#alma awards

[sbrown82]

Tamia is SO slept on! 🙌🏿

[popclture]

Jennifer Lopez at the Alma Awards (2001)

[stylestream]

Jessica Alba | Narcisco Rodriguez dress | ALMA Awards | 2008

[mikenesmithmpreg]

i’ve gotta stop being so beautiful and accomplished and smart and funny and kind and everyone’s best friend and the best daughter in the world. if i keep going at the rate im going im gonna end up the subject of a true crime documentary

[angela-yuriko-smith]

Asian/Pacific American Heritage Month: Spotlight on Alma Katsu's THE FERVOR

Celebrating Asian/Pacific American Heritage Month with Alma Katsu!

Today’s guest is Alma Katsu, author of The Fervor, a fantastic novel set in 1944, that tangles the lives of a newspaper reporter, a newly ordained minister, Japanese internees, and a Japanese scientist around a mysterious illness. The narrative alternates among several characters, drawing them together as more is revealed about the illness spreading through the internment camp and the appearance…

[xiimy-bufoona-d-lucifer13]

"Estaba en el desierto y... Probablemente debí dejar un resto de migajas de pan. Pero me encontraste... Y como los mejores directores tú me mostraste dónde ir, para llegar a dónde necesitaba estar. Si tú, como un tipo como Charlie a quien intérprete en esta película (The Whale) De alguna manera luchas con la obesidad o sientes que estás como en un mar oscuro, quiero que sepas que tienes la fuerza para levantarte e ir a la luz... Cosas buenas sucederán."

Palabras de Brendan Fraser en los Critics Movies Awards 2023 a mejor actor

[coolpointsetta]

iwaizumi hajime (47) athletic trainer who publishes award winning research, becoming a pioneer in his field. he goes to conferences and presents said research for thousands of people. there are techniques named after him, he gets to write a textbook. his work is included in dozens of textbooks. he is invited for guest lectures at colleges and universities in nearly every country; including, but not limited to, his alma mater in california.

the topic of said research? knee recovery in athletes and recognizing the signs of the particular injuries before they start, stopping the injuries before they even happen. the goal of said research? to maximize an athlete’s performance and lengthen their career and limit muscle fatigue and surgeries even after they retire.

he is asked many questions about his research, but the one posed most often is why. why would he chose this topic.

“it is simple,” he always says. “i want to help others. this felt like the best way to do it.”

others, he says; he means it of course. he wants to help others and he has, he has helped thousands of athletes across the world. but to those who know him, they know it all ties back to one person.

in all of his published works, oikawa’s data is present. his x-rays and scans and initial prognosis, his routines and procedures and how the exercises made him feel. all of it compared to iwaizumi’s newly developed research and routines. oikawa’s name is omitted for privacy, but everyone knows it.

obviously, iwaizumi needed to gather data from hundreds of participants, but the same images and scans and quotes are all pulled from the same person.

iwaizumi loves his husband to the point of rewriting the story that oikawa would never make it as a professional athlete. watching tooru never give in to the critics was the whole he reason he chose this field in the first place, after all. hajime healed his injury with his own two hands and stood beside him every step of the way. iwaizumi loves him to the point of creation.

because all of it, after all this time, was for oikawa.

[empthy1]

first meetings ⌬🧬! victoria neuman x reader

this is a completely self-indulgent fantasy for me myself and i. perhaps when i am (hopefully) also getting my PhD in genetics, many years in the future, there will be a beautiful woman questing to possess me when i present my research. 1.3k words.

"So, how'd you two meet?"

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

God, there was no reason for her to be here. 27, riding the high of her first election into the House, representing her state of New York? She didn't have time to be at Columbia's Annual Science Showcase. She had work to do, an office to prepare.

Yet, here she was, pushing through crowds of academics. Every shoulder that checks her and every hand guiding her absentmindedly by only seems to further aggravate the fine fabric of her blouse, wrinkling the silk immaturely.

At least she had excuses, things to say to the press if they did catch her here at the most inopportune time. 1, Columbia's her alma mater. 2, she knows Professor Peterson well—for no other reason than her repeated frequenting of his office hours. No one's good at genetics.

Yet, someone must be good at it, given the buzz she'd heard.

A study many were eager to get their hands on, a newly-awarded PhD who's work was partially funded and supplied by Vought themselves.

The effects of Compound V on the offspring of those afflicted with it.

Using mice, of course.

A particularly unexplored topic. Most focused on the Supes—not what could happen to their children. It's what no one expected to have to worry about when super-powered individuals started popping up. What about their children?

