#ask (murdersinthemaking)

[the-graves-family]

🎲 @murdersinthemaking

Just because Ace does not partake in the darker aspects of the family business, doesn't mean people don't know who he is. The force of bodyguards that accompany him everywhere surely helps with making offenders reconsider their stance in his presence.

He is a Graves, after all.

Stepping into the alley, hands folded in front of him, he gazes silently at the people harassing his boyfriend for a few moments, before tilting his head to the side. "You have five minutes."

A warning. A promise. A threat. They either leave, or he makes them. Not him, of course, never him. He does not have a single drop of blood on his hands. But the murderous bodyguards behind him, and the army of agents working for his father, have no such problems.

[lost-soul-in-time]

🕊️

@murdersinthemaking

Ever since Murdock’s first appearance, Oliver’s realized just how many times he’s forgotten to cleanse his home afterwards. He’s told himself up until now that the only reason he’s allowed it to slip his mind is because he has other things to do, when in reality, that’s as far from the truth as ever. His life in the woods is quiet, slow, and unremarkable. The only real tasks he ever has to go through with is his job of caring for the animals here and purifying the lake and his home. He should be worried of the possibility of his presence being easier to access now.

However, part of him shouldn’t be hoping it’s easier for Murdock to roam around now.

Oliver remembers a pattern Murdock had taught him if the angel ever wanted to ‘chat’, and at the moment, he had brushed him off just as he always does. Now, however, he wonders if the incessant chattering and the prude comments might distract him from his own mind… with a quivering hand, he pats the wood of his nest of a bed to match the memorized pattern, hoping for the best once he’s finished and his hand falls back down to grip at the blankets.

[perfectly-intoxicated]

Taking any hits was a rare and unfortunate occasion, but the money wasn’t too bad. Creativity liberties couldn’t be taken according to his employer, wanting the hit to be dumped in an empty oil drum that would be waiting a mile off from the club his target was meant to be. Murdock had to be a little more conspicuous in his new outfit, ditching the trench coat and the rest of his theatre villain ensemble. Not his finest clothing, but it would do. A carefully ironed suit jacket, but still wearing his sunglasses in the dim light of the bar.

“Let me get you a drink, how about that Brandon?” Branded as an associate for a gang looking for an arms dealer, Murdock manages to smile at the target without being sick. Creepy as fuck in every way, but the assassin is only there to kill him because he was fucking the bosses wife.

@murdersinthemaking

Having someone get in the middle of her job was so fucking annoying.

She did not spend the last half hour goading to this man’s ego and wasting away her evening only to come back and have someone doing the same thing after having excused herself to fix her make-up. Prick.

“Making some more friends while I’m away?” Hannah’s gloved hands move to rest over the man’s shoulder, her chin laying on top of them as she takes in the stranger with a slow, blatant once-over. If the guy wasn’t in the middle of throwing all her work out the window (which actually wasn’t too much, but in her impatient mind, it felt like hours-worth), she wouldn’t be so stubborn as to admit he was easy on the eyes.

“Bringing in a third. Didn’t take you for being into that.” She lightly purrs, lips lifting up in a knowing smile.

[late-night-cabaret]

Whisper

“Darling, oh petal. The things I would let you do to me…hours and hours of such divine torture at your hands. Feed from me until I’m dizzy, force out every ounce of pleasure from my body just for your entertainment. Darling, goddess..”

@murdersinthemaking

Oh, Murdock always knew just what to say. Despite being on vitamins and iron supplements, Merrick has become insatiable for his blood. Yet she still shows restraint, not wishing to hurt him.

Other than for their pleasure.

She clings to him, straddling his lap, moaning softly as he whispers in her ear. One hand snakes into his hair, tugging firmly to bare his neck before licking a stripe to his ear.

"Such a good boy... letting me use you. Oh, how you'll squirm for me."

[freebirdyance]

👨‍👧‍👦 “I can’t deny that murder is wrong, it’s what I do every single day, practically speaking. But you..I murder people just like you. Your lucky your son is good, especially in bed. Otherwise I would’ve strung him up like you.”

“I know you won’t budge, you’re dead and stubborn. So, let me make it as uncomfortable for you as possible.”

