#keenker

[sleeping-dead]

I love them so much I wanna cry and then put my head through a wall.

No I will not explain.

[ladyyystark]

I thought that after the premiere and promotions of 'Insidious: the red door', we would be seeing more gifts and Harley Keener content since we were served THIS MAN.

Like???? Why I'm not seeing this grown ass man on my home page???? Y'all bitches are being lazy.

It's me, I'm bitches.

[sheps-shepherd]

Set Your Sails (Be Ready for the Winds of Change) - Chapter 4 - sheps

Peter was still trying to stomach everything he’d learned. That what he’d seen at Silph had been going on for far longer than he’d ever considered. That Harley had fought and defeated HYDRA first, years ago in an event hauntingly similar to what Peter had faced a few months back.  That this thing between them was definitely growing at a spiraling rate that Peter couldn’t quite grasp. It had become something much bigger than just friendly flirting between strangers. Something neither of them had quite acknowledged, until Harley’s little slip-up back at the beach.  Peter knew that was what it was. The way Harley walked beside him with his shoulders still hunched made it clear the pet name had been unintentional.  It’d still knocked Peter off his feet, though.  Darlin.’  Challenging the Viridian City Gym was sure turning out to be a whole lot more than he’d bargained for.

Click the link to read on AO3!

[babyloveparkner]

her weird, wonderful brother

a sequel to a primer for the small weird loves. part 2 in the limericks and love songs and letters series.

5 times that Emma Keener learns something new about her brother plus 1 time she realizes that he’s still the same Harley that she grew up knowing and loving.

he’s gay

he has a boyfriend named peter

he goes to college in new york

he reads and writes poetry

he worries a lot

and, of course:

when he loves, it’s with everything he has

ft. harley’s sister growing up and realizing that maybe him suddenly moving to a different part of the country despite only being fifteen probably matters more than their mom originally let on, an outside perspective of the growth harley has gone through via his time in new york and the love of his support system, and a peek into the future—including some moments from harley and peter’s wedding.

first chapter (which is what the moodboard is for) is now being written. i am currently planning to have it posted by the end of october.

[styob4]

Tony enters the workshop.

Peter and Harley are sitting on the floor, laughing, their faces covered in blood.

Tony: what the fuck is going on?

And then he realizes that they are soulmates.

[mona6787]

Harley to Natasha: you're the cool one.

Harley to Peter: You're the cute one.

Harley to Tony: and you're the... old one.

Tony: ....

Harley: and I'm the nice one. 'cuz everyone thinks I'm nice one.

Tony: .... Well the old one is not so crazy about you.

[thoughts-of-a-trying-tree]

whispers

word count: 908

warning(s): references to fics i've never written, lil bit of cursing, lockdown/pandemic/quarantine, extreme Self-Indulgence and Projection™ in a bogo deal!

-----------------------------------------------

The best day of Harley Keener's college life wasn't when he finally perfected the Iron Lad suit to maneuver smoothly, allowing him to tiptoe silently with a hundred pounds of metal around him.

It wasn't during the lockdown when Peter put in his retainer and his cheeks puffed out, and it wasn't that night, when he took full advantage of how adorable he looked.

It wasn't near the end of lockdown, when they discovered that the song Something Stupid reminded them of each other.

It wasn't a few months later, when Peter, drunk and tired, told him that it would be the song they should play at their wedding.

It wasn't even the next morning, when he didn't take it back.

It was after they went back to college in person, after they had settled into classes, after they had figured out that they distracted each other too much and sat on opposite sides of the rooms, after they mapped the best routes to their classes so they could see each other as often as possible, because obviously they were that couple.

It was in class, Harley with a Spiderman mask and Peter with an Iron Lad one, when the professor pulled his mask down to cough for the third time.

When Harley, done with this shit, muttered low, "God, just fuck yourself, if you want to die so bad go for it, but don't bring us down with you," so quiet even he couldn't hear it, and he knew no one could see his mouth moving. When Peter, on the other side of the room, snorted. And turned around to look at him.

Well. Tomorrow, the games would begin.

'*'*'*'

Harley had planned to spout random passages from books they'd both read, mimic Tony, and he'd memorized a good chunk of dad jokes he found funny that night, but all those thoughts left his mind when he woke up to Peter leaving their apartment for a class they had together.

Harley threw his arm over his eyes after he left, silently grumbling that Peter didn't have to go so early when what he'd seen actually hit him.

Peter. Leaving the apartment. A red sweatshirt. Block letters on the back. His last name.

His last name.

Had Harley ever gotten up so quickly?

'*'*'*'

He speed-walked out of the apartment about half an hour later and barely remembered driving to campus. He ran in fifteen minutes before class, trying to look inconspicuous as he stared at Peter from across the room, laughing and joking with his friends. Peter, in Harley's Rose Hill Swim sweatshirt with KEENER emblazoned on the back.

Harley's plans fell out of the window faster than he could catch his breath. Peter turned to him, cheeks raising under his mask, and Harley could see the devil-sly smile in his mind. Two can play at that game. Peter could be a little shit, but Harley could match him too.

Change of plans.

'*'*'*'

Less than ten minutes after the professor had begun the lecture, Harley decided he couldn't wait any longer. He tilted his head towards Peter ever so slightly and waited until Peter stopped typing his notes.

