#my edit: eurovision

[mirai-desu]

Eurovision Song Contest 2023 - UNITED BY MUSIC

(by ISO 3 Letter Country Codes)

[sugarplumsfairy]

VERKA IS HERE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[jenny-purr]

Lil edit dedicated to our long-distance boos <3 [Will post on TikTok later]

Song: "First Date" - Blink182 Because Eurovision was the best first date, let's be honest.

Footage: During Eurovision Titanic Clip The proposal At the club sharing nicotine On a boat Bojan serenading Käärijä & Jokerman taking the bus Käärijä & Joker Out iconic tour [Koppitules was included in that vid]

[sweetiepootato]

Everyone moved on, but I'm still here

Will always be here 💚

[musicalislife]

He most certainly made it💚

Video from @vipuliina on TikTok

[glamournessmygod]

[odetokeons]

finland, germany, austria, czechia, moldova, norway, slovenia, australia, croatia and serbia's ESC 2023 entries my BELOVEDS ♡

[groenendaelfic]

Faroe Gone Final Chapter Sneak Peak

So there's still lots of editing I need to do before I can post the whole thing, but with tomorrow looming I thought I'd share something "happy" and "cheerful" to distract y'all.

Have fun reading the beginning of the final chapter and hope you enjoy! 😇

Simon doesn't know if it's the sudden fog, his tears, or the fact that all he wants to do is be a fool and turn back around again—the first one, definitely the first one—but he drives back to Tórshavn at almost a snail's pace.

It doesn't matter. He has well over a day until the ferry makes its return journey to Denmark and nothing else to do except go over his time with Wilhelm again and again, replaying the good times and the pleasurable times and wondering if he could have said or done anything to change the outcome of his journey—other than realizing that all of his feelings were mere nostalgic illusion and fantasy, which of course turned out to not be the case.

Quite the opposite. Real Wilhelm was so much more than what Simon made him out to be in his head. There's so much he's missed. So much he doesn't know yet and which he desperately wants to find out.

It hurts, and yet there's nothing else Simon can do, no other choice which wouldn't hurt more sooner or later.

No. Simon tried. He did the best he could and that is enough. It has to be enough.

Simon had to leave while he still could.

The road ahead of him is empty, no one else in sight. No people, no cars, no sheep. Nothing except the wet, cold fog swallowing up everything and a rushing noise in his ears which might be the wind or the ocean or Simon himself.

Simon blinks away another tear and keeps driving, turning up the heat and hoping it will help.

It doesn't.

On the next island he passes a camper van. It's parked, and Simon thinks he can make out a brave tourist trying to take a picture, but he isn't sure. It's not as if there's much to see except an endless wall of grayish white.

Maybe that's the fascination.

Wilhelm told him that there are thirty-seven words for fog in the Faroese language, and while Simon laughed and told him to stop kidding, he's sure he's already experienced half of them, and it's only been two days.

Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but contemplating the uselessness of taking pictures of fog is a lot more bearable than lingering on the fact that he'll never get to be with Wilhelm again, never feel that satisfied ache in his muscles, not like this, and really how long can a grown man cry before he's all out of tears?

Pretty long he guesses.

Simon once stopped Ayub's baby daughter from attempting a daring escape on all fours, and Simon swears she was crying forever. Not that he blames her.

Crying is cathartic if it's anything, but if she could produce that many tears because of nothing more than a foiled plan to explore the stairway, then how many will Simon be able to shed before he's all wrung out? He’s a lot taller than her after all and guaranteed to not forget the reason for his tears even after being presented with some candy.

Simon doesn't want to know.

Simon wants to keep driving through this fog forever, because all that's waiting for him at its end is the mundanity of his never-changing life and a scandal revealing the Crown Prince to have been the victim of underage revenge porn thanks to his second cousin and presumed successor, and that is guaranteed to make it worse, to drag Simon’s name back into public awareness.