@murdersinthemaking

Anthony looks utterly disgusted, merely shaking his head as he glares at you. He's speechless, it seems, not an easy task. Either he's that uncomfortable, or he isn't looking to get stabbed, even if he's technically dead. It could even be both.

[save-the-horse]

Was he that desperate? Yes. Donovan had been between bad relationships for so long and now he had the tiniest spark of a decent relationship. The depravity after was an accident. An older gentleman with a lovely tenor and hands that had wandered over his waist before. First dreaming of the mechanics hands on his hips, no barriers between them. Then more followed, night after night. Harlens hands slipping further down, disappearing further across his body before the dreams end. Forcing him awake with the low drawl of Harlens voice trailing out of his ears. “Just relax darlin’.”

A week had passed since brunch with his mother and the breakdown of his car. Donovan still saw him on Saturday classes, demoing each step with him and letting Harlen lead him through each motion. Heavy hands on his hips and thighs when they move into a lift low enough that he has to excuse himself half way through class and recompose his manners.

Late that night, only 8pm when he gives in. There was something he’d felt between them, Harlen willing to come to him in the middle of the night when his car broke down and meeting his mother the next day. A few unfortunate years have told him that the romantics weren’t open to him. Donovan had forgotten what it was like to be romanced and wooed, going off of what everyone else had wanted in him. Sex, body, form. A half hour of taking painstakingly angled photos later, he thinks he’s ready. Nothing too provocative, just a few shots from his thighs and a few glimpses of his ass.

[Harley: Loved having your hands on me again tonight.]

@murdersinthemaking

Harlen's barely been able to stop thinking about Donovan all week, almost obsessing over him and how sweet he is despite his best efforts not to.

Brunch had gone super well, at least he thinks so — Colette seemed to live him and they all had a pretty good time. A win is a win.

And dance classes have sprouted some interesting thoughts, mostly centred around Donovan's thighs and other contexts where he could touch them.

God, he's never been more embarrassed by his own mind before. Well, not recently.

The pictures catch Harlen very off-guard in the best way possible. He's been trying to work up the courage to ask Donovan out to dinner and he still wants to do that but holy shit. Apparently, now is not the time for romance just yet.

Harlen sends a picture back — his chest being the main thing, his shirt partly unbuttoned and pulled aside slightly by his nicer hand to display the top half of his pecs ,muscular and lightly hairy.

[Absolute sweetheart: Happy to hear it, baby.]

[carnivalofchaos]

🍭 (:3)

@murdersinthemaking

Wilford was needy. Was that truly a surprise to anyone? He was especially needy around Murdock especially. Not a day went by where he ask him for affection. The fact he was able to make such a cold man into a softie, oh, he adored it.

But today was a different kind of needy. Today was an especially hard day at work. One that called for a lot of forgetting, and a lot of relief.

He portaled himself straight to Murdocks place, with his collar in hand. It jingled in his hand as he walked in. "My love... Where are you?"

[lost-in-gardener]

[[OOC: THE THREAD BROKE @murdersinthemaking]]

"Aw, poor thing... you're so impatient, sweetheart, maybe I should teach you some manners." They plant another soft kiss onto his neck before letting go of both his cock and standing up, looking down at him with a mixture of sadism and interest sparkling in their mismatched eyes as they keep a firm grip on his hair. "You know, I could be really mean and just walk out of your house right now, leaving you all desperate for me... but luckily for you, I'm feeling merciful today. In fact, you should be thanking me for treating you so well, don't you think?" She pulls him up by his hair and pushes him back by his chest so that he's sitting properly in the chair.

They hike up the hem of their dress slightly and pull their underwear off, stepping closer to Murdock and loosely wrapping one of their hands around his throat. She leans closer until their lips are only a few centimeters apart from his, straddling his lap and hovering over his cock slightly so that he doesn't get any more friction until they gave him permission. "Tell me 'thank you' for being so merciful to you, and I might give you the relief you've been begging for, sweetheart. Or if you don't want me to make you cum at all, you can refuse and I'll leave right now." As mean as it sounded, this was Finn's strange roundabout way of asking for consent. They were desperate to start fucking Murdock already, sure, but they'd gladly leave if he didn't want this too.

[wilfywarfy]

💕 @murdersinthemaking

Wilford has a smirk on his face, and takes one of Murdock's hands into his own. With a snap of his fingers, a rose appears in the other. Pink of course.

