[deadvinesandfanfics]

parkner my beloved

look can we please all collectively ignore the shitty way I'm abusing the blur tool and also trying to hide peter's hand, the fingers were just absolutely not vibing with me and I'm too lazy to keep redrawing them haha.

but!! yall get some fluffy parkner lazing in bed bc they're so cute and I love them ur honor 🥺🥺 hopefully more Parkner Luck oneshots coming soon :DDD

[anxeious]

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

might have accidentally gotten obsessed with a song and wrote a 5+1 parkner song fic

please stand by

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

How did this get 20 notes overnight where did you all come from lmao

anyway here's the song (it has nothing to do with parkner except yes it does bc I made it do)

And here's the fic:

Come on, take a joyride

5 times Harley takes Peter for a ride +1 time Peter takes Harley

[thompsborn]

harley, at heaven’s gates: so being gay doesn’t send me to hell, then?

god: of course not. you are all my children.

harley: okay...

harley:

harley: daddy

god, turning around: nevermind

[teddytheartist]

Harley Keener went thrift-shopping, he found a true gem. ⁎⁺˳✧༚

If you like my silly drawings consider following me over on the pink picture hell -> teddytheartist 💕

[sarah-sandwich]

Does anybody have any fic recs with quietly confident Harley??? I miss my BOY

[sarah-sandwich]

Okay fine anything Harley-centric pbblease I'm desperate

[harlstark]

drew a little harley keener in the style of one of the w.e.b. comic panels :]

[teddytheartist]

Harley Keener is being introduced as the next in line to be CEO of Stark industries, Peter Parker works 3 jobs, Being Stark’s secret intern(trying not to catch feeling for his lab partner), Taking pictures for the Daily Bugle and Being your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man 💕

Also just, Peter gets to take pictures for a SI red carpet and is struck with the sight of Harley Keener in a Spider-Man themed suit

- teddytheartist on ig! 💕💃

[teddytheartist]

Istg parkner is gonna end with my existence they’re all that’s good on this earth

[peaches-and-parkner]

Phillies out here reminding me about my baseball player!Harley headcanon

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

Lemon Boy - parkner - Updates every Tuesday (CST) through 03/07/23

Harley is adrift, bitter, and resentful after losing Tony and his family as he knew it three years ago. When he inherits a rundown house in Brooklyn, he abandons the shattered remains of his dreams, his family, and himself for something he can fix.

Peter grieves as he always has; he buries himself in responsibility and pretends everything is fine. It works until he moves in with Harley, who doesn't suffer fools or liars. The problem is Peter has been fooling himself for so long he can't separate the mask from the truth.

Excerpt under the cut:

“You’re still up?”

He tears bleary eyes from the board he’s been trying and failing to measure correctly and finds Peter at the top of the stairs peering down at him.

“When’d you get in?”

Peter’s eyes sweep over him. “Just now.”

He looks as ragged as Harley feels. His hair is a tangled matted mess, his lip is freshly split, and there is a bruise poking out of his collar. Under the bare bulb hanging over the stairs it looks weirdly hand-shaped.

“You okay?” Harley asks before he thinks better of it.

Peter’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “Of course. Are you?”

He picks up his measuring tape. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Peter starts down the stairs. “Well, for one thing, you look like shit. For another—,”

Harley slams down the tape measure and scowls at Peter as he steps off the bottom stair. He’s actually wearing his boots for once.

“Nobody fucking asked you.”

“You literally just did.” His infuriating little smirk breaks the scabbing on his split lip.

“You’re bleeding, idiot.” Harley tosses a towel at him even though it’s not remotely sanitary. “You know you’re not fooling anyone, right?”

Peter pauses in dabbing a semi-clean part of the towel on his lip. “I’m not trying to fool anyone,” he lies like a fucking liar.

“Bullshit.” Harley plants his palms on the make-shift workbench and leans over it. “Let me guess, you get into fights at night to bleed off all that ugliness that builds up inside you during the day so you can go back to pretending to be an innocent little flower for your friends and family.”

