorrow, so I'm stuck. You all have to go."

Nat, Sam, and Bucky all seemed okay with the invitation, and in Sam's case mildly excited. Steve, on the other hand, scowled at Tony. He was only about 60% sure the Grammy's were for music, but if the 60% was right he would rather go on a mission in Antarctica than potentially be in the same building as Y/N right now.

"I don't wanna hear it, Capsicle." Tony read the look on his face. "Four of us have to be there, and as our fearless leader that means you. Friday will send the details." He walked out much the same way he walked in, with a dramatic flair that left no room for questions.

"I guess we're going to the Grammy's," Nat cut a look across the room to Steve, gauging his reaction.

"So we are," he mumbled, quickly leaving the room before anyone could ask him about you.

-

Getting ready in your apartment was the only thing holding you together. Gina came over early this morning to lay out the details of your dress, hair, makeup, and any last-minute accessory decisions.

"You ready for this?" she asked, buzzing with excitement. The car would be here to pick you up any minute.

"As I'll ever be," you shakily replied. Despite making the decision quickly, you'd yet to settle the reality of performing the song in front of a crowd with how it felt to record it alone in a booth.

"Well, you can shake off those last few nerves right now. You're gonna be amazing. Remember, you're toward the end of the show. I guess you'll be a break from the nominated artists just before they announce album of the year, okay?"

You merely nodded in response, still trying to get over the nerves. You followed her down to the car, going over the lyrics in your head. Repetition was your best bet to stave off any emotional outbursts during the actual performance.

-

Steve had barely said a word all day, choosing instead to just float through the day. He wore the suit presented to him with no questions asked. He followed the schedule Friday had given him to a tee. He left no room for conversation, the glare on his face deterring any small talk.

He looked up the list of performers in an attempt to see if Y/N would be there, but she wasn't listed. The only thing causing him worry was the "surprise guest" that had been invited to replace Rihanna, who had to pull out of performing because she had a baby a few days ago. The amount of detail about other people's lives on the internet still surprised Steve sometimes, but he was glad to hear she was doing well- whoever she was.

He managed to hold it together through the red carpet, hearing whispers from the crowds that strung his and your name together. That was one of the things that drew the two of you together. It may have been a different kind of attention, but you both had faces the general public might recognize. Being the center of attention was never the goal for either of you, so your relationship remained largely private.

"Weird that he didn't walk the carpet with Y/N..." one guest whispered. Steve's enhanced hearing meant he could still pick up the voices. It was almost as if he was involuntarily listening for your name and honing in on the conversation.

"I mean, they've always been private... unless, do you think they broke up?" the responder gasped. Steve felt his heartbeat increase, being the subject of rumors and gossip never sat well with him.

"But this whole album is so happy! Maybe she-"

Steve was pulled inside before he could hear the rest. Probably for the best, he thought. Now that he knew you were here, he needed to focus on avoiding you.

Apparently, that wouldn't be hard. He and his fellow Avengers assigned seats were much further back than the musicians that were invited or nominated. He could see you from his seat, but you were far enough away to basically guarantee no forced interactions.

He merely sat in his seat, greeting people as they stopped by to say hello, and waited for the show to start. The quicker this thing was over, the quicker he would be able to go back to avoiding his feelings.

-

Walking the carpet was an absolute dream. You only wish you could've been more present. You were still incredibly nervous for your performance, and the murmurs you heard about the Avengers being in attendance did nothing to help.

You just had to choose to believe that Steve wouldn't come tonight. Unless he was so unaffected by the breakup that he could be here without it being a problem, which was a scenario you needed to put out of your head. No thoughts of break ups or Steve. At least, not until the performance.

Finding your table was easy enough once you got inside, and refusing to look around may have seemed odd, but people could easily chalk it up to nerves. Not many new about your surprise performance, but everyone knew it was your first Grammy's ceremony You were on tour when you were nominated for Best New Artist, ultimately winning the award, but missing out on the ceremony.

Other artists stopped by and chatted for a few minutes until eventually the lights dimmed and the show began.

-

Before long, a stage manager was ushering you out of your chair on a commercial break and bringing you backstage to get ready. You hadn't had much choice when it came to your carpet look- a gorgeous pink dress with plenty of tulle- but your performance look was more customizable.

You chose a dark blue set with plenty of crystals sewn onto the fabric. It looked like the night sky, and if blue is Steve's favorite color so what. This was the exact vibe you'd dreamed up when you were writing the song, so it only felt right to perform in it.

Your hair and makeup needed minimal changes, so after a few touch ups, you were being ushered toward the stage. It seemed everything backstage was happening fast enough to leave no time for nerves.

"And now, our long awaited surprise performer! She has taken the world by storm with her surprise release, I wouldn't be surprised if we saw her nominated for next year's awards. Please welcome F/N L/N performing Timeless!"

You were already seated at the piano when the curtains were drawn back. Although the song wasn't a piano ballad on the album, it felt right for this performance. You wasted no time getting started once the cheers died down.

Down the block there's an antique shop and something in my head said stop, so I walked in. On the counter was a cardboard box and the sign said "Photo's 25 cents each."

They were some very literal opening lines, and unsurprisingly the memories were flooding through you. You were out walking around the city, trying to clear your head, when you stumbled upon an antique store. The photos on the counter were the very first inspiration for lyrics to the vague idea of a song.

Black and white, saw a 30s bride and two lovers laughing on the porch of their first house. The kind of love you only find once in a lifetime. The kind you don't put down. And that's when I called you, and it's so hard to explain, but in those photos, I saw us instead.

It was so easy to envision Steve in the 30s, you couldn't help but put yourself in these photos with him. Your lives would be so different if you'd met back then, but there wasn't a doubt in your mind that you would love him just the same.

And, somehow, I know that you and I would've found each other. In another life, you still would've turned my head.

This was something you'd told Steve over and over. Every time he felt unsure of being in this time, you said "I would love you in any life, Steve. Any life. I'm just glad you found me in this one." You really had to gear up for the first chorus. It had one of the most telling, and therefore nerve wracking, lines.

-

Even if we'd met on a crowded street in 1944, and you were headed off to fight in the war. You still would've been mine. We would've been timeless.

Steve was slack jawed as he listened to your song for the first time. The way you were able to take the little memories and build such a beautiful melody out of them astounded him. His emotions were suddenly overwhelming, and there was now way for him to runaway from them this time.

I would've read your love letters every single night, and prayed to god you'd be coming home alright. And you would've been fine. We would've been timeless.

It wasn't that far off from this reality. Anytime Steve was on a mission, he'd write you letters to read while he was away. After the first time, you started writing letters for him to take with him as well. Even if the two of you couldn't talk on the phone, you had something from the other to tide you over.

'Cause I believe that we were supposed to find this. So even in a different life, you still would've been mine. We would've been timeless.

There was that line about a different life again. Steve already felt like he was living a different life, and somehow you knew exactly how to express what he was feeling while simultaneously reassuring him of your own love.

I had to smile when it caught my eye, there was one of a teenage couple in the driveway. Holdin' hands on the way to a dance and the date on the back said 1958. Which brought me back to the first time I saw you. Time stood still like something in this old shop.