Well, she had to know. Would Zoe, her beautiful, vibrant daughter be cursed the way she would? Would she, herself, be doomed to an early death just like her parents?

She couldn't let that happen. The fact that Sameer was unafflicted should be a genetic safeguard, if it was bound to a recessive gene, but still. Being idle wasn't worth the risk.

She'd have to figure it out—without spilling to the researcher that she had powers herself.

She just didn't expect the researcher to be so damn cute.

She had expected that (like the floor of Congress, the one she would soon frequent) the presenter would be some old, white man, bribed and biased.

No. The young, plucky student that walked across that expansive stage, hands shaking around the clicker yet breaths relatively steady, was anything but what she expected. She's just realizing that her overactive daydream of a frizzled, greying goof was rather archetypal.

She wasn’t expecting to be distracted by the pushing-up of thin, wire-frame glasses or the shy little quirk of lips at any and all applause from the audience. The sweater and mused hair were apt to her imagination; yet they seem purposeful and inherently distracting. The involuntary turning of her gaze from informative slides to sweetly framed wrists was unpleasant to say the least. Wrists of all things.

She should've known this might happen, given her past fling. Yet, she thought the days of the passion-filled thumping of her heart were past her, replaced instead with a familial tenderness and a business-like disposition.

No such luck.

Her luck, wonderful, torturous luck, continues to torment. The wonderful lecturer? A student of a most familiar professor.

"Hello. Professor Peterson!" Whew. The last time she sounded that strained? Her debate against that imbecilic oaf of a Representative, right on the floor. She's speaking through clenched teeth, smiling like she doesn't have a care as she's tugged into the group of intellectuals.

"It's been forever, hasn't it?"

She's greeted to a chorus of hums and one gentle nod. It's not as if they don't know who she is. She'd been paraded around on the news, plastered in the streets and on thick newspapers. Hotshot, they called her. Bold, a new face. Her opponents just called her brash and opinionated.

Nevertheless, the publicity stuck. So soon after the election, she's sure to turn some heads. Even at an event focused on a completely different discipline.

"Victoria! Have you met my protege?" And oh, who does the professor proudly present but you. The keen researcher, wrapped in a sweater and topped with thin-framed glasses. Your smile is much easier off-stage, curling completely as you reach to shake her hand. Those wrists, the ones who unfairly drew her eyes, skim the tips of her fingers. She shivers.

"I have not yet. It's nice to meet you... Doctor?" Her chin lowers as she addresses you. Her dark eyes peek through her lashes, meeting yours intently.

"Yeah, it's Doctor now." You preen under the title, smile brightening. Her hand lingers in yours, but you certainly don't make any move to pull away.

The tension crackles, a low simmer between you. Despite their aloofness—having returned to a conversation about another presentation—they seem to notice. The moment between you two makes Professor Peterson smile wider. A gleam appears in his keen eyes.

“Why don’t you two go walk around together? See everyone else’s work.” He sends you off with an indulgent smile, the feeling the same as being sent to the kids table at thanksgiving. After being shooed away, you really can do nothing but roam together—the walk awkward.

You peruse the crowded convention hall silently. The press of people around the both of you forces shoulder-to-shoulder contact a number of times. Soon, an ease starts to build. You stumble, and she cups your lower back. She gets bumped and you take her hand to steady her. It all feels so juvenile, being shoved around and forced together like two Barbie dolls.

She starts to notice how your hands twitch. Every once in a while, when you both stop at a booth, you start to fidget with the hem of your sweater—brief smile spreading. She realizes you’re excited; her own lips ticking up, endeared.

“…you can talk, you know. I’d sure appreciate someone talk me through these concepts. I struggled through Bio 101.” She quips, huffed in your ear to combat the constant hum of chatter around you. It makes you laugh and smile, and spurs your voice as well.

Now she’s treated to your wonderful quips, little huffs about contaminated controls and insufficient trials. Your words curl in her ear, the heat of breath leaving her exhaling roughly—even though you’re explaining things like CRISPR and DNA replication.

She always did have a soft spot for the science-y types. The easy intelligence seemed to make something curl pleasantly in her abdomen.

At one booth, she finally surrenders to the feeling. When you lean in, giggling a quip about how hard mice are to work with, she exhales. One of her hands curls around your wrist, tugging you with her and throw the crowd with a mumble about needing the bathroom.

You attempt to be polite, promise to wait for her by the sinks—but you’re cut off when she tugs you into the stall with her. The tile wall is cool against your back, but her breath is hot on your lips.

