sunkissedburns

[sunkissedburns]

i want to write again so bad

[sunkissedburns]

Love in the Afternoon 1957, dir. Billy Wilder

[sunkissedburns]

I feel like Joaquin would be a really great dancer both seriously and jokingly, he'd probably try to seduce you with it too and you'd just be standing there absolutely captivated (I would fr)

joaquín torres sooo would be a really great dancer; both seriously and jokingly.

he’d absolutely use it against you, trying to seduce you with smooth footwork and sharp spins while you just stand there in awe.

because the truth is, dancing is in his blood. he had no choice. he was that little kid who fell asleep on a plastic chair during family parties, arms crossed, only to be rudely awakened by his tías dragging him onto the dance floor. they’d squeeze his cheeks, laugh about how cute he was, and then pass him around from cousin to cousin, aunt to aunt, until he figured out how to move. he doesn’t even remember learning how to dance—it’s just something that’s always been part of him, as natural as breathing.

and he’s good at it. damn good.

joaquín takes you dancing all the time, always with that cocky little smirk that dares you to say no. it doesn’t matter that you’re not the best dancer in the world (some would say you have two left feet).

joaquín never minds. he holds onto your hips, pulls you close, and has you swaying against him with the fast-paced rhythm of the music, guiding you like it’s second nature.

one night, he takes you to a bar in miami. it’s packed—full of cumbia, huapango, salsa, la bamba—straw hats, beer, leather boots, so much denim. the energy is electric, the floor a blur of movement and heat. the music pulses through your chest, vibrating in your ribs, and before you can blink, joaquín’s pulling you onto the dance floor.

the first few buttons of his white shirt are undone, sweat glistening on his skin. at some point in the night, he’s found a cowboy hat that now sits low on his head, making him look unfairly good. he’s laughing, spinning you, dipping you like he’s showing off—and he is. because he can.

you’re trying so hard to keep up. your eyes stay locked on your feet, determined not to step on his, but the rhythm keeps picking up, faster and faster. you never thought of yourself as much of a dancer before you met joaquín. now, most of your weekends are spent on your feet, grinning so hard your face hurts.

“you’re thinking too much,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear as he pulls you close, his hips slotted with yours. “just feel it.”

his hands tighten on your waist, guiding you. and for once, you don’t think and you just move.

[sunkissedburns]

Oklou - blade bird

[sunkissedburns]

[sunkissedburns]

ooooh college athlete! joaquín torres who is oh so popular and walks around campus like he owns it but is ridiculously awkward around that one girl from the cheerleading team

[sunkissedburns]

[sunkissedburns]

i can feel my mcu phase coming back

[sunkissedburns]

May 5 is Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women's Day. A reminder that 84.3 percent of native women have experienced violence. 56.1 percent of native women have experienced sexual violence. And the 3rd leading cause of death for native women is murder.

And they haven't even gathered significant information on native women living in URBAN areas. It could be much higher.

Dwell on this. Wear red.

[sunkissedburns]

jack abbot has the kind of quiet intensity that makes people feel small. he’s all sharp edges and blunt remarks, remains of a life spent on battlefields.

but he is, most of all, a caring man. always has been.

he finds you after a brutal shift, furiously wiping at your eyes. there’s blood on your scrubs and you seem so frazzled he thinks about giving you space for a minute. all of this is thrown out of the window as soon as your gaze catches his.

it takes him three strides to reach you and three more to lead you away from trauma 1, his hand on your shoulder. you don’t need to say anything and neither does he.

he’s softly tilting your chin to look you in the eyes.

“hey, hey what happened out there ?”

you shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut to prevent any more tears from spilling.

“he, i- we, we tried everything jack, everything. fuck, shen had his hands down the guy’s stomach ! there was blood everywhere and he looked so desperate and so scared and now he’s gone and it’s my fault, i should’ve done better, i should’ve saved him !” your voice breaks and so does jack’s heart.

he holds you tight, lets you sob in his arms.

“oh sweetheart. you did everything you could. i know you did.” he whispers sweet words of reassurance in your hair, hands rubbing slow circles on your back.

you pull back after a while, not without feeling the press of jack’s lips on your temple. you smile meekly as his thumbs wipe the remaining tears away.

“c’mon,” his hand finds itself on your shoulder again. “let me get you some coffee.”

[sunkissedburns]

[sunkissedburns]

i need to thank whoever decided to cast danny ramirez as manny i missed seeing this beautiful man on my screen

[sunkissedburns]

thinking about michael robinavitch who quit smoking years ago, yet he can’t help but follow you when dana suggests a smoke break. ever the conversationalist, she keeps talking but his mind is miles away.

the way your fingers deftly play with your lighter almost has him losing his train of thought, and his eyes hungrily trace your side profile as you exhale the smoke.

there’s just something about the way you grin at him, cigarette between your lips, as if you know he’s resisting the urge to pluck it out of your mouth to kiss you silly.

[sunkissedburns]

an early morning visitor to my uncle’s home on quadra island in british columbia

[sunkissedburns]

wow… hey people…

[sunkissedburns]

[sunkissedburns]

Saul Leiter       Black and White, New York City     c.1949