#benoit blanc fic

[starryevermore]

Hey I’m a new knives out/glass onion/Benoit blanc enthusiast and I noticed your requests were open. I was thinking about Benoit being very easily flustered around his s/o (always blushing, being at loss of word) and maybe how others around him react to THE Benoit blanc just turning into mush whenever his little human is around 🙃 you can do whatever you want with that, I just thought it was a fun idea

lovestruck detective ✧ benoit blanc

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: Hey I’m a new knives out/glass onion/Benoit blanc enthusiast and I noticed your requests were open. I was thinking about Benoit being very easily flustered around his s/o (always blushing, being at loss of word) and maybe how others around him react to THE Benoit blanc just turning into mush whenever his little human is around 🙃 you can do whatever you want with that, I just thought it was a fun idea  - anon

pairing: benoit blanc x male!reader

word count: 457

warnings?: fluff, not proofread

it was almost comical, how flustered blanc got around you. how the usually calm, collected man would trip over his words. how his face would burn red. how he’d forget what he was doing the moment he laid eyes on you. 

in your not-so-humble opinion, that was the true marker of someone being in love. your mother had always told you, don’t trust a man who’s suave and can sweet-talk you into anything. those kind of men don’t care about you. those kind of men only care about what you’ll for them. no, no, she’d say, fall for the man who’ll trip over their own feet when they see you. fall for the man who can’t think straight because you occupy his mind. fall for the man who’d move the heavens and the earth just to see you smile.

when you first met blanc, it was at some stuffy party. a friend of his invited him, apparently in an effort to get the stoic man to lighten up a little. you had gone to network. both of you ended up bored out of your minds at the open bar. you caught his eye as you flagged down a bartender. he spilled his bourbon straight down his shirt. you laughed so hard you snorted. that night, you left with his number and a promise that he wouldn’t make another mess like that again. 

except, well, he did. he took you out to dinner, a real nice restaurant with a menu of foods you could hardly fathom the pronunciation of. he offered to order something for you, and you agreed. but when the waiter came, blanc was too busy staring at you to notice. when he finally did order, he stammered his entire way through until he was red in the face. he was so flustered that, when the food arrived, he ended up dropping his entire plate on his lap. you still didn’t understand how he managed to do that. 

people hardly understood how a man like benoit blanc could get so tongue-tied and starry-eyed around you. they’d always comment to you that he wasn’t what they expected. that they expected someone like james bond or batman. someone who didn’t let their feelings show very often. and, to be honest, that was usually true. blanc wouldn’t have the career he did if he wore his heart on his sleeve. but you brought out a side of him that he couldn’t hide—that he didn’t want to hide. 

so, yeah, blanc became something of a lovestruck full around you. he’d turn completely to mush the second he was with you. but you loved every second. because you’d be lying if you said you weren’t the exact same around him. 

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

alright so my pitch for the FOURTH Knives Out movie is as follows:

Benoit is invited to a Great Gatsby party at some obscure millionaire's mansion

He scoffs at the theme as he gets ready and tells Philip, "Great Gatsby. Plllease. This is a Roarin' Twenties party. The only way to make it a true Great Gatsby party is for someone to be floatin' face down in the pool by the end of the night."

Philip smiles, teases, "Don't jinx it."

Cut to Benoit inside with all of the guests, mingling awkwardly. We hear a scream outside. Everyone rushes to the balcony that overlooks the pool, and low and behold, the host (of course wearing a white jacket) is face-down in the now red-tinted pool, a bullet wound in his back.

Benoit just sighs, "Aw, hell."

[leverage-ot3]

I need this for science

[tripledotsrandomfandoms]

Random fic idea: Benoit and Phillip wear matching shirts for a day out. (It was Phillip's idea.)

