#dutch team

[learndutchonline]

Like if you think we're gonna crush Qatar today..!

🦁🦁🦁

[neural-glitches]

Behind the scenes - Talents of the Dutch Olympic Team

[russellius]

2024 DUTCH GP : FP3

GR: *gesturing to Logan* He's on fire, he needs to jump out. MD: Driver is okay. GR: Yeah, he's okay, but the car is on fire.

[alexturntable]

💀

[yesloulou]

Max via Team Redline | (Daniel's interview) | Aug 23, 2024

[allwomenjointhe4bmovement]

Male privilege.

"False allegations can ruin a man's life" 🤡

On the bright side, I'm glad Celine Dion has recovered. Her performance was absolutely amazing!!!

[petit-papillion]

"Yesterday I said podium would be a miracle and we still did the podium so I'm very happy. I'm not happy often with a P3 or a P2. Normally, it's only P1 that satisfies me fully, but then, on a weekend as difficult as this one, huge lack of performance until the race today, it's really nice and a pleasant surprise for the whole team. Carlos was very fast too, so P3 and P5 for the team. It's a good result for this weekend."

Was the undercut a team call, your call ?

"I had a feeling about this. We talked about it a little before. We had a code to make understand when I was ready to do this, and the team agreed with me, so we pitted, then I pushed on the outlap. Oscar - I knew we were gonna do an undercut quite easily because there was a big delta of new tyres here, and George - I knew I had to push to the limit and we did it, at the end we successfully undercut them both so it was well played."

After I was a bit scared because the 2nd stint was very long, but we managed tyres well and perfect management. Honestly, today, there's not a lot of things we could've done better."

Charles post-race media pen | Dutch GP | 25 August 2024

📸 / transcript by sediciskyfall

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

Imagine having the fastest car on the grid, but Max Verstappen lives so rent free in your head that you try to copy him instead of doing literally anything original... Mclaren, you'll never be him, no matter how many times you claim the orange army as your own!

[robinpixels]

three guesses on my favourite termina contestant and the first two dont count (its definitely the fluffy doctor)

[thissying]

Max taking the team out to dinner, GP Hungary, 2024

[shitapril]

reminder that we have exactly ten races left before :

lewis hamilton driving for ferrari - after a whopping 12 years he'll be in red next season for the first time

so many divorces because woke - iconic blonde hunks who once asked the other to *insert quip about sucking and genitalia on live tv* who became haasbands, my favourite french civil war duo in alpine who have more history and drama than entire course syllabus', my unproblematic, ill-fated stake-kick-sauber victims, and of course the fans-can't-decide-if-they're-oscar-worthy-actors-or-actually-in-love men in red.

potentially the last season for my favourite american logan, dts' fav boyo dani, reel and tiktok influencers valterri and zhou of sauber fame, and the man who made a podium in his first race and never again in a decade kmag (also a penalty collector enthusiast).

potential end of redbull domination ? I mean we're already halfway there and checo is really pulling his weight here (the wrong way, granted, but he's got the spirit)

babies on the grid again - if toto has his way a real one too

[skitskatdacat63]

AAAAHH THERE'S ANOTHER VERSION OF THIS PIC

[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.

[swallowedabug]

I need you both to get naked.

KILLJOYS 5.03 (2019)

[alexturntable]

f1 Missing the summer break, @/charles_leclerc? 😜 A podium finish should more than make up for those tired arms 💪

[magnusstan]

Same outfit, just yaassified 🤭

Lewis really said: