[s-aint]

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.

born again season 2 spoilers will be tagged \ ba spoilers

𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔪𝔬 — 𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔰 — 𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔰 — 𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔟𝔲𝔩𝔩𝔰𝔢𝔶𝔢 — 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰

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.

i do not write one-liners or single paragraphs in any capacity. i will not write with people who can't match my posts in terms of length; check out my posts to see the quality and quantity of writing i put forth. i don't care about icons or formatting.

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 — 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.

[survivorofhellskitchen]

"I mean I definitely wouldn't oppose to a hot tub at your place, but wouldn't it give Mrs. Mercer more to look at? You know she's obsessed with you, I saw her looking out her window again Sunday morning with those binoculars. I mean, I can't exactly blame her looking at you, but-" A kiss is pressed to the corner of his mouth. "You're all mine."

She hustles over to her chair, grabbing her purse then comes back to him, her hand coming to his shoulder to gently massage in between the blade as she gives a small concerned hum. "Baby, I really think you should go get that looked at again. I hate seeing you in pain."

you should be dead. you should be dead. you should be dead.

Her hand then slides to his as she lets him guide her from her office to the elevator, smiling with pride as the people on her floor greeted the man of her dreams enthusiastically. How they all adored him. She lost track of how many people asked him to join guys nights, card clubs, men's leagues. There wasn't a man in the office who didn't want to be friend's with him or single woman didn't gossip with her in playful- yet true- envy that Benjamin Poindexter was Karen Page's.

Frankly it felt so much like a dream- and one you just couldn't pinch yourself out of.

Once in the elevator, her arms around him, lips kissing his face and jaw as they giggled together like lovesick idiots. "How did I get so lucky?"

In a flash Karen is on the opposite side of the elevator, Foggy Nelson's blood coating her face as her lips are in a downward stretched frown. Father Lantom's blood soaks her front, mixed in with her own as that wooden stake is now pierced into her chest. She stares at him with that frown, eyes locked with fear until finally she opens her mouth and wails.

The elevator dings when they reach the bottom and begrudgingly, Karen lets go of Dex enough for them to look too obnoxious in the lobby- not that anyone would really care. They all knew how in love they were.

"Where would you like to go?"

[s-aint]

❛ Ah. ❜

That bashful resignation in his tone was half genuine and half pretend. He was not blind; he was trained he saw the way his neighbor eyed him like he was the last piece of food on the planet. It would have been flattering if he was prone to feeling flattered, furthermore he had eyes and heart for one woman and one woman alone. Simply, he couldn't imagine how someone could be so obsessive. Benjamin did not even know her name, although he did recall when she introduced herself when he first moved in about three years past. For all her sweet smiles and profound staring, she made no mark on his life. People could be so weird. God, he could have eaten Karen Page alive.

❛ All yours, babe. ❜

It still felt strange saying it, however he must have said it a hundred times by now to Karen. It almost sounded like someone else was saying the word; a stranger's voice inside his throat. It didn't show on his face, and he rolled his shoulder blade once more in response to her concerns before he escorted her out. He wasn't possessive. Benjamin was certain Karen was his and that no one could come between them, but hell, he was fucking smitten. A hand laid gently on the curve of her back as they made the walk from her office and to the elevators. The perfectly normal man had already given his waves, smiles, and nods to her co-workers, but he did the entire round once again. It was all so hallmark perfect.

❛ If it gets worse, I will. Nothing a soak in a tub or your loving fingers can't heal better than a doctor. Promise. ❜

It could have been the 70th year of Karen and Benjamin knowing each other, and he would have still been as addicted to her touch and company. No complaints were hears from him the moment she pressed herself to him like a moth to a flame. There was a certain . . dimness to her eyes as if something was being kept hidden in eyes that were only so clear blue. Was Karen hiding something? The light in her flickered then returned, and his hand felt the sudden urge to hold her face and and . . and what? He cupped her beautiful face and did not hurt her. Why and how could he every hurt someone so perfect? Benjamin leaned forward to press their foreheads together. She smelled blissful, enough to make him hungry, but it was not food he found a hunger for. When the elevator dinged to announce their arrival, Dex pulled backwards and walked side by side with his love.