[asexualandalwaysshipping]

I just want one of the next Knives Out movies to take place in like a prestigious boarding school or something, filled to the brim of entitled rich kids whose parents are bribing the teachers, bullying, and loads of corruption going on with the staff and such. And when like the headmaster or someone eventually gets murdered, the blame is put on the scholarship student whose family pools all of their savings together to hire Benoit because that would be very special to me please and thank mr. rian johnson

[cas-kingdom]

White Flower

A/N: Definitely a long time coming. I've been so slow in my writing since starting university but I'm glad to finally have this one done. Hopefully you all enjoy the introduction of my OC!

Set in the aftermath of Glass Onion.

Title: White Flower

Summary: Fleur Blanc, art student and only daughter of the world's greatest detective, wants to steal the Mona Lisa.

Words: 2336

Despite the alarm and the impassive yelling of “this is a smokeless garden”, Benoit Blanc believed he quite deserved this cigarette, thank you very much. Trying was one word to describe the weekend he’d had. All-round tits up was another.

Besides. The island was pretty much a raging pit of alarms, fire, and general chaos by now. One more addition didn’t make much of a difference, and there certainly was no stopping the activation of the hydrogen fuel now.

“Oh, do shut up,” he said anyway, because it felt good, and because the first yell had made him jump and squish his cigarette between two fingers.

He reached for another and let his sunglasses fall over his eyes, squinting into the distance.

The horrifically neon pink of Birdie Jay’s sunhat stuck out like a sore thumb in the midst of the remaining participants of the weekend’s fiasco. They were all fanned out across the beach, as far apart from each other as possible, waiting impatiently for the policeboats to arrive. Ironic, really, considering how they’d arrived, each one a suck up to the next.

Benoit lit his new cigarette and shook his head with a scoff. “Megalomaniac, Janus-faced…” He muttered the words under his breath and took a puff. The alarm and impassive yelling restarted, and the second cigarette promptly joined the one on the ground.

“For the love of...”

He was owed a proper vacation after this, at the very least.

The yelling stopped abruptly with a crackle and a robotic groan. When Benoit turned, he was met with the sight of a young woman, her feet precariously placed between the gaps of the odd white sculpture that the yelling emanated from.

No longer.

After a violent snap, she held a handful of the offending wires, a look of irritation settling on her face. A flick of long hair and a moment later she tossed the wires onto dry land and followed them down into the shallow water with a quiet splash. Benoit rose a brow and fit his third cigarette neatly between smirking lips.

“Why, thank you, my darlin’.”

Fleur Blanc, twenty-year old art student and daughter of the world’s greatest detective, offered a mock bow as she stepped out of the water. She stretched out a leg and shook her foot dry as her father turned his gaze back towards the beach.

It hadn’t been his idea to bring Fleur along on this particular adventure, and he had in fact protested against it when she and that good-for-nothing roommate of his had suggested it, remembering quite well the last time his detective business had taken him on a wild ride. Alas, lockdown had turned Fleur into a firecracker and Philip had eventually boiled Benoit’s options down to “you take her with you, or I take myself out with the shotgun in the safe.” All fun and games, of course. Of course.

He couldn’t say her presence had been unappreciated. Apart from the obvious ease in her company, and the slightest spark of feeling like they were on a proper vacation, she had helped with the investigation, too. His little detective in the making, he’d always teased, though for as much as he was sure she loved the thrill of investigation, he was certain her career path would lead her straight to the arts.

That certainty was consolidated at the unusual silence coming from Fleur. When he turned, she was standing with her back to him, her eyes fixed on what remained of the Glass Onion. The structure that had once been so…not on fire generated quite the backdrop for his obviously preoccupied daughter. Her head tilted, arms crossed, feet bare and loose hair billowing behind her in the summer breeze, one would assume she was the picture of innocence.

Benoit knew better.

The moment she glanced over her shoulder, a twinkle in her eyes and the—in this case—horrifying beginning of “Dad?” on the tip of her tongue, Benoit pulled his cigarette from his mouth and pointed it at her. His own head dipped dangerously low, and his brows raised in what Fleur knew to be warning.