"You don't have to ask, sugarplum. My heart is yours."

[the-graves-family]

He’s always angry. Murdock finds himself in alleyways most nights, trying to start some kind of fight and feel it break his body. Just to make himself more upset, make everything more agonizingly enjoyable. Last week, he finally killed someone. Smashing their skull into a garbage can and stealing twenty dollars out of their wallet. It was the happiest he’d ever been. Soon, he was looking up what more murderers and killers did to get their kicks. Kidnapping? He could do that.

For two weeks, he’s watched the house. One almost never leaves the building except twice a week. Only to the local grocery store before holing up back inside. No one visits to ever see him.

Murdock waits in the parking lot, watching his target walk over to grocery store doors. It’s time. “Hey! Hey you! Can you come over? My cars broken down, can you give me a hand?”

@murdersinthemaking

Ace does not like leaving the house. There are people outside and that's just not a good time for anyone involved. But he also feels obligated to help his moms, so he goes shopping for them twice a week. He takes their list and he goes to the store.

Today is no different. He spent all morning working on his projects in the garage and left around midday for the store, after getting dressed in something a little less revealing. Less people at this hour. He's about to go in when a voice breaks him out of his thoughts and he looks over at the stranger.

It's a man. He's not a fan of that. Ace looks at him warily for a moment, eyeing him up and down, before he hears what the stranger is saying. A car. He can help with that. It would probably even be fun for him.

Ace is also not very good at remembering that other people can lie.

He approaches the man slowly, tilting his head to the side. "I can help," he mumbles quietly. "What's wrong with it?"

[the-graves-family]

Great. Fucking fantastic. Murdocks car has broken down four miles off from his house. After a rather risky drop off from the body, he’d driven from the opposite side of town and towards the far side of the woods. Walking into the woods, he starts trying to find his way through the thickets and over unfamiliar rocks. Normally, he can spot Carmilla off before the house, the cherry red exterior a signal through the muddle of greens and browns. Instead, he comes across a horrific sight. Another house. Nicer than his too. Probably some rich fuckers holiday house to get out of the way.

Knocking on the door, he starts checking both of his phones for a usable signal. Only a confirmation text from a half hour before that the other half of his payment will be wired through. “Excuse me? Can you give me a hand please? Cars bloody broken down.” If it all goes to shit, at least he’d have one new victim.

@murdersinthemaking

Ace is alone. He'd been feeling lenient, and had allowed Aaron to find a part-time job. Of course, he knows where his brother is at all times, with the tracker on him, and it's a privilege that will be revoked the next time he slips up. Which of course Aaron will do eventually. Not much hope for him in that department.

He'd seen the intruder the moment he had entered his land. He'd watched, and waited, and now the man was at his door. A broken down car? It would almost intrigue him, if he didn't have better projects already.

The door to the house opens, seemingly on his own, to reveal a clean interior, but no one inside. Murdock can choose to step inside, or turn away, but both options will still lead to the same outcome. Spider will ensnare him with its wires, and it will drag him down to the basement where Ace is waiting.

[the-graves-family]

Two weeks with his lovely little prisoner, but he still hasn’t killed him. Murdocks surprised with himself, expecting that he would’ve gotten bored with his crying by now and finished him off. But he responds so well to it all, making his captor utterly addicted to the sounds pulled from every hit and beating to him. He’s started to give him a little of movement in the cell, only keep his hands together. Ace was just a perfect little pet to work with, cowering at his hand.

Every time he brings down a meal slightly above a school lunch, a little bell is rung. Murdock brings them down with the ringing of the bell, offering him tiny rewards when he’s not screaming at the hits to his face. Tonight, the box from the first day is returned and a pack of beer is brought down. “Hey blossom, thought you’d like a little treat. You made me so upset earlier, but look how you took it.” Patting the black eye Ace was now wearing, he sets the box and cooler between them.

@murdersinthemaking

Ace has no idea how much time has passed. With no windows in the basement, it feels like an eternity. He tries to keep track of it using his meals, but sometimes he doesn't get to eat, because he's not good enough.

His captor hurts him a lot. For every little thing. Sometimes for no reason. Sometimes because Ace is bad, and he deserves it. Like today: he hadn't seemed sincere enough in his begging. It had upset Murdock. He needs to do better.