❛ Chinese? That family owned spotted. ❜

But Dex went there once a week, if not more.

❛ We could switch it up. Lobster rolls with fries, or this new age looking Asian fusion place; I haven't been there yet. ❜

He held the door open for her, then laced their fingers together after letting the door shut behind her. Mine, all mine.

[unbindingpages]

Matt’s raging, lets go of Dex’s neck to backhand him in the face, knuckles catching onto the scar of the side of his face, the soft tissue of his nose and the bruised cheekbone, the loud sound of his hit echoing in the space around them, sending ripples in his radar vision and feeling ‘too’ good that Matt slaps Dex this time once he’s recovered enough from the previous hit, smiling cruelly hearing the dull sound of Dex’s head colliding with the iron frame of the cot before fisting a hand in his hair, the smell of blood now more permanent and invading as ever. 

He brings their faces close, snarling. Spits flying; “stop going in circles! Is that what you want? Want to get shot by Fisk? Want him to tear you into pieces? Break your spine again? Ooh I can do just that, Dex! That and even more to you if you so much desire such treatment!” he runs a hand down to press over the wound on the sniper’s side, fingers not having mercy in bringing agony for the man below. The devil is awake and seething with anger, the hunger of torturing someone, fuck he really wants to break every single fingers in Dex’s hand, wants to crush his skull open, wants to bite his face off and leave him bleeding, convincing himself that he’s playing ‘justice’ here to kill the killer. 

He wants, wants, wants but can’t.. he’s not like Dex. Or Fisk, or anyone else. He’s Murdock’s son, sure they both had common in bringing destruction to anyone they knew ‘son, I’m sorry but my pride didn’t let me let that man win! I’m not backing out!’ 

“I’m NOTHING like you!” he slams Dex’s head down to the metal frames once again. Growling, the anger fuels his strength that he forgets about his own wounds as he moves the man around like a boneless doll at his mercy.

“you’re all mine now, Dex. Doesn’t matter how much you fight it” cause I fucking own you! I’ll brand myself onto you! I’ll drag you to the city hall if I so wish it, I’ll point and shoot you at whoever I want, I will kill you!

The cot rattles when he punches the guy in the shoulder, face leaning in to swallow the sounds right from the source as lips smash into Dex’s chapped ones. Tasting blood, Matt growls. Pushing and pushing, putting more force behind his grip to make the man yield for him. Teeth nibbling on those blood coated lips, tongue lapping up the sweat and saliva at the corner of Dex’s mouth, demanding permission. he brings a knee between Dex’s legs and over the bed, pressing down onto his groin to hold him pinned. 

[s-aint]

Surprise was putting the rupture of emotion far too lightly. Buttons were pushed, but he expected the robot on the other side of the control panel to act as programmed. Benjamin Poindexter, a man who knew nothing of humans, actually believed he could accurately predict a relatively normal human's actions. It would've been laughable had quiet shock not overwhelmed his system. An asteroid crashed into his system to shatter him entirely. So, the devil had some fucking stones after all. Benjamin understood rage, but his rage came with the condition of inflicting pain and killing others. The man with the little horns was supposed to be composed. The mad man's face was warm with the heat of the contact, and the fresh explosion of blood on barely scabbed wounds. It's pain, and fire, and feeling alive.

It was supposed to end there. Again, Bullseye was terrible at reading people. The devil and the executioner met eye-to-eye, yet there's a wideness to the killer's eyes, a shock that has not dissolved. He didn't release any noise of complaint because a slap was simply such, however fingers that sought to excavate the foul detritus inside of him finally ruptured the bubble of noise. He groaned; it was only natural. As egotistical as Benjamin was, he was not above releasing a noise of suffering . . the fact it was beyond his control was beside the point, of course. Old wounds were more painful than new, and the memory of Fisk tossing him about like a dog toy was more painful than anything DAREDEVIL could dare to do.

Benjamin liked hurting people. It turned out that people like hurting him too. When that voice was seething with rage that Benjamin could literally feel it through his hands, he really knew it wasn't the end. He understood anger truly, deeply, soulfully. He, too, knew how it was to be torn up inside though he would never admit it, nor would Matt Murdock believe an insane man was capable of being emotionally kicked in the nuts. Someone's best friend died— and they hurt something awful. Someone is rejected by a woman at the center of their obsession— they hurt too whether right or wrong. Cuffed and helpless (lest he use his amazing ability), shock was shattered like the gonging of a bell. Of course, the bell was his skull being knocked against the frame of the bed.

A ringing bell announced Wilson Fisk's victory, and the obese fuck's face surfaced in his memory. Fisk lost in the end . . would Benjamin would be on losing end, too? Like a rookie, he tasted blood in his mouth from the contact his own teeth had against his tongue. For the briefest instance he wondered if the tip of his tongue could be used as a weapon. Fucked in a haze of pain, everything around him was moving too fast and too slow like the first time he truly got truck except it was pain ripping into hier nervous system. Benjamin felt as though the devil's fingers would reach into his skull to play the strings with his neurons. He had to act. He had to act now.

Even in his delirium he still knew the devil had no intentions of dealing the final blow, but a blow was being done to his ego. He dug and dragged the fingernail of his pointer finger against scratchy sheets with the force he would dig it into Fisk's eye to break the finger nail free. Lips twisted into a snarl, and he was going to do it . . one flick . . one flick and and and— FUCK WAS THAT?! The currents of pain nearly took him so far out of sea he barely perceived lips on his mouth, much less if he was successful dislodging his nail from finger. Gaze was unfocused but after a moment ( a moment far too long ) he realized through sensation alone. Body weight shifting with a knee pressing down solidified what his senses were screaming what his brain refused to believe.

Was Matt Murdock completely fuckin insane? Benjamin was a shell of the person he was without the cuffs and injuries, so a snarky remark or hands around the devil's neck did not come. God, he wanted to strangle him. In lieu of strangulation and with ankles free of bondage, Benjamin ignored the pain firing up his side, twisted his waist, and drove his knee into the devil's ribs. Once. Twice. He was prepared to bring his knee backwards to the point it reopened wounds if it meant driving a foot between their bodies to kick the lunacy out of the self righteous man. Matt sought . . well, in truth he did not know what, but Bullseye sought to rip the meat from his lips with a sharp bite.

❛ Fu.. ck... er. ❜

Dex really was going to kill him.

[s-aint]

Alright, hold on, what if—

Cliché memory loss plot that we all love (me included), but it's Frank trying to "reprogram" Dex to kill the scum, and it's a very steep learning curve. Dex just offs a bunch of randos thinking he did good and looks to Frank for approval.

Frank is going to need a spray bottle

full of poison.

[keznated]

get more dexpilled 💊😋

[s-aint]

I had what felt like hours worth of DD/Punisher dreams last night, and it fucked hard except some parts were definitely weird.

Started off with Karen, and she had a super short hair cut with only the front portions of her hair blond with the rest brown. It gave major Rogue vibes, but I, as the dreamer, was like huh weird choice. Then it ended with Bullseye climbing atop of her car, dragging her out, and punching her in the face. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN.

Then it skipped to me being Frank Castle and doing punisher stuff, and then Gambit made an appearance.

I think Matt was somewhere in the background crying over Karen being whooped. I will SAY, in my defense, it wasn't like she was helpless. It was as if she turned vigilante, and they had fought before.

[nucl3arxxiv]

mask stays on

[s-aint]

Another beautiful day of blocking at least 20 ask blogs that tag every single one of their posts as __ rp for the sake of finding actual roleplay blogs.