“Tell me you want this.” She pleads lowly, pupils blown and hands boxing your head.

At your frantic, short nod, she leans in and devours—hands pushing up your sweater and nose bumping against your glasses.

The professor smiles smugly when you say quick goodbyes. He surely spots the blooming, dark mark on your neck, eyes flickering to it. He barely gets to tease you, a laugh of “good luck!” echoing behind you as Victoria tugs you away. A woman on a mission, she is. She’s applying to you the same relentless drive she gives to her work; you’re a bit frightened (and increasingly excited) at what that entails.

As you pant into the plush pillow, eyelids fluttering at the aftershocks and legs twitching against hers, she curls a possessive hand around your waist. Her warm, sweat-damp form intertwines with yours.

When she mumbles “you’re mine” against your hair, you only respond with a breathless huff of laughter, tucking your face into her neck.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

María Félix (Doña Barbara, La Mujer sin Alma, Rio Escondido, La Cucaracha)—Maria Felix is still possibly the most well-known Mexican film actress. She turned down multiple-roles in Hollywood and a contract with Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer in order to take roles in Mexico, France, and Argentine throughout the 1940s, 50s, 60s. She was so famous and so respected as a dramatic actress that she inspired painters, novelists and poets in their own art--she was painted by Diego Rivera, Jose Orozco, Bridget Tichenor. The novelist Carlos Fuentes used her as inspiration for his protagonist in Zona Sagrada. She inspired an entire collection by Hermes. In the late 1960s Cartier made her a custom collection of reptile themed jewels. She considered herself to be powerful challenger of morality and femininity in Mexico & worldwide--she routinely played powerful women in roles with challenging moral choices and free sexuality. But even still, years after he death, she is celebrated with Google Doodles, and appearances in the movie Coco, and holidays for the anniversary of her death.

Vyjayanthimala (Madhumati, Amrapali, Sangam, Devdas)—Strong contender for /the/ OG queen of Indian cinema for over 2 straight decades. Her Filmfare Lifetime Achievement Award came not a moment too soon with 62 movies under her belt. Singer, dancer, actor, and also has the most expressive set of eyes known to man

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Vyjayanthimala:

Linked gifset

Linked gifset 2

Linked gifset 3

Linked gifset 4

Linked gifset 5

Linked gifset 6

María Félix:

She's Thee Hot Vintage Movie Woman of México. She's absolutely gorgeous and always looks like she's about to step on you. you WILL be thankful if she does.

"María Félix is a woman -- such a woman -- with the audacity to defy the ideas machos have constructed of what a woman should be. She's free like the wind, she disperses the clouds, or illuminates them with the lightning flash of her gaze." - Octavio Paz

María Félix is one of the most iconic actresses of the Golden Era of Mexican Cinema. La Doña, as she was lovingly nicknamed, only had one son, and when her first marriage ended in divorce her ex-husband stole her only child, so she vowed that one day she’d be more influential than her ex and she’d get her son back. AND SHE DID! María Félix rejected a Hollywood acting role to start her acting career in Mexico on her own terms with El Peñón de las Ánimas (The Rock of Souls) starring alongside actor, and future third husband, Jorge Negrete. She quickly rose to incredible heights both in Mexico and abroad, later on rejecting a Hollywood starring role (Duel in the Sun) as she was already committed to the movie Enamorada at the planned filming time. Of this snubbing she said, quote: “I will never regret saying no to Hollywood, because my career in Europe was focused in [high] quality cinema. [My] india* roles are made in my country, and [my] queen roles are abroad.” (Translator notes: here the “india” role means interpreting a lower-class Mexican woman, usually thought of indigenous/native/mixed descent —which she had interpreted and reinvented throughout her acting career in Mexico— and what abroad was typically considered the Mexican woman stereotype, with the braids, long simple skirts, and sandals. This also references the expectation of her possibly helping Hollywood in perpetuating this stereotype for American audiences that lack the cultural and historical contexts of this type of role which would undermine her own efforts against this type of Mexican stereotypes while working in Europe) She was considered one of the most beautiful women in the world of her time by international magazines like Life, París Match, and Esquire, and was a muse to a vast number of songwriters (including her second husband Agustin Lara,), artists, designers, and writers. Muralist Diego Rivera described her as “a monstrously perfect being. She’s an exemplary being that drives all other human beings to put as much effort as possible to be like her”. Playwriter Jean Cocteau, who worked with her in the Spanish film La Corona Negra (The Black Crown) said the following about her, “María, that woman is so beautiful it hurts”. Haute Couture houses like Dior, Givenchy, Yves Saint Laurent, Balenciaga, Hérmes, among others, designed and dressed her throughout her life. She died on her birthday, April 8, 2002, at 88 years old, in Mexico City. She was celebrated by a parade from her home to the Fine Arts Palace in the the city’s Historic Downtown, where a multitude of people paid tribute to her. Her filmography includes 47 movies from 1942 until 1970, and only two television acting roles in 1970. She has 2 music albums, one recorded with her second husband, Agustín Lara, in 1964 titled La Voz de María y la inspiración de Agustín «The voice of María and the inspiration of Augustín», and her solo album Enamorada «In Love» in 1998. Her bespoke Cartier jewelry is exhibited alongside Elizabeth Taylor’s, Grace Kelly’s and Gloria Swanson’s. In 2018, Film Director Martin Scorsese presented a restored and remastered version of her film Enamorada in the Cannes Classics section of the Cannes Festival and Google dedicated a doodle for her 104th birthday. On august 2023 Barbie added her doll to the Tribute Collection.

