#this is in reference to when they were at the gladiator 2 premiere and the recent las vegas merch pics that just came out

[outfatuating]

need carlos to start wearing shoes with hidden platforms or smth because he cannot let charles visibly look that much taller than him in these recent pics . why would you let him win like that

[604to647]

The Might of the Realm

8.9K / Din Djarin x Princess!Reader

Summary: Din Djarin, General to your father’s army, finds himself in the gladiator arena of a foreign planet fighting for the success of your diplomatic mission.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established secret relationship (they are stupid in love), Mando'a nicknames (mesh'la, cyar'ika, cyare), the helmet comes off but reader is blindfolded, bath sex, fingering, unprotected PiV (Star Wars is made up and in space, so we pretend it's fine). A wee bit of angst if you squint.

A/N: Written for @beefrobeefcal's The Glandolorian challenge! This is the same AU that I imagined for my Kiss It Better drabble, with the same Princess!reader: set post Season 3, Carson Teva has dispatched Din to a New Republic stronghold planet to train and strengthen their armies; he becomes their General and falls in love with the realm's princess. I imagine this story to take place before Kiss It Better, when they are still sneaking around 🥰.

Many moons before another General (🤭) came on the scene, I outlined a long story for this AU that I'm not sure I'll ever write, so kindly forgive my self indulgent word count - I really took advantage of this challenge for a chance to write these two 🥰 Struggled a bit with the Dieter Bravo reference, but I think I found something that works (Thank you to @morallyinept for your invaluable character dialogue database!) Also got inspired by someone's Gladiator II premier look and snuck in one (1) The Princess Bride reference 🤭 / Dividers by @saradika-graphics

“No.”

“Princess, it will be fine.”

“I said ‘no’, Din.  We came to pay our respects to the new rule and to affirm that our established trade routes through Flavin 5’s space will remain intact.  We did not come to be participate in some archaic gladiatorial fighting match to assert dominance.”

Even through the blankness of Din’s visor you can tell he’s amused by your hiss of a retort but is holding back his reaction.  His stoic and impassive demeanor normally reserved for others, you know that if he’s being less than fully direct with you it’s for one of two reasons: 1) he doesn’t want to lie or 2) he doesn’t want to risk your ire.  You suppose it’s the latter in this case, and that thought alone is reason enough for you to calm your emotional response to this predicament and reassess.

Taking a deep breath, you rest one hand on your hip and mimic a stance you’ve seen your fearsome General make many times; with your other you gesture at Din to present his argument for voluntarily sending your guard, the top lieutenants of the army he commands, into a battle arena on foreign soil.

“Mesh’la, I know your instinct is to protect your people, but you know as well as I that our troops, and especially the men who have been deemed fit to accompany you on this diplomatic mission, are more than capable of handling themselves in any combat situation.”

Din almost chuckles at the way you tilt your pretty head ready to interrupt, his feisty cyar’ika; he continues hurriedly, but with the calm confidence he knows you respond to, “You diligently studied Flavian traditions and history before embarking on this trip – you yourself taught me all I know of these people.  Despite the new ruling family’s decision to resurrect this ancient custom, what is your sense of these people?  Do they seem barbaric?  Cruel for cruelty’s sake?  This isn’t the Petranaki arena on Geonosis.”

You would roll your eyes at Din’s perfectly level-headed analysis, if you didn’t consider his strategic and tactical mind one of his most attractive qualities; Din’s shrewd ability to consider all angles of any situation is one of your army’s greatest strengths, and one that never fails to weaken you at the knees.  He’s taking this situation as seriously as you need him to, and so, you consider your answer carefully - working through your thoughts out aloud, “No, they are not a cruel people – and you’re right, these gladiatorial games were never about execution or spectacle like they were on Geonosis.  The ancient Flavian events were meant to bring the people, no matter class or station, together to be entertained, usually in celebration.”

“Do you think that tradition is being respected?  Or do you suspect some hidden agenda?”

You remunerate on this, thinking back to the new Flavian royal family you met earlier today, “No.  I believe them to be sincere.  Their purpose in resurrecting this historic custom is, I think, to build a connection with their people.  Participating in the gladiator match would be a show a respect for the Flavian people and a celebration of the new royal family.”  You take a deep breath, “So, we should participate.”

“I agree completely, Princess.”

This time you do roll your eyes at Din, but there’s no arrogance in your expression, “Fine.  But Din, just because there’s no ill intent does not mean there isn’t risk.  We don’t know what to expect from such a fight – there hasn’t been one like it held in centuries.  Who knows what opponents our men would face in the arena?”

“No matter who or what our troops are pitted against tomorrow, Princess, there is no doubt in my mind that they will be able to handle it.”

Nodding thoughtfully, you have to agree, Din did train them himself after all, “I believe it.  Especially since they will have their fearless General there to lead them.”

“No.”

“Din, it will be fine.”

“I said ‘no’, mesh’la.  I cannot leave you unprotected and without guard in the Royal Box,” huffs Din.

Stepping into Din’s space, you lay your hands on the shiny beskar that sits across his expansive chest, swearing you can feel it vibrate beneath your gentle palm from his thundering heartbeat; tipping yourself towards the great warrior before you, you feel his big, gloved hands move to your waist to steady you just as you knew they would.  Giving Din your most innocuous expression, you coo, “There is no need for me to have a protective guard if we deem the Flavian royals to be of honourable intent; if it is safe enough for our soldiers to participate in the gladiatorial games, then it is safe enough for me to be alone in the Royal Box.”

Din’s smile at your cleverness and persuasive tactics is hidden beneath his helmet, but he’s yet not ready to show you he’s given in so he remains as silent and cold as the armour he wears.

You use this opportunity to loop one arm around your hulking General’s neck to bring him closer to you still, your free hand takes one of his from your waist and brings it up to his helmet in a silent request.  The familiar click of Din’s helmet unlocking is the only invitation you need - using your nose to lift the brim of his helmet slightly above his strong jaw so you can find his plush lips with your own, you feel the hint of a smile against your pout before you deepen the kiss.  Opening to let Din lick into your mouth, you melt against the hard metal that represents everything he is to you: extraordinary, flawless, indestructible.

And such a good kisser, letting loose a soft whimper you nearly miss Din chuckle something against your lips.

“What’s that, General?” you sigh dreamily.

“I said, Princess, I saw what you did there, and that was NOT the way,” chastising with no actual bite, Din lowers and relocks his helmet.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” flashing him that breathtaking smile of yours that always makes him forget himself, “I’m only following the logic you already agreed to.  Grogu and I will be fine watching you showcase the might of our realm from the safety of our spectator seats tomorrow.”

“Grogu will be with me in the fighting area.”

“No.”

“Cyar’ika, he will be fine.”

“He’s just a baby, Din!”

“And a Mandalorian apprentice.  You’ve seen what a formidable fighter he’s already grown to be.”

And so on, and so forth – the two of you, the General and his Princess, spiritedly discussing and debating matters that affect your realm.  The thought crosses your mind, not for the first time, that when you ascend the throne after your father you will need a ruling partner who challenges you like this: one who makes you wiser and forces you to expand your horizons, but trusts your compassion and tender heart, and who you trust to keep you and your kingdom safe.  And as you always do when this thought naturally lends itself to an image of Din by your side, tall and proud as your King consort, you push it away as far as you can.  It hurts too much to imagine something that seems to materialize so clearly and happily, as if it could actually become a reality, when you know it could never be.

The crowd in the arena is deafening.  Already amped from the opening entertainment acts, they’re now cheering loud, calling for the main event.

Sitting front row in the Royal Box, you scan over the floor of the arena – knowing that it’s unlikely, but still hoping for a flash of silver beskar from behind one of the gates that line the sides of the arena floor, behind which lay the holding areas for the gladiator fighters selected for today’s match.  Once or twice, you think you spy the sunlight catch something shiny from beneath the stands, but before you can look more closely, someone from the Flavian royal family will engage your attention.  Though your mind never strays far from Din and his, your men, you cannot forget yourself or your role - your purpose for being in this arena today: you’re here to secure the continued prosperity your kingdom and strengthen your realm’s relationship with a long-standing ally. 

If you’re honest, despite the trepidation that sits heavily atop your heart, you cannot help but be affected by the electricity of your environment.  The stadium thrums and pulses with the excitement of thousands of Flavian citizens who have come out in the hot sun to partake in today’s festivities – you see children of all ages waving noisemakers and colourful flags, men and women young and old already cheering for who they anticipate to be today’s victors.  Based on the chatter in your tent, the news of your General fighting today has spread like wildfire through the city – very few Flavians have ever seen a Mandalorian, never mind have the privilege of seeing one fight; today was going to be a day they remember for the rest of their lives.  As for your companions in the Royal Box, you’re happy to see that your and Din’s assessment had been accurate – there is no underlying bloodlust or malevolent show of power associated with these fights, everything is only in good fun; your royal cohorts are all in splendid moods, showing genuine enthusiasm akin to the original spirit of the same games put on by their ancestors.

You’re just chatting amiably with the new Flavian king about having some of the wonderful Flavian wine and fruit you’ve enjoyed in the tent sent up to your room later, when a fanfare of trumpets echoes throughout the stadium announcing the start of today’s fight.  The crowd quiets to a soft buzzing as the amphitheatre’s speakers announce the entrance of your fighters; the volume rises again as the audience goes wild when the might of your realm runs in through the gladiator’s entrance.  You can’t help but beam, chest bursting with pride at the impression they make on the Flavian crowd – a big, broad Mandalorian General, towering in his stance and intimidating in his majestic armour, flanked by your guard: five of the strongest, most formidable soldiers from your father’s army. 

You spy Grogu before the Flavian royals do, but it’s only because you know where to look.  A perch for him has been attached to the side of his father’s jet pack so he can remain secure at Din’s shoulder during combat, but have the flexibility to jump off and join the fray if needed.  The instant the Flavian prince spots him, he excitedly points him out to the others – and you take great pleasure in informing your hosts that they, in fact, have the honour of seeing two Mandalorians today.

