blah blah bloop. formerly found at @ascnsion. this blog features bullseye from marvel 616 and the mcu with a heavy preference given to his comic depiction.
note: his comic and cinematic depictions are not meshed together ( with the exception of his family ). the two are extremely different from each other, yet each holds their own charm. comic bullseye will always be referred to as bullseye as his true birthname is up to debate though some may call him lester. his show counterpart will be referred to as benjamin poindexter or dex with the bullseye alias.
it may take several days or a week to catch up on the latest dd born again episode. spoilers will be tagged \ ba spoilers
do not reblog memes and images from me unless you are tagged in the post. reblog memes from the source. this is so easy to do, and it pisses me off when people don't do it. do not steal my edits or my headcanons.
i do not tag triggers. none at all. i do not post images with nudity. if i see you post nsfw images which are not tagged, i will not follow you. there will be gore, violence, murder, bullseye's fucked up family history. you curate the content you want to see. this is your warning.
i will not follow those who post an excessive amount of ooc posts. activity updates are fine as are discussions about comics and media. some people post super personal and weird ooc posts to excess. personal blogs and other social media sites exist for a reason.
maybe i come off as a dick, but i am nice, approachable, and even goofy. i am very particular about writing just because i've been roleplaying for so long.
plotting is the way to go. sending memes back and forth can be casual, but threads need plotting. too many one-liner starters and go with the flow threads end up being dropped.
there is no need to force something. you don't need to try to write with me if you aren't feeling up to it which means stop picking up and dropping threads like they're turds rolled with money. if a thread isn't cutting it you, let me know pleeeease. we can just think of something else or put a pause on writing.
crossovers are my jam. i am more likely to engage with those whose fandoms i am familiar with. i also don't limit myself to related fandoms. thinking outside the box is superb. give me weird crossovers.
for those who aren't that familiar with bullseye or have only viewed him through frosted glass, let me tell you β he's a nutcase. psychopathic, sadistic, a little masochistic, misogynistic. bullseye is definitely more off the rails than dex, but they're both not right. whatever soft qualities dex has, it's covered in a blanket of creepiness and dogshit.
i am well over 20. painfully nearing my thirties. i like turtles.
nickname(s): Kelevra but I'm not really one for nicknames.
zodiac: I don't follow all of that but cancer.
last movie i saw: Maaaaan, I haven't seen a movie in ages it seems. I think Napoleon Dynamite lmao.
last thing i googled: The location of a REI.
favorite musician(s): Chino Moreno, Three Days Grace.
song stuck in my head: Worst Pies in London from the most recent Broadway show of Sweeney Todd.
other blogs: A lot, and they're sort of active.
do i get asks: Only from the best people.
following: 19 which means I need to do a clean up soon!
amount of sleep: 8-10 hours a night depending on day of the week.
lucky number: Don't believe in such a thing!
what i'm wearing: Grey joggers and a black Killstar tee.
dream job: Is being a philanthropist a job? More realistic, a rich biologist who makes his own hours and helps the environment without bureaucratic red tape and funding isses.
dream trip: Japan or NZ.
favorite food: Sushi, flan.
play any instruments: Guitar, but I'm rusty.
languages: English, some German, some Spanish.
favorite songs: Three Days Grace's best hits honestly. A lot of Crosses' songs.
random fact: I walk/hike 15,000+ steps a day for work.
describe yourself as aesthetic things: Don't know what this means really. Can I describe myself as a meme instead?
He's probably going to get written off but it's something? I was hoping the writers would use their brain and give him a use like in the comics. Great season finale except Fisk can eat a load of turds.
β She was a bitch, so what? β It wasn't the truth; nothing Bullseye said was entirely the truth, yet every lie had an instance of truth. Someone had thought of his mom as a bitch and worthless, if not for the fact she birthed children. However considering how one of those spawns ended up, dear old dad would consider that a worthless feat as well. Bullseye didn't think much about his mother. She was the person who, for some bizarre reason, had loved the piece of shit that was his father enough to give him not just one son but two children. β She was dumb enough to be with a dead beat who liked to beat. β He didn't know if it was stupidity or love although the two were one in the same. If was one thing being beaten down, and it was nothing thing watching your kids being beaten down. When it really came down to it, Bullseye did not think much of his mother for good or worse which was, perhaps, more tragic than hating a parent. He remembered crying every time she got hurt until it was nothing. Until it was a fact, and then she was gone. She was a woman who had birthed him and never raised a hand to the dipshit that was her husband. Sick he was in the headβ sick to hold no empathy, yet he saw her as merely a human being tied to him by the word mother who he could not relate to in any capacity.