Also another beautiful year where we don't celebrate Steve Rogers' birthday on this day because he's a September baby.

Cheers.

[unbindingpages]

Matt could hear the slight change of breathing, the sudden and subtle bolt of the body when Dex came around and finally opened his eyes. Matt idly thought with himself how they’d look under the sunlight.. he knows Dex has hazel eyes but how they’d look now when he’s sleepy.. probably hooded, watching Matt’s every moves.

Then, Dex does something which comes too unexpectedly that reels Matt to take a bolder step once he feels the bare touch of Dex’s wet tongue on his finger tips. He knows the action might be pure reflex of soothing the cut over his lips but the electric jolt of it runs down his spine. Matt tightens his jaw. “lets hope that she's still alive.” You fucking psycho, why did you do that?! Why did you want to kill her?! Why did you go after her?!

He makes no move of removing his hand where it’s settled on Dex’s jaw, right above his adam apple where he can feel every breath the man takes, every time he swallows the soreness in his throat.

"don't move!" he warns once. teeth gritted "take a breath, Dex." Matt feels a muscle jumping in the corner of his eyes by saying the killer's name out loud and immediately hates himself for it. "you'll rip your stitches moving like that. I can't get you out of those handcuff so don't try to do anything that I wouldn't like." his hand slightly moves down, fingers gracing the line of the man's jaw before curling around the column of his neck. thumb brushes over the pulse point "be good and you'll be forgiven, if you really want my forgiveness." which he doubts that would be easy when it comes to someone like Dex but Matt has him here right where he wants.

leaning down to say it straight in the boy's face, the devil puts more pressure behind the hand holding Dex down; "don't forget that you're all at my mercy here. you could be dead if I wasn't there to save you. don't you forget that." that your life belongs to me now and I can take it if I so wished.

"say 'yes' if you understand."

[s-aint]

Since when were they on familiar terms? Was it because the devil himself dragged him away from a premature death or . . . when he killed Foggy— forever forming a bond that could only be shattered by complete forgiveness, not the kind that came out of Catholic guilt. That would never happen, so their bond would be assured for life. He, Benjamin, and Karen Page were linked perpetually. It had been killing two birds with one stone. Actually, it had been three, perhaps more: ridding himself of justice seeking fool, bonding him and the devil, and bonding him and Karen eternally. Sweet, sweet. Just thinking about their bondage was almost enough to fill his starved stomach. Benjamin played nice, but it was not because it was ordered of him; he wouldn't fight a futile a fight. Bullseye knew when to strike, and when to play the subdued dog. Furthermore, he would gain little breaking down the man who saved his life. It was Murdock's guilt which kept him alive and would secure his freedom, he was certain of it.

For a man who was so strong physically, boy, the devil was a pussy of a bleeding heart; it would be the death of him. Dex could've given him an earful about that but that would come across as caring. Bullseye did not care if Hell's Kitchen devil was torn apart, died in his sleep, was hit by a car . . only really cared if he could make him bleed and submit. If Murdock did die, it should have been by his hand. If not, he had other people to pursue. Bright eyes lit up like fireworks were set off in front of his face. FINALLY he was living up to his cliche moniker. A devil didn't play nice. It killed and took. The sheep in wolf's clothing was beginning to look more like a wolf, barred teeth and all. Dex met his gaze steadily and paid no mind to the hand about his neck. It was all so laughable, but he didn't laugh. Beyond his control, the edges of his lips curled with amusement.

❛ It was you . . who wanted to save me . .. You can't let me die. You can't shake me. Say yes if you understand. ❜

God, he wanted to match him move for move. Fingers tensed into fists, yet he did not jerk forward. There was no point. However he felt an addict with an itch under his skin just dying to get his hands around the devil. He wanted to squeeze that self righteous neck until tears were streaming down his face. He wanted to kill him just to bring him back to life. Just to shove it in his face. Benjamin could be the bringer of life to make death all the more sweeter. Some might have viewed Matt Murdock as being strong enough to resist the urge to put down a dog with rabies. Bullseye saw it as being too weak to do what was necessary. Frankly, it pissed him off. Like a switch, his amusement turned into a snarl. He wanted to smash the devil's head in and leave it like cherry pie. What would Karen do then?