With only a few moments before their opponents arrive in the arena, you take a closer look at your fighting contingent – they have been outfitted with Flavian weapons (swords, blasters, electro shields), the standard issue armament of your kingdom they normally carry nowhere in sight; the only exception is of course Din, who carries the gladiatorial weapons like the others and all of his usual weaponry – you chuckle to yourself, imagining the poor Flavian weapons master who tried to strip a Mandalorian of his religion.

A loud voice announcing the incoming fighters for Flavin 5 jerks you back to the scene before you.  The crowd thunders as a squadron of battle droids nearly a hundred strong marches into the arena, each carrying varying sized blasters or blaster rifles in addition to their own swords, a few wielding double ended electro staffs.  You barely have time to fret over how outnumbered Din and your troops are before the king is rising in his seat and giving the ceremonial hand gesture for the fight to begin.

You hear your General shout quick, decisive commands and his trusty men move swiftly into the desired formation, electro shields lit up and expanded in one coordinated movement.  They advance as a team, strong and sure, every aim of their blasters true – each man practiced at covering the comrades at their sides as the droids begin shooting back.

When your men are close enough to the front line of the remaining droids, the intimidating battle cry you hear emanating from Din’s helmet is repeated in response at tenfold the volume by his men, a signal to shift fluidly into a tiered offensive formation that you recognize from watching their training on the palace grounds at home.

The legion moves with precision and speed, the crouched soldiers providing the impenetrable shielding needed by the men who stand tall as a precision sniper team that can’t be touched; your Mandalorian the tallest, unphased by the droid fire that bounces harmlessly off his beskar armour.

The formation is far more effective than the static positions of the droids and in almost no time at all, your fighters have driven the remaining thirty or so droids back towards the entrance gate.  Answering another roared order, your contingent springs apart with an unrivalled ferocity to attack the remaining droids via direct combat.

Din cuts down mechanical fighter after mechanical fighter, mowing through the defensive lines of the Flavian droids that have none of his agility and lighting quick reflexes, bolstered by his trusted troops at his back who move with the confidence of men who have been trained by the best, used to fighting with the best.

Grogu has left his father, jumping from his perch onto and over droids with lightening speed - they shoot at him with their blasters only to miss their fast-moving green target every time and take each other out instead.

You watch their every move with bated breath – every bolt that connects with your realm’s armour quickens your breath, the clashing sounds of weapon on weapon too loud in your ears, and each hit or wound sustained by one of your men jolts a phantom pain through your own body.

When the last droid soldier falls, your men, your man, stand victorious at the epicenter of the arena; bloodied, exhausted to the point that the heaving of their chest plates can be seen from the Royal Box… but all standing.

You can hardly believe it - your heart exploding with pride, tears nearly springing from your eyes in relief.  Looking to your hosts, you half expect them to congratulate you and acknowledge the victory of your fighters, but instead, you see them still engaged with the scene before them, eyes trained on the arena floor.

They smile with genuine excitement and anticipation, and your eyes snap back to Din and your soldiers at the sound of the brassy, melodic fanfare now being played throughout the stadium.  The crowd rises to its feet with an ear-splitting roar as the orchestral horns continue to crescendo, announcing the coming of something.

You glance at the Flavian prince, his face alight with boyish joy – he’s excited in an almost childish way and when he sees you looking at him, he beams and points to one of the gates that’s now opening, voice elated, “Cliff beasts!”

Cliff beasts?!? You stand from your seat and rush to the edge of the balcony, gripping the railing and leaning as far as you can so you can see what new challenger is about to enter the arena.  You gasp when you see it – a woolly beast larger than Din and his men combined, trotting out into the arena on four stubby but powerful legs.  A magnificent horn, the length of which must span at least half of the creature’s massive body protrudes from its snout, thick and battle ready. 

A mudhorn??  Of all the beasts to have entered the arena, what where the chances it would be the beast of Din’s clan signet?  For a moment, you’re alarmed that maybe there have been unseen machinations at play and you’ve been blind to it all – that you’ve somehow failed in your diplomatic duties, failing your kingdom, your men, Din. 

You study the Flavian prince who’s now proclaiming to his father, the king, “These cliff beasts are so large!”  The two of them are enthusiastically waving and gesturing to the other attendees in the Royal Box, their chatter is of wonderment and genuine amazement at the sight of this creature that they’ve never before beheld on their planet - you conclude, with relief, that it has to be a coincidence.  Wait, what did he mean – these? 

Peering down into the arena again you see a second, smaller mudhorn ambling behind the first.  A parent and its child!  Your heart tightens, imagining how scared the two creatures have to be and how fiercely the adult will fight in order to protect its young.  You catch Din’s visor pointed up at you from the arena floor and you know that he understands the distressed expression of your face perfectly.

Immediately, your General gathers his men and lays out his strategy – unknowable to the crowds of the arena, but you can read Din clear as day: he won’t cause harm to another living creature if he doesn’t have to.

Din and his soldiers slowly fan out, purposefully ignoring the young calf while surrounding the adult mudhorn.  As expected, the mudhorn charges in attack.  Trying to blink as little as possible for fear of missing anything, you watch wide-eyed as your men deftly leap and roll out of the path of the stampeding animal.  When the mudhorn stops and turns back towards the perceived threat to its young, the soldiers surround it again – rocking on the balls of their feet ready to evade its charge again.  They aren’t always as lucky or fast enough – you cry out in anguish whenever the Mudhorn makes contact, sending your guard flying, landing with a sickening thud on the arena floor from the force of the impact.  The crowd gasps in worry, cheering louder than ever when your men get up to rejoin their brethren in repeating the same maneuver over and over.

Din’s plan is working, the mudhorn is getting tired. 

Part of you is relieved, the other hopes that its fatigue doesn’t make the creature desperate; though your men are still standing, you don’t know if any of them can sustain more injury to their bodies – an increasing danger that only grows as Din and your soldiers begin tightening the proverbial noose.  You spy Din protracting his fibercord whip from his vambrace by hand only seconds before he does what you suddenly realize he’s going to do.  The mudhorn is pawing at the ground, exhausted and angry while your men surround it, now each only about an arm’s length away, when Din uses a jetpack blast to leap onto its back - throwing the whipcord around its horn and pulling back on his makeshift reins.  The other men scatter and the crowd screams as your General rides the wildly bucking animal around the arena.  At their General’s direction, your men are now divided between two tasks: half shoot at the galloping beast that unwillingly bears their fearless leader and his son, their blaster bolts a distraction but doing little to the mudhorn’s tough hide; the remaining men tasked with capturing and restraining the calf – the seemingly easier task. 

Heart nearly in your throat, you watch as Grogu climbs down the front of his father’s arm and onto the mudhorn, quickly crawling to the top of its head where the massive horn joins the creature’s skull.  With one of his little green hands holding onto the cord his father holds taut and the other placed directly on the mudhorn’s woolly head, you see Grogu close his eyes in concentration.  Gradually, the mudhorn’s steps slow and its movements around the arena become unsteady, then wobbly, before it finally teeters and crashes onto its side fast asleep.  Din jumps off just in time to avoid being crushed by the animal’s huge body - Grogu does a dramatic flip into the air at the same time and lands perfectly in his father’s waiting arms.  The crowd roars its approval. 

The Flavian royals next to you are on their feet, clapping and cheering with astonishment and admiration – congratulating you on the victory of your men and thanking you for the fantastic show you’ve provided them today.  Clasping your hands in appreciation, they heartedly assure you that the documents confirming your planet’s trade routes will be completed and delivered to you tomorrow. 

You express your appreciation before turning your attention back towards the arena, heart full - relieved and proud of the men still on the fighting floor.  You have to admit they make quite the sight waving to the cheering crowds while standing next to a sleeping mudhorn, two of your lieutenants holding a makeshift leash with a smaller mudhorn standing docile at its end.  To the admiring masses, the large beast was subdued by these men, the might of your realm, but you know the truth.  You blow a little kiss to Grogu who pretends to catch it in his little hand before waving back, happy but somewhat tired.

Even with his helmet on you can read Din’s expression as he looks up to the Royal Box.  Where is my kiss, mesh’la?

You smile back a playful smirk just for the unseen eyes behind the dark T-visor.  Later.

You pace in the large, ornamental suite that your hosts have graciously provided – it’s beautiful, a true testament to Flavian luxury and craftsmanship, but you have no attention to spare for its finery.  Not when you’re straining your ears to listen for footsteps coming down the hall, eyes continuing to dart towards your door as if for some reason you may have missed hearing them come.

“Princess…”

Your lady’s maids, Olivia and Serine, pace right along with you, following your tracks around the grand room.  They’re as exhausted as you are, but you know their hearts to be as determined as your own; you give them the most indulgent look you can muster and any plea to ask you to rest dies on their lips.  The three of you continue to take turns listening intently for the telltale sounds of a soldiers’ march.

Finally, you hear something.  Faint but purposeful footsteps walking in synchronicity – the herald of well-trained soldiers with an intended destination.  Perked, you look to your faithful companions with renewed vigor and sprint to your door, flinging it open without grace and hurrying into the dimly lit hallway.

They’re still far enough down the hall that you have some time, even with your hastened steps, to study how your men appear to be faring; you know that when you ask, they will insist they are fine so not to worry you.

Two of your country’s finest are limping slightly, one of your lieutenants and a captain.  Your other lieutenant is walking fine, but he has a nasty gash on his forearm, dripped, half dried blood wrapping around his wrist like a terrible bracelet.  The armour of your realm that the legion proudly wears has taken a beating, covered in evidence of today’s bout – marked, dirty and bloodied, but none of the men themselves appear to be grievously injured.

But it’s the man at the front of the pack that you study the most sincerely.  Din’s gait is not too unfamiliar for you to suspect he’s hiding any serious injury - he would know better than that.  After the battle on the Fields of Planoor he had learned not to conceal his injuries from you, that you were so familiar with his body and the way it moves, you would know something was wrong without a single word from him.  As Din stalks towards your group, you can feel the hot gaze from behind his visor assessing you just as you assess him; your General holds himself a bit straighter, his massive frame puffing in pride.  He bears no sign of serious injury, a little sigh of relief escapes your lips as you continue to run down the hall, Olivia and Serine hot on your heels.  But his back is probably killing him.

