#benoit blanc/phillip

[petite-madame]

"You old charmer you!" (Benoit Blanc & Phillip from Glass Onion) - 2024

- Phillip!! You old charmer you! I don't have time for this, I'm on a case!

- Cooome on! I'm sure the great Benoit Blanc has two minutes to dance with his adorable and loving husband. Doesn't it remind you of our honeymoon in Kyoto ? This little ryokan under the cherry trees, the charm of Gion...

[friskynotebook]

Just Benoit and Phillip living their happy lil queer life ✨

You can get a high quality print of this piece on my Inprnt ✨

[benoits-neckerchieves]

Oh my god !!!!!

Well that explains this then

[astralalmighty]

Alright but Blanc keeps putting little things in his pockets because “oh this might be useful later” and Philip is beyond exasperated with his husband collecting the stupidest shit because “you never know when you need a broken watch you found under a bench Philip” and Philip is tearing his hair out because he’s the one emptying Blanc’s pockets on laundry day and throwing everything away like “jesus Blanc this used to be endearing but you’re literally a fucking crow”

[humanthatexistsrn]

there are two kinds of benoit/phillip fics:

1. phillip “”holy fucking shit my husband might’ve died in an explosion holy shit” because obviously he was worried it was AN ISLAND WIDE EXPLOSION” blanc

2. phillip “yawnnnn oh hello darling how was the trip… oh the mona lisa was burned? the island you were on exploded? mhm sounds nice” blanc

both are equally accurate

[aniron48]

It's WIP Wednesday!

Friends. I haven't done one of these in AGES--haven't done writing in ages--for a whole host of reasons that are better left for a different post. But I needed some light, this week, and so I'm sharing this excerpt from the fic I'm writing for the wonderful human @anyawen, who was my highest bidder at the Fandom Trumps Hate auction earlier this year! So here, have a bit from this Benoit Blanc fic. Final version to include antiquities trafficking, Phillip playing in an orchestra, outrageous Southern accents, and a mysterious ex named Ben--but whose ex is he? 👀 Excerpt below the cut:

Benoit Blanc, gentleman detective, had done enough speaking engagements by now to know that when people asked him about his favorite mystery, they were usually angling for a story about a case he’d solved, preferably one with false leads, or surprise endings, or narrow escapes. The more philosophically-minded members of the audience might have accepted the semantic argument that “mysteries” were not necessarily synonymous with “cases”—not always, and maybe even not often. But by and large, Benoit answered the questions as they were intended, rather than as he wanted to, if he’d had his druthers. After all, most audiences would only be disappointed if he told them the truth—that his favorite mysteries were those contained within the human heart.

Take his husband, for example. After four years together, there were still surprises, still small acts of trust, of confidences shared, that opened up whole worlds inside Phillip that Benoit hadn’t known were there. He suspected that he could happily spend his whole life deciphering what made him tick, what made Phillip Phillip. It had been, in no small part, one of the reasons he’d married him.

And even those people whose lives coincided with his for a shorter time, who were destined to pass in and out of his orbit while remaining largely a cipher to him—well, those mysteries left an impression, too, fleeting as they were.

Especially when it seemed that one of them had never deleted his phone number.

cc: @mi6-cafe

[mightstaywhoknows]

ok don’t mind me I’m just trying to image how did Phillip and Blanc looked like when they’ve met each other hmmm

As you can see this is our young detective, with beautiful blue eyes. 

And this young man who makes no Damn sense but still compels the detective

[you-me-we-04]

In-between glass onion and the next film they should do like a short film thing which is just Benoit telling the story of how he met and fell in love with Phillip to Helen and Marta, how I met your mother style. With the the twist being that Hugh Grant plays like half the cast so by the end of short we still have no clue what Phillip’s backstory is and how him and Benoit really met.

[ebp-brain]

benoit blanc/philip: homecoming

spoilers for The Glass Onion ahead!

--

“So,” says Philip.

“So,” says Benoit Blanc.

“You solved a murder on a billionaire’s private island, then encouraged your new friend to blow up virtually the entire island, causing the destruction of one of the greatest works of art in the history of humanity and the downfall of said billionaire’s massive tech company. Not to mention the billionaire himself.”

Blanc nods, looking around at the open living room-slash-kitchen area of his and Philip’s flat, suitcases at his feet and the stale smell of airplane still clinging to his clothes.

“And you,” he says, “made about fifty loaves of sourdough bread in my absence.”

