(Hey everyone, so sorry for making you wait so long for this chapter.
If haven't read my announcements or you're reading this on somewhere not on Wattpad let me explain.
I graduated from college and applied to University.
The university accepted my application but I needed to fulfill a few things first.
One of the things that needs to be fulfilled is an orientation, which I already scheduled at the closest date available, which is in November.
So for right now, I've done everything I can to complete my application.
I was actually going to publish this yesterday but it was raining like hell yesterday and it started leaking water into the house.
And even today this chapter is late because I had to take my kid brother to the doctor for our annual physical.
So yeah I originally wanted to make this chapter longer, but I figured why not post this. At least now I'll have more to write next chapter.
Anyway enough rambling please read and enjoy :) )
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The first rays of dawn slipped over Asgard's golden spires, painting the endless sky in warm hues of amber and rose. The Bifröst glimmered faintly in the distance, its rainbow arc soft and dreamlike, as if it belonged to a world half-remembered. Inside the lavish guest chamber gifted by Odin, heavy crimson curtains embroidered with silver runes parted just enough to let the morning light spill in, bathing the room in a gentle, golden glow. The air was warm, scented with cedar, sacred oils, and the faint hum of Asgard's ancient magic, a subtle pulse that seemed to weave itself into the very threads of Peter Parker's, or Anansi's soul.
The chamber was a marvel of divine craftsmanship: walls draped with tapestries that told stories of cosmic battles and celestial feasts, their vibrant threads shimmering as if alive with the legends they held; floors blanketed with furs so soft they felt like clouds, harvested from creatures of realms beyond mortal dreams; and a bed so massive it could've hosted a war band, its carved frame etched with runes that glowed faintly, like stars caught in the wood. The hearth in the corner had burned low during the night, its embers casting a soft, ruddy warmth that mingled with the dawn's light, wrapping the room in a cocoon of gold and fire.
Peter stirred first, his body warm beneath the weight of the furs, one arm draped lazily across Susan Storm and Silver Sable, who were nestled close against him in the center of the sprawling bed. Despite its size, the three had ended up tangled together in the night, as if some quiet instinct refused to let them drift apart in this strange, divine realm. His chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths, a rare moment of peace for a man who carried the weight of worlds. Sable's silver hair spilled across his shoulder, catching the dawn's light like liquid moonlight, while Susan's golden locks brushed his cheek, soft and warm, her breath a gentle whisper against his skin.
He moved carefully, not wanting to wake them, and pressed a feather-light kiss to Susan's temple, his lips lingering as he breathed in her scent, something clean and faintly floral, a quiet contrast to the grandeur around them. He shifted, leaning down to brush an equally tender kiss across Sable's forehead, her skin cool and smooth, her usual sharpness softened by the vulnerability of sleep. As if sensing his touch, both women stirred almost in unison, their eyes fluttering open. Susan's blue eyes caught the morning light, warm and sleepy, while Sable's gray ones glinted with a drowsy spark, like polished steel catching the dawn.
"Mmm... morning," Susan murmured, her voice thick with sleep, a lazy smile curving her lips as she stretched, her body shifting beneath the furs, her golden hair spilling across the pillow like a halo.
"Morning," Peter echoed, his voice low and warm, that familiar New York drawl softened by the intimacy of the moment. He stole a quick kiss from her lips, tender and unhurried, then tilted his head to capture
Sable's, his lips brushing hers with the same quiet affection, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Sable's lips quirked into a sly smirk, her usual edge dulled by the haze of sleep, her gray eyes glinting with amusement as she propped herself up on one elbow, her silver hair cascading like a waterfall. "You're greedy in the mornings, Parker," she teased, her voice a low purr, a playful challenge in her tone as she arched a brow.
