WHAT: Wanda finds a super secret supermarket for Stephen, and it's chaos (with some soft angst at the end)
WHERE: Below a strip club in Vallo City (obviously??), The Rear End WHEN: Recently STATUS: Complete WARNINGS: Strippers with tentacles?????????
“Yes, dear,” Wanda sighed out, visibly and audibly exasperated. “I am sure this is the place.”
What was ‘this place,’ you might ask? It was slightly questionable from location alone, embedded deeply within a more sketchier district of Vallo’s bustling city. There was an odd smell that was hard to identify. The puddles on the streets were questionable - it hadn’t rained today so that crossed ‘possibly water’ from the list. A few suspicious shops were lit up with business and one of them involved the selling of cursed dolls. One was on the display window even, watching them, blinking a beady little eye and wearing a bonnet. It held an ‘ADOPT ME’ sign.
But they weren’t here for cursed dolls.
They were, in fact, here for this establishment known as The Rear End and the one smell she could could identify wafting from the place was fried chicken. Wanda hadn’t been a saint in her youth. Strip clubs were an occasional stop here and there (mostly out of curiosity, though she’d been approached for a job once) but she was certain she’d never been to one that served greasy food with a side of pole dance.
Music from the inside still sounded like it was blaring from the outside, and Wanda checked her phone to confirm the coordinates - this was the place, with a hidden inside entrance to an underground supermarket. It was known for its more exotic ingredients catered towards those with less than normal diets, and she didn’t want to talk about what kind of items she had to find an exchange for this hidden gem.
(It involved having to locate unicorn droppings among other things and don’t ever question what she’d do to make sure her future husband could have a wedding cake he could actually stomach.)
Tucking her phone into her back pocket, Wanda smirked up at her fiance. “You don’t have to come with me. I am a big and bad Scarlet Witch, I can handle it.”
“Oh, I’m coming with you,” was Stephen’s immediate response - he didn’t even have to consider it, honestly. A grocery store below someplace called The Rear End? In a seedy Vallo City district with a whole look about it - rundown homes, trashy landscaping, a lot of chain link fences and blinking lights with alphabet bulbs burned out? It was so very bizarro, so very Vallo, so sign him up and bump him to the front of the VIP list, thanks, because he’d no doubt be coming back to this bullshit and probably having a trippy good time that didn’t even require hallucinogens.
Most strip clubs were all about warmed-over buffets with those sad heating lambs, and crappy bar food - but the fried chicken he could smell from outside had a very legit aroma. Like crunchy and doused in sauce or something; surely there were a multitude of breast jokes to be found here too, down this nipple-tasseled road, and he was going to do his best not to make any.
Probably.
He even held the door for Wanda. “After you, my favorite Big Bad Scarlet Witch,” he grinned a bit. “So is this like - we need a secret password to get to the market or what? By the way if you want a lap dance while we’re here I’m not going to judge.”
“Noted on the lack of judgment,” she chuckled with a roll of her eyes. Hard not to find some amusement in this - the entire set up was ridiculous. If this turned out to be false or some kind of trap (unlikely, but she’d never rule that sort of thing out) she was going to be in a mood that was less agreeable with lapdances. “But, yes, a passcode. We just have to find…”
Oh. Hold on. Give her a minute to take in the scene here. Everything was mostly standard - contrasts of dim lighting versus neon lights, scantily clad cocktail waitresses and elevated stages. But this was Vallo, and the talent was far from being exclusively human; hence the woman with several arms (tentacle-like) upside-down, wrapped around a pole in a way that somehow defied the laws of physics. Dollar bills were being aggressively thrown her way.
Good for her.
Wanda took a step towards the side to, ah, move. And not stare too much. “We have to go towards a beaded curtain –” There was an orc woman with tusks and more muscle mass that she had ever seen letting someone motorboat her pierced breasts. She stared a little. “-- and here should be someone with rainbow-colored hair…”
Popping up next to them with a shimmer-pop of a teleportation trick was a waitress, holding up a tray towards with a smile. “Would you like to sample some of our chicken?” They had little pieces speared on toothpicks, it was really kind of cute.
She took one. Might as well.