The men stop to a coordinated halt as you reach them; their weapons sheathed, they each raise their left fists to their chests and bow, “Princess.”

You wave your hands in a graceful but frantic manner, dismissing this need for formality, “Please.  Are you okay?  Is everyone alright?”

Reaching for Grogu, your heart settles a little when he climbs down from his secured perch on his father’s shoulder and leaps into your arms.  Fussing over him, you check his fuzzy green ears and sweet face for injuries; when you run your hands over his limbs and body to do the same, he coos and giggles as if being tickled.  Resting your palm against the security of the beskar rondel he wears beneath his tunic, you exhale in contented relief and place a long kiss to his head.  He’s okay.

Those same words are now being echoed out loud in the low modulated rasp of the voice you trust most in this galaxy, “He’s okay, Princess.  Not a scratch on him, the little womp rat.  The Lieutenant could do with some fresh dressings for his arm, but the rest of us are fine – a bit banged up and tired, but nothing a warm bath and a good night’s rest can’t fix.”

Knowing that Din’s helmet will give nothing away, you study the faces of your countrymen, trying to ascertain if their beloved General is downplaying the damage for your sake.  Finding no deception in their eyes, and knowing that they know you would know, you relent, “Have you eaten?”

“We were given sustenance after our victory.”

You raise your eyebrow at this, suspecting that Din’s words answer only for his men, but not necessarily himself.  Nodding, you give your final charge for the evening, “Olivia, Serine, please kindly see our brave soldiers to their rooms, run their baths and tend to them as needed.”

Your ladies-in-waiting curtsey in assent at your words and intuitively, Olivia extends her arms for Grogu – there are no secrets between you and your closest companions.  Din nods at her and she takes her favourite little green playmate into her arms, happy to help clean him and put him to bed tonight while his father is otherwise occupied.

Din turns to face his men – similarly, there are no secrets between the General and his most trusted squadron, men who love their princess with an unyielding loyalty that rivals only his own.  Your father’s soldiers salute their esteemed leader, bidding their Princess and General goodnight before following Olivia and Serine to their assigned quarters.

Silently, you take Din’s hand and lead him back down the hallway to your room, careful not to hurry should he be much battered and sore, though the urgency in your chest is nearly bubbling over.  Your concern appears to have been unfounded because as soon as the door to your room shuts, Din sweeps you into his arms with a force that takes your breath away - crushing you to his chest so tightly that you can feel him deflate beneath the hard beskar as he exhales his own long held sigh of relief.

You chuckle, “You would have thought that I was the one fighting cliff beasts in the arena today.”

“Cliff beasts?” Din tilts his head quizzically at you.

“I’ll tell you later.  Right now, let’s get you out of your armour,” your fingers slide under his pauldrons, feeling for the familiar release mechanism.

“Cyar’ika, if you wanted to have your way with me, you only had to ask - you didn’t need to send me into a fight arena with a mudhorn,” jokes Din, wincing slightly from the stretch of his muscles as they contract and relax with the weight of his armour being lifted from his aching body.

You cluck your tongue in playful disapproval, even as you continue to make quick work of removing the rest of Din’s armour.  With now practiced precision, you lift off his chest plates and the attachment frame, unhook his jetpack, unclip his cape, slide off his vambraces, unstrap his thigh plates, unlace his boots, unbuckle his belt, unzip his flight suit.  The ceremony of this process is one you will never tire of, nor is its significance lost on you. 

Din, a Mandalorian, willingly lets you touch his armour and remove it from his body – trusting your delicate hands with his most precious property: the physical embodiment of his honour and creed, the very symbol of his people.  Not only that, but he allows you to strip him of protection and reveal his vulnerability to you, exposing him and his softness – he exists as the man beneath the beskar for you and you only.  You’re the most privileged being in the galaxy – the weight of Din’s trust in you is something you will never take for granted.

When Din stands before you in only his boxers and helmet, you begin your study of his body in earnest.  Dancing your fingers across his hard and tanned chest, you trace old scars in order to separate them from new marks; palming his torso and checking his thick arms with the same careful hands.  Rounding your warrior, you continue your roaming examination over his muscular back and listen intently for any change in Din’s breathing when you press down on his tense shoulders – relieved when you hear him groan in satisfaction instead of pain.  As you’re lightly scraping your nails over his wide thighs you hear the telltale unclicking of Din’s helmet – he beckons you.

Rising to meet his lowering face, you use your thumbs to lift the brim of Din’s helmet slightly, always keeping your eyes closed so you don’t see any of his face – not for the world would you betray Din’s trust.  Mouth finding his easily, you kiss Din gingerly – unsure of what injuries he may have sustained beneath his helmet; lightly pecking his soft pout and pressing restrained affection to the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not going to break, cyare,” Din grins as if he’s reading your mind.

Snapping down his helmet with a bit more force than necessary, you peer up into the black horizonal stripe of his visor and sniffle, “I can see some big bruises starting to form over your abdomen and on the back of your thighs.  And the muscles of your arms and back are overstrained and need to loosen or you’re going to be more sore tomorrow than you already will be.”  The emotions you held in all day now start to spill over your lash line; dropping your head, you cry softly at the toll today’s events have taken on your strong man’s body and how he bears it without complaint.  Contrite and indebted that he sustained these injuries at the behest of your kingdom - your behest, for you. 

Din gathers you in his arms and pulls you flush to his chest, tilting back his helmet again he kisses you lovingly, devotedly – with every stroke of his tongue, every nibble of your lips, he reminds you that it is not only his duty, but his honour to serve your kingdom, to serve you.  He would do anything for you, without you ever having to bid it.  It is not in him to deny you anything, his heart’s desire is to give you everything.

“I love you, Princess.”

“I love you, General.”

Not without some difficulty, you pull yourself out of Din’s embrace and lead him to the suite’s fresher, running the taps of the large tub and scenting the water with fragrant, healing oils.

“I can do that, mesh’la,” one of Din’s large meaty hands covers yours as you test the temperature of the water.

Shaking your head shyly, you bring that hand up to your lips and kiss its calloused knuckles, “Please. Let me serve you, Din.”

“That is not befitting of a princess.”

“I am not like other princesses.”

Tilting your chin up with two of his thick fingers, you can feel the smile behind Din’s next words, “No, you are not.  There is no one like you in the galaxy.”

“And I’m yours.”

The helmet, never having been relocked, is lifted again and Din sweeps you into a passionate, hungry kiss, different than the reassuring and devoted kisses of earlier – deeper, greedier.

“Get in the tub, Din,” you murmur against his lips while you can, before you forget your task and give yourself over to him completely.

Chuckling, Din can only acquiesce whenever he hears a direct request from your mouth – he never hears you command him as his sovereign, only ever as his love.  No matter – he would obey either way.  Stripping off his boxers, helmet still on, Din slips into the steamy water of the deep soaker tub, letting out a heady groan at the way all his muscles relax in reaction to the sudden heat against his rough skin. 

With a soft footedness that still surprises Din, so used to picking up every little sound with his helmet’s acoustic sensors, you reappear suddenly with a small tray table bearing various Flavian fruits and wine for Din and a thin silk scarf for you.

“I know you didn’t eat after the match,” you say matter-of-factly when Din tilts his helmet in question.  Neither did you.

“Will you join me, cyar’ika?”

“Of course, my love,” you begin to disrobe, perfectly understanding the double meaning of your General’s question.

Though he’s seen and worshipped your naked form more times that you can count, there’s always something about being unable to see the eyes that devour you which makes you shy.  Able to detect the rise in temperature of your face, your bashfulness amuses Din to no end – if only you could see his own expression; every time Din sees you bare before him is like the first time, he thinks you might even laugh at the slack jawed, awestruck expression hidden by his helmet – if Mandalorians were to believe in a literal afterlife, then Din could well be deemed a heretic for he’s sure he’s already seen heaven.

Stepping in the tub, careful not to trip over Din’s strong legs, you settle on your knees in the water near his feet; taking the wash towel from the side of the tub, you lather it up with your own luxurious cleanser, the scent of which you know Din loves and begin to wash his body.  With great care and affection, you wash and massage Din’s feet, calves and thick thighs, the two of you quietly chatting about your individual perspectives on what transpired in the arena today as you move up his body with your loving touch.

Din groans when you wash his groin area, and you smirk and pretend to throw him a look of disapproval even as you stroke his fast-hardening cock with the washcloth.

“Cyare…” he strains.

“Hmmmm?” Humming, you shimmy to straddle his lap and innocently begin to wash his hard chest and tree trunk arms.

“You’re teasing…”

“Not at all, I’m cleaning,” you giggle.  Rising onto your knees, you lean over Din’s mountainous shoulder to clean his back, dangling your wet, supple breasts right at helmet visor level.  Definitely teasing. 

Two can play at this game. Din’s modulator muffles his snicker as he makes sure you’re entirely engrossed in your task of scrubbing his back, concentrating adorably so that you don’t notice when his big paws reach for your chest, groping and kneading the pillowy flesh with hardly any warning.

You squeal and grind down on Din’s cock - in retaliation he zeros in on your already pert nipples, rough fingers roll and pinch, flick and tug your pretty peaks until you forget your work and bury your face into his shoulder, completely lost to the pleasure that only the General can give you.

“Din,” your voice a soft whimper, needy yet still regal and melodic, “… you have to…”

“What do I have to do, Princess?”

His teasing tone makes you gush; this man knows exactly what he’s doing – you try to claw back some semblance of control over the situation, “You need to let me tend to any injuries you may have sustained under your helmet.  And let me wash your hair.”

“Oh, do I?” 

Nodding in earnest with your eyebrows raised, “Yes, and then you have to rest.  Your body needs it.”

“My body needs you, mesh’la.”

Leaning back, your eyes follow the trail of your fingers as they rake down the smooth skin of Din’s broad chest, slowing over the various long-healed scars whose tales of origin you know by heart, you prepare yourself to argue your way.  But the truth is, you don’t want your way – you need Din, too.  Here on Flavin 5, there is no fear of getting caught, no need for hurried kisses or fleeting touches – the two of you have time.  Time to enjoy one another.  Time to let your hearts run rampant with affection and want.