[divinemissem13]

Uh oh. Am I gonna have to watch Mr. Mercedes season 3 again?

Fuck it. Posting Alma.

[mydaddywiki]

Kevin Wilson

Physique: Husky Build Height: 6′ 1″

Kevin Reece Wilson (born October 23, 1961) is an American college football coach and former player who is the head coach at the University of Tulsa. He was the offensive coordinator at Ohio State University from 2017 to 2022. Wilson was head coach at Indiana University from 2011 to 2016, and offensive coordinator at the University of Oklahoma from 2002 to 2010.

I have way to many college football games that my dick is forcing my to watch. I’m not complaining though. Because Wilson is worth watching. Handsome, thick dad bod and a gruff voice. Plus, it appears he has a nice set of balls and a decent cock. What? I'm going to look.

A native of Maiden, N.C., Wilson is a 1984 graduate of the University of North Carolina, where he was an offensive lineman and received his bachelor’s (education; 1987) and master’s (physical education) degrees. After three seasons as a graduate assistant at his alma mater, Wilson’s full-time coaching career began in 1987 at Winston Salem State and included stops at North Carolina A&T (1988) and Ford (N.C.) High School prior to his tenure at Miami.

Wilson, and his wife, Angela, are the parents of five children: daughters Elaina, Makenzie and Marlee, and sons Trey and Toby. So he falls in my 'loves to fuck' theory. Would love to be coached by him under the sheets.

Head Coaching Record Overall: 33–60 (college) 0–10 (high school) Bowls: 0–1

Accomplishments and Honors Awards Broyles Award (2008)

[popclture]

Jennifer Lopez at the Alma Awards in Pasadena, California (2000)

[iovebarca]

A Shoulder to Lean On - Pau Cubarsi

Authors note: I needed to write something (tbh for myself) after this clasico cause wth.

WC: 700+

warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, angsty but not really angst, fluff.

summary: Pau seeks solace from their partner after feeling responsible for a el clasico loss. Their partner reassures them, emphasizing their unwavering support.

As the final whistle blew, signaling the end of the match, a heavy silence descended upon the stadium. Pau's shoulders slumped, his gaze fixed on the ground, as a wave of guilt washed over him. The opposing team had secured victory through a penalty awarded after his challenge in the box. The weight of responsibility bore down on him, each step heavier than the last as he trudged off the field.

You watched from the stands, your heart aching for Pau. The look of anguish etched on his face was unmistakable, and you knew he blamed himself for the loss. Determined to offer him solace, you waited patiently for him to emerge from the locker room.

When he finally emerged, his expression was one of defeat. Without a word, you approached him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. He tensed at first, his guilt still palpable, but gradually, he leaned into your embrace, seeking comfort in your arms.

The journey home was filled with heavy silence, each passing mile echoing the weight of Pau's burdened conscience. As you pulled into the driveway, you turned to him, your voice gentle yet firm. "Pau, listen to me," you began, your eyes locking with his. "You did your best out there, and that's all anyone can ask for."

His gaze softened, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. "But I caused the penalty," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

You reached out, gently wiping away his tears. "And you've owned up to it," you replied, your voice steady. "That takes courage, Pau. But remember, mistakes happen. It's how we respond to them that defines us."

After arriving home, you guided Pau to the comfort of your shared bed, the weight of the day's events still heavy on his shoulders. With a soft sigh, he sank into the familiar embrace of the mattress, his expression weary but grateful for the sanctuary of home.