❛ You're stuck with me, not the other way around. ❜

[s-aint]

[honest2godd]

Send in 📜 and I’ll use this incorrect quotes generator using your muse and my muse. (Please specify how many muses//which muses for multimuse blogs!!)

[keznated]

dex spinal scar + bullseye 😋

[s-aint]

❛ Got a weapon on you, or are you just happy to see me? ❜

Well . . . there were many ways to flirt and Bullseye, being no real expert on the matter, supposed flowers, dinner, a crass pick-up line, or a shiny knife could all qualify. Sometimes, if a man was really lucky, more than one of the aforementioned would apply in the same instance. He didn't know what to expect. Actually, that was a lie. Most people ( humans, mutants, general freaks ) usually lagged on the disappointing end of the interaction spectrum. He had known normal humans to be deliciously interesting, like in the case of Frank Castle, while a literal symbiote infused guy had been as boring as any other web-slinging geek. The word around town was she some guy's cumdump, but more importantly the daughter @pleinsdemuses of mein kampfing Red Skull. Did the ugly freak actually have a dick and a libido, or was she some (by)product of HYDRA science meeting 80's comedy for the male gaze. Whatever the case was, his male gaze was instantly activated the moment the knife caught and reflected light. Was there a sweeter sight? Most definitely, however a woman holding any weapon was enough to immediately grab his attention, be it from amusement or genuine interest was beyond the point. She likely knew how to use the thing, but it definitely did not mean she would get to use it on him as much as she wished it. He grinned, raised his hands, and stood as if he was at the mercy for the pure hell of it.

❛ Show me yours, and I show you mine?❜

[unbindingpages]

Dex absurdly wastes his energy to convince Matt to leave him, to let him die alone, to put a bullet in his head and end it and maybe part of Matt wanted to do exactly that. Wouldn’t hurt to indulge something for himself for once, it’s not like there’s a code for it or Daredevil being committed to do good. He left many criminals to die bleeding and didn’t even blink an eye but there’s just something irritating familiar about Bullseye that scares him as it attracts him.

I hate myself for this! I’m going to regret this. Karen is going to hate me for this. but there’s no time, from his breathing and the pulse rate Matt can say the demon is slowly sinking into the unconsciousness. The soldiers still hot on their tails. He can hear one of priests trying to explain to them to not bring guns and weapons in God’s house.

Without the grapple club, the devil has to drag the heavy weight of bones and muscles of a broken man back to the safe house, sticking to the shadows with a hand pressed to Dex’s side to stop the bleeding for now. The only comfort’s light puffs of exhales tingling his jaw where he has Dex’s head secured on his shoulder, their blood mingling, the Sniper’s face pressed to his neck provides a settling presence that Matt’s intend to hold onto for now. Lucky for him, it’s a rainy night. The figures shining and bright in his vision that it won’t take long for him to get them to the safe house.

Matthew grunts, plucking another shard of the glass out of his elbow, the faint click sound of it when it hits the metallic receiver. Taking care of the wounds never was his job but he’d tried to clean and patch Dex up, fumbling for antiseptic while his hand shock slightly where he was pressing down on the gash, focusing on his pulse while applying a clean gauze and tapes over the wound. After he’s sure Dex is breathing normally again, the vigilante takes a shower to wash away the blood and grime, tending to his own cuts in silence.

‘Matty.. I’m sorry Matty, it’s all my fault.’ His father said, shoulders sagging under Matt’s touch, the boy’s just started to get a grip on the new sensation, everything is still too dark but his father’s voice carries such sadness and sorrow that Matt forgets about his lost. Hugging his dad when he feels strong arms, a boxer’s arms, wrap around him and in that moment, he made an ought to be the stronger one for his father’s sake. To fight. To never give up, to stay by the broken man’s side.

