thegaypotato

[thegaypotato]

dream in the maid outfit whats he gonna clean

[thegaypotato]

When character A admits that they’re in love with someone and the character B doesn’t realize that they’re talking about them

When character B doesn’t realize they’re talking about them because the person character A is describing sounds so wonderful and amazing that it just can’t be them

[thegaypotato]

“You’re taking their side?”

“This isn’t about sides-”

“-I can’t believe you! What next, you lock me in my room like a misbehaving child-”

“-YOU COULD HAVE DIED!” In the aftermath of the shout, the silence seemed deafening. The other took a step closer, clutching hold of them. “You could have died,” softer. “I nearly lost you. If you want to make this about sides, I’m on whatever side keeps you alive. Can’t you see that?”

[thegaypotato]

[thegaypotato]

Lesbians: *Iced tea*

Witches: *Hot tea*

Lesbian witches: *confused screaming

#spain without the s #ok but what about room temperature tea? #idk #sighs in dyke witch

[thegaypotato]

[thegaypotato]

ight fuck it im going by Jay now >:))

[thegaypotato]

Victories to celebrate.

[thegaypotato]

[thegaypotato]

the rest of the world: so when’s the final result of the elections out?

the us:

[thegaypotato]

#mmmmmmmmm #yes #serotonin

[thegaypotato]

@littlebittyoctober: Today I’m not October, today I’m Kevin the Kitten from @vanessastockard paintings. I think I nailed it! #kevinthekittin

[thegaypotato]

fan fic authors be like yes i know this will flop however i simply have too much love for this character and my very niche headcanons for them. and i think that is so fuckin sexy of us

#spain without the s

[thegaypotato]

Gays will see the word frog and instantly reblog huh

[thegaypotato]

i made a generator for yall to see what ur genders are

#non binary hhhhh disaster #...... #yeah pretty much

[thegaypotato]

if i had nowhere else to go (could i count on you?)

He pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the door, rolling his eyes. Who the hell would knock at 1 in the morning and on a Wednesday? He racked his brain for any ideas. He didn't recall there being any parties today, and he was sure there had been no one left in the main building when he had left.

He certainly wasn't expecting to see Harley Keener standing on the other side.

continue reading here

#peter parker #harley keener #gay harley keener #peter x harley #parkner #harley keener x peter parker #parley #keenker #bi peter parker #my writing #also on ao3 #50s au

[thegaypotato]

70 with parkner please🥺🥺

I gotchu,,, and lemme just say I saw your tags on my other prompt fic and melted thanks very much <3

70: You’re warm

Word Count: 1,235

Warnings: copious amounts of fluff

⭒

Statistically, the coldest winter on record for New York City recorded is negative fifty-two degrees Fahrenheit (negative forty-six-point-seven degrees Celcius). It had been taken in February of 1934 and matched in February of 1979. Car windows shattered. Milk froze on the way home from the store.

In negative fifty-two degree weather, you can receive frostbite within just five minutes of exposure.

Peter feels like this winter could beat that record into the ground and set up its gravestone without breaking a sweat.

He’s literally freezing his ass off. His curls are so close to frozen that they crunch when he reaches up to brush them out of his face. His eyelashes feel more like icicles. Every moment that his eyes are open against the biting cold is another moment in which he fears losing his vision.

It’s so cold.

So, so cold.

Okay, so maybe not that cold. He might be exaggerating a little bit. 

Just a little bit.

It’s mid-December in New York City, hovering in the low thirties. The temperature barely fluctuates from day to day, leaving the city in a perpetual state of waiting for some Christmas snow. Peter’s sure there’ll be some by the next week if the weather reports are being honest.

As much as he’d love some snow, he’s dealing with some issues that had come with a certain spider bite, and he would prefer to avoid freezing his extremities off before January starts.

Put simply, Peter can’t thermoregulate properly. At all. His powers just won’t permit it, and it’s the only side effect that makes him wish he’d never been bitten.

He gets way too hot in the summers. Sweats right through his t-shirts and feels absolutely disgusting for hours on end. The suit isn’t very well ventilated, despite being made by Tony Stark, and that means that it sticks to his skin as he peels it off after missions.

It’s disgusting.

But if summers are bad, winters are much, much worse. Yeah, sweating sucks. It’s gross. Heatstroke is a constant danger.

But being perpetually cold? Shivering under layers of hoodies and sweatshirts and still having to function? Knowing that, no matter how many shirts you put on, you won’t be able to keep the cold at bay?