“No,” he said. Firm and simple. He would not deny she often found herself wrapped around his little finger, but this was one thing he’d be ridiculous to abide by.

“But—”

“My goodness, Fleur, no!”

Fleur narrowed her eyes and whipped her head back around. Benoit saw her fingers tapping rhythmically against her forearm. He remained still, waiting, ready. Because when a thought entered Fleur’s mind, she was hard-pressed to get rid of it.

With a defining nod and not a single glance back, Fleur slipped her flip-flops on and started walking with absolute intent. Benoit rushed after her. He grasped her shoulder and stopped her before she could take another step.

Fleur was ready for him. “I’m doing it,” she stated, “I’ve decided. I have to.”

“You are insane if you truly think—it’s—you are just preposterous, child!”

“But, Dad, it can’t be a crime, right? Most of it’s already destroyed!”

Benoit spluttered. He dropped the cigarette and, with a sudden distaste for the thing, squashed it under the toe of his shoe.

“Jesus, God, Satan, give me strength,” he muttered under his breath, not for the first time concerning his daughter and certainly not for the last. He grasped her by the shoulders, ensuring she couldn’t avoid his gaze, then, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “Fleur, sweetheart, you want to steal the Mona fudgin’ Lisa.”

“Rehome,” Fleur was quick to correct. “And it’ll have a better life with me! You really think Miles appreciated it as much as I will?” That was a given. “And—and only a small part, Dad, that’s all I want.” She suddenly hardened her stare, that familiar seriousness suddenly reappearing. “That’s all I need.”

The detective’s speechlessness after that closing statement could have been due to a number of things. One, because the pure gall of this girl never ceased to amaze him. Two, because something seemed to blow up behind them, a puff of smoke emanating from the top of what used to be the Onion. Three, the most likely contender, because the moment said explosion had him distracted, Fleur ducked under his hold and made her way intently towards it.

Like father, like daughter, was all he could think. And he wasn’t referencing himself.

Surprising, considering he followed after her with absolutely zero hesitation.

The Glass Onion’s majesty was long gone. The maddest of people would advise anyone and everyone to stay about a hundred feet from its flaming mess, armed with a hard-shell helmet and a fire extinguisher, just in case anything went even more wrong. Which, looking at it, was likely.

Still, as was typically—stupidly—the case, Benoit Blanc stood in the middle of it all.

One hand wrapped around his daughter’s, the other gripping the doorframe for easy escape, his wide eyes darted around the Onion. If he was any less focused on the state of his surroundings, he would have been more concerned at his daughter’s lack of concern. True, the fire had somewhat died down, and the structure itself looked less ready to cave in than it had done before, but safe was still not a word he would use to describe it.

Helen’s stunt had certainly done a number on poor Mona, but the world of aesthetes could decidedly remain relieved with the knowledge that some parts of her were untouched. Surrounded by what had once been her glass refuge, she sat still in the place she had done since Miles had obtained her. One eye was black, the other pristine. A side of her hair reflected the fire, the other had been destroyed by it. Needless to say, the majority of her was gone, and if Fleur had the time, Benoit had no doubt she’d be down on her hands and knees, collecting the ashes in a little pot and shamelessly risking her life in the process. Alas, he would sooner drag her out, kicking and screaming, than have her be here a moment longer than she apparently needed to be.

Benoit watched his daughter’s eyes as they scanned the room before landing on Mona. In less than a second, that tell-tale glint went from inquisition to pure delight. It seemed no amount of staring from outside of the case could prepare her for now. True, the painting was charred more than not, and his watchful eye did catch a spark of disappointment, but it only seemed to spur her determination in getting it safely within her grasp.

