PROMPTS FROM BODY HEAT 🔥
* assorted dialogue from the 1981 film, adjust as necessary
my god, it's hot.
i want you with me.
i got a serious question for you. what the fuck are you doing?
i have to be with you.
i've lived so much of my life with nothing.
i'm going to make it up to you tonight, but you must behave.
you and me. your body near mine, close. i'm not right when you're not with me. i get the shakes.
i wouldn't mind having breakfast.
you've had your fun.
don't test my patience for even five more minutes.
i think i've underestimated you. i don't know why it took me so long.
this is beneath even you.
i would have gladly come to the house.
i'm not looking for company.
you're not too smart, are you? i like that in a man.
how about i buy you a drink?
i would have noticed you.
me? i need tending. i need someone to take care of me. rub my tired muscles. smooth out my sheets.
i just need it for tonight.
i asked you not to talk about the heat.
you don't want to lick it?
look who's here. isn't this a coincidence?
do i remind you of hot air?
i'm not that eager.
how'd you know i drink?
you shouldn't have come. you're going to be disappointed.
you must come here a lot.
maybe you shouldn't dress like that.
i don't like my body much. it's never been right.
sometimes... i don't know. i get so sick of everything. i'm not sure i care anymore. do you know what i mean?
i'm not looking for trouble.
i mean it. i like you. but my life is complicated enough.
i think you should go now.
i don't think you want me to go.
there's nothing to be afraid of.
you're not so tough after all, are you?
i didn't want this to happen. but i didn't try hard enough to stop it... because i wanted you.
i wanted you here, like this. this is bad for me.
now nothing's going to be the same anymore.
jesus, i think you're right. you better be on the bottom.
no one must know. promise me, [name]. no one.
hey, wanna make love?
what do you take me for?
don't you like it?
i want to be in bed.
is that all you ever think about?
you've never been shy about that stuff.
please don't say it if you don't mean it.
tell me the truth, please. i'll understand. i swear to you.
from now on, when it starts coming down on you... i'll be there to protect you.
come to me.
it scares me to talk about these things.
that's what you want, isn't it?
maybe you should let me do it for you.
that's the way it is. there's nothing we can do about it.
i'm going downstairs. do you want anything?
all that matters is we're together.
no, darling. don't talk that way.
get the hell out of here and don't come back.
i don't blame you for thinking i'm bad.
you must believe one thing. i love you. i love you and need you. i want to be with you forever.
you imagined it.
i tried to make it up to you.
is there something wrong with your phone?
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WIP DAY
tagged by: @nuclearstorms
tagging: @stars-of-the-heart @perseus-veil @stacispratt @paralytic-states @shellibisshe @strafethesesinners @judasofsuburbia @hopecountyisforlovers @wewillryesagain and whoever wants to do it!!!
in an unprecedented turn of event, i will finally post a wip on wip day,,,,,,, i have fallen deep inside the psych rabbit hole and i am now writing shassie fics so this is what you're getting god bless and amen 🙏🏼🙏🏼 i'll try to post oc writing next time i'm posting a wip teehee!!! and thanks for tagging me bones mwah mwah and mwah
It all happened incredibly fast, and yet Lassiter could still see the last ten minutes play out behind his eyelids like detached scenes from a movie.
Shawn had called him at an ungodly hour of the night, rambling like a madman about a psychic vision so strong it had woken him up—Lassiter highly doubted that, just as he did the mere fact of Shawn being a psychic in the first place. He’d given him a location and had nearly begged him to come as fast as possible.
The Riviera Parlour was the kind of high-end restaurant that Lassiter had only ever dreamt of setting foot into. With a waiting list the length of his arm and a menu that averaged his bi-weekly salary, dining there had simply been out of the question. He’d only considered the idea once, a few months after his separation, hoping that Victoria would have seen in this gesture just how devoted he could be, if given another chance.
Shawn, with his green Henley shirt unbuttoned at the neck and pale blue jeans, had seemed out of place in front of the gold ornaments that decorated the facade of the restaurant. What’s more, the torrential rain had soaked him from head to toe, his hair matted to his forehead and clothes sticking to his body like a second skin. He’d looked all the part of a mutt left to sleep in the doghouse, and Lassiter had had half a mind to scold him for taking his bike in such weather. He’d instead held his tongue, had stared expectantly at the other man with a pinched grimace.