The thing is, Bullseye doesn't have mommy issues. He has daddy issues. Well, thanks for life, mom, I guess.
Sort of related to what just happened, but also I've been having these thoughts for a minute.
Let me just say I completely avoid spoilers, do not watch interviews, have not heard about any other MCU shows, so maybe this is common knowledge. These are just my thoughts going in blind.
They're phasing out Bullseye, aren't they? I have a feeling he'll either be killed off, never appear in DD again and only be mentioned, or if he isn't killed off or completely retconned, he'll appear in an episode or two of another MCU show.
I thin the villain attention span is so short, and now they're writing him on some weird path of sort of redemption? I thought about this even before the latest episode, but now with it watched, it really does seem they're just going to write him off to oblivion.
MEANWHILE He and Frank have, arguably, an even better relationship than he and Matt, and this should be explored.
Bullseye didn't know what was worseβ the existence of a single devil of hell's kitchen who, frankly, was more like an annoying cherub than anything devilishβ or one devil inspiring another. Just what the little fucked up ecosystem of New York needed, another holier than thou vigilante. However upon closer inspection, maybe things wouldn't be too bad. He needed something fun, and if fun came in the wrapping of tits in a cheesy outfit ( look who was thinking), maybe it was time for Bullseye to embrace Daredevil. The light in his eyes shifted, transformed, as the rest of his body leaned into the assertive touch. For being completely repulsed by a psychopath, she was awfully keen on being close. So close they could practically . . .
β Good thing I brushed my teeth. Smell nice and minty, yeah? βΒ
Bash their foreheads together and draw blood. Bullseye allowed his face to be grabbed, just as he allowed her to get THIS close to him, and allowed her to believe she had some sort of upper hand. It was hot in an odd, fucked up way; relinquishing his massive ego in a sudden game of cat-and-mouse. The mad man tilted his head though kept his chin held in her grasp. Iit was only a slight movement, but it was enough to elevate his chin and his eye level. That insufferable ego could not be subdued by more than a few pegs. Tongue dragged against lips that were, sure, slightly dehydrated, before he attempted to lean forward to blow some of the minty breath in her face.
β We keeping the outfits on or off? β
As vile as she regarded him, freshly brushed teeth were a reprieve from the mutated human-crocodile breath of an Oscorp scientist or nicotine rotting teeth she passed by on the street every day. His soap and shampoo werenβt surprising, not far off the scent of military-issued products heβd have gotten in the service. Frank smelled similar, but with more pine and different aftershave. Training stuck with soldiers; familiarity in the repetition. Milla identified the fluoride and alcoholic sugar of the toothpaste. There was a higher concentration of iron in his water than her home β either an older building or he wasnβt squirreled away in Hellβs at all.
Bullseye wasnβt an easy catch. He rarely ever let it happen; Milla knew pinning him now wasnβt earned success, but her purpose only needed a minute.
β Shut up β Iβm focusing. β
Her grip tightened, feeling the ever so slight give β not enough to hurt β of natural bones in his jaw, porous and human. So he wasnβt like Logan. The prisonβs anatomical chart remained up to date in terms of added metals as far as she could tell. The reverberation from his spine when she substituted a thrown pipe for a billy club earlier sounded like standing under a peeling church bell.
Her thumb pressed against his temple to gauge his skull. The synthetic weave of his suit and mask were almost slippery under her leather gloves. How was he comfortable at all? The fabric would feel like sludged oil covering her skin if she pulled it on.
Poindexter wasnβt going to let her poke all his joints. A sniper was patient by training and some in nature, but she heard that thin patience waning. Smoothing his tongue across chapped lips sounded like scraping tree bark. Milla released his face, the heel of her palm striking against his chest to shove him backwards while testing the resiliency of the ribs over his heart. It was a childβs game: metal or not metal?
Was this hot or what? No, no it wasn't, not entirely one way or another, but it was something. A little game of orca whale and mongoose which made just as much sense as the analogy. At least the two of them inhabited the same ecosystem, so maybe the analogy was a little skewed like the rest of the thoughts inside his mind. Bullseye was a good sport above all, so he stood still as she got wet feeling him up. It was the oddest sightβ Bullseye being still and . . patient, if patient was the appropriate word. Considering the long list of freaks and morons he faced off against, sometimes it felt good to fall out of the typical rhythm. It's not like he considered her an actual threat, otherwise her breath wouldn't be able to touch him much less her hand.
