#euro team

[textsfrombeybladers]

Okay but I still want an explanation as to why Europe has two teams representing it in G Rev

[pheleszev]

Euro Team

[6ebe]

When I said Spain were violating child Labour regulations I didn’t think they actually were 😭

[canirove]

Spain Vs. England: Final | UEFA EURO 2024 | 14.07.2024

[gavily]

and FUCK rabiot!

[mysunshinetemptress]

Harry darling your jealousy is showing again.

[osc-piastri81]

peak german summer experience 2024

[judesmadrid]

JUDE COMING IN WITH A BICYCLE KICK 🌟

OUR STARBOY.

[textsfrombeybladers]

Majestics/Euro Team Headcanons based only on my stereotype knowledge of Europe

Robert/Ralf:

We don’t talk about where his wealth came from. We just don’t. You will be banished to the death dungeon in the basement. We also don’t talk about where the death dungeon came from. Or grandpa. We don’t talk about grandpa.

Low key a lot of fun when drunk but very picky about beer. Will only drink what he deems to be ‘good’ beer. Gets wasted during Oktoberfest then blackmails his teammates to not post pictures. Does not always work, please don’t google him.

Law abiding. The absolute most unrealistic part of G Rev is the idea of a German not immediately telling officials that a team is cheating. No way. This guy would be up in arms if he saw one of them so much as throwing the recycling in the wrong bin, which should be a crime.

Enrique/Giancarlo:

Diet consists almost exclusively of carbs. Worships olive oil almost as much as the Catholic Church. Absolutely does NOT practice what he preaches and is normally speaking to at least four women at one time. He keeps their names and identifying information in a notebook so he doesn’t get them mixed up. Thinks he has way more sex appeal than he actually does. Not a real blond.

Talks like Mario and cannot communicate if his hands are not in motion. Originally used ‘Mamma Mia’ ironically but now can’t stop. Instead of yelling when mad he just starts praying out loud in very angry Italian, teammates are past the point of questioning this.

Only wears speedos to the beach and constantly makes that everyone else’s problem. Will absolutely tan nude, though. Claims he doesn’t need sun screen because he doesn’t burn, he just tans. Told constantly that going to the beach is not the same as bathing, pretends his hygiene is worse than it actually is because he doesn’t wanna admit that he just sweats a lot. Must reapply deodorant every three hours at minimum.

Oliver/Olivier:

Chain smoker, gives his team no choice other than to deal with it. They tried making him quit once and they all decided that having him stink up the tour bus was better than dealing with Oliver going through withdrawal. He is the reason they drink but at least he has good wine. Fights with Enrique over what country ‘good wine’ comes from.

Speaks English fluently but refuses to use it when with the Americans, that’s if he acknowledges them at all. Makes snarky side comments and acts like he’s just ‘being honest’. Kid just doesn’t fucking stop, only Frenchman in the world to do the OPPOSITE of surrendering, but they still joke that his scarf is just an emergency white flag.

Brags about culinary skills, artistic skills and language skills but cannot pronounce the letter R to save his life. Sometimes says ‘Ooh la la’ but not the way one would expect. Less likely to be used in excitement and more likely to be used because Johnny left his dirty dishes in the sink.

Johnny:

Huge pet peeve of being called Johnathan. John comes from the Bible and isn’t short for anything, it’s just John ya fucks. Also won’t tolerate anyone making fun of his kilt ITS NOT A FUCKING SKIRT, ENRIQUE!

Loves battered haggis. Actually, loves anything battered. Battered and dropped in the deep fat fryer. Teammates absolutely refuse to eat anything this kid cooks or allow him to store anything in the fridge, which is saying a lot because that’s where Oliver keeps the deep fried frog legs and snails. Hisses and runs away at the idea of fruits or vegetables.

It took his team about a year to realize he was speaking English, they still can’t understand a word he says but they pretend they can. Extremely short tempered, especially when mistaken for a Brit. Will absolutely fuck your shit up if you call him British, will feel none of your attacks because he’s too drunk. Team has no idea what his personality is like sober.

[overtake]

Was on a train from Berlin to Amsterdam after Euro quarters and thought what if backpacking Daniel (late 20s, mild crisis about what he wants from life has led to him bumming around Europe) and football fanatic Max (just finished university, his teaching job begins next school term) were also on a train from Berlin to Amsterdam after Euro quarters

Daniel’s greasy curls are matted against his oily face and he can still catch pungent whiffs of last night's nauseating adventures, despite the two showers with gritty bars of hotel soap he’d taken before running for this train. His hair has dried down gross and stringy, crushed against the hood of the jumper he should not need in July. Suffice it to say, he is not looking nor feeling his best, and it manifests in his arms trembling as they weakly attempt to throw his oversized duffle bag onto the train rack.

“Jesus fuck,” he mutters. He’s never been this hungover in his life, probably. His mouth tastes like stale beer and his eyes feel like sandpaper, and he’d really like his body to stop shaking.

“Do you need help?” A voice says from behind him, sounding lightly amused at his suffering. He turns — too quickly, very bad idea for his dizziness — to see a guy around his height but twice as broad, an orange Dutch national team kit stretched tight across his wide shoulders and showing off the round shape of his soft chest. There’s remnants of last night’s face paint still on edges of his cheekbones, the heavily smeared lines vaguely resembling what was once Holland’s flag. Blond-brown hair pokes out the edges of a garish bucket hat, and a crowd of friends in their own patriotic attire behind him are observing them with interest.