Without a word, you slipped in beside him, the warmth of your presence a reassuring constant in the darkness. His body tensed at first, still consumed by the echoes of defeat, but gradually, he melted into your embrace, seeking solace in the comfort of your touch.

"Hey," you whispered softly, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. "I know today was tough, but you don't have to carry this burden alone. We're in this together, remember?"

Pau's breath hitched, and he turned to you, his eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. "I just... I can't shake the feeling that I let everyone down," he admitted, his voice laced with self-doubt.

You squeezed his hand gently, offering a reassuring smile. "Mi amor, listen to me," you began, your voice filled with conviction. "You're an incredible athlete, and one penalty doesn't define your worth. You've brought so much to the team, and they know that. We all do."

Feeling the tension begin to melt away from his body, Pau nodded, his features softening with relief. "Gracias, mi alma," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

With a tender smile, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, savoring the moment of closeness between you. "De nada, mi amor," you replied, your voice a gentle melody in the stillness of the room. "Now, let's focus on getting some rest. Tomorrow is a new day, filled with possibilities."

As the night draped its cozy blanket over your shared space, you and Pau found yourselves nestled in the sanctuary of your bed, a haven from the world outside. The day's trials seemed to melt away as you snuggled closer, finding solace in the warmth of each other's embrace.

With a contented sigh, Pau buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin with each gentle exhale. You couldn't help but giggle at the sensation, the sound filling the room with an infectious joy that banished any lingering shadows.

In the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, you traced lazy circles on Pau's back, the touch light and soothing against his skin. He let out a contented hum in response, his body relaxing against yours as if melting into a puddle of pure bliss.

As the night stretched on, conversations gave way to whispered confessions of love and affection. You peppered Pau's face with gentle kisses, each one a testament to the depth of your adoration.

In the quiet intimacy of your shared bed, surrounded by pillows and blankets cocooning you in warmth, you felt as if the rest of the world had faded into insignificance. All that mattered was the love you shared, a bond as tender and unbreakable as the night itself.

[greatworldwar2]

• Stanisław Sosabowski

Stanisław Franciszek Sosabowski was a Polish general in World War II. He fought in the Polish Campaign of 1939 and at the Battle of Arnhem (Netherlands), as a part of Operation Market Garden, in 1944 as commander of the Polish 1st Independent Parachute Brigade.

Stanisław Sosabowski was born on May 8th, 1892 in Stanislau, in what was then Austria-Hungary and is now Ivano-Frankivsk in western Ukraine. His father was a railway worker. Sosabowski graduated from a local gymnasium and in 1910 he was accepted as a student of the faculty of economy of the Jagiellonian University in Kraków. However, the death of his father and the poor financial situation of his family forced him to abandon his studies and return to Stanislau. There he became a member of Drużyny Strzeleckie, a semi-clandestine Polish national paramilitary organisation. He was soon promoted to the head of all Polish Scouting groups in the area. In 1913, Sosabowski was drafted into the Austro-Hungarian Army. After training, he was promoted to the rank of corporal, serving in the 58th Infantry Regiment. After the outbreak of World War I he fought with his unit against the Imperial Russian Army in the battles of Rzeszów, Dukla Pass and Gorlice. For his bravery, he was awarded several medals and promoted to first lieutenant. In 1915, he was badly wounded in action and withdrawn from the front. In November 1918, after Poland regained its independence Sosabowski volunteered for the newly formed Polish Army, but his wounds were still not healed and he was rejected as a front-line officer. Instead, he became a staff officer in the Ministry of War Affairs in Warsaw.

