‘Glass Onion’: 10 Actors Who Need to Star in a ‘Knives Out’ Movie
Regardless of your stance on which film was better, Glass Onion or its 2019 predecessor, viewers can agree that Rian Johnson's Knives Out films always have a stellar cast.
From former wrestlers, rom-com stars, Broadway icons, and up-and-coming silver screen stars, the ensemble casts featured in both the first and second Knives Out are a special kind of perfection all films should aspire to, and something fans can only hope will be matched (if not surpassed) with a third film or any future installments.
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Darren Criss
Anyone who has seen Ryan Murphy's The Assassination of Gianni Versace will understand this casting decision entirely, with no questions asked. Darren Criss' capacity to play the killer and his history as the lovable, bow-tie webow-tie-wearingr powerhouse make him an absolute wildcard, an actor whose role in a Knives Out film could be taken in any direction.
Rian Johnson would be remiss to pass on this absolute treasure who, despite his Emmy Award win, is largely untapped in the world of the big screen. It's time for Darren Criss to continue to prove that he can do more than deliver a stellar rendition of Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream" and blow viewers away with an acting performance so good they'll want to break out into song, bow-tie, or no bow-tie.
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simon isn't a man you take home. he's for the literal streets. dresses like he's homeless because all that matters is that his throwing knives and handguns are pristine. the only reason his home is spotless is because he doesn't live in it, it's all for show. his pantry has only salt and mouse traps, his fridge a long expired bottle of ketchup and something that if anyone ate, they'd gain superpowers.
he's got a crazy look in his eye, and who can blame him after all that shit he's been through? gut-wrenching betrayal, unimaginable torture, then buried alive shoulder to shoulder with his ol rotting buddy, ol decaying pal? he joined the military a butcher's apprentice, and now he's an echo of what simon riley used to be, a fading silhouette that wanders the corridors in base. a ghost.
he has to play music whenever he's not at work just to keep the screaming voices in his head at bay, and it has to be loud enough to drown out the incessant high-pitched ringing in his ears. a cacophony of noise that wears his thin string of patience into in-existence.
he's a killer, he's a man who's donned his skull mask for so long that he's forgotten the face underneath.
you don't bring a man like him home. and when you eventually did, even your parents had agreed.
he looks one clown short of a circus.
he hovers over you like a ghost. (ha)
possessive, obsessive, paranoid.
he'll kill you if you try to leave him.
simon heard everything, not like they had tried to keep their voice down. it hadn't really mattered to him, empty words pelting knotted flesh only a sharpened knife could cut through. but you hadn't taken any of it.
his little hero, coming to his defense. it'd been the first time- in a long time- that his icy cold, tiny heart skipped a beat.
simon's always been his own savior. he saved himself from the shit life he had with his family by joining the army. he'd clawed his way out of his own grave, freshly turned soil stuck under his fingernails for weeks. he'd gone after the head of roba, in the name of vengeance. even now, he's a part of the justice league, the task force 141.
unsung heroes.
and here you were, standing in your parent's kitchen, all bared teeth and scalding temper- over him.
simon's so aroused that when he rises from where he's seated, he sways on his feet. there's no stopping him from briskly walking over to you and hoisting you up and over his shoulder, heading for the door.
there's no stopping him from throwing you into the backseat, and climbing in after.
you weakly try to stop him with stammered words, just wanting to know what the fuck he's doing but when simon starts to impatiently undo the button of your jeans, his confined manhood pushing up underneath you, it clicks.
you don't want him to stop when the calloused pad of his thumb rubs your slippery clit with expertise, thick fingers curling inside your swollen cunt.
you definitely don't want him to stop when his cock slides through your slick folds, his hand wrapped around his thick base. his tip pushes inside, mild discomfort already flaring. gravity then does the work, slowly sinking you onto him until his thighs are flush against your arse. the sweet, decadent burn of him splitting you in half sparking your nerve endings alight, from the waist to your knees.
you beg him not to stop when he fucks you in earnest; desire, sticky and wet, dampening the coarse trimmed hair of his cock. the air inside the truck muggy, heavy and thick with sex. he places his hand under your navel, right when he knows he is, and grunts when he gently presses down. the noises coming from you and your sodden pussy are obscene, lewd, downright vulgar and he wonders if you'd let him record it- to replace the banal music he usually listens to.
your breath hitches beautifully, and simon makes sure to watch how you let go of his shoulder to weave that hand downward to take yourself over the edge.
"impatient little pet, can't even wait f'me to get ya there, eh?" the low chuckle he lets out is cut short at the feeling of your slick walls fluttering around him, making him groan. he keeps his sharp gaze on you when your body tenses, back arching as you jerk fast, little circles over your pearl. he plants his feet and begins to thrust upward, your weight nothing to his strength and-
how beautiful you look in the pleasure he brings you.
it's cliche, truly, that he comes when you do, but he couldn't care less in this instance. your cunt squeezes him like a silken fist, a tight vice that milks his cock almost painfully so. his grip around your waist is bruising, but it only adds to the sensation- the delightful bite of pain prolonging your pleasure.
the base of his spine tingles from his climax, and his breathing is ragged. alive. your hands skim the wide breadth of his chest, as if brushing off the dirt he'd once been buried under.
his little hero.
you took him home, so now he takes you to his.
(...don't look in the kitchen, pet.)
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