howtolockley101

[howtolockley101]

[howtolockley101]

thinking about living in a 1950s suburbia with my perfect 3-in-1 husband, living in our little fantasy world without a care in sight.

every day, he goes to his nondescript 9-5 and i stay home cleaning...well, nothing really because our home is constantly clean -- and occasionally baking pies, just waiting for my love to return.

it's like i can't remember a day before this routine.

--

...wait. actually --

--

everyone in town knows what a charmer marc is (they aren't aware of steven or jake) and what a perfect housewife i am. we're the golden couple on the block, always happy and friendly.

he comes home with a small bundle of flowers and a sweet kiss, acting like he hasn't seen me in a decade when really its only been a handful of hours.

i have dinner all prepared for him...though i don't really remember preparing it -- maybe the time passed quick because i'm so used to doing it? -- i lead him to the table, all excited to see his reaction.

we eat the meal while exchanging stories of our day, shyly glancing at each other as we know where the evening will take us. even when we do this routine every day, the spark hasn't been lost between us. our love just continues to grow as we spend more time with each other.

--

of course, we don't know that we're trapped in a "perfection bubble"

but even if we did...would we care? :)

[howtolockley101]

“not all men”

you’re right, my favorite fictional character would never.

[howtolockley101]

Badonkers

[howtolockley101]

Badonkers

[howtolockley101]

Slow, golden morning in Egypt with Marc Spector

The room is bathed in a soft, honeyed glow, warm embrace. Sunbeams spill through the window, dust floating lazily like tiny golden specks.

[howtolockley101]

Sry

I'm so sorry for that little angsty skit i made. i just felt depressed and wanted to let it all out. Please accept this adorable drawing i found on pinterest as an apology.

[howtolockley101]

If you see this on your dashboard, reblog this, NO MATTER WHAT and all your dreams and wishes will come true.

[howtolockley101]

Fall Of Justice

WARNING: Suicide, Angst, Depression. Please, if you're struggling with any of the warnings, do not read.

A frown decorated her features, gazing with utmost sorrow. Her heart clenched.

She knew that she was no prize, not so easy on the eyes. She couldn't rely on looks to get her by, but plainness permits, a woman to use her wits, for pretty people *never* have to try. She had an inkling on what the rest of her group thought about her; annoying, attention-seeking, brat.

What she could call planning, they called scheming. What was delusion to her, was dreaming to them. Why was she the only one who saw things as they are? Perhaps...It was to be so; the female would be twisted, the black sheep.  Despite knowing that Marc, and his alter(s), would stay with Layla El-Faouly, she still tried her shot to become their lover. It physically hurt to see such sweet interactions between the Knight and the Scarab. So, she stepped aside, letting them interact further. She was so stubborn, refusing to follow in Sylvie's, and Layla's, semi-toxic footsteps-too nosy for their good. 

Thus, she stared above, into the luminescent night sky. Twas, the most ethereal sight she'd ever visioned. The full moon smiled upon her, with it is welcoming light. So peaceful... Unbeknownst to the war and fighting below.

She never imagined to be in this position; hanging from a cliffside, with her spikes below glistening. Her thorns, previously used to annihilate Harrow's followers, were soaked in blood. The noir had a scarlet undertone to it.

Out of death, life. The quote seemed fitting. Poetic. She could only hope that her new life would be much more fortunate than this one.  For this life, would end shortly, would no one to mourn, or search for he, now. They were too busy focusing on defeating Harrow; it was reasonable. She could not blame them.

The sound of her whimper invaded the silence. She began to cry. To mourn over her misery. But soon it would end. Soon, she'll find peace.

But what about Marc? What about Steven and Jake? How would they feel? Assuming they cared, they'd cry, make a funeral. And life goes on, they'd forget and get caught up with Layla. All would be well.

"I love you," she whispered, voice hoarse, breaking.; addressing the Moon Knights in her mind's eye. "I love you, for all time. Always."