After the Polish-Soviet War Sosabowski was promoted to major and in 1922 he started his studies at the Higher Military School in Warsaw. After he finished his studies he was assigned to the Polish General Staff. Promoted to lieutenant colonel, in 1928 he was finally assigned to a front-line unit, the 75th Infantry Regiment, as commanding officer of a battalion. The following year he was assigned to the 3rd Podhale Rifles Regiment as its deputy commander. From 1930 he was also a professor of logistics at his alma mater. In 1937 Sosabowski was promoted to colonel and became the commanding officer of the 9th Polish Legions Infantry Regiment stationed in Zamość. In January 1939 he became the commander of the prestigious Warsaw-based 21st Infantry Regiment. According to the Polish mobilisation scheme, Sosabowski's regiment was attached to the 8th Infantry Division. Shortly before the German invasion of Poland started his unit was moved from its garrison in the Warsaw Citadel to the area of Ciechanów, where it was planned as a strategic reserve of the Modlin Army. On September 2nd, the division was moved towards Mława and in the early morning of the following day it entered combat in the Battle of Mława. Although the 21st Regiment managed to capture Przasnysz and its secondary objectives, the rest of the division was surrounded by the Wehrmacht and destroyed. After that Sosabowski ordered his troops to retreat towards Warsaw. Sosabowski was ordered to man the Grochów and the Kamionek defensive area and defend Praga, the eastern borough of Warsaw, against the German 10th Infantry Division. During the Siege of Warsaw the forces of Sosabowski were outmanned and outgunned, but managed to hold all their objectives. When the general assault on Praga started on September 16th, the 21st Infantry Regiment managed to repel the attacks of German 23rd Infantry Regiment and then successfully counter-attacked and destroyed the enemy unit. After this success, Sosabowski was assigned to command all Polish troops fighting in the area of Grochów. Despite constant bombardment and German attacks repeated every day, Sosabowski managed to hold his objectives at relatively low cost in manpower. On September 26th, 1939, the forces led by Sosabowski bloodily repelled the last German attack, but two days later Warsaw capitulated.

Following the Polish surrender, Sosabowski was made a prisoner of war and interned at a camp near Żyrardów. However, he escaped and remained in Warsaw under a false name, where he joined the Polish resistance. He was ordered to leave Poland and reached France to report on the situation in occupied Poland. After arriving in Paris, The Polish government in exile assigned him to the Polish 4th Infantry Division as the commanding officer. Initially, the French authorities were very reluctant to hand over the badly needed equipment and armament for the Polish unit. Sosabowski's soldiers had to train with pre-World War I weapons. In April 1940, the division was moved to a training camp in Parthenay and was finally handed the weapons awaited since January, but it was already too late to organise the division. Out of more than 11,000 soldiers, only 3,150 were given arms. By June 1940, Sosabowski with approximately 6,000 Polish soldiers arrived at La Pallice, whence they were evacuated to Great Britain. Upon his arrival in London, Sosabowski turned up at the Polish General Staff and was assigned to 4th Rifles Brigade that was to become a core of the future 4th Infantry Division. The unit was to be composed mainly of Polish Canadians, but it soon became apparent that there were not enough young Poles in Canada from which to create a division. Then, Sosabowski decided to transform his brigade into a Parachute Brigade, the first such unit in the Polish Army. The volunteers came from all the formations of the Polish Army. In Largo House in Fife, a training camp was built and the parachute training was started. Sosabowski himself passed the training and, at 49 years of age, made his first parachute jump. In October 1942 the Brigade was ready for combat and was named the 1st Independent Parachute Brigade. Since the Polish General Staff planned to use the Brigade to assist a national uprising in Poland, the soldiers of the 1st Polish Para were to be the first element of the Polish Army in Exile to reach their homeland. Hence the unofficial motto of the unit: by the shortest road (najkrótszą drogą).

In September 1943, Lieutenant-General Frederick Browning proposed that Sosabowski reform his unit into a division and fill the remaining posts with British troops. Sosabowski himself would be assigned to the newly formed division and promoted to general. However, Sosabowski refused. Nevertheless, on June 15th, 1944 he was promoted to Brigadier General. In early August 1944, news of the Warsaw Uprising arrived in Great Britain. The Brigade was ready to be dropped by parachute into Warsaw to aid their comrades from the underground Polish Home Army, who were fighting a desperate battle against overwhelming odds. However, the distance was too great for the transport aircraft to make a round trip and access to Soviet airfields was denied. The morale of the Polish troops suffered badly and many of the units verged on mutiny. The British staff threatened its Polish counterpart with disarmament of the Brigade, but Sosabowski retained control of his unit. Finally, Polish Commander in Chief Kazimierz Sosnkowski put the Brigade under British command, and the plan to send it to Warsaw was abandoned.