Steve could still easily picture the very first second he saw your face. He wanted to be anywhere but Tony's party, having just come back from a mission that was only moderately successful. They had saved the hostages, but the Hydra agents managed to escape. He wanted nothing more than to track them down and being at the party would only delay everything.

When Tony brought you around for introductions, he found the mission had slipped entirely from his head. You somehow managed to lighten the mood without knowing why he was so grumpy, earning an uncharacteristic laugh from Steve still in Captain mode.

It was no surprise to anyone at the party when the two of you spent the rest of the evening together. Sitting at the bar, or the rare slow dance meant you could continue the never ending conversation.

Steve found himself so lost in thought, he missed most of the second verse and chorus. It wasn't until Bucky nudged him that he refocused on your words.

-

We're gonna be... I'm gonna love you when our hair is turnin' gray. We'll have a cardboard box of photos of the life we've made. And you'll say, "Oh my, we really were timeless."

You could feel the tears building through the second chorus and the bridge, but the third chorus really broke you down. You didn't understand why Steve decided it was best to break up and never getting that closure was taking its toll. You couldn't stop the few tears from falling, the notes that followed uncharacteristically wobbly.

-

We're gonna be timeless, timeless. You still would've been mine. We would've been... Even if we'd met on a crowded street in 1944. You still would've been mine. We would've been...

Steve could hear the tears in your voice easier than he could see them. His moment of weakness was haunting him as his own tears started to fall. He brushed them away quickly, forcing himself to hold it together until you were done.

Down the block there's an antique shop and something in my head said stop, so I walked in.

It was clear to him now more than ever that he was so wrong. He let his insecurities get the better of him, and messed up the single greatest thing that had come from being in this century.

With the show nearly over, he didn't think anyone would notice his absence. Instead of returning to his seat at the end of the commercial break, he slipped out a side exit. He wanted nothing more than to talk to you, but had no way of finding you.

"Steve!" He turned at the sound of a familiar voice calling his name. To his surprise, your manager was standing just a few feet away. "She left right after the song, said she's too tired for the afterparty."

Steve nodded, unsure why she was telling him.

"Here's her current address. Code to the elevator is 0704," she winked, passing him a slip of paper. Understanding dawned on him, and he wanted to scream.

"Thank you, Gina. Really," he managed to control the maelstrom of emotion, subtly slipping outside as quickly as he could. He was meant to ride home in the hired car with the rest of the Avengers, but your address wasn't too far from the Garden. He opted to walk, slowly transitioning into a run as his desperation grew. The flash of cameras followed him down the street, but with his speed he outpaced them quickly enough. He had one thing on his mind and one thing only, fixing things with you.

-

The pounding on your door scared you more than you'd care to admit. Nobody should be able to reach this floor without the code, but still. The knocking had an air of desperation that you wouldn't expect from anyone visiting right now. Gina was the logical choice, but was skipping the afterparty that big of a deal?

You had planned to double check through the peephole, but before you reached the door, the very last voice you'd have expected sounded clear through the door.

"Y/N? Gina, she gave me the code. I just, I need to apologize. I... I fucked up." He stalled, in nearly as much disbelief as you at hearing the words fall out of his mouth.

You swung the door open, gesturing for him to come in. You didn't trust yourself to speak. Hell, you barely trusted yourself to look at him. Once you both settled on the couch, you finally risked a glance.

Steve looked more distraught than you'd ever seen him, but his lack of explanation still left you reeling. He seemed to be at a loss for words himself until you looked at him.

"We really are timeless, huh?" he tried easing into things, instantly regretting his choice of words when you nearly vaulted off the couch.

"Steve, what the hell? You break up with me with no explanation and show up quoting my own lyrics to me?" your words lacked the anger you wished you could express, too raw from the performance to cover the dimensions of hurt. The tears were quick to return to your eyes as Steve slowly approached you.

He grabbed your hands in his and when you showed no signs of pulling away, tried again. "I made the biggest mistake of my life that day. Not just in not explaining, but in deciding I knew what was best for you. In thinking I was doing the right thing by giving in to my fears.

"You are single-handedly the greatest person I've ever known. And I overheard these women saying you could have anyone and do anything... I managed to convince myself that you deserved more. To pretend like breaking up with you was noble and not because I was afraid you'd come to the same conclusion as them"

"Steve," you shook your head, a few tears falling. You were at a loss for words. For the last two months, you thought he just fell out of love with you. His reasoning, although flawed, was reassuring. Still, it didn't undo the hurt he caused.

"I should've known better. And I can't undo what I've already done, but I can promise to never doubt you again. To come to you with my insecurities and listen to your voice when mine isn't strong enough. And I hope I can be that person for you in life- to reassure you when you feel lost." He took a deep breath before continuing, "I love you and if you'll have me again, I want to be timeless with you."

You could feel yourself squeezing his hands tighter and tighter as he spoke, trying to funnel the overwhelming emotions into physical exertion instead of tears.

"I love you too," you whispered, voice breaking on a fresh wave of tears. You wrapped your arms around him, letting him lead you back to the couch. You still had a lot to discuss, but right now, you just wanted him to hold you.

-

Bonus:

A few hours later, after many discussions about ignoring gossip and coming to each other with your problems, Steve finally managed to work up the nerve to voice once more question.

"Is the rest of the album about loving me, or is there a breakup song on there? Because I can handle it, but I might need some warning."

You stared at him for a beat before the question really sunk in.

"You haven't listened to any of it?" you confirmed. When he nodded, you just smirked. "While, I guess you'll find out right now then."

You knew it was 13 songs expressing different kinds of love for him, but you would let him sweat it out for the next 57 minutes.

a/n: here are the songs I envision on the album lol:

Timeless, Call It What You Want, Sweet Nothing, Daylight, New Year's Day, invisible string, Dress, False God, Paper Rings, Cornelia Street, evermore, Today Was A Fairytale, Lover

taglist:

Permanent: @averyhotchner @jesuswasnotawhiteman @strawberryspence @andrwgxrfield @jswessie187 @ellobruv @alohastitch0626

Marvel: @leyannrae @livstilinski @oceaniamaddness @justreadingficsdontmindme @ladydmalfoy @freyathehuntress

[gluttons-for-punishment]

Roger Taylor

Outsider Tour, October 2021

with Brian May

[sadeyedgoodbyes]

Roger ages like a very fine wine🍷

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Payton Armstrong at MMFA:

Former President Donald Trump, his family, and close advisers including Steve Bannon, Michael Flynn, Roger Stone, and Alina Habba have embraced influential right-wing prophetic Christian media, participating in interviews on programs that have asserted that Trump has “the anointing” from God and with a figure who has prophesied the deaths of his critics. Notably, Clay Clark — who co-founded the ReAwaken America tour that is reportedly “a petri dish for Christian nationalism” and hosts prophets as headline speakers — has boasted that “Trump’s inner circle is embracing the prophets,” and stressed that “we are going to need to make sure he is surrounded by both prophets and pastors that aren’t afraid to work together.” Trump has told a leading prophetic media program, FlashPoint, that “we’re with you 1,000%,” while his daughter-in-law and Republican National Committee co-chair Lara Trump has told extreme prophets that “we love you” and “on behalf of our whole family, thank you for all of the prayers, thank you for believing in my father-in-law, and for fighting alongside of us.”