“Fifty-six,” says Philip. “I ate some.”

Blanc nods slowly, looking at his husband. His husband looks back.

“My god, I love you,” Blanc says.

“I love you too. I wish I could have seen the explosion.”

“It was quite something.” Blanc steps closer and takes Philip’s face in his hands. He kisses him hard on the mouth. Philip gives a startled inhale and then kisses back, grasping at Blanc’s upper arms, pulling him in.

“There you are,” he gasps out, looking into Blanc’s eyes. “There you are.”

Blanc’s face falls a bit. “I do apologize for my…rather insufferable behavior these last few months. And for monopolizing our bathtub. I know I cannot have been much of a joy to cohabitate with.”

“Oh, Blanc,” says Philip, “mostly it was just hard to watch you suffer. I miss your…” He gestures at Blanc’s sparkling eyes, his upright posture, his bright face alive with intelligence. “This. You.”

Blanc smiles a little and kisses Philip, more softly this time. “Have you perfected the recipe yet?”

Philip beams. “Try for yourself.”

Blanc looks around at the dozens of loaves stacked on their cabinets, tables, counters, and even the occasional bookshelf. “I certainly shall,” he replies. “I certainly shall.”

[octoberobserver]

Aprons and Ascots - Benoit Blanc/Phillip Fic

(Read on ao3)

“Is that one of the tie-dye aprons Helen’s third graders made you?”

Phillip froze, left foot suspended over their notoriously creaky floorboard.

“Nothing gets past you, Sherlock,” he teased before turning on the spot to finish up the breakfast tray he had been surreptitiously preparing (or so he thought) for his husband before he was unceremoniously interrupted.

“One for every day of the week,” he continued as Blanc crossed to the coffee maker. “They meticulously chose the colours and patterns for all seven of them. Being back in their classroom, even on a staggered basis has done them the world of good, it seems. They’re a very nice payment for my legal fees.”

All of Andi’s assets had been released to Helen months ago, but neither Blanc nor Phillip had accepted a cent for their detective or lawyer services. Watching that shithead Bron suffer under the weight of his own idiocy had been payment enough as far as they were concerned. Well, that and Helen’s sugar cookies. Those too. Not all baking had halted when lockdown lifted, thank God. Though he could admit, his own kitchen endeavours probably had, for the greater good of his tastebuds and waistline.

“I will say, I’m glad it was an open and shut case, to be sure, for our dear Ms. Brand’s sake,” Blanc murmured between sips of his coffee, coming up to stand behind him, looking over his shoulder. “But I’d also be remiss if I didn’t admit that I rather mourned your very delectable lawyerin’ theatrics during the trial.”

“Says the most dramatic man in the world,” Phillip scoffed back, slapping his hand away when he attempted to reach toward the buttered toast.

Blanc wasn’t easily deterred, however, merely stepping closer and leaning his chin on his shoulder.

“Watching you tear down the Thrombeys’ revolving door of rabid dogs was very sexy and debonair, Mr. Thacker. I have missed the spectacle.”

Phillip chuckled, shaking his head as he reached for the orange juice.

“You just like my courtroom voice, Mr. Blanc.”

“Lord help me, I do.”

Their eyes met.

“Hmm. Well, aren’t I ever so glad a certain private detective convinced me to leave my bustling London law firm and spend the next two decades setting up sticks Stateside?” Phillip replied cheekily, hip-checking him out of the way and carrying the laden tray over to their breakfast nook.

It was all true, of course—he had fallen for the (Texan? Louisianan? He hadn’t been sure at the time) foreigner whom he met when he had been under suspicion of the murder of his boss, of all things, near Westminster Abbey, in 1998. Benoit, who was reluctantly brought there at the behest of Phillip’s other, very rich, very powerful boss, had ruled him out immediately, but somehow still found a way to keep questioning him, much to Phillip’s baffled delight and to Scotland Yard’s continued annoyance.

It had been the meek personal assistant who had done his boss in, in the end. And once the guilty party had been stuffed into the back of a patrol car, Blanc had turned to him, with his mesmerizing gaze and in his famous Southern drawl, set his heart racing with words he would never forget.

“I confess, Mr. Thacker, but I feel a type of connection with you. As if we’ve known each other all our lives. I cannot make any sense of it…compels me, though.”

They had dinner that night.

And almost every night since.