‘it’s okay, dad..’

He makes sure to check Dex’s handcuffs twice before taking a seat right by the bedside. Head tilted to monitor every small movement of his vitals but he can’t fight the exhaustion seeping through his bones, pulling him down, weighting over his brain to shut down and take some sleep for once.

‘it’s okay, dad’

He’s in the alley, holding the crumbled figure of a once strongest man in his son’s eyes. Crying, shaking with fear_

‘Matty, you have to be someone for me.. promise me that.. promise me, boy!’  

The feeling of the dull and round shapes of the cross in his clutched hand, he’s kneeling at the altar, the sound of the church bell, father Lantom’s whispering prays, the candle’s perfume_

‘I’ll take your revenge, dad’

‘Guilt can be a good thing. It's the soul's way of calling out that something is wrong... The grief you're feeling is a part of who you are, and we both know that you wouldn't trade it for anything’

Matt startles awake, immediately reaching for the billy clubs by his side when he remembers where he is, the silence and the cold humidity in the air indicates that it should be early morning outside. is Dex awake?! Is he okay?!

His breathing is still even but Matt has to make sure of that.

Tentatively, he reaches out. leaning closer to the man until the tip of his fingers touch the bare skin of his torso. He needs to check the news, too… to see if Fisk’s wife is alive.. but that can wait for later. Mind distracted with the new sensation of raised marks and scars over the other man’s body. Tracing one only to be cut by the other. Dex’s body is a map of his history that he carries around and wears every day.

He touches the edge of the bandage, lightly skimming fingers over it to make sure he’s not bleeding. The mission is done but the curiosity.. it makes Matt to continue the explore, hand sliding up. The abs, the pectorals, the heart beating softly under the muscles to pump inside the vein running up the side of Dex’s neck. His jaw then_

Matt stops, thumb brushing over the smallest cut on Dex’s jaw to settle lightly on his lips...

[s-aint]

For the first time Benjamin Poindexter completely surrendered. Unlike the mental surrender Wilson Fisk had so masterfully crafted, the madman was truly surrendering his body and his life to the enemy. The devil could've snapped his neck, left him in a dumpster, or even left him like a sacrificial lamb in the hands of the AVTF, yet he was alive and not sliced into pieces. All was well. It was not the worst night's sleep, but he had certainly had more restful nights in the past. The handcuffs hardly mattered for a man who, although liked the luxury of a large bed, could sleep perfectly still. Having little comfort as a child shaped his body for lying still when provided the absolute minimum, then his time in the armed forces further instilled that subdued minimalism.

Benjamin's conscious was free to sleep soundlessly, too, yet the minor inconvenience of a bullet wound really took the tranquility out of sleep. He was no stranger to pain. He preferred to inflict it, but pain was an old friend. Rarely had he ever gotten shot, and in those instances had not carried a bullet wound which was not rapidly treated by a professional. Exhaustion and pain battled with each other much like the battle between angel and devil. Exhaustion's claws gripped him tight, wishing his entirety to sleep for a full 24 hours, but pain gripped him in the opposite direction. Dex wanted to sleep, then wake to a world where the missus was dead and the devil admitted that through both death and pain the city would be off better.

Instead, he woke all too soon to a world plagued with pain, a slightly musty smell, and the aches of reminder that he was still human after all. Mortality, and the reminder of it, was a funny thing. For a moment, he felt like petulant child who wished for nothing more than to grumble, roll over, and hide from the world's responsibilities. An instance of it was attempted. The short leash of handcuffs kept him cemented in place while filling his mind with clarity instead of grogginess. Dex wanted to groan, and, frankly, was too tired to even make that little noise of complaint. Exhaustion pulled at his body but no longer at his mind as unfamiliar smells and sights woke him more and more.