Parental instincts ablaze since the moment he’d stepped foot on the island, Benoit immediately tightened his grip on her hand and yanked her back when she made to move forward. “Hold your horses,” he said, waiting for her eyes to meet his before wildly gesturing around them. “There’s glass everywhere, Fleur, and you’re wearing flip-flops. Why would you bring flip-flops to this island and nothing else?”

“We’re on vacation!”

“You knew darn well this wasn’t a vacation!”

Fleur spluttered for a moment before pointing accusingly at his own choice of footwear. “Like you and your boat shoes can do any better.”

Benoit gasped. Audibly. “These have hard, glass-proof soles, I’ll thank you to notice.”

He wasn’t quite sure what it was that spurred him to his next decision. Perhaps it was the urgency of the situation. Or the very distant, but ever-closer, sound of sirens. Or, maybe, it was the pure eagerness of his daughter; eagerness of which had always softened his heart, no matter the circumstances.

Whichever it was, he tried not to think about the guilt that would remain on his conscience for the rest of his life as he turned and bent over slightly, motioning with his hands.

“Get on my back,” he said hurriedly. When Fleur stalled, shock settling quickly on her face, he motioned again. “Come, child, we haven’t got long.”

And, with that, Fleur hopped on her father’s back with as much excitement as a child. Benoit gripped her legs, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning her chin on his shoulder, the biggest of grins adorning her lips.

“Look at you, Dad,” she said as he began walking, stepping carefully over large shards of glass.

“We are not to tell your father,” was his only response to her obvious insinuation that he was becoming rebellious in his old age.

“Might be a little difficult when we come home with the Mona Lisa. Ooh! Why don’t we take the Porsche home too? Just the steering wheel?”

Benoit uttered a silent apology to da Vinci.

“Do you see these grey hairs?” he said. “You are the cause.”

Needless to say, through no innate conformism, Fleur’s inner connoisseur had won over her desire to keep a piece of the Mona Lisa in her cardholder. The moment the police had finished detailing the basics of the weekend’s mess with her father and struck up the sensitive question of the possibility of either of them having seen the Mona Lisa’s remainders at all during the night—Benoit believed it was their imploring “the Louvre are simply desperate to get it back” that had swayed her—Fleur had produced the scraps she’d been able to save from her pocket. Handing them over with only the tiniest hint of reluctance, she’d smiled at the gratefulness from the police and watched them go with the bit of longing she could allow herself.

Chuckling softly, Benoit wrapped an arm around her and drew her into his side, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Well, darlin’,” he said, “I’m very proud of you, if it counts for something.”

Fleur breathed a deep sigh and pressed her lips in a thin smile. “It does. At least I cay say I’ve touched her, right, Dad?”

“Oh, absolutely. That’s more than most people can say, after all.”

The police were wrapping up now, gently guiding the exhausted party members onto a boat—one in particular in aptly placed handcuffs. The island itself would take mountains of work to be habitable again, he’d heard a firefighter voice in passing, and for a moment he wondered if Derol had made it onto the boat. After brief consideration, he decided Derol was probably better off here than America.

Benoit pushed his sunglasses down and steered himself and his daughter in the direction of the shore. He didn’t quite enjoy the idea of sharing a boat ride with previously-dubbed megalomaniac, Janus-faced…people, but alas, after today he would no longer experience the displeasure of seeing them again. Though, he would be glad for Helen to attend a few of his dinner parties when the pandemic allowed.

Fleur reached up to grasp her father’s hand at her shoulder as they walked slowly, stepping carefully around anything glinting in the sand. Then, quietly, “Where’re you gonna put your steering wheel?”

Ah. Benoit instinctively glanced down at the duffel bag in his free hand. True, it was heavier than it had been when he’d first arrived on the island, but he had told his daughter that he’d be much appreciated if she didn’t remind him of his rebelliousness at every given moment. Which she had.