Tomorrow morning is the last morning you can wake lazily in Din’s arms, like any other couple waking to just another day in the rest of your lives together.  Tomorrow you will return home and your love for your steady warrior will once again need to be tucked away close to your heart, safe from the prying eyes of the kingdom. 

So, you don’t argue.

“Injuries first, General.”

“I have none, Princess.”  You can feel Din’s shit eating grin radiating from behind the beskar.

Grinding down a little on Din’s hardening length as a warning, “I should like to see for myself, thanks.”

“Of course, mesh’la.  I would see you satisfied.”  Though still smirking, it’s with enormous feeling that Din picks up the scarf from the side table and with his practiced hand, covers your eyes; wrapping the silk around your head twice before tying it securely.  He doesn’t ask you if you can see, knowing that if you could you would volunteer it.  Sitting prettily with your hands clasped together, you wait for the welcomed sound of Din’s helmet being lifted and set down where you scarf previously lay.

Heart full, your hands reach out to gently touch Din’s face, fingers tracing over the most intimate part of the man you love.  His jaw relaxes as you stroke though his facial hair and his plush lips curl as your thumb brushes over them.  Din’s strong nose feels unbroken, thank goodness – your gentle kiss to the tip earns you a breathy chuckle that tickles your throat.  Mapping the strong lines of his forehead, you discover your first wound at Din’s hairline – the soft curls of his brown (or so you’re told) hair already matted and sticking with dried blood.  When your fingers caress Din’s temple, you find a small superficial cut by his left eye, and your heart tightens further upon feeling a nastier slice on the apple of his cheek.  Even without seeing and Din giving away no hint of tenderness at your touch, you’re sure there are bruises starting to form on the face you love.

Though you’ve never seen it, you know Din’s face – positive that you could pick it out of a crowd as surely as you could your own in a mirror.  It’s the face of the strongest warrior you’ve ever known, one whose honour and integrity is as unbreakable as the beskar armour that covers his body.  A protector who fights without fail to defend the weak, uphold justice, and push back against tyranny and corruption – no matter how hard something may be or the risk to his own self, the man who bears this face will never back down, always standing up for what’s right.  It’s the face of a man who loves fiercely – loves his Creed, his people, his duty, his son, his woman.  You.  You know the face of this man, the man who owns your heart, your body, your soul - wholly and completely.

You wash this face, carefully cleaning your discoveries.  Then, before you wash his hair, you cradle Din’s head delicately and check for bumps and scrapes, sighing in relief when you find none.  Lathering up a generous amount of your shampoo, you distribute it through Din’s curls, massaging his scalp as he groans in approval.  Your smile at the sound could melt even the steeliest warrior’s heart, Din is sure – it melts his.

When his hair is rinsed and face pat dry, salve applied to his wounds, you attempt to get Din to eat from the food on the tray.

“After, Princess,” Din’s voice somehow lower than when it’s filtered through his modulator.

“After what?” you pretend to be confused.

“After I have what I’m truly hungry for,” you can feel the sides of his face lift beneath your hands as the curve of his mouth pulls up into a wicked grin.

You flash him what you think is a mirroring smirk, “And what is that, General?”

Din takes an excruciating long time trailing his fingers featherlike down the column of your throat as an answer.  His massive hand skate over your naked breasts, pinky pretending to be caught on your pert nipple before catching up with its brethren that have moved on to tickling your soft tummy.  When his hand finally dips below the water, it’s no more hurried, no less teasing – knuckling down the front of you, his hand so big and wide, his thumb and baby finger stretch to slowly stroke along the apex of your thighs at the same time with no additional effort at all.  You quiver at your warrior’s languid and gentle touch – that these same hands are trained for weapons and brutality is not lost on you; how lucky are you to be able to feel them as they are now, so close to where you need them, reverent and worshipful.  Hands meant for building up and protecting, instead of tearing down and destroying - and yet you know them capable of both - and moreover, that they can and will do both to you. 

Leaning forward to press your lips tenderly to Din’s, you whisper, “Promise you’ll eat after?”

He knows the condition of the ask is empty - you need him as much as he does you, both of you hungry for more than the food your empty stomachs growl for.  The worry you felt for your Mandalorian every second he was in the arena today has morphed into a blazing desire now that you have him secure once again in your loving arms; even when he was facing blaster fire or the murderous glare of a mudhorn today, Din’s thoughts never strayed far from the moment he could return to your warm embrace.

But he plays along, because he knows you need to hear it, “I promise, cyare.” And then, because your well being is always as much on the forefront of his mind as his is yours, Din adds, “As long as you eat with me.”

“Promise.  Now touch me please, Din,” you’re trembling, not just from want but need, a need for the reassurance that he’s here safe, that the violence you saw in the arena did not touch him.

Even if he had not pledged his fealty to your kingdom, Din would submit to your request, to you – if it were up to him, he would spend the remainder of his days catering to your every whim, carrying out your will, doing anything and everything necessary to ensure your happiness.

He parts your folds with his fingers, finding you slick and ready for him.  As Din glides his thick digits along your seam, your soft moans fill the steamy room, “Ohhh Din, yes right there, please.”

“Such a polite little princess, isn’t she?” hums Din, loving how responsive you always are for him.  He kisses down your neck, nipping at your shoulder as you come to a rest against his chest.  You’re shuddering from the way he’s stroking your pussy, swirling infuriatingly at your needy hole but never dipping inside, teasing you with long broad swipes up to your clit.

Pressing his thumb against your already slippery nub, Din takes advantage of your lack of sight and surprises you by dipping his head down to take one of your breasts in his mouth at the same time – you cry out from this sudden double attack, body trying to run.

The old bounty hunter in him activated, Din chuckles and increases the pressure of his hand on your pulsing clit, and with his free hand, he holds you firm by the nape of your neck - face now buried deep in your cleavage, biting and sucking every bit of soft flesh his mouth can find.  Rolling your pert nipple between his teeth, he seals his lips over the sensitive peak and murmurs, “I got you, mesh’la.  Let me make you feel good.”

At his sure words, you immediately relax and willingly giving yourself over to your warrior, sighing in surrender as he worships you with his fingers and his mouth.  This is the only time that you allow yourself to be covetous of what is not rightfully yours – Din’s face you may know without having ever seen, but the lascivious sight of what he looks like when he loses himself in your pleasure remains a mystery.  You secretly long to see it – wishing to know how dark his eyes burn, how his lips wet and plump, how his brow might furrow or relax in reaction to your whines and whimpers. 

If you were his riduur – no.  No, you can’t let yourself go down that path of longing, it only ends in heartbreak. 

As if he can sense that your mind has started to wander, Din slips two of his thick fingers deep in your heat and curls them, beckoning you back to him.  You fly right back into the moment and to the space of devotion that he holds just for you, gasping for air at the stretch of his welcomed intrusion.

“Need to get you ready for my cock, cyare,” purrs your Mandalorian, bringing you back fully and binding your heart to his in the here and now.

Nodding almost mindlessly, you crash your mouth to Din’s.  The kiss is desperate, needy for so many reasons – your tongues licking and chasing, dancing to the song of perfect pleasure that strums along the electric current that connects you.  Din feverishly conducts the symphony of your body – grand upward motions of his fingers in your cunt send waves of bliss that crescendo through your core; the sweeping of his lips against yours keeps you in tempo with his own urgency; his rolling downward gestures on your clit coils the band below your belly tighter and tighter.

No one can play you like Din can – beneath the beskar armour he’s a master musician, lover.  Like the weapons he so deftly wields and handles, your body is an instrument he knows intimately – every shift, slight change or tensing is noted and adjusted for so he can optimize performance, maximize your pleasure.  Din knows you’re going to come before you do by the key in which your breath hitches, the cadence of your fluttering walls.

“Come for me, Princess,” he growls, biting down on your plush bottom lip.  Now it’s your turn to obey – you come with an arch of your back and a chorus sung to your General’s name, Din, Din, Din, Din.

Here you can be as loud for as long as you want and Din can fuck you through your high for as long as you need, withdrawing his fingers and licking them clean only when your cunt is complacent enough to release him, “Always taste so sweet, cyar’ika.”  You sigh at the filthy sounds of another forbidden sight you long, lust for.

Lips finding his again, you taste yourself on Din’s tongue and tease, “I thought we were eating after.”

This time it’s Din’s turn to act coy, repeating your question from earlier with a knowing smirk against your pout, “After what?”

In response, you reach between your bodies and even without the benefit of sight, easily find Din’s hard, throbbing cock.  Stroking his length with your delicate hands, you lift to line him up with your entrance and wordlessly sink down, “After you come, General.”

“As you wish, Princess,” Din groans at the way your pussy hugs him.  When you feel him shift beneath you to plant his feet on the bottom of the tub, you stop Din with a hand on his wide chest and shake your head, “You’re tired and your body needs rest, my love.  Let me do the work.”

Big, loving hands come up to cradle your head and a playful but reverent tone accompanies Din’s protest, “A General’s duty is to serve his Princess.”  You tilt into his paw and nuzzle; your Mandalorian’s affectionate touch and the feeling of fullness combine in making you compliant.  Leaning in close you ghost over Din’s lips, “Together then.”

Half awestruck, half groaning in agreement, Din slides his hands back down your soft body to come to a rest on your waist, holding you gentle and secure, “Together.”

It’s easy to find the perfect rhythm, your bodies already so in tune with one another.  Din’s slow upward thrusts meet your lighter bounces halfway, causing the water of your bath to ripple and splash against the sides of the tub.  It’s tender and patient until it isn’t – with no communication other than your soft whinnying and Din’s grunts and heavy breathing, your tempo and intensity remain matched, building together. 

Always together.  How you love being together with your Mandalorian.  How you love him.

You press yourself to Din, the rise and fall of his chest grounding you as your hips work in tandem with his.  Arms snaking around his neck, you cling to the General as your joint movements become more fervent and passionate, the water now choppy from your lovemaking.

Together.  Everything is better when you’re together.  You were able to get through today, together.