Right-wing Christian prophets who frame Trump as an instrument of God have a growing influence in Republican politics

Christian prophets are “religious leaders with followings among Pentecostal and charismatic Christians who claim the ability to predict the future based on dreams, visions and other supernatural phenomena.” In recent years, these figures have hailed from a once-fringe movement called the New Apostolic Reformation, which is “a set of leadership networks whose leaders call themselves modern-day apostles and prophets and believe they are commissioned by God to take over the world.” NPR further described that the movement “seeks to take dominion over politics, business and culture in preparation for the end times and the return of Jesus.” Experts and scholars have also documented how pro-Trump prophets “were central to the mobilization of Christians for the Jan. 6 insurrection, and many apostles, prophets and NAR symbols were present around the U.S. Capitol that day.” [Politico, 2/18/21; Religion News Service, 5/6/24; NPR, 8/9/11; The Conversation, 1/12/21]

Ahead of the 2024 election, prophetic Christian media figures are continuing their support for Trump by portraying him as an instrument of God’s will who is protected by “the anointing.” Reuters recently reported that “with Trump now facing dozens of criminal charges as he pursues a second term, some Christian media are bolstering his support by portraying him as an instrument of God’s will who faces persecution by his foes. While the people making these claims are largely outside the mainstream in Christian media, they have amassed significant online followings and their messages reverberate across radio shows, cable TV and streaming platforms that reach millions of Americans every day.” [Reuters, 3/22/24]

According to religious scholar Matthew Taylor, prophetic outlets are “some of the most radicalizing media spaces” and they “are not being paid close attention to by the mainstream media.” In an interview with On the Media, Taylor — who has written extensively on the role of prophets in the January 6 attack on the Capitol — noted that “some of these Christian media ecosystems and niche cultures are not being paid close attention to by the mainstream media,” even though they are “some of the most radicalizing media spaces, especially charismatic Christian media spaces where Trump support is assumed.” Taylor added that “there are millions of people following them” and “we have not paid close attention to the Christian leaders who were as instrumental in what occurred on January 6th as some of the politicians and activists that we know by name.” [WNYC, On the Media, 4/19/24]

Leading prophetic media include the Victory Channel’s FlashPoint, streaming outlet Elijah Streams, and the ReAwaken America tour, which regularly features prophets like Julie Green and Amanda Grace as headline speakers. FlashPoint is a panel-style program that is helmed by self-described prophets and platformed conspiracy theories about voter fraud in the lead up to January 6. Prophets on the program have claimed that Trump has “the anointing” on him and that God will inflict natural disasters on the U.S. in response to Trump’s multiple criminal indictments. Elijah Streams is a far-right streaming outlet that hosts pro-Trump prophets who falsely prophesied that Trump would win reelection in 2020. The ReAwaken America tour is a “a petri dish for Christian nationalism and pushes the idea that there’s a battle underway between good and evil forces,” according to PBS, which also added that it’s a “recruiting tool for an ascendant Christian nationalist movement that’s wrapped itself in God, patriotism and politics.” Julie Green is a self-described prophet who streams on Rumble and has prophesied the coming deaths of elected officials, including: Sen. Chuck Schumer (D-NY), Sen. Mitt Romney (R-UT), and Rep. Liz Cheney (R-WY). Amanda Grace is a self-described prophet who also streams on Rumble and claims to receive messages from God. She has spread bizarre conspiracy theories, including the claim that the 2024 eclipse was a “prophetic warning of repent, or God is going to destroy the entire city,” because the path of totality went over “Eagle Pass, Texas, where this immigration clash is happening, where a major battle of the Civil War was fought.” [Media Matters, 7/18/23, 10/12/23, 8/17/22; NPR, 11/3/22; Politico, 2/18/21; Charisma, 3/14/24; Twitter/X, 6/6/23, 2/23/23; PBS, 10/7/22]

Donald Trump, his family, and MAGA allies in recent years have increasingly embraced far-right Christian Nationalist media outlets such as The Victory Channel and Elijah Streams.

[astrophysicist-guitar-god]

After the cut, the Rolling Stone article that elicited a response from Roger, written on an airline motion-sickness bag.

Queen Holds Court in South America: On the road with rock's royal spectacle (x)

James Henke, June 11, 1981. Buenos Aires, Argentina

We are the champions – my friends And we’ll keep on fighting – till the end – We are the champions – We are the champions, No time for losers cause we are the champions – of the world – —Freddie Mercury, “We Are the Champions”*

It was to be the Big Event. Queen, coming off its most successful year ever, was setting out to conquer South America and wanted to make sure the whole world knew about it.

That, certainly, was no surprise. After all, this was the band that had made a career out of creating spectacles. A couple of years ago, for example, when they were launching a U.S. tour in support of their Jazz album, Queen threw a bash in New Orleans that featured snake charmers, strippers, transvestites and a naked fat lady who smoked cigarettes in her crotch.

The real surprise was that Queen – a group with a history of hostility toward the press – had agreed to do interviews and had invited journalists from the U.S., England, Spain, France and other countries to come along for the first shows.

So here I am at Ezeiza airport, outside Buenos Aires. The place looks like a military installation. Young, peach-fuzz-faced boys who can’t be more than sixteen or seventeen are stationed along the concourse that leads through customs into the baggage-claim area. They’re all in uniform: big black leather shit-kicking boots that reach halfway up the calves of their legs, and regulation tan pants, shirts and helmets. And they’re all armed with submachine guns.

In Argentina, the military – and terror – reigns supreme. According to Amnesty International, about 15,000 people have “disappeared” since 1976, when Juan Perón’s second wife and successor, Isabel, was thrown from power in a coup d’état. Since then, a guerrilla war has been waging between the dictatorship and opposition groups, mainly Perónists, and citizens have routinely been plucked off the streets or out of their homes, taken to secret detention camps and systematically brutalized. But as VS. Naipaul writes in his book The Return of Eva Perón, “Style is important in Argentina; and in the long-running guerrilla war – in spite of the real blood, the real torture – there has always been an element of machismo and public theatre.”

Editor’s picks

Amid the hubbub at customs, I notice a middle-aged man in gray – gray suit, gray tie, gray hair – making his way through the crowd, shouting something in Spanish. The only word I understand is Queen, and sure enough, he’s looking for us. He takes our passports, whisks us past the inspectors without so much as one bag being opened, and leads us upstairs to the bar for an early morning cerveza. He speaks little English, but there are two words he knows quite well. No matter what anyone asks for, his response is the same: “No problem.”

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

By the afternoon of day two, none of the writers has yet been introduced to any of the band members. We while away the time in the hotel bar, but in this country, where the annual inflation rate is around 100 percent, a bottle of beer costs the equivalent of twelve dollars, keeping us sober against our wills. Finally, Jim Beach, Queen’s business adviser, allows a few of us to attend the sound check at Velez Sarfield.