"You look so beautiful in my clothes." Harley whispered. Peter stiffened slightly, ran a hand through his hair, and went back to typing.

Harley waited.

The next time Peter paused, "Scratch that." He stilled. "You look gorgeous all the time." Peter turned towards Harley ever so slowly and froze. He shook his head and pulled at his ear, then returned to his notes.

Pause. "I guess it's because you look like something I should own." This time Peter turned around completely and his eyes latched onto Harley's. A red blush crept up his face and Harley grinned. How long would it take until the red of his face matched the red of Harley's sweater? "Mine. With my last name on your clothes like the whole world should know." Peter whipped back to face forward again, typing at his notes, though Harley could tell from here that he wasn't typing anything comprehensive.

Pause. "Personally, I think the whole world should know. You'd feel me with you even when I'm not there and who would even come close?" At this point, it was a struggle for Harley to keep his voice low. It felt odd to speak so quietly and still see Peter reacting to him and he certainly wasn't learning anything the professor was saying.

Peter didn't go back to typing. His hands were frozen arcs over the keyboard and his chest moved with deliberate breaths. "Wow, darlin'. Didn't know I had such an effect on you." He twitched. Harley couldn't help himself anymore and broke.

"I love you. I love you. I love you."

'*'*'*'

By the time they both got back home, Harley was almost vibrating to see Peter alone. He had only just tossed his bag down when his back hit the wall. Peter's eyes were dark as sin and looking into his own.

"Did you really think you could get away with the stunt you pulled this morning?" Harley surged forward and pressed his lips to Peter's, feeling him fall pliant against him.

Pulling away, he laughed breathlessly, leaning his forehead onto Peter's. "Lost your fire so quickly?" Peter hummed by way of reply.

"Killed me, not being able to say it back all day."

"Say what, darlin'?" Harley whispered into the space between them.

"I love you too."

[sarah-sandwich]

A Peach Like You - sequel to Peaches ain't Pretty

Peter Parker never considered himself special. Maybe, yeah, having radioactive blood and spider-like abilities makes him different and his vigilante career is out of the norm and fine, yeah, he's on the autism spectrum. Call that "special" if you want. But under all that, he's a regular college student juggling three jobs, an internship, a sad mockery of a social life, and saving the city day and night. The usual stuff.

So when he somehow catches the eye of a blue-eyed mech engineering major with an accent that could turn even Aunt May's brick-hard mashed potatoes to mush, he's only thrown for a minute before he writes it off as a fluke. What could a guy like that see in a guy like him anyway?

Chapter One Will Be Posted January 5th CST

Check below the Read More for a sneak peak

Chapter 1: I’m an only child and I’m desperate for attention

Peter’s web-line, tangled desperately between numb fingers, holds as he slams into glass. Air punches from his lungs, but the pane stays intact. He fumbles for his footing, slipping in the smears of scarlet left from his meeting with the window, then begins the slow miserable climb to the ninth floor. His abdomen burns. His head pounds.

He’s not going to pass out. He’s not going to pass out. He’s…

He’s so fired. The pizzas he was supposed to deliver are long gone by now, whether he can remember where he stashed them or not. His boss is going to be furious with him for flaking on his deliveries again. He may have attempted the tried and true ‘It’s not my fault, Mr. Leonetti, I was mugged,’ routine if it wasn’t for all of the cell phones that recorded Spider-Man getting stabbed not two doors down from the pizza shop. He can’t risk anyone making the connection between Spider-Man and Peter Parker.

What was he supposed to do? Not drop everything and strip down to his suit to stop the bodega from being robbed? Not web the clerk out of the way of the stray bullet? Not take the lucky stab between his ribs during his distraction?

Actually, he could have done without that last one. Ned has enough on his plate without having his mess of a childhood best friend slithering through his window every other day with life-threatening injuries.

He breathes a sigh of relief as his fingers curl over Ned’s window sill. His Friend of Spider-Man sense must be tingling because it’s wide open. A strange choice for February, but you won’t hear him whining about his unprecedented change in luck.

He pushes the screen until it pops free of the frame then rolls into the apartment. He lands with a thud on gray carpet and groans as the impact aggravates his stab wound. It’s not until the haze of pain clears enough to see the unfamiliar light fixture above him that he considers how unlike Ned it is to have the window open on a day that’s threatening snow.

Ned hates winter. He hates leaving the window open even a crack and often compromises by stuffing a towel in the crack to keep the draft out because, as much as he hates winter, he loves his best friend more.

As he blinks at the rest of the room, dazed from blood loss, he slowly puts together that this is not Ned’s apartment. It smells wrong for one thing. Like burnt bread and blood (the latter of which, yes, he realizes is his fault), but also there’s a distinct lack of life in this place that’s so contradictory to Ned’s merch and memorabilia-stuffed apartment that for a moment he thinks maybe this one is vacant. No shoes by the door. No pillows on the couch. No DVDs next to the TV. No takeout containers. No books. Nothing.

Other than a mason jar that’s half-filled with odd little trinkets on an otherwise barren bookshelf, the place is lifeless.

Well, nearly lifeless.

In the same moment he decides he ought to haul his broken body out the window and try for the correct window, a tall blond someone wearing a knit sweater and jeans that have been worn soft over time steps into the room waving a towel at the smoke lingering near the ceiling.

The man freezes as they lock eyes.

Oh, mother fudger.