Love, relief and gratitude flood your pleasure wracked body as you crawl up Din’s broad mountain frame to find his lips.  Latching your mouth to your Mandalorian’s, you kiss him heady and desperate.  Every press of your plush and swollen pout thankful for his survival, of today’s fight and of all the fights that came before today so that he could come into your life.  A thank you to maybe that same mystical force that gives Grogu his unexplainable powers, for making the man that fills you so full at the moment the warrior, the father, the man is.  Thankful that he loves you.  For all of him.

Din meets every brush of your lips with the same devotion, somehow able to read the emotion behind your eyes without seeing them - the same way you’re able to read him even when he’s hidden behind his helmet.  He himself grateful for bringing his son and your countrymen back to you safe, for being the one to give you what you needed for the success of your mission.  A thank you to that same power than runs in his son’s veins and makes him a warrior far stronger than Din could ever be, for bringing him to you.  Grateful that a woman as regal, compassionate, and kind as you saw past his hard armoured exterior to the man beneath and holds him in your esteem.  And in your heart.

“Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar,” Din growls with a deep rumble of his chest that echoes off the walls.  I love you.

“Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar,” you cry back in the perfect pronunciation that Din taught you.  I love you.

Neither of you able to hold back your love for one another nor the crest of your bodies any longer – coming together, lyrical song sung loud and shameless.  The Princess and the General have nothing to hide here, tonight.

Later, after you’ve each eaten and drank your fill of Flavian fruits and wine, and you’ve massaged and kneaded Din’s sore muscles until you’re satisfied with the way his aches have melted away, Din guides you, still blindfolded, out of the cooled bath to the bed.

With Din protectively hovering over your naked body ready to take you again, you realize that as thankful as you’ve been feeling, you haven’t actually acknowledged those sentiments out loud to the man to whom you owe everything, “Thank you, Din.  Thank you for being the might of the realm.”

Though he knows you cannot see them, Din’s eyes fill with a love he hopes he can properly convey in other ways, “No need to thank me, cyar’ika, it will always be my honour to fight for you.  You must know - you are the might of the realm.  The realm prospers and remains strong because its Princess is brave, smart, good.  You’re everything, mesh’la.  You’re my might – I can only do the things I can because I do them for you.  I would do anything for you.”

You feel the scarf you wear across your eyes dampen as it absorbs your tears, “I know, Din.”  Happy, content, you welcome your General between your legs once more; and with the rare luxury of time and freedom that the two of you have been gifted tonight, you know it won’t be the last time.

[skammovistarplus]

Culture and Translation - S01 E06

This is a bit of a weird episode, in that it feels like not much happened. Because Skam España switched a few things around, it seems like episode 6 shouldn’t be the episode in which to hang out with the characters for a while before shit goes down. But one thing that got me hooked to Skam almost straight away was the way you got to “hang out” with the characters even in small, drama-free moments, and this episode has a couple of clips I really like.

CLIP 1: Monday blues

Es que le metiste un corte (You were razor sharp with him): “Meter un corte” is really hard to translate. It basically means to be really cutting with someone when they aren’t expecting it, in a way that shuts the conversation for good. Which Amira did, over and over, but the dude wasn’t getting the hint.

I do think Nora feels a little bad for the guy, but only because Nora is extremely empathetic with everyone in the world, to the point where it’s surprising when she’s not empathetic.

Viri is a great liar. We will come to find out much of what she says in this scene is a lie, but she has no tells. This is why I think the Selena Gomez shoe line thing was Viri teasing the girls, because she broke character almost immediately. If Viri wanted the girls to believe it, we can see here that she would’ve managed.  

Nora’s shirt says, “No means no.” ‘No es no’ was first a slogan for an awareness campaign, promoted by several Spanish city halls, which aimed to curtail sexual abuse and rape during local festivals, such as Sanfermines. There’s also an Axel, Soledad song. And it has of course been slapped on all sorts of merchandise. Like shirts!

The sides of the mirror are tagged with graffiti, by the way.

And also, Eva and Nora are late for first period! They end up skipping it entirely.

CLIP 2: Lucas has feels; Eva’s are stronger

Eva and Lucas are listening to Molly Svrcina’s Fallen Angel. I think the point of the song was lost in how incredibly random the song is. This is a song Lucas recommends Eva listen to. It’s about Lucas, not Eva. Lucas is trying to give a hint to Eva about himself, but Eva’s too focused on the Jorge drama.

While this clip dropped during recess, Eva skipped school. Not sure if Lucas did as well, though.

It’s Viri who shares a birthday with Paris Jackson, as I already wrote in the post for last episode.

Alejandro Reina does a nice bit of acting with his eyes at the 5:22 mark. Lol, Lucas is so fucking tired of the Eva/Jorge drama carousel.    

Y tú me caes de puta madre (“And I think you’re fucking great”): Lucas is not just saying that he thinks Eva’s great. He’s saying he really fucking likes Eva (as a friend, that is!).

Es que sigo enfadada (“‘Cause I’m still upset”): This is a sentiment that will be expressed often this week by Eva, Jorge and Lucas. I’ve seen subs that translate it “enfadada” as “angry” and it’s not wrong, but I feel Eva and Jorge are both more upset than angry during this week. Your mileage may vary, though!

CLIP 3: Ship wars

Cullera: Cullera is a beach city in the Valencia region that has been taken over by tourists (or guiris, if you will!). There are some nice sights, but people visit for the beaches. Many Spanish familes own some sort of apartment by the beach, but Cullera is a step up from the usual, which is Torremolinos. A hint about Inés’ parents’ economic status! Cullera means “spoon” in Valencian language, by the way.

Easter break: The 2019 Easter break runs from the 12th of April to the 22th. Coincidentally, there are some rumors that s2 will premiere after Easter break 2019.

Tú no te líes, que el viaje importante es el de Mallorca, ¿eh? (Okay, but don’t lose sight of the important trip, the Majorca trip, huh?): A closer translation would be: “Don’t get sidetracked, the important trip is the Majorca trip, okay?” Which is actually a shorter line, so we should maybe change that, lol.

Que parezcamos ahí dos lapas como estas parejitas que están por ahí (For us to look like two barnacles like those couples you see everywhere): The literal translation would be, “for us to look like two barnacles like those couples that are around,” but that sounded like shade towards Eva and Jorge, who are also broken up this week. It’s not meant as shade, and in fact Eva has no reaction to it, so I reworked it.

Viri’s economic background is hinted through her confusion with job titles. In Spanish, she doesn’t remember if Alejandro’s father is a “director” (which could be translated as director, manager, and even principal, but also CEO) and “directivo” (executive or CEO). I settled for initials salad.

There is a bit of dialogue at the end that was cut from the episode version. The girls present their final arguments in the Viriandro vs Aleviri debate… which ironically, foreshadowed the Norandro vs Alenora shipname wars. It appears as if most of the fandom has settled on Norandro, at last.

Viri: It’s that, it’s like a Greek god.

Cris: What are you, Voldemort or something?

Viri: It’s like, it’s funny because it’s like a Greek god, like Viriandro is a Greek god sort of name. Yeah, it’s super neat.

Cris: It’s a gladiator name, dude!

Almost totally off topic linguistics note: The girls use the English loanword “ship” in the fandom sense. The verb had obviously crossed language lines in fandom spaces years ago, but it became part of mainstream Spanish culture (yes, really) when Operación Triunfo became big last year, and everyone was shipping couples from the show. The interesting part is that Spanish speakers came up with two declensions for the Spanish form of the verb: “yo lo shippeo” (I ship it) and “yo lo shippo” (again, I ship it). People who had been in fandom longer leaned towards “shippeo” (and so do I!), so I find it aesthetically pleasing that the girls favor that declension.  

CLIP 4: Eva shoots his shot. It doesn’t go well.

I was certain Jorge’s secret would have to do with one or both his parents being unemployed, so at the time I made note of the fact that one of the apartments he walks by is up for sale. It’s the reddish orange sign at the 10:06 mark.

The song that plays at the end of the clip is Zahara’s El Frío, but it has been edited. These are the lyrics that have made it to the clip: “I didn’t expect that the one who started all the fires would also be the one to put them out. How did you let the cold inside you, it has destroyed everything.”

CLIP 5: Speederman

This has to be a change from my high school years. I did the Cooper test in 3º ESO (the equivalent of 9th grade in the US) and never had to do it again through high school. 

More info on the Cooper test, in case you care. Not only was I not tested on a standard 400 m tartan track, but we were also not trained to perform it properly. Ah, high school PE!

Venom premiered in Spain the 5th of October. This clip dropped the 19th of October.

Yes, that is actually how we pronounce Spiderman in Spain.

I love that Nora is into Viri saying she loves anything that has to do with saving the world. Nora is so earnest, lol.

¿O qué vas a hacer, tía? ¿Quedarte en casa llorando? (“Or what do you have in mind, dude? Staying at home, crying?”): Another translation could be, “Or what are you going to do, dude? Stay at home and cry?” but I went with the line in the subs because I thought it flowed better.

Cómo jode que te dejen, ¿eh? (It sucks to be dumped, doesn’t it?): “Sucks” is a lot less charged than “joder,” which is the word Inés actually uses. I guess you’d have to say “fucking sucks” to get the intensity across. You’ll have to make do with Inés’ line delivery.

CLIP 6: Ride of the Valkyries

As it turns out, Alba Planas is also a fan of og Skam, so I’m going to pretend Eva’s string of sorries is also an homage to Tarjei’s delivery.

This scene was shot right outside of Cine Paz. 

Pero no me seáis pavas (“But don’t be silly”): Viri says “pavas,” which is hard to translate. Essentially, Viri’s afraid the girls are going to embarrass her in front of Alejandro, either unintentionally or (not unlikely given this group) intentionally. I.e. they’re not going to behave maturely in front of him.

Madre mía (Good heavens): Okay, so I already talked in the post for episode 5 about the way Amira uses interjections that aren’t swear words, and this is an example of it. “Madre mía” literally means “mother of mine” and it’s basically meaningless as an interjection. What matters is the tone you add to it. In this case, Amira’s impatient that the girls are getting distracted chatting about whatever, instead of going into the theater. I don’t love “good heavens” as it has Christian connotations. On the other hand, “geez” feels too short for how impatient Amira sounds.