The Argentines have a rather nifty concept of crowd control, as I find out when I reach the stadium: a moat, about six feet wide and three feet deep, runs around the perimeter of the field and is filled with foul-smelling water and patrolled by dragonflies. Queen has brought its own artificial turf so that the promoters will allow people onto the field.

Up onstage, Queen – lead singer Freddie Mercury, guitarist Brian May, bassist John Deacon and drummer Roger Taylor – is rehearsing “Rock It (Prime Jive),” a track off The Game. And it sounds simply awful. The acoustics are horrendous in the 3500-seat stadium: there’s a thirty-second delay as the music drifts across the length of the field and reverberates off the scoreboard. Nor does the band’s musicianship seem inspired. The rhythm section is sloppy and sluggish; May’s guitar playing is limited to heavy-metal/hard-rock clichés and patented, though by now boring, harmonic lead breaks; Mercury’s singing is lackadaisical and without conviction.

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“They’re not even up to the par of some third-rate New Jersey bar band,” another writer comments to me, and indeed, I’m somewhat mystified about what it is that makes this group so popular.

When I return to Velez Sarfield that evening for the show, the stadium is swarming with kids – and cops. These are crusty, corpulent tough guys – not the boot-camp boys I saw at the airport. And it doesn’t take long to find out that they mean business. When one American writer snaps a photo of the twenty-odd billy-club-wielding policemen who are cordoning off the backstage area, he’s pinned against a government-owned Falcon and threatened at knife point with the loss of a finger until he yields his film. “No problem.” Sure.

“Un supergrupo numero uno,” the emcee anounces as the lights dim, and with a burst of smoke, Queen appears onstage and begins hammering out its anthem, “We Will Rock You.” Mercury – dressed in a white, sleeveless Superman T-shirt, red vinyl pants and a black vinyl jacket – frequently stops singing and dares the audience to carry the weight. And carry the weight they do: the fans seem to know all the lyrics throughout the 110-minute show – which, if for no. other reason, is impressive for the number of hits the group is able to offer up, such as “Keep Yourself Alive,” “Killer Queen,” “Bohemian Rhapsody,” “Fat Bottomed Girls” and “Bicycle Race.”

Though the band-audience interaction is remarkable, the crowd responds with such unquestioning devotion I get the feeling that if Freddie Mercury told them to shave their heads, they’d do it.

The musicianship still seems pedestrian, but what the group lacks in ability, it makes up for – at least to the fans’ satisfaction – in gimmickry. Smoke shrouds the stage at regular intervals; flash pots illuminate the audience at key moments and end the set. Compared to Kiss‘ fire-breathing antics, Queen’s use of special effects is in relative good taste, and after all, a Queen show is supposed to be a spectacle.

For the encore, the band reprises “We Will Rock You,” then bounds into “We Are the Champions.” Mercury, by this time wearing only a pair of black leather short shorts and a matching leather policeman’s hat, struts around the stage like some hybrid of Robert Plant and Peter Allen, climactically kicking over a speaker cabinet and bashing it with his microphone stand. Pretty ridiculous in this day and age, but the kids love it.

Indeed, Queen may be the first truly fascist rock band. The whole thing makes me wonder why anyone would indulge these creeps and their polluting ideas. —Dave Marsh in Rolling Stone

What do I think about critics? I think they’re a bunch of shits. —Freddie Mercury

Queen’s relationship with the music press has been about as cordial as the secret police’s relationship with the Argentine public. Even so, the band hasn’t exactly suffered from the continual pans of its records and shows: eight of its ten LPs have been certified gold (the exceptions are the Flash Gordon soundtrack and Queen II), and its last three studio efforts – News of the World, Jazz and The Game – have gone well over the million mark in sales.

“I have some very strong views of some of the things the press do, such as The Rolling Stone Record Guide,” Roger Taylor says, looking out his hotel-room window. It’s day four, and the long-promised interviews have finally been arranged. “Now, I’ve never read the book, but I saw an ad, and I thought, ‘What the fuck is someone doing bringing out a book like this? Who the hell are they to say what albums are good and what albums are bad?’ I think it’s entirely a personal choice.” (For the record, Queen didn’t fare too well in the book; four of the seven albums reviewed were awarded two stars, a designation that means “records that are artistically insubstantial, though not truly wretched.”)

The shots at Queen have not been fired by just the press, however. When the punks came to fame in England in the late Seventies, Queen was one of the groups most often singled out for attack. Taylor and John Deacon, the two band members who seem most attentive to musical trends, apparently feel some of the criticism was justified. “It gave us a kick up the ass,” Taylor says. “It was so angry, so different, so outrageous. We were recording News of the World in the same studio the Sex Pistols were recording their first album in. I mean, the first time I ever saw John Rotten, I was really shocked, cause I had never actually seen the whole thing in person. He sort of crystallized the whole punk attitude, and there’s no doubt about it, the guy had amazing charisma.”

If the band’s pomp-and-circumstance delivery has recently fallen into disfavor among the rough-and-ready New Wavers, it wasn’t really in vogue either when Queen inaugurated its grandiose stage presentation in the early Seventies. “That was the time of the supergroups, like Cream and Traffic,” Brian May explains, “and it was more the thing to get into your music and not worry about the audience. Then, for a period, it became very cool to do a show. Now, the wheel has turned again. But we just think that kind of show is part of being professional. People are giving you two hours of their time, so you have to give them everything for those two hours. We want every person to go away feeling he got his money’s worth, and we use every possible device to achieve that.”

From the beginning, Queen wanted to put on a show that would be different. “We had a joke that we wanted to be the biggest,” Taylor says. “It was a joke, but underneath, it really was true. Number one is much better than number two. And we’re still working at it.”

To accomplish this goal, Queen opted for an unusual route. Rather than work their butts off playing the club circuit – something Taylor and May had done without much success in a band called Smile – they chose to spend two years rehearsing while they were still in school. May nearly completed a Ph.D. in astronomy; Taylor has a degree in biology; Deacon, one in electronics; and Mercury, a diploma in illustration and design.

Mercury and Taylor supported the band by selling artwork at a stall in Kensington Market, and it wasn’t until 1973 that Queen released its first album and had enough money – thanks to record-company support – to take the kind of show they wanted to do on the road. The LP, titled Queen, gave the band its first hit single, “Keep Yourself Alive,” and set the stage for what was to come. As Roger Taylor says, “It’s been quite a fairy tale.”

I just hate this,” Freddie Mercury says, “especially when that thing’s on.” He points to my tape recorder, sits down across from me and lights up a Salem. “There came a point where I was misquoted all the time,” he continues, “and they had the piece written before they even started. I’m not afraid of criticism – I don’t want to come across as Goody Two Shoes all the time – but it’s been purely vindictive.” A deal’s a deal, however, and Mercury, obviously under some pressure from the other band members and their record company, had agreed to an interview. “So here I am with Rolling Stone,” he moans. “It’s like being forced to talk.”

Up close, Mercury is more petite than he looks onstage: he stands only a fraction of an inch under five feet ten and is relatively slender. His short-cropped hair and mustache are jet black, and his eyes are a piercing dark brown. In addition to being the group’s lead singer and one of its main songwriters, Mercury is also most responsible for Queen’s image. He’s known for his flamboyance and debauchery both onstage and off: at a birthday party a couple of years ago, for example, he swung naked from a chandelier, and on one of the band’s Japanese tours, bored with the tedium of playing night after night, he appeared onstage with a bunch of bananas atop his head.