For twenty-three years today, Phillip Thacker had spent his life with the whirlwind that was world-renowned, private-detective, Benoit Blanc, and he wouldn’t give up one single second of it.

Well. Maybe the lockdown sulk baths. They could stay firmly in the past, thank you very much.

“Oh, speaking of those wretched Thrombeys, Marta wants us over for dinner at six pm on Friday. Her mum is making that delicious Ropa Vieja again. Natasha wants us to save her some leftovers.”

He could feel Blanc’s steely blue eyes follow him as he set himself up at the nook.

“Those leftovers stand no chance against your midnight munchies,” he smoothly retorted, joining him, taking his usual seat opposite, newspaper folded under his arm.

“I already told her that,” Phillip smirked.

They tucked into their cheese omelets, toast, tea, and coffee, respectively.

“A package arrived for you earlier,” he piped up after a few minutes, as innocently as he could, knowing there was absolutely no way he was getting anything past his husband and loving him anyway.

“Oh?”

Those gorgeous eyes locked onto him like a beacon.

“Another mysterious box,” he added, trying and failing to hide his smile behind his cup of tea.

“Well now,” Blanc smiled back, “that’ll be somethin’ for after this very nice meal. Thank you,” he raised his glass of orange juice in a toast. “Happy Anniversary, mon chéri.”

“Happy Annivesary, love,” Phillip echoed, clinking their glasses before gesturing out to the hallway. “I did try to get it closer to the bed for actual breakfast in bed this time. But you caught me, as always.”

Blanc gave a half-shrug.

“You have as many tells as you have talents.”

“Of course I do, dear. And you know every single one.”

Blanc narrowed his piercing eyes, pensive.

“Not every single one. For example, I had no earthly idea that you brushed up on your art law to help bury Bron deeper than a groundhog in December.”

“Miles Bron is an insufferable, murderous twat and he’ll get everything he deserves,” Phillip sipped his tea before lowering his cup and clasping his hand. “But I am glad I can still surprise you, even after all these years.”

“Compel me,” Blanc murmured, squeezing his hand back and leaning in to peck his lips, humming into it when Phillip deepened it, turning it just a little devious, as was his wont.

Once they finished breakfast, Blanc filled the dishwasher and made his way out to the living room, calling over his shoulder.

“I have a new movie we can watch.”

“As long as it’s not another one of your blasted rom-coms, Ben,” Phillip yelled back, head deep in their pantry, searching for the chocolate biscuits his mother shipped over for his birthday. They were perfect for dipping in his tea, much to Benoit’s disgust. “You know I loath them more than you loath Cluedo.”

“We call it, ‘Clue’ here, darlin’,” Blanc retorted same as always, edging closer to the large, dark box sitting pretty by their front door.

Phillip emerged, biscuits in hand, just as he was grinning down at the familiar handwriting, tearing the cardboard open with zeal and laughing in delight at what it revealed.

“Tie-dye ascots! Seven of them! Just look at these beauties. Helen’s students are marvels.”

Phillip chuckled as Blanc tied the ascot more like a neckerchief in his haste and began inspecting himself in the mirror.

“You look as handsome as ever.”

He made a mental note to send a card of thanks for the extra anniversary present. Helen Brand and her clever third graders truly were a godsend.

[aprettyspy]

@fluffbruary Day 2 for the prompt 'trace'. Benoit Blanc comes home to his husband Phillip after his weekend at the Thrombeys

Voracious Mind

Phillip stared at the envelope of cash occupying the exact center point of his kitchen island. Two days ago he had dug out a tape measure from the depths of the hallway cupboard, finding it buried between a pair of en point shoes and a broken tennis racket. The wad of cash was exactly 2 ¾ " high and had been delivered three days previously. It remained sat in its unmarked, plain brown envelope. Benoit had opened it, read the accompanying note and thrown it all down where it still rested. 

Not given to superstition as a general rule, something about this mysterious wad of cash made Phillip nervous. It was too much of a coincidence that it's delivery had occurred just 45 minutes after their ancient and dilapidated water heating system had finally given up with an impressive explosion that had brought with it a portion of their kitchen ceiling. As much as they both loved this apartment, it was bloody expensive to maintain. 

Given that his husband had dashed out the door only a few hours later, and had sent exactly one text message since (It seems this case revolves around the name Hugh, my darling, but what a terrible name!), Phillip's hackles were well and truly risen. 

His best attempts to distract himself with work, walks and a very long call to his daughter back in England had not worked. He was on guard, expecting something. He just couldn't pinpoint what. 