It took me a while to realize this, but this clip actually has an og equivalent. This would be the clip where Vilde notices William and Sara hooking up, and looks devastated. Skam España chooses to go about it in a totally different way, with the girls backing Viri up as they walk in.

CLIP 7: Tout le monde veut devenir un cat

Sí, hija, sí (“Yeah, girl, yeah”): Jorge actually calls Eva “daughter,” lol. Much like with tío and tía, we might call anyone “son” or “daughter.” I’ve even caught myself using it on my own parents! If I have the right info, this is also common in Latin American countries, except they use “mijo” and “mija,” instead. “Hijo” or “hija” is more affectionate than “tío” or “tía,” although, much like with “madre mía,” it’s used to express a variety of emotions. Here, Jorge is dismayed that his chocolate romance went awry.

Pretty sure those are knockoff peanut M&Ms. Most likely from the Spanish grocery chain Mercadona.

The song that plays at the end of the clip and through the credits is Bely Basarte’s Mariposas. You can find a translation here. 

Tomás Aguilera, who plays Jorge, has managed to be almost impossible to find online. However, his instagram bio makes reference to the French version of the Aristocats song Everybody wants to be a cat. It’s adorable.

Social media:

The girls talk about the Zaorejas random again, Cris notes that he looked young enough as to be in ESO, or MSE, Mandatory Secondary Education. MSE runs through the equivalents of 7th to 10th grade in the US. 

[flatbutton5-blog]

Bachelor, Antiques Roadshow, Lindsay Lohan’s Beach Club, and 16 other reality show premieres

by Andy Dehnart 7 Jan. 2019 | 10:00 am

Happy 2019! I hope your new year has been off to a roaring start. I spent this past weekend in the mountains with friends and family, which was a nice recovery from the chaos of the holidays.

Speaking of roaring starts: There is so much reality TV premiering this month—with 18 shows on Jan. 1 and 2 alone! So let’s get to it.

First, since there were almost 30 reality shows debuting or returning last week, I’ll refer you to the winter reality TV guide for a full list.

But here are a few highlights:

Tidying Up with Marie Kondo (Netflix), which I really liked and is the perfect show to start the new year, even though it mostly skips over the transformation. Read my full review here.

The Masked Singer (Fox, Wednesdays at 8), which was a big hit for Fox, as I predicted in my review of the first bonkers episode.

Surviving R. Kelly (Lifetime), a documentary series that shares the stories of people who say the singer sexually, mentally, and/or physically abused them. Although all six hours aired on three nights last week, full episodes are on demand and on Lifetime’s web site.

Titan Games (NBC, Thursdays at 8). Dwayne Johnson hosts—inexplicably—what’s basically a combination of American Ninja Warrior, American Gladiators, and Nickelodeon’s GUTS.

Tonight, NBC brings back acts from the U.S. and international editions of Got Talent for a short seven-episode series, America’s Got Talent: The Champions (NBC, Mondays at 8).

The Bachelor is back with another blank slate as its star. Colton Underwood begins the search for the end of his virginity tonight (ABC, Mondays at 8).

Antiques Roadshow (PBS, Mondays at 8) returns for its 23rd season, which will take the show out of convention centers and into historic venues. Later today, I’ll have a behind-the-scenes story about how the show is produced.

In food competitions, there’s the new cake competition series hosted by Giada De Laurentiis called Winner Cake All (Food Network, Mondays at 10). Each episode has four teams of two baking cakes for a $10,000 prize.

Right before it is the return of Kids Baking Championship (Food Network, Mondays at 9), which has contestants ages 9 to 13.

Two ridiculous and fun game shows return this week: Ellen’s Game of Games (NBC, Tuesdays at 8) and Match Game (ABC, Wednesdays at 10).

The ads for Lindsay Lohan’s Beach Club (MTV, Tuesdays at 8) baffle me, but the actor is back with another reality show, this time following her as she launches a club in Greece.

A newly single Nikki Bella starts dating again on Total Bellas (E!, Sundays at 9).

A new season of Growing Up Hip Hop (WE tv, Thursdays at 9) will be paired with Marriage Boot Camp: Hip Hop Edition (WE tv, Thursdays at 10), which replaces reality stars with hip-hop stars who’ve been on reality shows.

Six young rappers compete for a recording contract on The Rap Game (Lifetime, Jan. 10 at 9, then Thursdays at 10).

In other celebrity reality TV, Finding Your Roots returns (PBS, Tuesdays at 8) as Henry Louis Gates, Jr. tells celebrities the stories of their families and histories. This season, those celebrities include Laura Linney, George R. R. Martin, Paul Ryan, Andy Samberg, Tig Notaro, and Michael Strahan.

Richard Rawlings and his crew do more garage renovations on Garage Rehab (Discovery Channel, Tuesdays at 8).

On Cartel Crew (VH1, Mondays at 9), young adults who are descendants of people involved with drug cartels are followed by cameras as they try to “make a name for themselves outside of the drug world,” according to VH1.

In crime reality TV, The First 48 Presents: Homicide Squad Atlanta (A&E, Thursdays at 9) follows Atlanta homicide detectives, while The Dictator’s Playbook (PBS, Wednesdays at 10) takes deep dives into the rise and falls of six different dictators from the past century.

On What On Earth? (Science Channel, Tuesdays at 9), scientists try to figure out “strange and baffling” satellite images, while How the Universe Works (Science Channel, Tuesdays at 10) has astronomers and other experts taking a deep dive into space.

Finally, two documentaries air tonight:

My Country No More (PBS, Monday, Jan. 7, at 10) follows people in Trenton, North Dakota, whose land and communities are being changed by oil drilling—like the fact that their church is the proposed site of a diesel refinery.

USS Indianapolis: The Final Chapter (PBS, Jan. 8, at 10) tells the story of both the discovery of the shipwreck and its sinking during World War II, when more than 800 people died. The documentary “follows Paul G. Allen’s expedition team aboard his research vessel Petrel” and also includes interviews with surviving sailors. 

Source: https://www.realityblurred.com/realitytv/2019/01/this-week-in-reality-tv-jan-7-to-13/

[365footballorg-blog]

World Cup 2018: How should Scots, Irish & Welsh fans feel about England's success?

Media playback is not supported on this device

World Cup semi-final: Croatia v England Venue: Luzhniki Stadium, Moscow Date: Wednesday, 11 July (19:00 BST) Coverage: Full match commentary on BBC Radio 5 live, text commentary, report and highlights on BBC Sport app and online

It’s only now, almost 20 years later, that I can write about the day on the roller coaster in Queensland, Australia. And it’s only now, with all this talk of football coming home, that I have something to compare it to.

There was this adventure park, you see. At the centre of the adventure park was this ride called the Tower of Terror. Once upon a time it was considered the biggest, scariest rollercoaster in the world and on that day on the Gold Coast I couldn’t resist it.

Nausea was guaranteed in the aftermath. Physical sickness was more than likely. Prolonged concussion was far from out of the question. But the masochist in me couldn’t stay away.

We got launched through a 260ft tunnel at 100mph before travelling up the full length of the 377ft Tower and then plummeting to earth. It was traumatic but thrilling at the same time.

For much of the rest of the day I was bewildered and befuddled, a bit wobbly, a tad spaced-out. I was never actually ill, but I felt like it could happen at any time.

Which brings me back to England in Russia and watching it all as an Irishman living in Scotland.

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A version of that dizziness from the Tower of Terror returned the minute Dele Alli nutted home England’s second goal against Sweden and confirmed their passage to the World Cup semi-final. Wooziness, queasiness – had I gone to the doctor there and then he would he have diagnosed me as suffering from (World In) Motion Sickness.

How England fell back in love with football[1]

What are Sterling’s critics not seeing?[2]

England’s unlikely lads leading World Cup bid[3]

There’s been so much said and written about how the Scots and the Irish and the Welsh should feel about the English being one game away from the final. We should be supportive of a neighbour and want them to win. We should be true to our footballing rivalry and want them to lose. The other day a guy sympathised with me in the street in Glasgow. “Must be difficult, eh? Being named English in a week like this…”

Actually, it’s not difficult at all. When you step back from it there is a lot of fun – Tower of Terror type fun – to be had. There are, of course, legions of offence-takers on the prowl now. They hunt in packs on social media, searching for examples of English arrogance to rail against.

It’s easy to picture the grievance police poring over the interviews with Gareth Southgate and his players with a look of frustration and confusion. Humble, dignified, classy. ‘Hang on, rewind that. There must be some hubris in this’. Thoughtful, intelligent, generous.

‘OK, Southgate seems like a decent fella. Let’s get the Harry Kane interview instead…’ Modest, respectful, ordinary. ‘Get that smart-arse Pickford on…’ Self-effacing, unpretentious, likeable. ‘Harry Maguire must be up himself…’ Unassuming, engaging, charming.

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‘Comrades, we have a problem…’

The go-to in this situation is the media and the endless cheerleading. And, yes, the cheerleading has been quite something. Some of it has been cringe-makingly sycophantic. Other bits, skin-crawlingly saccharine.

Then, you step back and think about it. How would it be in Scotland if Alex McLeish’s team were in the same situation? Would all coverage be lacking in bias? Would broadcasters be criticised for using ‘Us, We, Our…’ when talking about McLeish’s brave boys?

Would Scottish reporting be as giddy? Of course it would. It would be off-the-charts giddy. A World Cup semi-final? Are you kidding! It would be giddier than a seven-year-old who’d just washed down a pound of sugar with a two-litre bottle of Coke.

England never shuts up about 1966. That’s true. But why would they? They won the World Cup for goodness sake. Celtic fans never stop talking about winning the European Cup in 1967. Why would they? It was a momentous achievement that they celebrate to this day in the 67th minute of every game.

Scots are allowed to reminisce but we throw our eyes to heaven when the English do the same? How does that work?

‘This is football, not war’

In his first incarnation as Scotland manager, McLeish almost took the country to the European Championships of 2008. It came down to the last game against Italy at Hampden. If everything went the way of the Scots they’d have qualified.

Around that time a Scottish newspaper re-did the picture bylines of their football writers to have them each wearing a Scotland jersey. And there are lectures about bias in the English media?