How these guys escaped the Euros viewing less fucked up than an Australian watching the sport for the first time is beyond Daniel’s comprehension, but he’s too grateful for the assistance to do much more than grunt an assent and thank you as the guy reaches up and pushes Daniel’s bag up the final few centimetres.

Daniel heaves out a grateful breath and collapses into the open seat below his settled bag, prepared to curl up against the window and contemplate all his life decisions on the six hour train journey and attempt to not spew in a public and embarrassing manner.

Dutch guy glances over at his friends, who have taken up three of the four seats at a table, and then, insanely and without invitation, seats himself right next to Daniel.

“Big night last night?”

Daniel stares at him for half a second, trying to make his brain come online enough to form words. “Uh, yeah. Was in the fan zone. Don’t think I stopped drinking until two hours ago.”

The guy offers him a big, crinkly smile. “Oh, same. Haven’t slept yet.”

“How are you so put together?” Daniel asks. He grimaces as the train begins to move, throwing one arm over his eyes and squeezing them tightly shut until the motion sickness eases ever so slightly. “I’m going to die, I think.”

“Practice,” the guy says solemnly, patting Daniel’s shoulder sympathetically, then letting it linger for a few seconds longer. Oh. Oh. Daniel’s too hungover to even think about the movement involved in sex right now, but like, yeah. This guy is big and strong and hot, and he’s quietly pleased with himself that he can pull even looking and smelling like this.

“I might need some of your training,” he says, flashing a big smile and then remembering the food stuck between his teeth that he couldn’t get out with brushing, floss long lost in the depths of his hellhole bag. He purses his lips together quickly, trying to hide the evidence.

Hot Dutch boy doesn’t seem to notice anyway. He just pulls a water bottle from his blue backpack, propped carefully on the fine hair dusting his delicious thighs, and offers it to Daniel. There’s a fancy luggage tag on his bag, and Daniel steals a glance at the MEV spelled out in delicate gold letting. Very cute, him branding a cheap backpack like that. “Thirsty?”

“Very,” Daniel says, gratefully taking the bottle — opened, he notices, which means these little plastic coils have been sucked between the plush pink of this guy’s lips and rested against the cute freckle decorating the top one — and swallowing down a long gulp.

“I’m Max, by the way,” he says when Daniel is done drinking, careful to ensure his fingers brush against Daniel’s hand when he takes the water back. He’s not aiming for any subtly in his intentions, particularly not with the intense stare he’s directing at where Daniel licks the remaining droplets of water from around his mouth.

“Daniel,” he responds in kind. When Max has placed his water back into its pocket, he takes Max’s hand and pumps it dramatically. “Enchanté, Max.”

Max has long fingers, his nails short but well-groomed. They’re a sharp contrast to Daniel’s bitten stubs, the edges of his thumbs permanently red and half-bleeding. The dark hair of Max’s arms trails up to his hands, which are moisturized, strong, and big enough to wrap around the expanse of Daniel’s throat.

“Will you be staying in Amsterdam long?” Max asks.

Daniel shrugs, tapping one worn-down, stained Van against Max’s navy blue sneakers. “Dunno. I could be convinced to extend my trip if I had a good tour guide.”

He knows Max’s friends are listening in, can see them whispering and giggling and taking photos to probably send in a larger group chat, but he focuses his attention on Max’s pretty blue eyes and the way Max’s hand is still loosely holding his.

“I don’t actually live in Amsterdam,” Max admits. He bites at his lower lip, dragging it through his straight, pearly-white teeth. “But I don’t mind sticking around for a bit.”

One of Max’s entourage leans over, says something to Max in Dutch that sounds like a protest, but a dark-haired boy slaps him in the stomach to shut him up and rolls his eyes at Daniel as if to apologize for his friend’s behaviour.

“You can rent a car and drive yourselves back,” Max snaps at him in English, then turns his soft attention back to Daniel. “So, tour guide. I better work on a good list while you sleep.”

Daniel drops his head down to Max’s shoulder, already making a plan for how he can casually rearrange his body to end up with his head on those plush thighs. “I guess we should find a few things to do around the city while the cleaners replace our sheets, yeah.”

Max laughs. “Do you enjoy football? We can go out and watch semis together, maybe.”

“To be honest, I’d never watched before,” Daniel admits. “I’m mostly into UFC. I just thought it seemed like a good time.”

Max brushes his fingers through Daniel’s gross hair as if it’s something soft and precious. “I’ll explain it all to you. It’s really such a good sport. Do you know anything about English football? Virgil plays for Liverpool.”

He’s off after that, explaining leagues and players and rules to Daniel, doing all these cute hand gestures and making himself laugh with all his little jokes. Daniel doesn’t even mind that he can’t drift off to sleep. He’s content listening to the rumble of Max’s voice, steady like the movement of the train, as he curls himself up into a tiny ball to rest his cheek on the smooth, pale skin spreading out of Max’s terrible khaki shorts.

He thinks he’ll like Amsterdam.

[divingsave]

as exciting as the young players are, i don't know what to do with myself right now because i feel like i've never known team germany without manuel neuer or thomas müller

[magnusstan]

Football date tonight for these 2 🥰 🇩🇰 🇩🇪

[canirove]

Same energy

📸 by Richard Pelham/Getty Images

[yutofia]

ruben and cancelo's daughter🥹

[idkanymoretbf]

😭😭😭

[sunny-sainz]

rodri and john hugging 😭😭😭 the only people i will feel sad for in this is phil and john