Ruby Rings of Raggadorr, teleporting waitresses - Stephen jumped, and he felt distinctly out of place in a strip club while wearing pressed slacks and a cardigan over a crisp shirt; there was so much going on, visually, that he wasn’t sure where to gaze. Or not gaze. Though he distinctly avoided staring at the orc being motorboated, and when he found a nude elf cage dancing routine he also switched to something else - Wanda, he focused on Wanda.
But first the chicken - maybe he could eat it? Since the grocery store was (allegedly) right down below, and space chicken was perhaps a thing?
You only lived once (or a thousand times on a loop, dying over and over if you were Stephen) so he too selected a toothpick. If it didn’t agree with him, it didn’t agree with him but he gave it a try - and popped the chicken boob into his mouth. So far so good.
“Beaded curtain,” he repeated, scanning the area. “There - toward the back. Past the cage dancers,” Stephen motioned. Though the tentacle lady was pretty impressive, the way her limbs twisted like serpents. He almost wanted to stay until she was done, but they had a job to do. “I don’t see any rainbow hair yet but maybe once we make our way over.” This was by far one of the better Vallo adventures he could recall - much more fun than disappearing into a murder dimension.
That chicken was good. Too good. That was dangerous. She didn’t want to be that person who frequented a strip club for their fried offerings but it was tempting. Musings for another time, though. She had a mission, and she was determined to see it through even if strip club food was calling to her like a greasy siren.
Wanda took him by the hand so they wouldn’t lose each other in the crowd and pulled, maneuvering them through a maze of high top tables and excusing themselves to the side while a topless dancer squeezed by. “This gives me seedy VIP room vibes,” she mumbled as they approached and she pulled the beaded strings to the side.
It revealed cobble-stone stairs and a round door that made her think they were about to enter a Hobbit’s home. Next to it was a young woman - hair streaked with the colors of a rainbow, filing her nails and not even giving them a glance as they approached. Too busy filing her nails, you see. “State ya business,” she said.
Right. This was when she had to say the magic words. Wanda cleared her throat, and said: “Testium atrophia.”
It was Latin for ‘testicular atrophy.’ Yes, she was aware of it. Yes, being forced to say it did not spark joy. Rainbow Brite let out a thoughtful hum, wiggled her fingers as if she was conjuring magic, opened the door and, finally.
All was revealed.
The door felt more like some portal to another part of Vallo. There was no way this could all fit beneath the club. Perhaps it was a pocket dimension of some sort? There didn’t seem to be any ceilings that they could see; just a dense fog in the way of a sky, and the layout before them was a seemingly endless grid of stalls and clay buildings. The pathway was a bit congested with crowds of citizens (less typical Dungeons and Dragons - they looked slightly more demonic, or perhaps of a different planet?) shopping for bizarre wares.
“Oh, this is real - I was afraid we were headed towards a private show,” Wanda breathed out in relief.
I’m sorry, what?
Please consider Stephen V. Strange, MD, PhD, to have his joy sparked upon hearing Wanda utter the phrase testicular atrophy in Latin. That just about made his night - or it did, actually. His night, his week, his month, his year. He wondered if, because the collection process was so steep to be able to obtain the location and password (unicorn droppings, anyone?), that said password changed on a regular basis and he couldn’t wait to know what it would be next month or something.
“Thanks,” he told the rainbow-haired, uh, attendant. And then they were off - through the looking glass, so to speak, and they’d clearly entered Narnia. Or some kind of other dimension, it felt like.
The fog was like white cloth and it smelled a little sulfurous too - it also smelled like coconut or something, and he wondered if that was due to some of the wares (of which there were many). The buildings were all terracotta and stoneware, earth-toned, and some stalls and little clay houses had various wares and offerings set up outside in wooden crates - from apples to dried sausages, along with a stall where bread overran the space (cheap buns to more artisanal loaves), a spot just for herbs and spices, a fishmonger, and a butcher with the name tag ‘Tiddles’ sat ready with his meat cleaver too. There was also a stand where more exotic critters were sold live - Stephen probably needed to start there, to stock the Sanctum’s fridge with creepy crawlies he could fry up, similar to the way he did at home.
There was just so much to take in though. Meat pies in the shape of otters. Silk spun from giant spiders (by the Vishanti, nope), fresh muffins, candles that would burn for weeks, flowers that never wilted, something known as cockatrice eggs (what?), pastries called ear trumpets. “It’s real,” Stephen blinked. “I guess we should just - find a cart and fill it? At least it looks like we won’t have any trouble catering the wedding this way.” He was forever appreciative that Wanda wanted him to have a cake he could eat - and it seemed like this was the key to doing so.