People got off in all sorts of way . . he would know. She could have this one, and he would have the next one. Tit for titβ speaking of which . . gaze dropped, weighed down by boredom, to give her a very thorough look over. She'd look good splattered across the streets of Hell's Kitchen. It was about as much as she was worth, if not as bait to capture a certain idiot or two. Just as quickly as the weird courtship began, it was over with a slam of her palm as if something about him ( who knew what ) was deemed not to her liking. It wasn't the force of her action which moved him, rather it was his boredom with the situation. He clicked his tongue against his teeth with growing irritation as he began counting all the things on him which he could use as a weapon, then assessed all the things around them just for the fun of it.
β HA! β
A crude bark of laughter that sort of surprised his own self; he had been that bored. Bullseye began kicking the toe of his boot against a rock until it gave, and instead of kicking it to shatter her skull, he used it like a makeshift soccer ball. He didn't even need to look at it as he made it look like a child's game. A child's trick with killer intent.
β When has that stopped anyone? Like being married means genitals are locked up tight, even if I meant it that way. We could fight with our clothes off. Aren't these outfits a pain in the ass most times anyway? β
Bullseye shifted his weight and pivoted his hip. The rock was sent hurling away, veering two feet away from her head, where it arched over a building to cause some sort of chaos. A distant crash, a person yelling, and a cat screeching emanated from the distance. If he was lucky, someone was dead. That would piss her off and put the end to their flirtation.
β Hell were you doing anyway? Is that a way of getting off without it being considered cheating? β
At least they agreed she WASNβT a damsel. Benjaminβs introduction to her existence was Karen baiting Fisk to finagle evidence in a case. A reporter and an agent then, the makings of an action drama starring blue-eyed blondes. Risking her life impulsively, but purposefully that day β no different than now.
β I donβt play with guns. β
Cheap carpet scorched black when she shot the remaining bullet into the floor without checking the chamber. As a teenager, she scratched the chamber to mark where a spin should end, perfecting the motion during late nights around bonfires. Little time was necessary to adjust the same to her .38 special. The number of clicks spinning by to ensure the heaviest chamber sank to the bottom was a memorized melody.
A waste of a perfectly good bullet that should be between his eyes. But it didnβt feel right, not here and now. Matt still had questions for Benjamin that he deserved to have answered; Karen wouldnβt rob him of that. Surely in Mattβs daydream of a trial, Bullseye would testify against Vanessa.
β I didnβt ask for your help. We didnβt ask. β
Karen turned away. The worst mistake many made around him β leaving an opening. He professed no current schemes of ending her life. There were opportunities when they engaged the task force. A pause between vaulting daggers through bodies to hold her face between his hands, softness amid the violence, and snap her neck.
After tucking her pistol in the pocket of her jacket, Karen knelt down near a task force member matching her size. After checking the radioβs efficiency, she slipped on the bulletproof vest, holster, gun and tactical gloves. It was evening so she could forego needing a helmet on the off chance the disguise was even needed. They were also ugly and looked uncomfortable.
β Iβve got documents to find, but feel free to hang around for their backup to find you. β
Karen yanked on one of the propel ropes hanging out of the window from when the team crashed through. Still sturdy. Her eyes glinted with narrowed dislike when she walked back to his moping spot. She had to lean up on her toes to press their cheeks together and whisper in his ear through the fabric of the blue mask.
β In the end, I hope nothing you do is worth it. β
He said, she said. A lover's quarrel. Sure, she didn't play with guns. He wasn't going to argue that with her. He was not going to have their first fight over a trivial thing. It wasn't sexism or idolizing. Dex believed anyone wielding a gun around him was playing with it; they might as well be twirling around one of those plastic water pistols. Now that was ego talking for he knew men who could take out a target from 600 meters away without as much as sweating. If such a skilled snipper was around, Benjamin Poindexter was as good as dead.
Fortunately for him ( and just for him ), someone of the likes of Frank Castle wasn't around and looking to empty out his skull of a mess of a brain he had. His adrenaline dropped. His blood lust was gone. Another kind of lust did not replace it. The psychotic killer, the very man who took her friend's life, watched like a puppy reprimanded. She had nothing to fear turning her back towards him; a security that she and she alone held without knowing. Wasn't the thing about help was that good people helped without being asked? GOD, why were people so tiresome? Karen. Fucking Karen. In his getup, a look to literally kill, Benjamin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
β .Would those caged people think the same. . β
He muttered under his breath. Help was HELP, wasn't it? He extended his arms with a look of defeat that was oddly humble and hilarious. Silently, again like a punished puppy, he watched Karen don the gear of Fisk's personal militia. He liked her spirit, her drive, but it was all too dangerous for her to meddle with. They were fighting, weren't they? And over WHAT?