“I’m going to lock it away in a safe, so it’s never found, and I’m never arrested for thieving,” he said, finality embedded in his tone. If anyone ever asked: no, he had not stolen the steering wheel of the Porsche 918 Spyder’s wreckage. No, he did not have it in his duffel bag, blanketed by his clothes and second pair of boat shoes. And, no, once it entered the safe he would never look at it again. Except on birthdays. And maybe Christmasses.

He couldn’t say he regretted it.

But he did regret not regretting it.

“And may I just reiterate,” he said, leaning closer towards her, “your father does not need to know a thing.”

Knives Out Masterpost

[aniron48]

smoke gets in your eyes: chapter 3

oh, friends, it has been a while.

Life has been at an 11, lately, in so many ways, not least because practicing international law in a time when the world is as it is feels a lot like that gif from Community where Donald Glover walks into a room with a bunch of pizzas, only to find that the room is actively on fire. I have missed you all, and I've missed writing, and I'm hoping dearly to have more time for both in the coming days, if I can manage it.

In the meantime, here's a little something for you, with lots of love: chapter 3 of "smoke gets in your eyes" is now up on ao3.

Please imagine that when you sit down to read it, I am giving you a giant hug. I hope you enjoy 💜

[cerealboxlore]

Whiz Kid Billy Batson and Lois Lane + the others

How come I haven't seen anything about Billy Batson interacting with the other journalists and reporters in the DC universe when it's the perfect opportunity to have the truth seekers in one room combining their skills/forces together?? I mean seriously, let the Whiz Kid Billy Batson HC meet with the others during some big journalist/reporter convention being held in Fawcett City, he has his own little radio show, let the boy speak his mind! Billy and Lois would have a blast together solving a cold case, interviewing superheroes together, and investigating the mystery behind who invited all these famous journalists and reporters to Fawcett city.

Make it be like a Knives Out scenario where someone extremely important and big suddenly bites the dust during the convention, and not only are the famous reporters and journalists there meant to solve the case, but they are also the suspects! The superheroes are away and can't help in this event, it's up to the non super powered allies to get to the bottom of this and save themselves!

Billy obviously can't transform into Captain Marvel due to the circumstances, but he's more than ready for a challenge to prove that Billy Batson is just as much a hero as his alter ego is.

Billy Batson, Lois Lane, Iris West, Jimmy Olsen, Viki Vale, Cat Grant (I'm going off the DC wiki for journalists and reporters). Put all these people in a room and all of your secrets will be in extreme danger.

Bonus points if Benoit Blanc is canon to the DC universe and was invited as a plus one to a guest of honor/VIP at the convention. I like this fruity southern detective man a lot. Him existing in the DC universe would just be hilarious and actually fit. Man solved a lot of famous cases, who's to say he's never solved a supervillain crime case or answered a few Riddles by the Riddle before (even though he thinks they're stupid). Let this man meet batman for crying out loud! (And let him play Among us with the other journalists/reporters-)

I got the idea based on the snippets of the fic being made by @wolfsbanesparks that involves Billy going through a mentorship program under Lois Lane.

[lecoindecachou]

Is that fucking Ricard

[anythingcanhappeninmay]

hi! I don't normally do this since Im shy but

my glass onion fic about Blanc/Phillip meeting for the first time is nearly done! I had writer's block for quite a few months before I could manage this lol

anyway since this is a small fandom with not nearly enough Benoit/Phillip (though the art/fics that are there are very very good) I thought I'd share!

[mimisempai]

I'm all the way back where I belong

Summary

Benoit's last investigation was exhausting, as always, and after a week's absence, he is happy to be home.

Notes

Happy birthday @jaylh49 !!

On Ao3

Rating G - 734 words

It had been a long week. 

Another rocky investigation, and now that everything was resolved, as much as possible, Benoit was exhausted.

All he wanted to do was go home.

As he got out of his car, the mere sight of the lighted windows gave him a sense of relief.

As soon as he walked through the door of the apartment, he took off his shoes, put his things in the hallway and started to untie that damn tie.