“The Carmen Miranda of rock & roll,” he says, chuckling. “But what can I say? I’m a flamboyant personality. I like going out and having a good time. I’m just being me. The media pick up on certain things, and a lot of things get overexaggerated. I’m quite easy to get on with, really. I can be a real bitch at times, but that’s okay. I’m not that vicious. I use my influence. Why not? I’m not afraid to flaunt it.”

Thirty-four years old, Mercury was born Frederick Bulsara in what was then Zanzibar. His father was a British civil servant, and Freddie left home when he was seven to attend boarding school, first in India, then in England. “You learn to fend for yourself at an early age. I was quite rebellious, and my parents hated it. I grew out of living at home at an early age. But I just wanted the best. I wanted to be my own boss.”

Shifting around in his seat, Mercury tugs at his upper lip and reaches for his pack of Salems. “For a nonsmoker,” he jokes, “I smoke far too much.” He tells me he’s just purchased a house in London’s Kensington Park, complete with eight bedrooms and a massive studio with pillars and a gallery. “I can have minstrels play there,” he says with a laugh. “Very la-di-da, don’t you think?”

He’s having the mansion remodeled, which gave him cause recently to go on one of his celebrated shopping sprees. Just before their South American jaunt, Queen played five shows at the Budokan in Tokyo, and the promoter’s wife, a good friend of Freddie’s, arranged an excursion for the singer and his entourage through the largest department store. “I felt like Grace Kelly,” he recalls. “I got this huge Japanese bed, a lot of lacquer things and really nice hundred-year-old stuff. I think I spent a fortune, but I don’t know. The credit card pays for it.

“I like buying things on crazy impulses,” he continues. “I hate buying for investment. But I do like a lot of Oriental stuff; it’s intricate and delicate. I also like the cultural part of it, the way they do their gardens; they put a lot of thought into it. But I’m not into all the meditation crap, or those boring tea ceremonies. The raw fish, as well.”

Early on in his career, Mercury seemed bent on incorporating his interest in different cultures and art forms into Queen’s stage shows and music. “Mustapha,” off the Jazz album, was a miserable attempt at Arabic music, and at one point, Mercury told the British press he was “bringing ballet to the masses.”

“I went through this period where I thought I was making an impact on the fashion world,” he says, “then I thought, ‘Oh, grow up.’ And now, you see, I don’t take all this too seriously – I mean, I couldn’t be serious with the things I wear onstage. I have far more fun, and I enjoy it. It’s a great release. That’s what entertainment should be.”

He feels likewise about the band’s music. “It’s just pure escapism. It’s like going to see a film. People should just escape for a while, then they can go back to their problems. That’s the way all songs should be: you listen to them, then discard them like a used tampon. I don’t have any messages I’m trying to get across or anything.”

The forty-five minutes of interview time I’ve been allocated are rapidly drawing to a close, and publicist Howard Bloom knocks on the hotel-room door and tells us to wind things up. Mercury lights one last Salem. “You see,” he says, “you can tell I’m not very good at this. To be honest, I really don’t think I have much to say.”

A couple of years ago, Roger Taylor was doing about 145 miles an hour in his Ferrari on an alpine road in Germany when suddenly one of the chains went, the cooling system died and the car caught on fire. He managed to extinguish the flames just in time – there were about fifteen gallons of gas onboard. “Burned all my clothes to a cinder,” he recalls. “Another minute and it would have hit the tank and that would have been it. I would have been vaporized completely.”

Since then, Taylor hasn’t been quite as enamored of fast cars, but he still relishes the kind of lifestyle rock & roll has afforded him. In that sense, he’s probably closer in personality to Freddie Mercury than the other two band members. “Ah, yes,” he says when I bring up Queen’s rather decadent image. “I like that sort of thing. I like strip clubs and strippers and wild parties with naked women. Sounds wonderful. I’d love to own a whorehouse. Really, seriously. What a wonderful way to make a living.”

“Roger is very much in the tradition of the successful rock & roll musician,” John Deacon explains. “He wants the things that go with it, and it is what he really wanted to be. I’m sort of the opposite of that. It was never my burning ambition to be in a successful band. It has helped my confidence a bit, but it’s different things for different people. And we are four very different people.”

Offstage, while Taylor and Mercury are out carousing, Deacon frequently spends time with his wife and three kids. Though he may seem out of place in the flashy world of Queen, Deacon is actually the band’s stabilizing presence. He oversees much of the group’s business matters – Queen does not have an official manager; instead, it employs a coterie of advisers who leave final decisions to the band.

The disco hit “Another One Bites the Dust” is Deacon’s creation. “I’m the only one in the group, really, who likes American black music,” he tells me. “And with The Game, it was Freddie’s idea that instead of arguing over which songs to put on the album, we’d split it up: Freddie and Brian would have three tracks apiece, and Roger and myself would have two. But we had arguments over whether “Bites the Dust” should be a single. In the end, it began attracting a lot of attention on black stations and in discos, so the record company wanted us to put it out. But it would never have been chosen as a single by the group as a whole.”

Given his low-key personality, I wonder how Deacon feels about the image conveyed by Mercury. His answer is blunt: “Some of us hate it,” he says. “But that’s him and you can’t stop it. Like he did an interview in one of the English national papers, and it was all like, ‘We’re dripping with money, darlin‘,’ or, ‘What’s a mortgage?‘ Brian, for one, just hated it.”

Like Deacon, Brian May is quiet and tends to keep to himself. He, too, has brought his wife and child along. When not touring, he’s an avid gardener – “I’ve been known to be out there looking for slugs at one o’clock in the morning,” he says – and he tries to keep up with astronomy by reading journals and talking with his former university colleagues.

“I think it’s essential that you have things that you get into apart from music,” he says. “You have to maintain your balance.”

May seems to care the most about the group’s audience, and he supervises the fan club. “I think people can listen to some of our stuff and actually get something out of it spiritually, if I may be so bold,” he says. “I enjoy the fact that a lot of people have written to us and said that a particular song helped them when they were in a difficult situation. That’s a great feeling.”

All in all, the Big Event was a success. The attendance was staggering: in Sao Paulo, Brazil, the group played in front of 131,000 people one night and 120,000 the next. The press had also been good: one American writer even mentioned Queen’s shows at Velez Sarfield in the same breath as the Beatles’ at Shea Stadium.

Though this tour seemed rather tame compared with previous Queen endeavors, that probably says more about South American governments than it does about the band. When the group’s advance men first arrived in Buenos Aires, for instance, their backstage passes were seized briefly by customs officials, who deemed them pornographic (they depicted two nude women embracing).

But basically, things went smoothly – not unlike some master plan. That concept was brought up again and again when I discussed Queen with some of its associates. “They want to conquer the world” was how one person put it. For a group of this stature, a group that presumably has made enough money to last a lifetime, Queen maintains a very busy work schedule. After the release of The Game last June, the band did a major U.S. tour, recorded Flash Gordon and played some more dates in Europe and Britain. Then came the Japanese shows, the South American trek and a solo LP from Roger Taylor. This June they plan to begin work on another studio album, but before that comes out sometime next year, they will release a greatest-hits package (which reportedly will vary from country to country, depending on what songs have been hits in those areas).