Despite being allowed to roam, he doesn't. The floor is dirty and dangerous, and there are rats that scare him. He tries his best to stay on his bed, even when his limbs cramp up. When the bell rings, he sits up and waits patiently. Bell means food. It means he was good enough.

His face hurts, and the mere sight of his captor makes his heart race, but Ace just closes his eyes against the tears and leans into the touch. "Thank you, sir, I'm sorry." He looks at what's been brought down, and even though he's shaking in fear, he's still curious. Beer? He's never had it.

[the-graves-family]

Once a year, the theatre Donovan’s contracted to performs an ensemble of acts to fundraise its maintenance and renovations. Ballet, theatrical performances, opera, and anything that could be done on a stage was performed to squeeze blood out of glittering stones. The arts are underfunded just enough that they don’t mind the slightly dubious figures who donate. Among the medley of acts is his showcase, one of his younger students and the other his own performance. A duelling piece from the Nutcracker, as the toy soldier fights the rat king.

A backstage party is arranged, and a few notable names and donators are allowed in alongside the numerous cast. All thanking them under the direction of the theatre techs and manager, lest they see their bonus disappear from tonight’s show. Donovan is still in his costume, replacing the ballet shoes with regular dress shoes to avoid ruining his best pair.

@murdersinthemaking

Ace loves social events such as these. He’s the face of the Family's more reputable ventures, and keeps himself totally separated from the underworld in which his father and brother dwell. As such, he often gets invited to dinners, galas, parties, fundraisers, all sorts of high class parties. Places where he can socialize as much as he wants, always under the watchful eye of his team of bodyguards.

Father has a soft spot for the arts, and Ace is glad he's allowed to help theaters like this one. The performance had been incredible. Visual arts are not his strong suit, truthfully, but dancing is different. One can watch bodies dance and think they’re beautiful without going into the philosophical nature of beauty.

Backstage, he looks around gleefully, a young man amidst old socialites. He listens to conversations and talks to anyone who he finds interesting. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of one of the performers he'd particularly admired, and smiles gently as he approaches. "You were wonderful. What’s your name?"

[the-graves-family]

Murdock had gone quiet for the last few days. Three days since he’d sent a few photos of the tools and pieces he was planning on bringing to Ace. A few more pieces saved from the scrap heap, half cleaned to make them presentable in the upper district. He’s started cleaning everything he found, for the possibility the android would come back to his workshop and be impressed by the improvements.

A week after sending the messages, he finally makes it back to the upper district. Stained in healing bruises, dark purples becoming the sickly greens of healing skin. Murdock drags a small cart behind him, covered in tarpaulin with a few parts sticking out from the sides. Knocking on the door to the house, he shifts his feet across the stone pathway to the real life grass.

@murdersinthemaking

Ace is not grounded. On one hand, it'd be very hard to find anything to take from him that could be considered a punishment. On the other hand, his mothers didn't want to punish him, they wanted him to understand why what he'd done was incredibly irresponsible, and dangerous.

The android has been patiently waiting in the house for his human to come back. Murdock had promised. When he'd told his mothers that, they had shared a look, but been nothing but supportive. Irene had just reminded him that Murdock was not, in no way shape or form, to try and open him up. Ace would need to tell them immediately if he tried, and they would deal with it.

But Ace wasn't thinking about that: he stood in front of his window, waiting, every day. He still spent time doing family activities, and helping where he could, and he still recharged as he was supposed to, but he was too focused on waiting for Murdock to engage in his other hobbies.

After seven days, he finally sees a strange silhouette approaching, and he waits until it's closer for confirmation. Identity confirmed. Moving quickly, he rushes down the stairs, almost tripping, so he can be right there to open the door. He's not supposed to open the door, but he knows it's Murdock, so it's different.

"Hello," Ace greets as soon as he opens the door, and then he seems to lag for a few moments as he takes in his human's appearance. "You are in— injured. Are you alright?" His systems feel weird seeing bruising.