He should probably call home and warn his mom, warn Sara, but facing them will be torture of an entirely different kind, and also the investigative journalist they chose is a good one, one bound to build a case and not blindly believe her sources before going public, so there is still time.

Not too much though, as there is an impending deadline if the Royal Court and the Prime Minister are to be believed, or at least Simon would really prefer news of August’s deeds to overshadow him being taken into the line of succession.

Not that he’s so naive as to think a mere article can do more than delay the proceedings at best—although one can always hope—and ideally the journalist and whoever else gets a say in choosing the right time will see it the same way, but all of that is still more than half a week away, so why burden his family before he absolutely has to?

No, he's not going to call home yet, but maybe he should reserve a room before he gets back to the capital.

He decides to do it the old fashioned way and pulls over at the next opportunity. A viewpoint, or so he presumes the sign a few meters away from him would tell him if only it was clear enough to see.

He wipes at his cheeks and opens his phone. There are plenty of options for him to stay at. Small, privately owned places, holiday homes with kitchens and living rooms, quaint little hotels doing their best to sell their Nordic, rustic charm to tourists wealthy enough to make it there, and of course a camping ground, because unlike Sweden, the Faroe Islands don't allow one to set up camp anywhere else.

Simon doesn't choose any of them. He wants a warm but bland room, boring and inoffensive and as likely to be in Tórshavn as on the other side of the world.

Something as far from Wilhelm's colorful and most definitely handmade and expensive wooden furniture as he can get, and so he books himself a room at the first—and only—international hotel chain he can find, something he'd never do otherwise, and pretends that he's looking forward to it. The hotel has a fitness center after all and well over a hundred rooms. Simon is almost going to feel like back home in Uppsala.

Not.

He sighs and makes sure he received a confirmation for his booking, before he throws his phone onto the passenger seat and sighs again.

Somehow, magically, or rather because he's on a windy archipelago in the middle of nowhere, the fog is starting to clear. He can see a few meters of grass now, and then a cliff, and below it the cold, dark ocean pretending at being calm.

Simon wants the fog back, but when has he ever gotten what he wanted, and by the time he's back on the road he swears he can see a tiny patch of blue sky up ahead.

The hotel is on the outskirts of town and exactly as impersonal as Simon hoped it would be. He isn't hungry, and so he goes straight to his room and falls face first into bed.

The sheets are white and the pillows are white and they smell bland and clean and inoffensive, nothing at all like Wilhelm, and why would they?

Simon hates them. Simon also hates the hotel, but it's not as if he's in the mood for sightseeing, and as he isn't willing to take a shower yet—what? He's alone, no one's going to smell him, and isn't that the entire problem?—all that's left to do is turn on the TV, because he's for sure not touching his phone again any time soon.

Not when that would mean having it confirmed with every passing minute that he was a fool to leave Wilhelm his number. Wilhelm isn't going to call, but Simon would rather live in denial for as long as he can.

The TV does not greet him with an info screen as Simon expected, but an English speaking news channel, the volume turned up way too loudly, and Simon turns it off again as fast as he can.

Wallowing in self pity it is then.

Unfortunately Simon's usual answer to bouts of self-pity—angrily jerking off to thoughts of Wilhelm—is not an option right now, because Wilhelm is the entire reason for his misery, and so he grudgingly reaches for his phone after all and starts up a game which would work much better on a computer screen.

He's just about to finish off the newest boss, when a text message pops up.

If I do it, it reads. Then can we

The sentence stops halfway through, and Simon almost has a heart attack.

The delay in his reaction is enough for him to be killed instead, but it's not as if Simon notices.

Wilhelm. It has to be Wilhelm.

He taps the message, and while that makes it larger, it doesn't change the words.

He almost calls Wilhelm back right away, because Wilhelm is swaying, is reconsidering, and Simon wants that, he wants it so bad, to have Wilhelm back in his arms and his life, but also Simon already told Wilhelm that he can't be the only reason Wilhelm returns, that this is a life changing decision if there was ever any, and that Wilhelm needs to make it for himself and not for a hope of them maybe working out, and so he doesn't.