As he sighed to release the pressure, a pleasant smell reached his nostrils and his empty stomach made itself heard. He walked to the kitchen and stopped in the doorway, smiling at the sight before him.

Phillip, in his ever-present pink apron, was preparing dinner under the watchful eye of Miss Marple, who followed his every move, no doubt hoping for a reward. Seeing Benoit, the cat meowed and jumped off the kitchen counter to come to him.

Benoit leaned over to scratch hers head as she stopped beside him, and Phillip exclaimed as he turned around, "Benoit! You're finally home!"

Benoit stepped forward and rested his forehead on Phillip's shoulder and Phillip wrapped his arms around him, laughing.

"Hey, love...tough week, huh?" he gently kissed the top of Benoit's head.

Benoit breathed out: "You have no idea," then wrapped his arms around Philip's waist.

"I sensed that from your rare texts, which is why I prepared something more elaborate for us when I knew you were coming home tonight and..."

He was interrupted by a growl from Benoit's stomach and continued with a small laugh, "...I see I was right."

Benoit looked up, "It smells great."

They stayed like this for another two minutes, then Phillip tried to pull away, but Benoit held onto him, so his husband said quietly, "My dear, if you want to be able to eat, you're going to have to let go of me so I can continue cooking."

Benoit stepped back and let go of Phillip, showing that he was reluctant to do so.

Phillip turned to the pot on the stove and as he began to stir he felt two arms around his waist and Benoit's chin resting on his shoulder. Phillip laughed softly but made no attempt to shake Benoit off.

Honestly, even though Benoit was not stingy with kisses and touches, there was something endearing about him being so clingy.

So Phillip continued to move around the kitchen, not dislodging the octopus that had taken up residence against him. When he was done, he turned off the fire under the pan, turned around in Benoit's arms, kissed his forehead, and asked quietly, "Do you think you'll be able to let go of me to eat?"

With no other choice, Benoit let go of him and went to the table where Phillip brought two steaming plates. They began to eat in silence, knowing they would have time to talk about their week later. 

After a moment, Benoit's hand slipped across the table and grabbed Phillip's hand that was resting next to his plate.

He brought it to his lips, kissed it and said softly, "Thank you."

Phillip looked puzzled and asked, "Thank you for what?"

"For this." 

Benoit gestured to their plates.

Phillip frowned, "That's normal, isn't it?"

Benoit nodded, "That's right...it's normal. Thank you for giving me this."

Phillip did not lose his puzzled look so Benoit explained, "My life outside here is pretty hectic, even chaotic, and even if it's not for you now, who knows what tomorrow will bring? But when I walk through the doors of our home, I can leave it all behind. Just because you're here, doing this kind of thing...normal, as you say."

Phillip, clearly embarrassed, nodded and grumbled, "Eat, or it will get cold."

Benoit gripped his fork but didn't miss the slight blush on Phillip's upper cheeks.

"Philip?"

"Hm?" Philip looked up, and Benoit was leaning toward him, running a light stroke of his tongue over the corner of his mouth.

"What's that for?" 

Benoit took on an innocent look and replied, "You've got a little sauce there."

Phillip, while not having the deductive skills of his husband, knew how to spot a lie and gave Benoit a fake scolding look while pointing his finger, "You cheeky bastard!"

Benoit laughed and watched with delight as Phillip joined in the laughter.

Yes, he was home.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

[starryevermore]

Hi. Could you write Benoit Blanc x gn reader (platonic). Like they are at the party and they see their friend's bf cheating, so they take him out to "talk" to him. Reader is trying not to punch him, but after he says something awful to reader Blanc punches him. Thank you.

vaguely southern gentleman ✧ benoit blanc

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: Hi. Could you write Benoit Blanc x gn reader (platonic). Like they are at the party and they see their friend's bf cheating, so they take him out to "talk" to him. Reader is trying not to punch him, but after he says something awful to reader Blanc punches him. Thank you. - anon

pairing: benoit blanc x gn!reader (platonic)

word count: 654

warnings?: not proofread

“I can’t believe that asshole,” you muttered to Blanc. “Doing this shit? In public? He’s fucking asking to get caught.”