[lost-soul-in-time]

This was rock bottom. Murdock once was a golden figure throughout his county, the son of the lord and one of the best knights in the little cluster of villages his family ruled over. Now, he was climbing the walls of a castle just so he could keep eating. One of the windows happened to be only a few meters high, leading into one of the kitchens. Across his back was everything he owned, the pack strapped around his chest and looped over his arms as he climbed. He was sure he was quiet, creeping past the doors until he started to find trinkets to sell. A few gold flowers snapped from picture frames, tassels of silk cut from curtains and rugs, and jewels plucked from their set place in delicate furniture.

Guards walk by in shifts, counted out carefully by Murdock as he ducks into empty quarters each time he nears the countdown. Finding a few sizeable gems made him lose count, walking out of the room and straight into the path of two guards. Only two feet from the window, he’s pushed into the rough stone of the wall. One of them rips the straps off of him, seizing his bag while the other drags him down the hallway. Someone is awake.

@murdersinthemaking

Evenings were the most stressful part of his day.

Whether he’s fabricating further plans or tearing off a vital bodily function when answers aren’t given to him (or simply to blow off steam), his personnel are always forewarned on secluding themselves and keeping away from the villainous creature they blindly served. So when one of his watchman interrupt the sounds of agonized wails he’d been pulling from his latest victim — a pompous man swimming in wealth who had no issue attempting to send a dog after his scent to gain glory from killing him — he’s already not pleased.

Oliver doesn’t take the time to clean off the splatters of crimson on the side of his face, only slipping on his gloves and wool coat before being lead towards the informed intruder.

His face is always devoid of emotion, but it doesn’t take a brilliant mind to sense his displeasure in his steps nor his annoyance in his gaze.

A harsh blow from a foot hitting the back of Murdock’s knee sends him to the floor, held down and forced to kneel as he enters the room. A hand rests over the sword in its sheathe on his hip, and once he’s close enough, a hand grabs the exiled knight firmly by the jaw, forced to stare up at him.

“This is what you waste my time with?” He scolds at the two men, voice cold and barely sparing a glance at them before addressing Murdock for the first time. “State your purpose here.” Oliver collectedly commands, leaving little to no room for protest.

[the-graves-family]

Keeping his collection of debt collectors and creditors was a delicate balance. Murdock paid off just enough for them to be satisfied, but never enough to have over a month of peace. With his wages from guarding Ace, he thought that over half would be enough. It never could be enough. Creditors started following him, watching as he entered the same building almost every day and left it at night. They noticed Ace, giggling and touching him when they were supposedly alone.

He never thought that they would go after the family. Not Ace, his Ace. They’d visited him, laughing and telling him the monthly fee had doubled. They’d warned him and his ‘little friend’. He was fucked. Murdock had sped towards the hospital, searching for their car in the parking lot. “Ace! Ace?”

@murdersinthemaking

Going after the Graves is something monumentally stupid, something only the dregs of society would even attempt. And fail, of course. Their precious jewel was more protected than anything else in the city, and far more valuable, so any attack on him would be swiftly dealt with.

They had been keeping an eye on Murdock's creditors for a while, especially since him and Ace had become... close. The other guards weren't stupid, and no member of the family was blind. But Ace was happy, and that important, of course.

Something like this was inexcusable, however.

Their most precious thing, threatened because Murdock owed money? No, no, no. This had to be dealt with.

The attackers were gone, of course, in pieces scattered throughout the riverbed, and the creditor that had sent them was already being hunted down by their forces. All over a couple grand. What a stupid way to kill oneself.

And now, to the deal with the other thorn in their side.

Asking for Ace at the desk gets Murdock taken to a room and gently ushered inside. Before anything else can be done, the door locks behind him. And he finds himself alone with Adrian in a dim room with no cameras and surprisingly good soundproofing.

"Father isn't particularly pleased with your performance, Murdock," Adrian drawls, looking up from his phone with shadowed eyes. "I'm sure you know why." He lights a cigarette and looks up at the deactivated smoke alarm. "What a disappointment you turned out to be."

Crossing the room in a few strides, Adrian stops when he's face to face with his employee, and looks him up and down. "Honestly, my little brother has the worst taste in men. Something like you?" He hums. "Though I do suppose I shoulder some of the blame. I should never have allowed you to leave that Halloween party alive."

Without warning, he cracks Murdock across the jaw, brass knuckles that had been hidden up until now making the blow far more powerful. "I guess the problem will solve itself when we bury you in the garden. I think you'll make wonderful fertilizer for his roses, don't you?"