"Guilty as charged," Peter admitted, his grin wide and unapologetic, his eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and warmth that made him look younger, lighter than he had in days. He pulled them both closer, their foreheads nearly touching as he wrapped his arms around them, the furs shifting softly under their weight. The moment felt like a stolen breath, a pocket of peace in the heart of Asgard's grandeur.
They lingered there, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the morning. Soft kisses passed between them, each one slow and deliberate, punctuated by gentle laughter that bubbled up like a shared secret. Susan's fingers traced the curve of Peter's arm, her touch light but grounding, while Sable's hand brushed across his cheek, her fingers lingering with a tenderness that felt rare for her, a woman more accustomed to steel than softness.
Susan's hand came to rest over Peter's chest. "You're warm," she whispered, her voice soft, almost reverent, her blue eyes meeting his brown with a quiet intensity.
"Perk of having a god crashing in my soul, I guess," Peter teased, his grin widening as he caught her laugh, a soft, melodic sound that warmed him more than the furs. He leaned in, kissing her again, deeper this time, his hand brushing a stray lock of golden hair from her face.
Sable nestled closer against his other side, her body pressed against his, her usual guarded demeanor softened in the rare vulnerability of morning. "I could get used to waking up like this," she murmured, her voice quieter than usual, almost hesitant, as if the admission cost her something. Her gray eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, the mercenary's steel was replaced by something softer, more human.
Peter's grin softened into something more earnest, his eyes holding hers with a sincerity that cut through the playful banter. "Good," he said, his voice low, steady, like a vow. "Because I don't plan on letting either of you go." His arms tightened around them, pulling them closer, their warmth a shield against the weight of the past and the uncertainties of the future.
The sun climbed higher outside, its golden light spilling through the curtains, painting the room in molten hues that danced across the tapestries and furs. The three of them lay there, tangled beneath the furs, caught in a moment of kisses, laughter, and the quiet certainty that, for this one morning at least, the world could wait.
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The sun climbed higher, its golden light spilling through the curtains and painting the room in molten hues that danced across the tapestries and furs. But eventually, the pull of the day tugged at them, and Peter, Susan, and Sable reluctantly untangled themselves from the bed's embrace. Peter swung his legs over the side first, stretching with a groan that was half contentment, half protest, his bare feet sinking into the soft furs on the floor. Susan sat up, running a hand through her golden hair, her smile lingering as she watched him. Sable followed, her movements graceful even in the haze of morning, tying her silver hair back with a quick twist.
They dressed in the simple yet finely woven tunics and cloaks left by Asgard's attendants, soft fabrics that felt like a second skin, embroidered with subtle runes that shimmered faintly in the light. Laughter bubbled up again as Peter fumbled with a clasp, Susan stepping in to help with a teasing grin, her fingers brushing his collar. Sable watched them with a fond smirk, buckling her belt with the efficiency of someone used to gearing up for trouble. The air still carried the warmth of their morning, a quiet intimacy that made the world outside feel a little less daunting.
Stepping into the corridor, the cool brilliance of Asgard's halls greeted them, the towering pillars carved with legends, the air heavy with that ancient hum, like the palace itself was alive with stories. They hadn't walked far, their footsteps echoing softly on the polished marble, when they nearly collided with Thor. The god of thunder filled the space like a storm about to break, his golden hair catching the sunlight streaming through high windows, his crimson cape swirling behind him like a banner. Mjolnir hung at his side, its runes glowing with a faint, steady light.
"Ah! The slumbering mortals arise at last!" Thor boomed, his voice a thunderous laugh that bounced off the walls, his blue eyes twinkling with good humor. He clapped Peter on the shoulder, hard enough to make him stagger a step, his grin wide and welcoming. "Well met, Brother Spider, and fair ladies! You look rested and ready for the day's adventures. Come, my father awaits us in the throne room."
