Firstborn Son- Peter Parker and Harry Osborn
Peter’s knees bobbed to Super Freak as he shuffled between a woman wearing a DaVinci painting, and a man balancing a coffee grinder atop his well-oiled head. Ohhhhhh no. It’s a costume party. Peter’s eyes slowly rolled to the floor, with a look of resolved disappointment only Aunt May could interpret. As much as he wanted to make a break for the window ledge twenty feet above, he had to do this. He had to take the pictures for Mr. Knox.
There was a decision to be made. From Peter’s vantage point on the stairs, he could only make out two figures not appearing to have any costume on. Would he join them, or find a different getup? And no, the suit was not an option. Not with these people.
Once he made sure no one was looking, Peter discreetly shot a strand of web from his right wrist, latching onto a cloth napkin from the refreshment table. With his other wrist, he sent an arm of web flying towards a small, festive wreath hanging from the wall. In one blink-and-you’d-miss-it take, he swiftly retracted both items into his hands. Peter smiled to himself in approval. I can work with this. He stuck the napkin through the top of his collar- a makeshift ascot- and, without a single reservation, he stuck the wreath on top of his head. Whether he was blending in or sticking out even more at this point, was entirely up for debate.