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Four years ago, in Queen’s last interview with Rolling Stone, Freddie Mercury said, “Our goal is to get to the top, obviously. We’re not there yet; nowhere near it. And I don’t want anybody to tell me I’m there either.” And the band still feels that way. When I asked them what they thought they’d be doing in five years, each member was convinced Queen would still be together, still reaching for something more. After all, you can’t conquer the world overnight.

This story is from the June 11th, 1981 issue of Rolling Stone.

[matthew-gray-gublers-babygirl]

Just The Two Of Us - Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Summary: Roger and the reader go on a little getaway to a cottage. that's it. Very fluffy. 

Warnings/content: minimal swearing, smut, mention of kinks/sexual experimenting(dom/sub, spanking, orgasm denial, etc - does not go into detail), vaginal sex, fluff, mention of insecurity

Word count: 3.1k

Roger was always the vacation type. He loved going to tropical places, or at least places that were sunnier than London. He would sometimes spend hours sunbathing. He once made the mistake of tanning in leather pants and you teased him ruthlessly until the tan line faded. He was a tourist at heart, even if he tried to act like a local. Luckily for him, his career allowed lots of travelling. 

Roger had declared that this vacation was going to be different. You weren't exactly sure in what aspect, but nevertheless, you were still over the moon. 

You rest your head against Rogers shoulder as he drove. You had been driving for hours, and by now you were in a forest and miles away from the nearest convenience store. He had you on map control, but you were still confused. “Are we there yet?” you ask like an impatient child. “Actually, yes,” Roger says with a laugh.

You hear as the pattern becomes different. The car shakes ever so slightly as Roger turns into a gravel road. “Ah ha!” he grins. “Knew we’d find it,” he hummed confidently. You sit up straight to get a better view of your surroundings. “And… what exactly is it?”

Roger slows down as he reaches a small house at the end of the road. “This,” he says proudly. You look out through the windshield and are greeted by a humble farmhouse-like cabin that was covered in flowers and vegetation. You always had a liking for older buildings like this. 

“Oh, Rog, I love it!” you smile and give him a kiss. “I knew you would,” he hums. 

The interior lived up to the outside, and maybe even topped it. Every room had exposed beams that were stained dark brown. The walls were a plaster substance, making the texture pop out as the natural sunlight hit it through the muntin windows. You were practically squealing with excitement as you toured through each room.

Roger joined you in the middle of the room you were currently in. The hardwood floor creaked slightly as he walked over. The little imperfection added to your love for the cabin.

“This is much better than a resort,” you say as Roger's hands wrap around your waist and your arms meet up around his neck. “I’d say,” he hums. “We’ve got the whole thing to ourselves, just the two of us. No other tourists, no workers. And, most importantly,” His hand slowly slides down to cup the curve of your bum, “No fans,” 

Roger loved the fans, of course, but his main focus was his number one fan, you.

“Oh shut up,” you laugh. You stretch up to meet his lips in a warm kiss. You feel his hands run up and down your right side and your back. His touch was insufferable. His arms wrap around your waist, squeezing you which rewards him with one of your heavenly laughs. 

Roger picks you up and spun you around, the creak becoming louder with both of your weights under it. You kick your legs as Roger peppers kisses onto the side of your face and neck. You giggle from the tickles of his lips. You were always so ticklish and Roger used that to his advantage every chance he got. 

You plead with him to stop as your chest tightens but he only replies with teases of “stop what?” and “I’m not doing anything!”

God, you hated him.

Roger eventually stopped the torture and you could finally gasp for some air. “I hate you!” you laugh breathily as your chest heaves. “I love you, too,” Roger grins in his cockiest voice before he gave you a soft kiss on the forehead.

After you catch your breath, Roger suggests that you unpack your things. You neatly tuck away your clothes into a rustic dresser in the master bedroom. Roger had to keep bringing your back to reality after you got distracted by all the little details of the room. The bed was a king-size mattress, and Roger eyed you up as he lay sensually on the bed. 

“How about we break it in?” he asks with his right eyebrow cocked slightly. You giggle at his suggestion. “We could,” you say as you join him on the neatly made bed. You trace your finger along the embroidered comforter. Your fingertip trails further down the threads before you slowly entangle it into Rogers palm. 

“Is that a yes?” he asks as you gently massage his palm. You gaze down at him with a small smile. “It is a yes,” you say. With that quick confirmation, Roger's lips were against yours yet again. He never gave up a chance to be physical with you in any form. He loved to kiss you all over and hear you giggle. If he had to give up his career just to be able to hold you in his arms, he would. No questions asked.

You feel his hands reach up to your cheeks. The pads of his thumbs graze across the peach fuzz of your skin. You shiver from even the slightest contact. He was gentle. He was always so gentle. Unless you asked for him to be rough, then in that case he would seriously fuck you. That mostly happened when you were too horny to think. But you always came back to the meaningful lovemaking.

You slowly push Roger further down onto the bed, and he lies on his back rather than his side. You straddle his hips. He smiles against your lips and you feel his smirk immediately. You couldn't help but smile as well. 

“What's got you smiling?” you ask, and Roger lets out a hum-like laugh before he speaks. “Just like having you on top of me,” 

You laugh before shutting him up with a kiss. Your hips revert to their instinctive motion as they begin grinding against Rogers lap. You hear a soft grunt vibrate against your lips. Roger always got flustered by the simple movements of your hips. His hands trail down your sides to find your hips where he begins guiding you. 

Your mouths open in mutual agreeance. Your tongues slowly begin analyzing the insides of the suitor's mouth. The lewd sound of your mouths felt wrong but was so delightful in the strangest and most unexplainable way possible.

Rogers hands slip under your blouse. His rough and calloused fingers slide across the silk-like material. He migrates his hands to the front where he fumbles with the tiny buttons. He had a longing thirst for you, and these darn pearl buttons were in his way.

You could feel his frustration, so you slowly remove his hands from the hem of your shirt and unbutton it for him. “Fuck- thank you,” he laughs as he takes a moment to breathe. You laugh with him as you unbutton it. You let the silk shirt slide off your shoulders and it falls off the bed. 

Roger cups your breasts as they are still encased in your bralette. You always preferred wearing bralettes rather than push-up bras in the warmer months, and Roger wished you wore them all year round. He loved to squeeze and fondle your chest, and your bralettes allowed him to do that even without undressing you fully. 

Ultimately, his hands were already attempting to pull it off. He always preferred you in nothing. You tut at him as he gripped the clasp. “You've got me half naked and you're still fully clothed,” you point out, and he lets out a laugh. “Be my guest,” he hums. With his invitation, you pull off his light blue t-shirt and are met with his slightly toned chest. Oh, how you loved his physique. He had muscle, but not too much. He had a pair of strong, broad shoulders, along with a little tummy. And of course, you couldn't forget his cute bum.