The door had been unlocked—Lassiter had glanced at Shawn with a raised eyebrow only for the latter to shrug and squeeze past him into the restaurant. The glow of their flashlights had casted eery shadows on the walls as they’d wandered, Lassiter forcing Shawn to stay behind him even as the faux-psychic had held his fingers to his temples and guided him deeper into the restaurant and into the kitchen.
He’d ‘divined’ that the evidence they’d needed to tie their suspect to the murders was in the walk-in freezer. How he’d come to that conclusion, Lassiter had no idea, and he hadn’t bothered to ask. Cautiously, gun held tightly in his fist, Lassiter had pushed the freezer’s door open and walked in. Shawn had stayed behind to hold the door, peaking curiously with his head tilted sideways, eyes darting across the room with barely concealed interest.
And then, just as Lassiter had been about to complain about the flagrant lack of evidence, Shawn had yelped and stumbled forward, holding the back of his head with one hand as the door had banged shut.
A deafening silence had hovered over the room for two, three full seconds before Lassiter had launched himself at the door. He’d pulled and pushed at the handle, banged his fist on the cold metal and the thick glass of the window, yelled himself raw, to no avail; the door had remained firmly shut, and their suspect had fled, taking with him their only chance of getting out anytime soon.
Leaning against the door with two fingers pinched against the bridge of his nose, Lassiter forced himself to remain calm, even as Shawn’s rambling, which had been going on since Lassiter’s attempts to open the door had failed, went on and on with no sign of stopping.
“Think anyone’ll get mad if I eat some of these frozen raviolis? I didn’t eat before I left and I’m getting a tummy ache, which is seriously messing with my psychic abilities–”
“If you’re not going to help me find a way out of here, kindly shut the hell up,” Lassiter snapped, glaring intently at Shawn as the latter examined the contents of the shelves. There was no mistaking the tremor in his shoulders, previously soaked clothes now frozen solid on his body.
“Don’t worry, I already have a plan,” Shawn assured confidently, though that didn’t mean much when his voice trembled with every word he spoke. “We turn into icicles and, in ten years, they bring us back to life Michael Beck style.”
“Can you be serious for one second? It’s your fault we’re in this mess.” Then, with a frustrated huff, “And who the hell is ‘they’?”
Shawn shrugged with a vague wave of his hand, and Lassiter had to physically stop himself from reaching for his gun.
“Did you tell anyone else about your hunch?”
“You mean my vision.”
“No, I mean your hunch. Answer the goddamn question, Spencer.”
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462 to go
Louisiana Story (1948, dir. Robert Flaherty): The setting is lovely and beautifully shot but man did this one bore me.
The Man Who Had His Hair Cut Short (1966, dir. André Delvaux): The protagonist is such a wet tissue of a human being but that just makes this story of devastating, all-encompassing obsession work all the better.
Pierrot le Fou (1965, dir. Jean-Luc Godard): This project has fully Stockholm Syndromed me into enjoying Godard.
The 36th Chamber of Shaolin (1978, dir. Lau Kar-leung): Not really my cup of tea but it's very well made and surprisingly funny.
Shoot the Piano Player (1960, dir. François Truffaut): Truffaut has always been a bit too esoteric for me but that wasn't the case here - I actually loved this movie! What can I say, I can't resist a pathetic male lead or witty, foul-mouthed waitresses, not to mention how beautiful the film looks - Paris in the 1960s is ever charming.
Bigger Than Life (1956, dir. Nicholas Ray): A beautifully crafted, nightmarish melodrama. Obviously the science is 100% bullshit but the anxiety and fear are very real. It also kind of shocked me how openly critical it is of at those at the time sacred concepts of the American Dream, the noble patriarch and the nuclear family.
Body Heat (1981, dir. Lawrence Kasdan): A very fun little piece of 80s sleaze. Kathleen Turner is mesmerizing, a modern day (at the time) Lauren Bacall. And people really aren't sweaty enough in modern day cinema.
The Five Venoms (1978, dir. Chang Cheh): Actually, I think I'm starting to get this genre. The structure felt strange to me but the plot was gripping and the characters fun, if not particularly complex (Toad was my favorite). The amount of awful wigs - and fake beards! - delighted me to no end.
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