Peter chuckled, rubbing his shoulder with mock pain, while Susan smiled warmly and Sable nodded with her usual cool poise. Thor led the way, his strides long and confident, chatting easily about Asgard's wonders, the feasts that never ended, the battles that forged legends, as if they were old friends catching up. The palace unfolded around them, halls lined with murals that seemed to shift in the light, depicting gods clashing with giants or feasting under starlit skies. The air grew richer with magic, that hum vibrating stronger, making Peter's skin tingle as the Web of Life stirred within him.
The towering doors to the throne room swung open with a low groan, revealing Odin All-Father seated on his grand throne of carved stone, its runes pulsing softly like a heartbeat. Unlike their first formal encounter, there was a genuine warmth in his single eye, a glint of affection that softened the stern wisdom etched into his face. His fur-lined cloak draped over him like a mantle of stars, and he rose as they entered, his presence filling the room not with intimidation, but with the quiet strength of family reunited.
"Welcome back, Brother," Odin rumbled, his voice deep and resonant, like the roll of distant thunder carrying a note of joy. He nodded to Susan and Sable with a respectful incline of his head. "And to you, valiant companions. It gladdens me to see you refreshed. Asgard's halls have a way of mending the weary soul." His eye lingered on Peter, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. "There is much to discuss, but first... come with me. I have something for you."
With a gesture, Odin led them from the throne room, his steps measured but purposeful, his cloak trailing like a shadow. They wound deeper into the palace, past ornate chambers where floating chandeliers cast prismatic light and grand murals that whispered of forgotten eras. The air grew cooler, the magic thicker, until they reached a massive door of blackened steel, its surface etched with wards that glowed faintly. Odin waved a hand, and the locks unsealed with a series of heavy clicks, the doors groaning open to reveal his armory, a vast vault brimming with relics of legend. Swords that had cleaved through empires leaned against racks, shields forged from dragon scales hung on walls, and artifacts shimmering with power that made the air crackle. The scent of ancient metal and ozone hung heavy, each item humming with its own story.
Odin strode to the center, his eye fixed on a pedestal bathed in a soft, ethereal light. Resting upon it was a staff, dark and mesmerizing, its handle carved from wood so black it seemed to swallow the light, adorned with intricate dragon-like patterns that coiled and twisted like living vines, sharp spikes jutting out at odd angles for grip or defense. The ends bore striking silver heads, shaped like a spider with skeletal details, its multiple claw-like tendrils arching outward in a menacing display, ruby eyes glinting with an otherworldly intelligence.
(Look up Spider Celestial Staff from Black Myth Wukong to get an idea)
"When you fell the first time, Brother," Odin said, his voice low and reverent, turning to face Peter with a weighty gaze, "I took this from your side. I could not bear to let it be lost to the void. I kept it safe, hidden here, hoping, praying to the Norns, that one day my old friend would return to claim it." He stepped aside, his single eye shining with quiet emotion. "That day is now. It is yours once more."
Peter's breath caught, his chest tightening as he approached the pedestal. His hand hovered for a moment, then wrapped around the handle. The wood was warm, almost alive under his fingers, and a nostalgic surge washed over him. It was his old staff, no doubt about it, the feel of it stirring echoes of ancient battles and woven tales. Without thinking, he gave it a sharp spin, the motion acrobatic and fluid, twirling it overhead in a flawless arc, flipping it behind his back, and catching it mid-spin with effortless grace. The staff whistled through the air, balanced perfectly, as if it had never left his side. He stopped it with a flick, holding it steady, a grin creeping across his face despite the fact that he, as Peter Parker, had never touched a staff in his life. But Anansi had, and that mastery flowed through him now, natural as breathing.
Susan and Sable stared, Susan's eyes wide with awe, her hand half-raised as if to touch it, while Sable's sharp gaze softened with quiet amazement. Thor let out a hearty laugh, clapping his hands. "By the All-Father, that's the Weaver I've heard so much about!"
Odin's smile deepened, pride flickering in his eye. "Welcome back, old friend."
Peter twirled it once more, feeling the power hum through him, and smirked. "Feels like coming home."
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