You let your hands trace abstract lines down Rogers's chest as you meet his lips yet again for an open mouth kiss. He purred against your lips as chills sent through his body. “Baby…” he whispers longingly. “I need you…” 

Your hands reach the top of his jeans. You tug on his belt buckle slightly before carefully undoing it. He hears the familiar sound of his pants unzipping, and he becomes more passionate with the kiss. His cock was almost fully erect by now, you could feel he pushed up against your core each time your crotch ran over his jean-clad length. It was painfully pleasurable. 

As you manage to take off his skinny jeans, his hands are back on your bralette again, this time he successfully took it off without any teasing or protests. 

You hum as Roger kneads your breasts gently. He fondled and squeezed your chest in such a way that sent shivers all throughout your body. His thumbs teased your nipples, causing them to harden under his fingertip.

You open your eyes to give Roger a slightly confusing gaze as he parts from your lips, leaving them wet, swollen, and missing their partner. His lips wrap around your right nipple, causing you to inhale sharply from the sudden moisture. 

“Oh, Rog…” you whisper as your hand comes up to card through his unstyled blonde mop. The pleasure was so close, yet so far away at the same time. “Please, baby,” you beg softly as you gently claw at his boxers. 

Roger let out a small chuckle against your skin before he kissed up your chest and gave you a warm, affirming kiss. “Want you to ride me,” he hums as his hands run up and down your jean-covered thighs. Even if he always loved fucking you on top, or slowly making love with you, he could never get enough of the sight of you on top of him, bouncing over and over again desperate for some form of release. 

You loved the idea of riding him, but Roger could protest that he loved it more.

“Have to get rid of these first,” you quickly begin to unzip your own jeans and remove yourself from his lap to take them off fully. The only thing holding you back from complete delight was two layers of thin fabric. 

The scene was almost comedic. You were both only in your underwear like two virgins not knowing what to do past this point, but you knew what to do. You knew Roger's body so well, as he yours. You knew each and every vein you had to touch to make him moan in pleasure, and you knew every little place to kiss and caress to make him hard as a rock. 

Likewise, he knew just the right speed to lick your little pussy, and how to curve his fingers just right to make your orgasm all over his digits. 

Roger wastes no time as his thumb begins slowly rubbing over your clothed clit. A small wet spot was already appearing from your arousal. You whine against his lips as he pushes against your sensitive little clit. 

“Please…” you beg. A smirk tugs its way onto Roger's lips “What?” he laughs. You take his hand and bring it up to your mouth, placing gentle kisses along his knuckles. “I know you want this just as much as I do,” you squeeze your legs around him tighter, causing a slight groan from him. 

“It's so hard to resist you, Y/N,” 

“So don’t resist,” 

Your panties were now off. Roger snatched them before you could toss them onto the ground. He sniffs your arousal off the fabric and he groans from the heavenly smell like the sexual fanatic he was. A matching wet mark appeared on his boxers. You both knew he wasn't going to last too long. 

You quickly peel back his boxers and slip them down his legs and off his ankles. His cock was hard and ready for your entrance. Now, completely naked, Roger reaches up to kiss you hungrily. “Fuck- ride me, baby. I wanna watch you fuck yourself with my cock…” he growled into your ear. 

You whine at the phrase. You needed him. You needed him more than you needed anything. You grasp his cock, pumping him slowly as you lube his length with your own arousal. Lube wasn't needed, that's how wet you were. 

You hear Roger whimper from your wetness on his sensitive cock. “Fuck me, baby. Please…” he begged softly. He was so needy at times. You loved when he begged. You had experimented with submission and domination before. Roger loved having control over you, but of course, was always cautious. He loved it even more when you were in control of him.

Roger often read kinky magazines and brought a new idea up to you when he found one that interested him. He enjoyed spanking you, and sometimes he would tie you up. He never got too extreme out of fear of hurting you. He always made sure you knew your safe word.

Of course, he has had his fair share of being submissive, as well. You’ve put him in handcuffs before and tried a bit of orgasm denial. He always looked so cute with his big blue eyes staring back at you, begging for more. 

You always felt most connected when things were equal, but you both always end up begging the other for their body. 

You align his tip with your entrance, you feel as he gently pulsates against it. He lifts his hips slightly in the hope to enter you, and you reward him by slowly lowering your hips, meeting him halfway. 

Roger chokes out an airy groan as he enters you raw. “Oh, baby…” he whispers softly. 

You roll your hips against his pelvis, letting out a whine as he fills you completely. “So tight for me, baby girl…” he praises as his hands roam your hips, squeezing every bit of flesh they could grab onto. His head leans back onto the recently fluffed pillow. 

He could tell it was stuffed with feathers rather than cotton. Yet again another aspect he knew you would love and go on a little rant about once you noticed. 

Roger was engulfed in your heat. He groaned in delight with every subtle movement and flux of your inner walls around him. You were rising to the seventh heaven as you continued to ride Roger's cock. You let out a soft moan, causing Roger to jolt his hips upwards.

“That's it,” he praised softly. “Moan for me, petal…”

You gave him what he wanted, and you moaned once again. You moaned his name, and it was music to his ears. 

Roger let out a low moan as he gripped your hips, his knuckles on the verge of going white. “Don't stop, love,” and you don't. There was no way in hell you were stopping.

Your breasts naturally bounced up and down as you rode him. Your right nipple still glistened with Rogers saliva as the natural light hit it. You were at times insecure about your chest, but Roger was always there to comfort and reassure you that there was nothing to be ashamed about. 

He constantly gave you kisses and whispered compliments of how much he loved your body. He never gave up the chance to cop a feel, as well. As your relationship grew, you learned to love your body for how it was.

The sweet, sweet release of ecstasy was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn't reach it, like the hand of your lover ghosting your palm before it abruptly pulled away. A shot of pleasure gets sent through your body like IV fluid being fed into your veins. Your gaze moves down and you see Roger's thumb pressing up against your clit again, rubbing in steady circles.  

Your moans instantly increase in volume as Roger's cock continues to disappear inside of you faster and faster. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock…” 

Your hips shudder from the pleasure, and Roger keeps the pad of his thumb firmly on your clit. You moan in delight, both of you completely bewitched by the elevating pleasure. The bed beneath him ceases to exist as his body and mind swims in euphoria. 

The only thing you are able to feel is bliss as you indulge in the serenity and privilege of sexual pleasure. Your hips shake with anticipation as your orgasm grows closer and closer. 

Like a tidal wave rushing over the shore, your body transcends to another consciousness. Chills get sent through your bones, skin trembles as you experience your orgasm. You moan Roger's name and cry out for mercy.

Your inner walls flux tightly around Roger's length. “Oh fuck, Y/N!” he moans. Your come coats his cock, and the sight of your white arousal covering him had him done. His come shot inside of you, groaning like a starving animal as he fills you up entirely. 

You collapse onto Roger's chest. Your skin was tacky as you lay atop his sweaty chest. It was disgusting, but you wouldn't have it any other way. 

“You're amazing…” Roger quietly praised through heavy breaths. “You are, too,” you managed to get out. Roger shook his head with a smile. “You did all the work, petal,” he points out. You let out a small giggle. You suppose he was right.