β They can. I'd kill them. β
Plain and simple. She spoke like it was a threat, and he spoke like he was swatting sleepy flies. If it helped her any, he'd dress up in red and make himself a target. Would be easier anyhow. The bitter, almost sour air between them shattered when she got close. So close he swore he could smell her shampoo on her, but that was just imagination playing tricks. His adrenaline kicked up a notch, and blood was definitely moving. She was such a tease. It was as if she wanted him to grab her and kiss her. So wrapped up in his mania, he almost pointed out that he killed FOGGY. Was that death supposed to be nothing or worth everything?
β Haaaarsh . . . I'll come with you. Help you find these documents, and kill anyone who gets in your way. We both win that way. Yes, we. β
One of those wanna-be miltia boys rounded the corner. An automatic rifle was lifted, but the asshole didn't even receive the chance to hold it upright and proper by the time Bullseye clocked it. He helped himself to the vest she wore, ripping off a velcro tag, and flicking it with the ease of picking a booger. The velcro hit the armed man in the eye, and Benjamin worked just as quick to procure a hunting knife from a holster at his hip to throw at the man. The idiot went down with a gurgle of pain. The rifle clattered on the ground but did not make a sound otherwise. Come on, she needed him.
Let's go back to episode 5 though. I totally and absolutely hate that Dex was just giving up? It seemed so out of character, and I will not be writing Dex that way. To give up when not knowing he'd finish the job? Even if he knew he succeeded, that man is going out in a hail of bullets as he's bashing in Fisk's brain.
BUT I WE FINALLY GOT ANOTHER CREEPY DEX GREETING. Dex's wet dreams are finally coming true, and Mrs. Bitch is actually dead, and Karen and Matt's argument, and and and JESSICA JONES.
A candle lit for a fallen soul. A thousand candles lit, and the world continued to spinβ destruction, murder, weapon development, larceny, manipulation. The orange glow of flickering candles made mother mary a more somber image than usual. She appeared as though she took the prayers of the weak and hurt with great earnestness, but the world continued to suffer under her woeful gaze. When it came down to the nuts and bolts of humanity, that was why he could not integrate fully with humans. What did a dirty ceramic figure and a bleeding man do for anyone, much less lighting a candle? Bullseye. Did. Not. Get. IT. He never grieved though, not genuinely, for the only thing Benjamin grieved was the downtrodden path of his life.
A bullet nearly found his skull by his own hand, yet it was not the grief millions if not billions of people felt at one point in their livesβ the death of a loved one. They were connected that way . . the one who grieved and the person who caused that grief. Souls mingled like candle wick and the flame, and the glow of their connection was, yes, radiant. Even if Mary or Jesus began bleeding real blood, it would not move him in the same way pulsating, melancholy light danced across Karen's face. The hottest part of the fires brought out the cherry in her lips while the exterior edge of the light brought out the yellow and gold of her long hair, even if it was messily tucked into a ponytail.
Karen was grieving and paying her respects; she did not look the same as she had during all their previous encounters. Of course, through his very objective eyes, she looked perfect no matter what mental or physical state she resided. However for the first time since all their encounters, Dex was not there to gloat or flirt or bother her in any sense of the word. He was there to watch and admire from a distance of being in the rafters of the church to being a few meters behind Karen. So close, he could have jumped up, bolted towards her, and chuckled against the shell of her ear. He resisted, and it felt like suppressing a cough. At the same time however, there was something extremely intimate about sharing a space that did not involve fear.
Disguised in an oversized jacket, a Hell's Kitchen cap with the brim tucked low to conceal his face, and a scarf wrapped around to cover both neck and chin, he was trying out this whole normalcy thing again. He didn't have any delusions it was going to stick or he was fooling himself mentally; it was a simple ploy to play the role of voyeur. He had practiced this scene in front of a mirror countless time. To approach? To offer a hand? To use a fake voice to conceal his identity? No, no. Pretend to be a person who cared about the church and believed there was power in prayer. It was fun to play pretend if it came with the payout of watching Karen [@deservetoknow], so the candles continued to dance, and he never wanted the moment to end.
Sadly no dream of being Bullseye ( guess I'm too sane ), but I did have a dream where I was both Matt and a random blind person. We were both fumbling around, tripping, hugging the walls for support. The meaning behind this dream? WHO KNOWS.