Yeah. That really sucks.

Plus, there’s always the danger of hypothermia, and Peter falls into way too many lakes for a newly-nineteen-year-old college student to tolerate.

Coming back to his dorm and having to avoid his really hot, really Southern roommate while shivering his ass off in freezing-cold, soaking wet spandex? 

It’s awful.

So. To reiterate. Peter Parker hates winter with a passion and a vengeance.

And now he’s dripping water from the East River all over Colombia’s carpeted dormitory hallways, and he’s going to get some kind of infraction or something from this, and someone is definitely going to question why Spider-Man is limping around in a college housing division. 

“Oh, thank God,” Peter mutters, teeth chattering harshly beneath his mask as he turns another corner and makes it to the familiar door that leads to his dorm room (and Harley’s, but he’s way too cold to be thinking about that particular issue right now).

His hands are shaking so much that he can hardly pull his lanyard out of his suit pocket. It takes three tries for him to get the key into the lock and another thirty seconds to turn it in the right direction.

He’s not being nearly as careful as he should be. If anyone were to see him right now, it would take almost no time for them to connect the dots- Spider-Man lives in room 18 in dorm building 3. Harley Keener and Peter Parker live in room 18 in dorm building 3. Harley Keener is over six feet tall. Peter Parker is under six feet tall. Spider-Man is under six feet tall.

Bam. Identity outed. Crisis time.

But he’s too tired and cold to be careful.

Peter stumbles into the dorm, slamming the door behind himself as he checks to make sure that, yes, Harley’s bed is empty. Yanking his suit off, he pulls a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie out of the nearest dresser before collapsing into bed, barely shoving his suit under the floor-length curtains.

He passes out immediately without checking whose bed he’s in.

⭒

Harley walks into his dorm room with his backpack slung over one shoulder and immediately spits his iced coffee into the nearest trash can.

Peter Parker is asleep in his bed. 

“Oh,” he says dumbly, setting his bag down on his desk and trying to hide the strawberry blush on his cheeks. Considering the chill outside, he’s feeling- yeah, he’s feeling very warm right now.

So gay. You’re so gay, Keener.

It’s no secret Peter is attractive. You’d have to be blind not to recognize that- or at least, Harley’s always thought that. And he’s definitely not blind.

There’s just something about his smile and the way his hair curls around his ears that happens to be so insanely endearing that Harley could never avoid noticing it. He’s sweet, and smart, and easygoing in a way that makes everyone want to be around him.

And, apparently, he looks very good in Harley’s clothes.

He doesn’t know why, but Peter seems to have grabbed his Thrasher hoodie and a pair of his joggers that he’d left on top of his dresser. The hoodie dwarfs him, drooping over his hands, and Harley’s joggers bunch up around his ankles with a few extra inches of fabric.

Harley presses a hand to his mouth, trying to hide the stupid smile that he knows is spread across the bottom half of his face, and moves quietly across the room. Peter looks like he’d collapsed on top of his bed; he’s lying across his covers instead of under them. From the way he’s curled in on himself, Harley can tell he’s shivering.

His hair looks wet. 

“What’d you do?” Harley grumbles as he gently lifts Peter up and resituates him, pulling the covers over his legs and then up to his neck. “Go for a swim in the middle of winter?”

He doesn’t receive an answer. There is, however, a sudden vice around his wrist- Peter’s hand?- that yanks him down onto the bed and pulls him close.

He’s stronger than he looks, apparently.

Harley stares down at the brown-haired boy, eyes wide as he burrows further into his chest. He must be asleep- after all, why else would he be doing this? He couldn’t actually like Harley, right?

Right?

This is taking advantage, Harley thinks, gritting his teeth and trying to pull away. You’re taking advantage of him and you need to stop.

But Peter has managed to attach himself very firmly to Harley’s front, and it doesn’t seem like he’s about to let go.

“Hey, darlin’,” Harley croons, inching backward as much as he can without falling off of the bed. “Gotta wake up, Peter.”

Peter doesn’t wake up, but he does tighten his grip and huff out a quiet sigh.

“You’re warm,” he mumbles before burying his face in Harley’s chest and pulling him closer.

Harley’s chest is filled with some kind of happiness that he hasn’t felt in years. He smiles and, bending down, presses a gentle kiss to Peter’s left eyebrow before closing his eyes and snuggling in, burying his nose in Peter’s curls.