During the planning for Operation Market Garden, Sosabowski expressed serious concerns regarding the feasibility of the mission. Among Sosabowski's concerns were the poorly conceived drop zones at Arnhem, the long distances between the landing zones and Arnhem Bridge and that the area would contain a greater German presence than British intelligence believed. Despite Sosabowski's concerns and warnings from the Dutch Resistance that two SS Panzer Divisions were in the operations area, Market Garden proceeded as planned. The Polish 1st Independent Parachute Brigade was among the Allied forces taking part in Market Garden. Due to a shortage of transport aircraft, the brigade was split into several parts before being dropped into the battle. A small part of the brigade with Sosabowski was parachuted near Driel on September 19th, but the rest of the brigade arrived only on September 21st at the distant town of Grave, falling directly on the waiting guns of the Germans camped in the area. The brigade's artillery was dropped with the British 1st Airborne Division. Three times Sosabowski attempted to cross the Rhine to come to the assistance of the surrounded 1st Airborne Division. Unfortunately, the ferry they hoped to use had been sunk and the Poles attempting to cross the river in small rubber boats came under heavy fire. Even so, at least 200 men made it across the river and reinforced the embattled British paratroopers. Despite the difficult situation, at a staff meeting on September 24th, Sosabowski suggested that the battle could still be won. He proposed that the combined forces of XXX Corps, under Lieutenant-General Brian Horrocks, and the Polish 1st Independent Parachute Brigade should start an all-out assault on the German positions and try to break through the Rhine. This plan was not accepted, and during the last phase of the battle, on 25th and 26th of September, Sosabowski led his men southwards, shielding the retreat of the remnants of the 1st Airborne Division. Casualties among the Polish units were high, approaching 40%. After the battle, on October 5th, 1944, Sosabowski received a letter from Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery, commander of the Anglo-Canadian 21st Army Group, describing the Polish soldiers as having fought bravely and offering awards to ten of his soldiers. However, on October 14th, 1944, Montgomery wrote another letter, this time to the British commanders, in which he scapegoated Sosabowski for the failure of Market Garden. Sosabowski was accused of criticizing Montgomery, and the Polish General Staff was forced to remove him as the commanding officer of his brigade on December 27th, 1944.

Sosabowski was eventually made the commander of rearguard troops and was demobilized in July 1948. Shortly after the war Sosabowski succeeded in evacuating his wife and only son from Poland. Like many other Polish wartime officers and soldiers who were unable to return to Communist Poland on pain of repercussions including death or disappearance, he settled in West London. He found a job as a factory worker at the CAV Electrics assembly plant in Acton.He died in London on September 25th, 1967. In 1969, Sosabowski's remains were returned to Poland, where he was reinterred at Powązki Military Cemetery in Warsaw. In The Hague, on May 31st, 2006, Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands awarded the Military Order of William to the Polish 1st Independent Parachute Brigade. The brigade's commander, Sosabowski, was posthumously awarded the "Bronze Lion". On June 1st, a ceremony was held at Driel, the town where the Polish 1st Independent Parachute Brigade fought. Among the speakers at the ceremony were the mayor of Overbetuwe, as well as Sosabowski's grandson and great-grandson. Sosabowski was portrayed by Gene Hackman in the 1977 war film A Bridge Too Far. In the summer of 2012 1st Airborne Major Tony Hibbert made a video appeal for Sosabowski to be pardoned and honoured.

[cactusisconfused]

My brain has yet again made another thought, enjoy.

-

Ghost had heard of day of the dead before, of course, he has. He’d not practiced it, nor thought anything of it really. Wasn’t exactly a man for traditions.

That thought hadn’t really changed until he was sitting in Mexico for his then second time.

Graves had betrayed them, the bastard, and now Soap is who knows where with who knows what injury. On instinct Ghost slips into the darkness, footsteps making no sound and the necks of the shadows split by his knife before sound could arise.

As Ghost moves, waiting patiently to hear something from Soap does he take a moment to pause and look around. It’s late October, Las Alma’s clearly beginning to set up its decor and altars for day of the dead. He slips into a small house he’s found a moment of refuge in. Thats when he sees the alter, a small thing may it be.

There’s a few frames holding pictures of different people, black and white photos, saturated and grainy photos and recent ones. Some of them are of a child, an older lady and man. A cat with a bow tie.

Surrounding the photos are bright orange marigolds. Somewhere, in Simon’s buried memories does he hear his mother from his youth. She had loved marigolds. Loved the color, the shape. He hadn’t realized he had forgotten. Isn’t sure how to feel about forgetting.

Ghost didn’t look for long though, despite the thoughts surrounding his head. He had to keep moving and ensure Johnny got out of all this alive once he finally radioed back.

The thoughts of the altar and marigolds leave his mind for that time being and don’t resurface for a long while later.

.

He and Johnny had gotten into a relationships one unlike the other had ever had and never once would they trade it for anyone else.

It’s when they’re on leave, walking down a street in Edinburgh when Simon peeps a small flower shop, marigolds on display.

He hadn’t meant to stop, truly he didn’t. But his brain could only conjure up his mother’s face and then, for the first time in years, that altar back in Las Almas.