Instead he waits an excruciating minute and then another, just in case Wilhelm wants to add something or pressed send too soon, but no further message follows.

Simon curses and swears and kicks up his feet, because now he has hope again and that is great, but also torture. He doesn't want Wilhelm to get the wrong impression, doesn't want him to think that Simon wouldn't be willing to pick right up where they left off if he could—in the bedroom that is, not when it comes to fighting—and maybe they could also go on a date which has been nineteen years in coming.

Simon wants that. Simon really wants that. How can he not, now that he's had a taste, has spent time with Wilhelm, just Wilhelm, has had breakfast with him and done chores with him and played with his dog. Simon wants Wilhelm back, now more so than ever.

Simon knows he's an idiot, thinking of romance and dating when he just left the love of his life behind, and even if he hadn't, a returning Wilhelm would have much different things on his mind. He'd have to. He'd have no other choice. Things like his dying mother and the throne and the public reacting to his return after ten years in exile.

Wilhelm wouldn't have time for Simon, no matter how much Wilhelm would want him. Not for weeks and not for months. Simon would have to sneak into an assortment of palaces with the eyes of the entire nation on nothing but them if he wanted any time with Wilhelm at all, and Simon wouldn't want that. Simon doesn't want secrecy and sneaking and lies. Not that'd even be an option, what with the press and curious bystanders everywhere.

There is another option of course. The only one Wilhelm would ever consider coming back for. The one which at first glance sounds perfect because it means being with Wilhelm and standing by his side. It would also mean giving up everything else in Simon's life though, but what has he really got to lose? Why stop being foolish now?

Wilhelm told Simon that he's it for him. Wilhelm loves him. Simon's already traveled across an ocean. What's one tiny text message compared to that? Why can't he be selfish just this once and fuck the risk and the idiocy and the fear of what will be in one year? In five? In ten?

It all might end in disaster, but it might also not, and why should he be miserable if there's even the slightest chance at some fleeting happiness. After all it's not as if the email Wilhelm sent isn't bound to upend Simon's life anyway, and it's not as if Wilhelm is actually going to come.

Simon wants to be happy.

Simon wants to be happy and now there's a chance for it and so why not take it? He's done stupider things before, like coming here in the first place, so he might as well go all the way.

He doesn't text Wilhelm a yes, doesn't make any promises. He texts one word and one word alone, followed by a number, the name of the hotel and his room number, and maybe that's the biggest promise of all.

He doesn't regret it. He couldn't stay, not without making his inevitable departure even worse, but now he's done his part and the ball is in Wilhelm's court, all the balls are, and Simon is here and waiting.

For a ferry. For Wilhelm. For the life they could have had.

Fuck.

[mirai-desu]

Junior Eurovision Song Contest 2023 - HEROES

[steviesbicrisis]

MORE STEDDIE EUROVISION BRAINROT LETS GOOOOO (part 2 of this if you will)

Eurovision is chaotic, a million things are happening at the same time, everything is all over the place until you get on stage and do your part. Even so, Eddie finds plenty of time to recall all the moments in which he talked About Stef- Steve when he was around, thinking he wouldn't understand any of it.

After the Turquoise Carpet, Eddie can't look him in the eye anymore, his strong desire to get to know Steve more even through the "language barrier" has been overcome by the embarrassment of his situation.

For better or worse, Corroded Coffin is assigned to perform in the second Semifinal, while Italy (being one of the Big5) is presented during the first but will go straight to the Final, meaning that Eddie only has a chance to see him again if they qualify.

Except that Steve, by giving a little tease to the press of what had been going on between them in the past few weeks, had lightened up a fire hard to extinguish. Even if Eddie hadn't managed to see him after the carpet, he and the rest of the band are asked about him constantly by the press, social media content creators, fans, and even by a few contestants.

In a span of a couple of days, his band got, completely by accident, into a competition for Stefano's heart and Eddie is the least willing participant.