He decided to assuage his building anxiety through the tried and tested medium of vigorous cleaning. He was head down, scrubbing the bath (when he did get home, Benoit would want to use it) and, yet again, resolved to replace these dark tiles when he heard the door slam.

"Darlin? Phil, darlin, you home?"

Phillip whipped off his cleaning pinny and tried to smooth his hair as he dashed down the hall in relief to have Benoit home safely.

"There you are my beautiful boy! My God but I've had some weekend!"

Phillip helped Benoit ease off his heavy wool coat and headed for the kettle. 

Already down to his braces (twenty years in America and Phillip would never call them 'suspenders') and shirt sleeves, Benoit paced, pulling the braces down off his shoulders 

"They were just the most terrible people, that Thrombey family, just awful. They were so rude to Marta - oh, did I tell you about Marta? Just the loveliest creature, you would adore her, we must invite her up, oh thank you-" Benoit took the tea Phillip handed him, "and just awful to one another." He shuddered at the memory.

Phillip took up his customary spot on the middle of the sofa. It was always like this after a case. Benoit's head processed and stored everything he had learned and he liked to do his expounding while on the move. His monologue continued uninterrupted, except by sips of tea. When that was finished, Benoit began to undo his shirt buttons. Phillip watched, knowing it was nearly his moment to step in. He had learned long ago that this exposition could wind his husband up even more, leading to a night of sleepless tossing and turning in the bed, followed by pacing and eventually a cigar on the terrace. 

"Benoit." Phillip called softy. It went unheeded and the pacing continued, shirt now thrown to the sofa.

"- not one word of their Mother, not a single photograph in all that clutter-"

"Blanc!" Louder and more commanding. Benoit stopped and looked at his husband, eyebrows raised.

"Sit." Phillip ordered, indicating the floor between his legs where he sat on the sofa.

Benoit sat, relaxed back against the sofa and breathed deeply. "I'm sorry, darlin', they did infuriate me so." 

"I know, but shush now." Phillip began to knead at his husband's tense shoulders. His strong musculature resisted the massage at first but Phillip persisted. He pushed Benoit to sit forward slightly and began working systematically down the muscles on either side of his husband's spine. As he worked, he listened to the evening out of breath, sensed the quieting of that extraordinary, voracious mind. Phillip used his index finger to trace back up Benoit's spine from lower back to the base of his skull and returned to work on the shoulders. Benoit's huge sigh let out all the stresses of the case. Phillip's own, private Benoit was back home with him again. 

Phillip rested his forehead on his husband's now pliable broad shoulder.

"We need to go and buy a new water heater, love."

[petite-madame]

Be gay, do solve crimes - (2023)

“Yes, Phillip. Let's go even faster, my love. I have always dreamt of dying crushed against a wall while chasing a suspect. It’s so romantic. And stupid.”

[reticencemeccanico]

I would do anything right now for some good Benoit Blanc/Phillip fics about how they got together holy shit,

especially if we get a bit of Phillip trying to flirt with Benoit and only for him to completely misinterpret it and think he must be a suspect for whatever case he’s working on.

extra points if we get to see Phillip calling him Benny or some other sweet nickname.

[benoits-neckerchieves]

That’s it that’s the post

[annamaetion]

Just imagine, a scene between Detectives Colombo and Benoit Blanc would be a wonder to behold. Colombo would start off with a personal anecdote about his wife (who he loves and adores, she’s so smart and clever) which leads Blanc to open up and offer a comment saying something about his husband Philip.

Basically they’re whole first scene becomes a spouse-off, where each participant tries to impress the other; not with their own accomplishments but of those of their respective spouses.

I’m imagining at whatever event they’re at their spouses are their respective plus-ones and are in fact in an adjacent room wondering to the other where their husbands have gotten off to this time and what crazy story they should expect when they finally relocate them.

[aniron48]

smoke gets in your eyes

Friends! I have finally finished the first chapter of smoke gets in your eyes, which is up on ao3. This work was created for @anyawen as part of @fandomtrumpshate 2023. From the moment she messaged me about her idea for a fic, I couldn't wait to bring it to life.

This fic includes such varied and sundry delights as Phillip playing in an orchestra; the beets that got away; outrageous Southern accents; a mysterious ex named Ben, of all things; and some very big surprises. And we haven't even got to the antiquities trafficking, yet.

I hope you enjoy, amores! 💜