The boxing match. The statue. Vanessa Fisk. That bitch better have been dead; it was a fair trade for a gun shot wound and manipulation. His skin flinched on reflex as he felt the wind— no, what was that a bug crawling against his lips? The rest of his body gave no signs of waking, though someone with particularly keen ears would have heard the change in his breathing's rhythm. Head jerked to the side as eyes opened, then regretted being open. He was already in pain and opening his eyes only aggravated the matter. Eyes came to a squint as muscles twitched with soreness. Mouth opened and closed repeatedly before tongue darted out to lick at the coagulated blood lining a split on bottom lip.

❛ ...tell me she's dead. ❜

As expected, he was not in jail or being picked apart by Fisk's goons. The devil's guilt kept him alive and at bay from the maws of hungering beasts, though that wasn't to say his company was another sort of beast. Benjamin's voice was extremely hoarse to the point it sounded unfamiliar to his own ears. He gently tested the tightness of the cuffs on his wrists, otherwise made no efforts to get up. His fingertips touched the rough material of the mattress and the cover as if piecing together the room by smell and touch would aid him puzzling out where he was located. He was a man who liked answers. He was a man who liked control. The killer shut his eyes, groaned, and shifted his head side to side as if he was a dog trying to get comfortable in his dog bed.

[s-aint]

Even a grown man who was a sadistic and narcissistic sociopath, a veteran of the United States armed forces, and a man who had several run-ins with an actual masked vigilante could himself surprised having come face-to-face with something completely new. Benjamin Poindexter had known evil women— one woman to be exact, and although evil was a strained adjective for him, he assumed society would deem her such. Vanessa Fisk was not the only woman who ever angered him or disgusted him, but she had not been a damsel nor the typical definition of a woman. Manipulation and intelligence in the wrapping of elegance.

Vanessa was beyond his comprehension . . which could be said for every woman on the planet, yet the ruthless woman had broken the mold. Apparently women could break the mold in more ways than one, and the way Harleen Quinzel @pleinsdemuses broke the mold made her fit a little inside whatever fucked up mold was responsible for Benjamin. He could barely wrap his head around normal people to make any sense out of her, so acting like she was more like a man ( another twisted fuck ) helped some of the mental gymnastics. She wasn't a bitch mother, an obnoxious party girl, a stick-up-the-ass judge, a woman who rejected his feelings . . she was a little nutso. Perhaps more than a little, but he had not seen how far Harleen would go.

❛ Isn't there a third option? ❜

His expression displayed annoyance, but she was not solely responsible for the sour mood marring his face. It was the confusion revolving around her, his incarnation, Wilson Fisk being alive, Daredevil still prowling around, the other inmates, and— again, her. Dex clicked his teeth against his mouth and flexed his handcuffed wrists.

❛ What's there to like about it? ❜

Now, now, don't be hasty. He needed to watch his tongue; she wasn't entirely like him nor like any run of the mill, locked up moron. And with any luck, Benjamin would be out the maximum security facility by the end of the work. That meant she would be free, too, but it was a small price to pay for freedom. He simply needed to navigate his thoughts and mouth. Even while thinking such, he leaned forward as much as possible provided the bondage about wrists and ankles. Only the chains touching his skin were lined with leather to prevent wounds, so the rest jingled eerily with every movement. It sounded like death walking.

❛ Are you going to stare at me all the time or help me get free as promised, doc'? ❜

[s-aint]

📂 — A large portion of Dex's spending money is used on Chinese food, both takeout and eating alone at various, family owned restaurants. He does like cooking from scratch though. It's either homemade meals, authentic Chinese food, and the very rare instance of pizza. Bullseye doesn't cook for himself unless it is breakfast food or burgers. Food is a little methodical for Dex and a way to stay in shape. Bullseye views food as necessary sustenance most of the time, so he doesn't get any pleasure out of making food.

[s-aint]

📂 — Dex has never gone to a movie theater to watch a movie, while Bullseye has explicitly attended to either kill a target, or to start a fight by obnoxiously laughing . . even if the movie isn't a comedy. Especially if the movie is not a comedy.