The night of the Second Semifinal arrives and Eddie hasn't really seen Steve in four days, not that he's counting. Maybe seeing Steve before his semifinal would've helped with his nerves, an ideal scenario would include Steve confessing that he actually didn't know English until he met Eddie and he used Duolingo to become fluent just to talk to him (which would mean that Steve is the actual linguistic prodigy but he wouldn't really complain).

For a long second, Eddie thinks that his daydreaming skills must've reached new levels as he imagines Steve walking into the green room, where all the contestants hang how as they wait to perform. Then, with horror, he realizes that there has been no improvement in said skills and that Steve is actually there, walking towards their couch with an Australian flag on his shoulders.

"Hey guys! Thank you for inviting me!" Steve says as he reaches their spot.

"Thank you for coming, I'm sure you're super busy as we all are" Jeff replies, revealing himself as the culprit (aka the one guilty of betraying Eddie by inviting his crush behind his back).

"Oh yeah, these days have been crazy! But I always have time for my favorite contestants" he winks at the group, before sitting in the small space between Eddie and Jeff.

Steve turns around to face Eddie and says “ciao” lower than his previous tone, as if Eddie is the only one meant to hear.

“C-ciao” Eddie replies, still stunned by Steve’s presence.

Steve seems to have the time of his life teasing Eddie “mi sei mancato.”

This one takes a little longer for Eddie to understand. He knows he said something along the lines of “I missed you” but it takes him a couple of seconds more to understand that Steve is talking about the messages and the gifts he stopped sending to his changing room since Sunday.

Eddie could give him a million excuses, come clean about his embarrassment, ask him out on a date on the spot, or even play dummy and change the subject quickly.

Instead, he mutters one of the phrases he remembers learning in the past few days “mi dispiaci.”

His Italian must’ve been better than he thought, judging by the big smile forming on Steve’s face.

“It’s okay” Steve pats his hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezes it for half a second, still smiling at him as if they’ve been sharing a big fat secret just between them. Maybe they have.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. They keep on playing their game of “who’s Stefano crushing on?” By sitting together in compromising positions (still keeping it family friendly of course) every time the Australian booth is in the frame during the performance breaks, and each time with a different member of the band.

By the time Australia has to perform, the internet is already filled with screenshots of each moment and it’s captioned with “What is going on between Italy and Australia?” Or “Oh to be Italy with 4 beautiful Australian boyfriends”.

When it’s time for them to go on stage, Steve whispers a “buona fortuna” to Eddie’s ear and quickly exits the green room.

Corroded Coffin does an amazing performance, Eddie feels giddy and full of energy after spending the whole night with Steve sitting by his side.

If the performing part passed in a blur, the wait for the votes is painfully slow. With no beautiful Italian Greek-sculptured god sitting by his side, Eddie is left to his bad habit of overthinking: “We should’ve done that in a different way” “What if it sucked for the people watching at home?” “If we don’t pass, we won’t be with Steve for the final”.

But alas, he’s put out of his misery by the hosts announcing Australia as one of the finalists. The band and their team jump off of their seat, waving the Australian flag to the camera that is showing their celebrations for the people at home.

Eddie is too caught up in the moment to notice Steve approaching them as the announcements keep going.

He feels someone tapping on his shoulder and he barely has time to turn around before he feels Steve’s lips pressed on his.

It’s a quick peck on the lips but it leaves him stunned nonetheless.

Steve smiles at him mischievously as he says “ci vediamo in finale.”

And he’s off as quick as he came, leaving Eddie to process what just happened.

What a night to remember.

[fluffyninja91]

I mean...

[rats-in-the-ball-pit]

𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝙱𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝙵𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜

“𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎.”

[yanderepinkhair]

THE REAL WINNER OF EUROVISION 2023

Credit: @yanderepinkhair

[artisan-dino-nuggets]

for go_a enjoyers:

[newtedison]

be running up that road, be running up that hill​