On the day of the game, the entire front page of the Daily Record was given over to an image of James McFadden (the star of the team). McFadden was done up as a Roman Emperor.

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Alongside him were a variation of the words of Maximus from the movie Gladiator which were in turn a variation of the original from Marcus Aurelius. “What we do in life echoes through eternity. Let this be the day of the…FADIATOR”

It was actually a terrific tabloid front page, a fun image that captured the mood of the nation. Imagine, though, if there’s a similar one now. Imagine if a newspaper goes all Henry V and presents the warrior Kane beside the words, ‘Follow your spirit, and upon this charge. Cry, ‘God for Harry, England and Saint George’. There’d be Scots, Irish and Welsh choking over their breakfasts.

“Terry English. How cool would that be!”

Here’s the thing. Support England or don’t support England. It’s fine either way. This is football, not war.

Personally, Terry Butcher is helping me through this. He doesn’t know it, but he is. Butcher is one of my favourite Englishmen. My fondness for the big man goes back not to his years as captain of England but to his time as manager of Inverness Caledonian Thistle in the Scottish Premier League and some interviews we did.

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He once told me that he was jealous of my surname. “How did you get a name like that?” he said. “That’s the greatest name ever. Imagine if I had that name. Terry English. How cool would that be!”

A week later, Butcher’s team went to Ibrox and got a draw against the odds. At the post-match news conference he looked in my direction, shook his head theatrically, and simply said: “Terry English – what might have been.”

I’ve been thinking of Butcher a lot of late. I’ve been thinking about what all of this must mean to a guy like him, a man who gave blood and sweat for his country as player and leader only to fall at the penultimate hurdle on the biggest stage. You want a happy ending for him and others.

And that takes me right back to the Tower of Terror and those twin and conflicting emotions of wanting it to stop and not wanting it to stop, of being disturbed by it and exhilarated by it.

I want England to win the World Cup and I don’t. And if that sounds like a contradiction then fair enough, but it makes perfect sense in my addled head. Come on England! Sort of!

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References

^ How England fell back in love with football (www.bbc.co.uk)

^ What are Sterling’s critics not seeing? (www.bbc.co.uk)

^ England’s unlikely lads leading World Cup bid (www.bbc.co.uk)

BBC Sport – Football

World Cup 2018: How should Scots, Irish & Welsh fans feel about England's success? was originally published on 365 Football

[mateushonrado]

Status Post #5946: Mythology gags in Voltron: Legendary Defender.

Beast King Golion

Shiro's full name is Takashi Shirogane like his Golion counterpart.

Haggar's real name is Honerva like her Golion counterpart.

Shiro being dead after the events of the final battle with Zarkon is a reference to his Golion counterpart dying.

Zarkon's home planet is Daibazaal, the name of Zarkon's Golion counterpart.

Sendak's name is a reference to his Golion counterpart Sadak.

In this reboot, Allura and Coran are Alteans, not Arusians, and even though the castle rested on Planet Arus (as in the original Voltron), they are originally from Altea (the name of Arus in Golion). The actual Arusians are the first species they meet who fear they've angered the "lion goddess" and attempt to sacrifice themselves when Allura sounded like she was refusing their "dance of apology".

Like in Golion, the Earth is not at war with Galra at the time the series begins, and indeed humans (or at least anyone outside the government) aren't even aware that aliens, much less a universe-spanning empire of them at that, exist, until the Galra invade Earth.

Zarkon's empire in question is not the Drule (as in the original Voltron), but the Galra (as in Golion).

In the Season 1 finale, Shiro faces off in a one-on-one battle against Haggar, who makes use of the Doppelgänger Spin to disorient him, much as she did against Shirogane in the fateful battle of the original GoLion. Thankfully for Shiro, it ends better this time around.

In "Greening the Cube", Coran identifies one of the mice as being named Platt, the name of one of the mice in GoLion. The guidebook reveals that one of the other mice is named Chuchule, another holdover from GoLion.

In Season 3, Keith pilots the Black Lion but wears red armor and Lance pilots the Red Lion in blue armor, just like their GoLion counterparts did. The former was nodded to as early as Season 2, where Keith briefly borrowed the Black Lion.

In season 4, Lotor names his comet ships Sincline, which is his original Japanese name.

Shiro making a Backup Twin for his character for Monsters and Mana when he dies, who has the same mission, class and is named Gyro.

Voltron: Defender of the Universe

Team Voltron encounter a Swedish version of Shiro in the Altean Empire reality named Sven, a nod to Shiro's original Voltron counterpart.

Acxa has facial similarities to Queen Merla.

Romelle resembles like OS Allura.

Keith's father resembles Commander Hawkins.

Lotor used to have a nanny, whose name is Dayak, though Dayak's original Voltron counterpart Nanny was Allura's nanny.

Krolia's suggestion on naming her son before ultimately deciding on Keith is Yurak, who was Sendak's original Voltron counterpart.

The interlock, dynotherm, and mega-thruster commands that allowed the Lions to form Voltron in the original show have now been re-purposed as the launch commands that allow the Castle of Lions to transform into a spaceship.

In "Some Assembly Required", the pilots try forming Voltron again by stacking their Lions on top of each other like a cheerleader pyramid. As Shiro slowly drops his Lion on the top, he mutters to himself the immortal line, "...And I'll form the head."

When the others use the zip-lines to get to their lions, it's treated with a serious tone, but Hunk is the one having the most difficulty and later after catching up asks why the ziplines couldn't be moved closer to the bridge.

The show's subtitle "Legendary Defender" is a nod to Voltron's classic title as the "Defender of the Universe". Coran even calls the Paladins "Defenders of the Universe" in the pilot.

Princess Allura's royal dress is made of various shades of blue and white, in reference to how she was the pilot of Blue Lion in the original continuity after Sven (Shirogane) got benched. Meanwhile, her pilot suit has shades of pink and blue, in reference to how her pilot suit in the previous incarnation would have either pink or blue highlights. In Season 3, she becomes the new Blue Lion pilot, and wears pink armor with it.

During the season, the Blue Lion's pilot is badly injured and needs to take time off to heal.

Unlike previous reboots, the main cast's design aesthetic is a slightly modified◊version of their original character models.◊

Pidge's design, especially the hairband, often had casual viewers questioning whether he was a boy or a girl. This time around, Pidge is a girl disguised as a boy. She's even wearing a remarkably similar hairband in a flashback.

Zarkon is the true leader of his forces, not a vassal.

Between the prologue and main series, Shiro was taken as a slave, forced to fight in gladiator games, and escaped after an entire year. The same happened to the entire crew in the first episode of the original series, though they escaped much more quickly and easily.

Haggar having white hair can be a nod to original Voltron character Zandra, who like her is a white-haired space witch.

In the Season 2 premiere, a wounded Shiro also tells Keith that if he doesn't make it, Keith should lead the team, a nod to previous incarnations where Keith did lead the team, and also teasing the fact that Shiro dies in the original. This exact situation comes to pass in Season 3.

One episode did have the paladins having a day off to swim at a nearby lake. This time it's Keith and Lance heading to a pool to get a break from all the running they've been doing from Zarkon. Unfortunately for them, it's upside down.

Keith was part-Arusian in the original series, here, he's part Galra.

Slav asking why the castle needed ziplines and Allura grumpily responds that ziplines were fashionable ten-thousand years ago.

Zarkon gets his own armor that is the size of a robeast, and in the old series he did get turned into a one.

The mice entertain Allura in "Space Mall" similar to the way they were shown doing for her in the original series.

In the Season 2 finale, Zarkon fights with Voltron using a Humongous Mecha that looks just like him. And just like in the original series, he loses.

And during that fight, after Shiro activates the Black Bayard, along with the other four, Voltron's sword becomes wreathed in flames — making it the Blazing Sword.

Haggar's cat makes a reappearance, but this time, Narti is using them to serve as her eyes.

Keith takes his position as the head of Voltron, however unlike his 80's counterpart who was already a leader he has to get better at working with his teammates.

Lotor's helmet from the 80's is used as a gift for baby Allura.

In the original version of the show it was implied that Haggar was a former lover of Zarkon's; in this continuity they are clearly shown as husband and wife.

Just like in the original, Lotor once again surrounds himself with women. This time however, they're his generals, and all competent fighters to boot.

Acxa shares similar facial resemblances to Queen Merla in the original series.

When Lotor suggests an alliance with Allura, it almost sounds like he's offering a marriage proposal. Something his 80's counterpart would have attempted to seek out (although not as cordially as Lotor). Moreso when Allura seems to start reciprocating Lotor's affections to Lance's annoyance.

Michael Bell, who provided Lance's voice for DOTU voices the Archivist in Kral Zera. Imagine Lance, someone who absolutely hates Lotor with a burning passion tell others to bow to their new emperor.

There was an entire episode of the original show where Allura sought guidance from a White Lion. This time around, it isn't a trap set by Haggar.

In the old series, Haggar says that she was once beautiful before Zarkon poisoned her with his darkness and lies. Towards the end of the series, the two sides of her self began fighting, switching between her hag form and her beautiful younger self. Here, once Haggar goes through the trials at Oriande, she regains her former form as Honerva.

Lotor and Allura do have a mutual attraction for the other unlike in previous incarnations where Lotor was creepily-obsessed with her. However, the relationship ends in the next season as quickly as it started once Romelle tells Allura of Lotor's true motives.

Allura and Lotor go through a diagnostic including the interlock, dynatherms, infracells, and megathrusters again.

Pidge shooting out her Green lion head to attack Lotor is something Voltron was able to do in the 80's series.

The shot between Lance and Keith looks similar to the 80's version where they both watch as Sven dies.

Several of the new attacks Voltron pulls out in the Quintessence realm are things Voltron did regularly in the original show.

Vehicle Voltron

Pidge has a brother like her OS counterpart only with his name is Matt in VLD instead of Chip.

Also, the dynamics are reversed between them as Matt is the older (and taller) of the two, compared to Pidge being older than (and about as tall as) Chip.

Keith's father shares a notable resemblance to the original series character Commander Hawkins.

The Blade of Marmora is a nod to the Drule rebels who side with Vehicle Force in Vehicle Voltron.