You slowly lift your hips, releasing Roger from your heat as you both let out a hiss. “Cuddle with me, love,” he hums. You agree and roll over beside him once your breathing has returned to a steady pace. He drapes a quilt over your naked bodies, but the only thing you're able to focus on is Roger's scent. 

You always noticed the little things, but you suppose that's what everybody does when they're in love. You could smell his sweet sweat and the remaining cologne on his skin. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck to get a stronger smell, and while you're there you gently kiss his jaw. He always loved your tiny kisses in that area. 

Yes, the sex was amazing, but you always looked forward to the loving cuddles and kisses after. Especially after some rough play, Roger was the most loving and gentle man on the planet. 

Roger wraps two protective arms around you, holding you tight in a hug. “I love you, Y/N…” he whispers into your hair. 

You smile against his skin. “I love you, too, Roggie…” he blushes at the nickname. If anybody else in the world were to call him that name he would bash their head in, but when he heard it in your soft voice which he loved so dearly to hear, he melted right on the spot every time you said it. 

“These pillows are made of feathers,” you observe, and he laughs. “Yes, Y/N. Yes, they are,”

He knew you were going to love this vacation.

[cavenewstimes]

Trudeau attends Taylor Swift concert in Toronto with family

By The Staff The Canadian Press Posted November 23, 2024 8:21 am Updated November 23, 2024 12:33 pm 1 min read 2:06 ‘Worth it:’ Australian fan pays nearly $10K for one T-Swift ticket in Toronto WATCH: Taylor Swift closes out six sold-out nights in Toronto on Saturday as the Eras Tour heads to Vancouver for its final three concerts. Nivrita Ganguly speaks to fans outside the Rogers Centre and…

[cherries-n-rocknroll]

Queen drummer Roger Taylor: 'No more number 1 in the Top 2000? Which arse has that on his conscience?'

Note: Thank you to @riaaanna for the first version! It was already pretty alright (I was pleasantly surprised for a google translate job!) but I thought since I'm Dutch I'd go over it and try to make it even better in some places. I took some liberty in a few spots because to, in my opinion, convey the message better rather than to give a literal translation that makes no sense. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!

Roger Taylor. IMAGE YOSHIKO HORITA

For the first time in eight years Roger Taylor comes out with a new solo album named Outsider. With Adam Lambert as their frontman he is also working on new Queen music. 'We'll keep playing as long as we're able to do so.'

Stefan Raatgever 29 september 2021, 09:25

In a lavishly decorated room with velvet curtains and gold-shining candlesticks on the dresser, Roger Taylor appears in front of a screen. The connection was made by an assistant. We look inside his house in Surrey, an hour's drive below London, says Taylor. It is the house where, the Queen drummer showed on Instagram last year, an 8 meter high statue of Queen singer Freddie Mercury, who died in 1991, is displayed in the garden. "A little flashy, but I think Freddie could have had a good laugh about it," he added.

Roger Taylor (72) looks cheerful this afternoon. He says he spent the strict British lockdown in his English home on the coast of Cornwall. "I got lucky. I could walk in peace there every day."

With Outsider, Taylor – writer of Queenhits such as Under Pressure and These Are the Days of Our Lives – made a solo album for the first time in eight years. It appears the day after tomorrow (October first 2021). On songs such as Isolation and We're All Just Trying to Get By, he sings about his experiences with the pandemic. Taylor also took old songs like Foreign Sand from 1994 and Absoluty Any-thing from 2015, and added them to the new album. There will also be a new Queen tour, with Adam Lambert as frontman. On July 1st and 2nd 2022 the group will perform the Rhapsody Tour in the Ziggo Dome.

What made you decide to make music on your own again?

"All of a sudden I had a lot of free time to come up with new ideas and I felt like I had to put that to good use. I also felt the creative juices flowing again. The songs came easily. The circumstances were inspiring. On the news I saw the people in Italy. It was terrible to see how they were locked up. That's how Isolation came to be."

Opening song Tides is about mortality. Were you very busy with that?

"Of course I was concerned. At my age, I fall into the risk group. If I had gotten the virus, I could have died. But the song is mostly about getting older, about starting the last chapter."

Does your age influence the choices you make?

"I do look differently at, for example, my own solo tour this fall. Now that the clock is ticking audibly, I want it to be all about having fun. So I also play my favorite Queen songs (he was heavily criticized for that in the past in the British press, ed.). I just want to enjoy it with my audience now."

That used to be different?

"We had to build our career! We couldn't just do whatever we wanted. Thanks to that sharpness and a good dose of luck, Queen's music is still so popular. What also helped: with Adam Lambert as our frontman, we really managed to lift our concerts to another level. It fits so well! And then of course there is the film (Bohemian Rhapsody from 2018, ed.): it brought our music to a new generation. Just like the musical We Will Rock You."

"Brian May and I could have retired years ago, but we enjoy continuing to play. We'll keep doing it as long as we can."

In 2008 you made a Queen album with Paul Rodgers as your lead singer, The Cosmos Rocks. Will you also make new music with Adam Lambert?

"I was listening to that album recently. I don't think it got the attention it deserved. There are really good songs on it. But it's always about timing and the people just weren't ready for a Queen album without Freddie. There was reluctance to accept Paul as our singer, even though he has a beautiful voice. Very bluesy. On the other hand, he was not the perfect match for us because of that. Adam is a much better fit in that sense."

And is the timing for new music better now because of that?

"Without a doubt, yes."

So? There is something coming?

"We recorded a song with Adam in Nashville, yes. But it's not quite finished yet. We haven't decided what we want to do next, but I'd love to record more with Adam."

Something else: do you know the Dutch Top 2000? In that radio list of listeners' favorite songs, you topped 17 out of 22 editions with Bohemian Rhapsody.

"No, I don't know that one, but it sounds like good news."

Only you lost the first place since last December.

Laughing: "What? Which arse has that on his conscience? Danny Vera? That does not ring a bell. Roller Coaster? I've heard that song before. Oh, I'll give it to that boy. I think 17 out of 22 is a pretty good score for us."

Tagging some people who might wanna read this: @sixtiesblues @illfoandillfie @terryboot @natromanxoff @scorpiogemini @jennyggggrrr @ohladymoon

[stesichoreanpalinode]

Roger’s Outsider Tour Live Album!

I know it’s a mailing list but an email from Roger in my inbox really cheered me up today. Let me imagine him painstakingly typing out my email address with one finger hoping I’ll enjoy it. Such good memories.

Out September 30, preorder here

[onegoldenglance]

[debdarkpetal]

Brian May making a special appearance tonight.

“It’s my brother from another mother!”.

Video credits to Ribbit London on YouTube.

(×)

[gluttons-for-punishment]

Roger Taylor

Outsider Tour, October 2021

with Brian May

[lonelyasawhisper]

Omggg thanks to @nadirertaylan for this full version of AKOM tonight 😭😭😭

[itsakindofroger]

Roger meeting fans/signing autographs at the stage door after tonights Newcastle show! 🥰

all credits to Sarah McHale on Facebook x

[amestiberiuskirk]

Roger on the Outsider tour last week 🙅🏼‍♂️