Peter stares at him with wide eyes, towel held aloft but forgotten.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” he repeats, “so quit it with the song and dance. It’s annoying and insulting.”

“Oh.” Peter sets the towel on the workbench with wooden movements. “Uh, okay.”

They stare at each other until it’s awkward.

“Well. Bye then.” Peter turns on his heel and retreats upstairs.

Harley shakes his head. He’ll never understand that guy.

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

🍋The Final Chapter is Up!🍋

The baking sheet fumbles from Harley’s fingers and clatters to the linoleum. He snatches his aching hand to his chest and curses as his snickerdoodles scatter across the floor. Then, when everything lies still, he curses again for good measure.

May hurries into the kitchen, her hair only half straightened and already reaching for his hand. “Let me see.”

“It’s fine,” he snaps but dutifully holds it out for her inspection. “I just forgot. Stupid.”

She turns his hand between hers. “There’s nothing stupid about not being able to override decades of muscle memory in a matter of weeks.”

His stitched-together nightmare hand is grotesque within her smooth unblemished palms.

She and Peter insist it’s not that bad but he can’t see anything except the loss of his self-sufficiency. What he can do with his hands was the only thing that carried him through the years following the blip and now that’s gone too.

May smooths her thumb over his wrist, then releases him. “It looks okay. Have you been doing your exercises?”

“Yeah, all the time.”

She looks up sharply. “But you’re not overdoing it, right?”

“No.” He tucks his injured hand under his arm. “I’m just-right doing it.”

Her eyebrows hike into her hairline. “Harley.”

“May,” he says, mimicking her tone.

She smiles, close-lipped and false. “Sweetie, I guarantee whatever sass you can drum up has nothing on what 14-year-old Peter threw at me. You’re playing a losing game, champ.”

Harley holds her stare for a full ten seconds before he gives in.

He tips his head back and says to the ceiling, “I might be overdoing it a little. I just…” He presses his lips together as his throat swells, smothering his words. He swallows. “I want to be better.”

“If you push too hard too fast, it’ll take longer or cause permanent damage,” she reminds him gently. “You know that.”

“There might be permanent damage anyway.”

“All the more reason to be thoughtful and purposeful in your recovery.”

He hangs his head and massages between his eyes. “Yeah, I know. I just…”

“You want to be better.”

He sniffs. “Yeah.”

She steps close and guides his skull to her lips. Then she graciously gives him a moment to collect himself and crouches to collect the fallen cookies.

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

Five notes and I'll share the beginning of the freak out verse fic I'm writing

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

@out--of--ordinary Hannah you're a menace and a cheat! But I respect it so here's an unreasonably long excerpt (∩^o^)⊃━☆

Harley has never been tempted by the idea of time travel. Why would he be?

Everyone he cares about is in the here and now and his life is literally perfect. His childhood sucked due to circumstances outside of his control and throughout history there has always been something shitty mucking everything up. Since he can’t fix the bad stuff without potentially making things worse or breaking the universe, why bother going back?

This leaves travel to the future and honestly? He’s good where he’s at. No spoilers. He doesn’t want to skip a thing.

That’s why it’s complete dog shit that he’s the one that gets blasted with unstable temporal waves in Peter and Tony’s morally ambiguous lab experiment gone very very wrong.

*

He wakes up in the hospital. There are wires connecting him to a beeping machine, his wrist is handcuffed to the bed rail, and there’s a cop at his bedside casually reading a Star Wars novel.

Oh, and his head feels like Hulk used it in a round of pickleball against Thor. 12/10 best lab accident he’s been the victim of in at least four months.

He groans and brings his hands to his head. Well, one hand. The other stops short with a clink of metal. He pulls at it.

“What’s going on?”

“You’re awake.” His cop buddy sets aside his book and looks him up and down with a kind expression. “Do you need anything? I can call a nurse.”

“What? No. Where’s Tony? Tell him and Peter to get their asses down here so I can kill them. I’ll be gentle. Promise.”

The kindness falls away and is replaced with a wary consideration. “Is that why you broke into Stark Industries? To kill Tony Stark?”