Her foot pushed her off. The wind howled, fluttering her violet cloak. Cold fingers clasped tightly around her sword, and scales. She gulped, eyelids fluttering open, just in time to view the portrait the night sky painted up above, encompassing sight.  Almost like her personal commission. The fall of Justice.

A faint tug on her lips, brought them into a small, fond beam. As predicted, her figure collided with the rough pavement, sword and scales yanking out of her grip. To glory at the end.

[howtolockley101]

omgggg i want one

mewn nya-ight

[howtolockley101]

why are worms cute tho??

I never thought about Khonshu's pov, but if all I'm seeing is this, I'd be calling them worm too 💀

[howtolockley101]

Yes

Jake on his way to front when he sees Marc is fighting men on a rooftop in Egypt.

[howtolockley101]

OMG LOOKS SPECT(OR)ACULAR

[howtolockley101]

Jake's gun would be perfect for that empty bit

Happy Valentine's Day! (They're trying to make a heart)

[howtolockley101]

So accurate...

[howtolockley101]

:3 <3

Yarn

Jake Lockley x gn!Reader • Rating: PG pals •  Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Summary: Jake teaches you how to crochet.

A/N: This is self indulgent as fuck. I'm sorry. (I am angry at crochet atm.)

Warnings: kisses, pet names, reader can't crochet and Jake can, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 497

“So, you take the yarn like this,” Jake’s fingers move slowly as he over exaggerates the motion. You’d seen him crochet plenty of times, the patterns so practised his hands were practically a blur. 

“Like this?” You ask, trying to repeat his smooth movement. Your own fingers are clumsy, seemingly fighting against you as you try your best to will them to comply. 

He smiles as he watches, warmth lighting up his eyes. “That’s really good,” he lightly touches the back of your hand, guiding you for a second. “If you just keep a little more tension here, not too much, just enough to control the working yarn.” 

You nod, following his instructions. But while his own hands look precise and comfortable, controlled in a way you can only dream of, your own are a mess. The wool looks like a spider web someone just walked through. 

You sigh when the hook just won’t move like you want it to. “How are you so good at this?” 

“Practice.” He smiles kindly, placing a light kiss to your shoulder to ease your tension. “You’re doing really well.” 

“I’m doing shit.” 

He snorts and shakes his head, “I wish I could show you the first fifty times I tried to crochet. You would feel very superior.” 

“Fifty? You’re telling me I’m gonna have to do this at least fifty times before I even start to get my act together?” You groan, pulling a comical over the top expression to hide the fact that you want to throw the hook and wool across the room. Maybe burn it a little. 

“No, you’re too good for that.” He soothes, sensing your upset even though you’re trying to hide it. “Eight times, max.” 

You grumble a little.

“What was that?” He nudges you softly in the arm. 

“I said, we can’t all be perfect like you Lockley.” 

“Oh, Lockley is it?” He chuckles and kisses your shoulder again. “You really are upset, aren’t you?” 

You scowl and try your hardest not to sound like a toddler. “I am not.” But you fail miserably. 

He laughs again, the sound musical and sweet. “Here,” he shifts, urging you to move a little so that he can sit behind you, his legs outside of yours as his chest presses up against your back. 

Warmth seeps out of him, comforting and safe as he wraps his arms around you and takes hold of your hands in his. Lightly he leans his mouth against the part where your shoulder and neck meet as he focuses intently on the task: the hook and wool.

He guides your hands with his, moving your fingers into the pattern and then gently correcting when he needs to. 

“There cariño, look you’re doing it perfectly now.” Jake smiles against you. “The model student.” 

You huff playfully. “It’s only because I have a good teacher.” 

His smile widens and he gives you a quick hug before going on to explain the next part. 

Thank you for reading!

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[howtolockley101]

yes.

Marc Spector fucks

Steven Grant fucks

Jake Lockley knocks you up in secret and shouts at you outside your window when you kick his ass to the curb 😭