Johnny of course clocks Simon’s sudden stop and his lingering gaze on the folded orange flowers.

“Ye wanna go in there, Si?” Johnny asks quietly, his thumb rubbing the Brit’s hand as they hold each other’s. Simon shakes his head, forcing his eyes away.

“I’m alright.” Johnny can see there’s more than Simon is letting on, but he gives a soft smile regardless and nods. They begin continue their walk, Soap making sure to remember the shop.

.

A few days pass, the autumn wind has truly kicked in as October comes closer to its end. Simon had gone to the gym, Johnny staying home, saying he had ‘things to do’ which awarded the Scot with a raised eyebrow.

When Simon comes back home, he finds the dining room table set with dinner, the lights dimmed and a vase of marigolds sitting on display.

“I saw you looking at them the other day, figured you might like them.” Johnny says with a slightly nervous smile. Simon can’t help but let out a small huff of a laugh, something made out of pure adoration. God Simon loved his boyfriend.

It’s after they eat, now settled on the couch resting in each other’s arms, does Simon formulate the thoughts that have refused to take shape in his head for so long.

“You know of day of the dead?” Simon asks softly, his hand combing through Johnny’s outgrown Mohawk. The Scot mods with an “aye, I have.”

“I was thinking…” Simon starts, his eyes moving to the vase sitting in the table. “We could set up an altar.” Simon says with an unsure lilt to his voice. While Simon hadn’t really participated in traditions in his life, but this one, for some reason bought his attention. He’d never been spiritual, or believed in ghosts or the paranormal- but this thought, to guide your loved ones back home, to spend a holiday celebrating death rather than letting its embrace feel like a freezing grip held like a vice in his mind.

Johnny the ever living man agreed with a level of adoration in his eyes that Simon had to look away. On the eve of Día de Muertos they set the altar together. Setting photos of Simon’s family, all except his bastard if a father and some photos is Johnny’s gone relatives. They lay the marigolds around the altar as well as lighting candles and laying out foods from both their origins and a few hispanic dishes to honor the culture itself.

There’s no great party really, but they sit close together on the couch, stories being told of each face framed with the orange petals. Simon feels closer to those he had loved- still loves than he had in a very long time.

-

This was a lot longer than I had planned. Also is this incredibly late to day of the dead? Yeah, my apologies but I had the thought like- an hour ago.

This, I will be blatantly honest, I projected on. I myself really wish to follow this tradition next year and quite honestly could see Simon following it too.

Anyway I’m gonna go pass out o7

[brokehorrorfan]

The End of the World As We Know It: New Tales of Stephen King's The Stand will be published in hardcover and e-book on August 19, 2025 via Gallery Books.

Edited by Christopher Golden and Brian Keene, the anthology features 34 short stories based on The Stand. It includes an introduction by Stephen King, a foreword by Golden, and an afterword by Keene.

Contributors include Wayne Brady & Maurice Broaddus, Poppy Z. Brite, Somer Canon, C. Robert Cargill, Nat Cassidy, V. Castro, Richard Chizmar, S.A. Cosby, Tananarive Due & Steven Barnes, Meg Gardiner, Gabino Iglesias, Jonathan Janz, Alma Katsu, Caroline Kepnes, Michael Koryta, Sarah Langan, Joe R. Lansdale, Tim Lebbon, Josh Malerman, Ronald Malfi, Usman T. Malik, Premee Mohamed, Cynthia Pelayo, Hailey Piper, David J. Schow, Alex Segura, Bryan Smith, Paul Tremblay, Catherynne M. Valente, Bev Vincent, Catriona Ward, Chuck Wendig, Wrath James White, and Rio Youers.

Since its initial publication in 1978, The Stand has been considered Stephen King’s seminal masterpiece of apocalyptic fiction, with millions of copies sold and adapted twice for television. Although there are other extraordinary works exploring the unraveling of human society, none have been as influential as this iconic novel—generations of writers have been impacted by its dark yet ultimately hopeful vision of the end and new beginning of civilization, and its stunning array of characters. Now for the first time, Stephen King has fully authorized a return to the harrowing world of The Stand through this original short story anthology as presented by award-winning authors and editors Christopher Golden and Brian Keene. Bringing together some of today’s greatest and most visionary writers, The End of the World As We Know It features unforgettable, all-new stories set during and after (and some perhaps long after) the events of The Stand—brilliant, terrifying, and painfully human tales that will resonate with readers everywhere as an essential companion to the classic, bestselling novel.

Pre-order The End of the World As We Know It.