Harley goggles at him. “What? Dude, I live here.” He gestures at the room, but then takes a good look at it for the first time and confusedly amends, “…there…”

He’s very familiar with the med bay in Stark Industries thanks to a certain sticky someone and this ain’t it. It’s all eggshell and blocky equipment rather than stark white (ha!) with all of the top tech.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Harley,” he mutters.

Why would they take him to the actual hospital? Maybe the med bay is getting renovated again and they decided to capitalize on the change in location for a cool fun joke that he in no way deserves.

“Do you remember what happened, Harley?”

“Yeah. I stepped in the lab and got blasted. Is this a prank?” He rattles the handcuff. “Where the hell is Tony? Tell him he owes me a yacht or I’m going to sic OSHA on his ass. My head is killing me.”

“You’re talking about Tony Stark, right?”

“No, Tony the Tiger. Yes, Tony Stark. You know what? Just give me my phone and I’ll call him myself. Where is it?” He searches the room, cranes around to look at the rolling table beside the heart monitor but finds bupkiss.

“Your possessions are at the station. We can go collect them once you’re discharged.”

His attention snaps back to the cop. “You’re shitting me.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I’m curious why someone would break into Stark Industries wearing cartoon slippers.”

Cartoon sli—? Ah.

“Those aren’t mine,” he refutes quickly.

“They were on your feet.”

“I— Yeah, they’re my boyfriend’s and he’s possessive over his Spidey merch so it’d be cool if I could have them back.”

It all seems stupid now. There’s a hard and fast rule about close-toed shoes in the lab and he was going to get around it by wearing Peter’s favorite slippers and also maybe give him a slight heart attack. Just a little one. For a couple shits and maybe a few giggles.

Maybe that’s what this is about. It’s comeuppance from Peter, not Tony—although, it wouldn’t take much to get him to gleefully throw resources at Peter’s little prank.

It’s all clicking together now.

“Spidey?” the cop echoes.

Harley pulls an incredulous face at him. He’s not being serious, right? There’s no way an NYC cop hasn’t heard of Spider-Man.

“The friendly neighborhood-shaped crime fighting vigilante? I guess there are a few of them now. The OG red and blue guy, Spider-Man?”

“I guess I’m not up-to-date on my comic books.”

Oh, he’s a comedian.

“Listen, this has been fun but could you tell Tony to cut the crap and get down here with some Ibuprofen? And tell him my feelings are hurt. When Peter lands in the hospital he goes all mother hen but when it’s me he makes me the butt of some elaborate joke.”

He rattles the handcuff pointedly.

“Who’s Peter? You’ve mentioned him a couple times now.”

“The guy who hired you, probably,” he spits bitterly. “He’s Tony’s other intern and my boyfriend. Can we quit the charade now? I want to go home.”

“Ben.” Another officer pokes her head into the room. She casts a curious glance Harley’s way but her attention remains on Harley’s cop buddy.

Ben, apparently.

“Mr. Stark decided not to press charges. We’re being called back to the precinct.”

Harley rolls his eyes. “Jesus, how many people did he rope into this. It’s not even funny.”

Another curious glance his way, then she raps her knuckles on the door frame and says, “Five minutes. I’ll meet you in the cruiser with coffee.”

“Thanks, Shannon.” Ben gets to his feet as his partner leaves. He fits a small key into Harley’s handcuff and releases it first from his arm and then from the bed rail. “It’s your lucky day, Harley.”

He rubs his wrist. “Gee, thanks mister.”

“Officer Parker,” he corrects as he puts the key and the cuffs away in the black pouch beside the ancient flip phone on his hip.

Harley snorts and sits up. “That’s rich. What’s your name for real?” At least now he knows for sure Peter is to blame for this. He basically signed his name on it by hiring Officer Parker.

Officer Ben…

…Parker…

“That’s my name.” He smiles and holds out his hand. “Ben Parker, nice to meet you.”

Harley is frozen, brain whirling through the past five minutes.

The outdated hospital room, the flip phone, Officer Ben Parker. No. No way would Peter make a joke like that. Not with his uncle at the butt of it. No way would Peter or Tony joke about Uncle Ben.