The blonde types vigorously away on her keyboard as her eyes scan over the quotes she'd managed to get from the lone witness in the robbery/homicide out in 6th Avenue. Whispers were swirling that the representative of District 3 was involved, but no one was able to prove- until now. There was immense pressure to get this right- especially with the uptick in calls for the Masked Man to step in and take care of this himself. But no one was above the law. It was the great men in women in blue that would keep this city safe, not those who tried to take the law into their own hands.
"Listen, I know I said I'd finish the article about those two lawyers opening shop, but I have something massive about 6th and I have to-" Cerulean hues finally look up and immediately a smile beams onto the blonde's features. "Well you're much better than Elison."
Quickly Karen got up and crossed the room, wrapping her arms around his neck, "Mmmm you brought me coffee too?" She grins teasingly and kisses his cheek. "Thank you for the flowers. You know how much I love yellow."
She did...didn't she?
"Hey, I'm actually so glad you're here because I was going to surprise you and let you know that we don't have to stay with my parents this weekend. I got us a hotel in Rutland, so still close enough where my parents can love on you, we can have all of their good food, and you, dad, and Kevin can go fish- but we can still have 20 miles to ourselves at night. Mom isn't thrilled, you know how much they adore you."
She leans and pecks his lips. "How has your day been?"
Cloud nine. Nine circles of Hell. Funny how that worked. Maybe heaven for one person was purgatory for another. He didn't know why he thought of that except that he felt like he was on that ninth cloud. Tiptoeing across fluffy clouds towards those golden gates when he was actually greeted with what appeared to be affection. Of course Benjamin would be provided a smile and affection, yet it still felt as though he was incredibly fortunate, as if a once in a lifetime opportunity had been tossed into his lap. Whether reality or fantasy, any person would consider themselves fortunate to receive love; love from Karen Page of all people was a blessing above fortunate.
Blue eyes, yellow hair, oh that yellow hair he wanted to run his fingers through before bringing his nose to the tendrils to inhale her perfume, her shampoo, and the essence that made Karen- Karen. He resisted the urge which was the real wonder. An impulse control that suddenly felt out of the blue. I love yellow, too. He loved blue as well. The blue of her eyes. He loved pink, too. The pink of her lips. The warmth on his cheek exploded into a hundred fireworks and a hundred miracles. He felt whole. He felt . . happy, and it wasn't the happiness he felt all the other times they interaction; this felt different.
Dex leaned into her touch but only briefly while the rest of his body relaxed under the weight of her arms like two puzzle pieces coming together after long lost time. Gods, had there ever been a more stunning person to exist? Bullseye Dex wanted to smash the blinds of the window closed, hoist Karen onto her desk, and . . and . . his thoughts weren't exactly coming together then. Make love to her, he supposed. The thought was there, yet the memory of experience was lacking. If that smile on his face grew any larger, it would split his lips apart into a bloody and ugly mess. Benjamin chuckled in a completely normal manner; his doting on Karen continued as he brushed her lower back with the bouquet of flowers he bought for her.
β Perfect. I can have that family bonding time and plenty of privacy with you. No offense to your mom, but some of those porcelain little dolls she has creep me out. Of course I'll probably buy another one for her, as a Christmas present. Why does she like those things anyway? β
Smiling and laughing families. Homes that smelled of old wood, detergent, and something unfamiliar. Dead fish. His mind saw fish guts and messy gutting knives. Flesh being ripped open and guts being excavated. Dex shook his mind free. It was just fishing. It was just fishing. His lips pouted a little as his eyes rolled in his socket as he pretended to be lost in thought. Karen was an addiction humming on his lips.
β Oh, you know, decent enough. It's not easy trying to secure money for housing for our elderly and homeless, but someone has to do it. β
If Dex really had to think about the details of his work and his day, the details became a little fuzzy. Something about meetings, being stressed about money, and arguing with the mayor. He figured it had to do with the redundancy and stress of his humanitarian occupation. It wasn't what Benjamin originally wanted to do. He actually sought to go into the justice system, but the whole thing seemed so . . corrupt. Karen liked that he helped people directly, too. Karen. KarenKarenKarenKaranKaaaaaren. WOULD KAREN LIKE THIS? He leaned forward to press a modest kiss to the top of her forehead. It would be disgusting if he licked her lips and then dragged his tongue across her face, right? He rubbed the small of her back as a way to reel himself into normalcy.
β Does that hotel have a hottub or what? Could use a good soakβ with you. β