Krolia's relationship with Keith's father can be seen as a nod to the relationship Vehicle Voltron characters Twyla and Commander Hawkins in terms of a dymamic relationship between a human commander and an alien warrior.

Voltron: The Third Dimension

Lotor apparently redeeming himself and helping Team Voltron, only to turn out to be a ruse is a nod to Voltron The Third Dimension as Zarkon redeemed himself prior to his final defeat, and became a member of the Galaxy Alliance before it was really a ruse and he turned out to be the true mastermind behind Lotor in a bid to take over the galaxy.

Voltron Force

Hunk insists they take turns when it comes to who forms the head, a concept that was developed in Voltron Force. They don't do that, but they do borrow Force's concept of using new abilities taken from the secondary pilots.

The personalized Swiss Army Weapon nature of the Bayards are similar to the Voltcoms of Force, as are the Elemental Powers which all five Lions seem to have.

Ezor is modelled after Voltron Force character Kala.

Scrapped ideas

Lotor's Sincline ships merge in a style very similar to Albegas, which was slated to be the third anime to be adapted under the Voltron name before the backlash towards Vehicle Voltron forced WEP to drop the plans.

TO BE EXPANDED...

[englishmansdcc]

In the new Previews catalog that was released this week, a bunch of new releases from Diamond Select Toys are listed. Some of the upcoming releases were shown for the first time at New York Toy Fair a few weeks ago, and include items from PACIFIC RIM, Marvel, DC, NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS, the ARROW TV show, and more.

Full press release and pictures courtesy of Diamond Select Toys.

New in Previews: Pacific Rim, Marvel, DC and NBX!

New toy alert! A new Previews catalog is out, offering for pre-order a variety of Diamond Select Toys products, many first seen at the New York Toy Fair! Products from Pacific Rim Uprising, DC Comics, Marvel Comics, Nightmare Before Christmas and the Arrow TV show will be available this fall, and can be ordered through your local comic shop and online retailers in a variety of product types and price points. Read on for details, then find a comic shop near you!

Batman Animated Phantasm Unmasked Resin Bust

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DC Gallery Suicide Squad Harley Quinn Comic Book PVC Diorama

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PVC Diorama   (MAR182419, SRP: $45.00)

  DC Vinimates Arrow TV Show Vinyl Figures

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Arrow Vinyl Figure (MAR182421, SRP: $9.99)

Black Canary Vinyl Figure (MAR182422, SRP: $9.99)

Deathstroke Vinyl Figure (MAR182423, SRP: $9.99)

Ghostbusters Select Action Figures Series 8 Asst.

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Marvel Gallery Deadpool Taco Truck PVC Diorama

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Marvel Select Thor Ragnarok Movie Gladiator Hulk Action Figure

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Marvel Select Beast Action Figure

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Jack Action Figure (MAR182411, SRP: $50.00)

Mayor Action Figure (MAR182412, SRP: $50.00)

Pumpkin King Jack Action Figure (MAR182413, SRP: $50.00)

Sally Action Figure (MAR182414, SRP: $50.00)

Pacific Rim Uprising Kaiju Hakuja Vinyl Figure

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To find a comic shop near you, visit comicshoplocator.com!

Diamond Select Toys announce new releases – NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS, Marvel, DC, and more! In the new Previews catalog that was released this week, a bunch of new releases from 

[livin-inthestateofdreaming-blog1]

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‘Sport reflects and creates differences and inequalities’ (Woodward, 2014, p. 73) Explain how different sorts of evidence used in DD102 support this claim.

Sport can serve many purposes within society; as exercise for one’s well-being, or as a social activity between friends and as entertainment. Sociologists such as Woodward have argued, however, that sports creates and reflects differences and inequalities within our society as well[. In this brief essay I will be discussing factors of inequality such as disability, gender and class within in Sports, both in contemporary Western society and ancient Roman society, I will do so by discussing the increasing costs of ticket pricing for the historically working man sport; with specific regards to football in the Premier League, and the social hierarchy displayed at the Roman Amphitheatres as gladiators fought for sport and then finally to the modern-day Olympics.

Connell (Connell, 2005) used the term hegemonic masculinity as an argument that power is dominated by males through social and cultural norms that value male characteristics over their female counterparts and thus, that the woman must replicate male characteristics in order to obtain power. When we consider this in the context of sports as defined by the Oxford Dictionary as ‘a competitive activity involving physical effort or skill’. This definition of Sport indicates things normally attributed to masculinity, such as strength and competitiveness. In a recent report by Forbes (2016), the top ten highest earning female athletes were present in only three sports: mixed martial arts, NASCAR, and tennis. The latter of these three is undoubtedly the most egalitarian in terms of gender representation whereas the former of the two are considered male dominated sports. This is due to most of the popular sporting competitions and governing bodies viewing their sports as traditionally single sex activities, which is enacted through their regulations. Connell’s argument of hegemonic masculinity collated with the earning potential of male dominated sports is an example of how sports reflects the inequalities of Western society and the United Kingdom in particular; as per a government report by the ONS (Office for National Statistics, 2016) there is a gender pay gap based on median hourly earnings of 9.7%, which demonstrates that the earning potential for females both in sport and in the workplace is below that of that of their male counterparts.

Class inequality is also reflected through sports, an example of this would be the rising cost of season tickets in The Premier League. Football as a sport has historically been considered a working man’s sport with clubs like Manchester United, now the most profitable club as per a report by Forbes (Forbes, 2016); originally formed by the workers of Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway. Not only was football played by the working class but it was also represented by the supporters who would watch at the ground. However, in recent decades the costs have risen considerably even when inflation is taken into consideration. Evidence for this is provided by a report by the BBC (BBC Sport, 2014) where between 2011 and 2014 the average price of a match day ticket increased by 13% whilst the cost of living increased by 6.8%. The accessibility for those of a lower socio-economical class has been reduced thus ground visiting supporters are now those who have the expendable income to spend on such expenditure, the middle class. Engles (1969 [1845]) report on working-class rows of housing in Manchester in the early 1840’s, Engles spoke of how those of a higher socio-economical class were able to afford the houses with the best benefits, such as a yard, whilst the housing became progressively worse the further back in the rows of housing it was. Comparatively modern day stadiums apply the same idea of economical access: the best views command the highest ‘rent’ in terms of season tickets; whereas views which are obstructed or further away from the pitch command the least. 

However, the idea of stadium seating representing the divisions of class is not just found in contemporary Western society; the amphitheatres of Ancient Rome were similarly organized by class.  The cavea, the name for seating area of the amphitheatre, was sectioned horizontally by three rows. The ima cavea, the section directly surrounding the arena, was reserved for the upper classes of society as they provided the best views of the gladiators’ fight. Proceeded by the ima cavea was the media cavea and then the summa cavea, the former opened to the general public but mostly dominated by men and the latter usually occupied by woman and children. In the instance of the Roman amphitheatre, not only was the class division of Roman society reflected in the organization of seating, but in gender divides as well. Connell’s argument that society abides to the system of a patriarchy (Connell, 2005) offers an explanation on how sports, both in participation and viewership, when correlated with the segregation of gender in Amphitheatres, belongs also to a system rooted in men having the dominant positions, both historically and in modern societies.

Individuals with disabilities can struggle with environments such as cities and towns, which are often designed for those who are able-bodied. This leads to difficulties when it comes to connecting with the societies in which they live, as well as creating divisions between the two. This is reflected in the sporting environment, able bodied and disabled athletes often participate in separate events; the former participating in the Olympics and the latter in the Paralympics. However, the divisions apply further depending on the severity of the disability, an example of such being the use of technical aids used by Oscar Pistorius a double leg amputee. A ruling by the IAAF that his prosthetics allowed for an unfair advantage resulted in a banning from participation. This lead to Pistorius being unable to participate as a disable individual and only after reviewing his case with the Olympic committee could he participate in able-bodied races, the first time in Olympic history. Whilst Pistorius’ case is exceptional, his fight to compete is reflective of Woodward’s (Woodward, 2005) argument that the disabled are often marginalised in sports.

Woodward’s argument of how sport creates and reflects inequalities and differences can be evidenced whether through the discussed socio-economical, disability and gender issues prevalent throughout sport and western societies. One’s ability to participate in sport itself or supporters accessibility to participate in viewing sport, demonstrated in rising costs of football ticket prices in England, can be dependent on one’s physical or economic status to do so. Through the concept of performativity, a term coined by Goffman (1959), it could be argued that the issues discussed here are a result not of one’s ability to partake but of to how societies view those individuals who might choose participate in a given sport. 

Score =  80%

Modules results are sometimes issued on a graded basis, consisting of pass grades1 (threshold 85%,a distinction), 2 (70–84%), 3 (55–69%) & 4 (40–54%), and fail (below 40%). This grade is calculated as the lower of the overall continuous assessment score (OCAS) and overall examination score (OES).

References:

BBC (2014) Price of Football: Ticket increases outstrip cost of living Available at http://www.bbc.co.uk/sport/football/29614980 (Accessed 23 February 2017)

Connell, R.W (2005) Masculinities¸ 2nd Edn, Berkely, CA, University of California Press

Engles, F. (1969 [1845]) The Condition of the Working Class in England, London, Panther Books.

Forbes (2016) The World’s Highest-Paid Female Athletes 2016 Available at https://www.forbes.com/pictures/mli45ffmff/the-worlds-highest-paid/#19d64e3610e4 (Accessed 23 February 2017)

Forbes (2016) Manchester United Tops List Of World's Most Profitable Soccer Teams Available at http://www.forbes.com/sites/mikeozanian/2016/04/18/manchester-united-tops-list-of-worlds-most-profitable-soccer-teams/#374283ba31df Accessed 23 February 2017)

Goffman, E. (1959) The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life, Hardmondsworth, Penguin.

Office for National Statistics (2016) Annual Survey of Hours and Earnings: 2016 provisional results Available at https://www.ons.gov.uk/employmentandlabourmarket/peopleinwork/earningsandworkinghours/bulletins/annualsurveyofhoursandearnings/2016provisionalresults#main-points (Accessed 23 February 2017)

Woodward, K. (2009) Embodied Sporting Practices: Regulating, and Regulatory Bodies, Basingstoke, Palgrave.