But that means…

That’s when he remembers that the little vanity project Peter and Tony were working on was a time machine. It was an old project Tony started and quit back when he was too perpetually sloshed to see it through or remember why he bothered starting it in the first place. He picked it back up as a side-project because things have been quiet and Peter, ever the sci-fi nerd, was thrilled to help out.

But that can’t… He can’t be…

The heart monitor gives him away. He doesn’t notice the beeping until Ben’s eyes flick to the machine.

Harley rips the electrodes free from his skin and drops them on the floor. The room goes silent, but it’s too late.

Ben is looking at him with a familiar curious intelligence in his eyes.

No, no, no, no, no this can’t be happening.

“What’s your father’s name, son?”

Harley swallows thickly. He feels sick. This can’t be happening. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

“David,” he says after a long beat. He doesn’t give a last name. He hasn’t seen his dad since he was six but it wouldn’t surprise him if he has a rap sheet.

If he’s in the deep hellish water that he thinks he is, then he needs to shut up and shut up fast. He didn’t mention Peter by his full name, did he? He’s pretty sure he didn’t but Ben is looking at him like he can read the truth in his face.

Fuck. He’s fucked.

He doesn’t dare ask for the date but he’s dying to know.

“How long was I out?” he asks instead of anything specific.

“Not long.” Ben hasn’t looked away. “Stark found you unconscious in his personal lab, called us, and I met the ambulance here about three hours ago.”

This is bad. This is so bad.

Ben pulls his chair closer and retakes his place at Harley’s side. “Are you alright?”

Harley sniffs and looks away lest the burning of his eyes gives him away. “Yeah, no I’m fine. I’ll just— Would you mind calling that nurse? I’m ready to go…”

Home?

How, Harley, how? What is he going to do? It’s not like he keeps his wallet on him when he wanders the tower in his pajamas. He has no money, no food—hell, he doesn’t even have shoes. All he has are Peter’s stupid slippers. He’s fucked.

“Listen, I get it. Everybody has a fantasy about being buddy-buddy with someone rich and famous, but if you go back to Stark Industries they might decide to press charges after all. You’ve been very lucky so far. Understand?”

Harley closes his eyes.

Some fucking luck. It wasn’t even his time machine. He doesn’t know anything about it except the random techno-babblings Peter overshared while they were helping the Avengers contain a minor irradiated rodent problem in Greenwich last week. Steve made them move to a private channel when it became clear that Peter was not going to be shutting up any time soon.

If Harley had known then what he suspects now he’d have taken notes.

“I understand,” he says thickly.

Ben’s frown burrows into him. Peter’s Ben. Uncle Ben. Ben who is going to die and, no matter what, Harley has to let him.

This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

“Do you need help?” Ben asks so softly Harley could cry.

Boy, does he ever, but not from Ben. He needs to stay far far away from Ben.

“I’ll tell you what,” Ben sits up straight, “I’ll get that nurse and if they grant you a clean bill of health I’ll let you hitch along to the station to get your things. How does that sound?”

It sounds like a continuation of a nightmare he didn’t sign up for.

Unfortunately, he's out of options.

“Yeah, alright.”

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

Five notes and I'll share the beginning of the freak out verse fic I'm writing

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

Lemon Boy - parkner - Updates every Tuesday (CST) through 03/07/23

Harley is adrift, bitter, and resentful after losing Tony and his family as he knew it three years ago. When he inherits a rundown house in Brooklyn, he abandons the shattered remains of his dreams, his family, and himself for something he can fix.

Peter grieves as he always has; he buries himself in responsibility and pretends everything is fine. It works until he moves in with Harley, who doesn't suffer fools or liars. The problem is Peter has been fooling himself for so long he can't separate the mask from the truth.

Excerpt under the cut:

“You’re still up?”

He tears bleary eyes from the board he’s been trying and failing to measure correctly and finds Peter at the top of the stairs peering down at him.

“When’d you get in?”

Peter’s eyes sweep over him. “Just now.”

He looks as ragged as Harley feels. His hair is a tangled matted mess, his lip is freshly split, and there is a bruise poking out of his collar. Under the bare bulb hanging over the stairs it looks weirdly hand-shaped.