Your friend—world’s greatest detective, Benoit Blanc—followed your gaze as he sipped his drink. “Folks like him never think they’re gonna get caught.”

“We need to do something.” You lifted your phone, snapping a picture of him as he leaned into some blonde, his lips so close that they were nearly locked together. You would probably need proof of this. Scumbags like him are all about that gaslighting bullshit. “Katie would want us to do something.”

Blanc looked at you, his brow arching. “I ain’t been in a dogfight in some time. I’m a bit rusty.”

You rolled your eyes, punching him in the arm. “I meant, like, talk to him or something. You know, you use that vaguely Southern charm of yours to lure him outside and we confront him. Tell him he’s a piece of shit and to leave Katie before we make his life miserable or something.”

“Vaguely Southern?” Blanc repeated.

“I can’t figure out if you’re, like, a British person putting on a Southern accent or if you’re from some really out of the way part of Georgia or Alabama. I don’t know. Sounds equal parts fake and believable.”

Blanc shook his head at you then turned back to the scumbag. “I’ll lure him out. I’ll meet you on the balcony with him in, say, five minutes?”

“The Benoit Blanc I know and love will have him out in less than two,” you teased. You set your drink down, deciding you no longer wanted to finish it, wanting some vague semblance of sobriety for what would happen next. You gave Blanc a pat on the back, then walked away. 

True to his nature, Blanc had that piece of shit on the balcony in just under two minutes. The man stared at you with the best sneer he could muster. If you were being honest, it looked more like a dog took a shit under his nose than it did anything remotely intimidating. You arched a brow at him.

“You got a whole lotta nerve thinking you can do this shit in public and think no one’ll find out,” you said. 

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, that’s what this is about? Piss off.”

Your fingers curled into a fist. “Really? That’s what you’re gonna say? Not even gonna try to justify your actions?”

He shrugged. “Why should I? Maybe if your friend was more fun, I wouldn’t have to find pleasure elsewhere.”

Blanc took a step closer to you, watching you closely. He knew you well, knew you well enough to know the rage was simmering just below the surface. He knew you well enough to know you were seconds away from lashing out. 

The scumbag stepped closer, too. His sneer shifted into a smirk, his disgusting eyes raking over you. “You know, if you’re ever looking for a good time—”

“Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be a prude. Everyone knows that you love being passed around all of our friends—”

Your jaw dropped. Your mind raced as you tried to figure out the best, most efficient way to rip his ass apart when Blanc became a blur beside you. He surged forward, his fist connecting with the piece of shit’s stupid fucking face. The dumbass crumpled to the floor. 

You glanced between the unconscious man and your friend. “…I thought it’s been a while since you were in a dogfight.”

Blanc’s mouth twitched into a smile. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping at the blood on his knuckles. “Wasn’t much of a dogfight, was it?”

“I suppose not.” You looked back at the dumbass, then started to walk off the balcony. “C’mon, we should probably go find Katie and tell her what’s up before he wakes up and starts spewing shit.”

[gutsybitsies]

I wrote Scooby Doo and Knives out Crossover. Because I cannot believe someone hasn't put a crossover like this on ao3 yet.

[thoughts-ideas-statements]

I haven’t watched the Teen Wolf movie yet (I will for the cringe of it, plus Peter Hale), but I feel like my reaction will be similar to Benoit Blanc in that it will truly just be dumb

[marlasomething]

Fandom: Knives Out Movies

(Main) Character(s): Marta Cabrera, Helen Brand, Benoit Blanc

(Main) Ship(s): Marta/Helen

Word count: 1508

Other(s): Post-Canon-compliant

[who-wants-a-muffin-official]

the glass onion fic has been posted!!