“You okay?” Harley asks before he thinks better of it.

Peter’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “Of course. Are you?”

He picks up his measuring tape. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Peter starts down the stairs. “Well, for one thing, you look like shit. For another—,”

Harley slams down the tape measure and scowls at Peter as he steps off the bottom stair. He’s actually wearing his boots for once.

“Nobody fucking asked you.”

“You literally just did.” His infuriating little smirk breaks the scabbing on his split lip.

“You’re bleeding, idiot.” Harley tosses a towel at him even though it’s not remotely sanitary. “You know you’re not fooling anyone, right?”

Peter pauses in dabbing a semi-clean part of the towel on his lip. “I’m not trying to fool anyone,” he lies like a fucking liar.

“Bullshit.” Harley plants his palms on the make-shift workbench and leans over it. “Let me guess, you get into fights at night to bleed off all that ugliness that builds up inside you during the day so you can go back to pretending to be an innocent little flower for your friends and family.”

Peter stares at him with wide eyes, towel held aloft but forgotten.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” he repeats, “so quit it with the song and dance. It’s annoying and insulting.”

“Oh.” Peter sets the towel on the workbench with wooden movements. “Uh, okay.”

They stare at each other until it’s awkward.

“Well. Bye then.” Peter turns on his heel and retreats upstairs.

Harley shakes his head. He’ll never understand that guy.

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

Chapter 6 is up!

He’s three trips deep when he’s stopped by a smiley woman with long brown hair tied up in a messy bun atop her head. She sets aside a clipboard and eyes the slowly growing stack of boxes beside the donations counter.

“Are you bringing in all of this by yourself?”

“Yes, ma’am. Is there somewhere else I should be—,”

“No, no you’re fine! But let’s see if we can save your back.” She steps behind the counter and returns with a dinged-up dolly. “Let’s roll.” He manages a weak smile before he leads the way out the front door. She falls into step beside him on the sidewalk with the dolly rolling along behind her.

“I’m May.”

Despite his surprise at receiving an introduction for once, his ingrained propriety kicks in and he responds by route, “Nice to meet you. Harley Keener.”

She lights up. He’s not sure if it’s his manners (the one thing this city seems to lack) or the fact that he’s got such a ridiculous name. You can quickly get the measure of a person by whether they liken it to motorcycles or comic books.

“The pleasure is all mine. You’re new to the city?”

He swipes his hair out of his eyes and fights back a scowl. “Is it that obvious? I’ve been here since January but I guess I don’t get out much.”

“No, no, you fit right in!” she says with a twinkling smile that’s much too wide for such an innocuous statement.

She’s laughing at him. Clearly, he sticks out like a flamingo in a murder of crows.

[harlstark]

made a uquiz for harley keener stans so if that’s you please take it i’d love to know y’alls results

a personality quiz where i compare you to my favorite marvel boy

[peanuttoffee]

ok so this hugeee dose of serotonin i got while reading @sarah-sandwich ‘s work on ao3 got me goin so here’s the unexpected marvel fanart for yall! this is for their work ‘undercover’ which i lllove dearly and hope this can brighten their day a little <33

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

“Harley James Keener, what are you doing to that boy?”

“What? I’m not doing anything!”

“If you’re playing with his heart, I will be so disappointed in you. I raised you better.”

“Playing with his— We’re in a relationship, ma!”

“For five years! And yet all you’ve ever told me about him is how annoying he is.”

“He is!”

“Then he comes here and it turns out that boy worships the ground you walk on.”

That pulls Harley up short. “What? No he doesn’t. He barely tolerates me.” He wants to call the words back as soon as he says them because that’s not how you’re supposed to think of your boyfriend, but Mama just sighs at him. Exasperated.

“Honey, open your eyes. I know you’re scared of bein’ hurt or bein’ left behind, but that boy is nothin’ like your daddy. He would do anything for you. I can tell just by the way he looks at you.”

She pats his hand then leaves him alone in the chicken coop to digest that heaping spoonful of reality stew. Clearly, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about… Right?