It had been an interesting journey to get to this point, but Wanda found herself basking in a moment of pride here. She would have hunted down a dozen mythical animal droppings to locate this place, alright - she was determined in making sure that this wedding (and home in general) had options of food and ingredients for Stephen. This market was the jackpot.
“I have bags!” she announced cheerily and in the blink of an eye (plus a misty haze of red magic), they were in their hands. It was those limitless kinds - the kind that held tiny pocket dimensions that could hold an abundance of stuff without affecting the weight or size of what they carried. Wanda gave one to Stephen. Its design was a floral pattern, he was so welcome.
Then she hooked her other arm through his, and wasn’t this the most precious little mundane errand for them - groceries in a hidden black market, right below a strip club. “I have a list of ingredients I need to find for the cake,” she said, conjuring a neatly folded list into her hand that had been left on their kitchen counter earlier. “A special kind of flour, non-chicken eggs. There are a few different alternative dairy options they recommended that might work?”
A floral shopping bag, Stephen was so blessed. He took it proudly and prepared to stuff the entire contents of this misty underground market inside of the thing. “Non-chicken eggs - whatever a cockatrice is, that should fit the bill?” he mused. “I saw a stall down the way.” They’d probably pass more baking supplies too - flour and sugar and special floof powders (baking soda, baking powder) that -
Well, it was actually called floof powder. Go figure.
“What kind of cake is it going to be, by the way?” he asked, excitement clearly tinging the baritone rumble of his voice. “And - are you sure about catering everything yourself? Not that I doubt your skills but I just don’t want you to be too tired for the honeymoon, which...” He grinned, approaching the stall where cockatrice eggs sat out in cartons; they were speckled and differing colors, antique copper or brass shades. They were also kind of large - not as big as an ostrich egg, but a bit bigger than what a chicken could poop out. “I have something planned.”
“I will make some options in flavors for you to decide,” Wanda smiled at him. They could be artificially flavored technically - but apparently there were also things she could put into the cake that could naturally mimic a certain taste? Much like how there’s a fruit out there that tastes like brisket, or something. It would take some research. Thankfully, she was proficient in using her astral form to do that for her while other things were done. “But I am. It won’t be difficult to do.”
Having controlled an entire town and its happenings on magic alone for days didn’t cause her to break a sweat, but this was Vallo and Vallo did somewhat neuter her capabilities (probably for the best). Still, the task of using that automatic magic to do things like cooking was harmless - and easy, in the scheme of things.
A carton was picked up, and she made sure to expect them well for any cracks in case. Then she handed it to him, and chose a second one for purchase in case because she doubted she would nail everything during the first try. “Better than trusting someone else to do it and then have you suffer through indigestion because of an error on their behalf - would hate to have you spend that honeymoon in the bathroom,” Wanda smirked. “Unless that is your plan? I will revoke that ‘no return’ policy right here.”
Options in flavors sounded good. Stephen definitely hadn’t asked for a whole overhaul of his digestive system, becoming more alien than human in terms of eating habits, but here he was - and he had to just go with it. That was the theme of his life, wasn’t it? Well, one of the themes - he never got much of a choice about what he had to do, or deal with; he made hard choices, impossiblechoices, and bore that responsibility so others didn’t have to even worry about it all.
And then he got nothing but grief for those decisions, but that was just an aside.
“Well, I trust you completely with my bowels,” he deadpanned, yet there was a twinkle in blue eyes - morning glory flowers that bloomed up until the first frost of fall; he just had a way about him whenever he looked at Wanda. “And I don’t intend to be on the toilet during our honeymoon, no.” If you couldn’t talk about the shits with your fiancee, then who could you talk about it with? No one, that’s who.
Picking up a glass bottle of milk from the display next to the eggs, Stephen studied it - this particular dairy was sparkly. Why did milk sparkle again? That seemed weird, but he allowed it - into the bag it went, because he’d need milk for his cereal for him and Wanda’s late-night watch parties when they were lounging and Netflix and chilling. “I intend to romance you fully, Mrs...or, well. Are you changing your name? You don’t have to.”
He realized he hadn’t asked yet, but thought it might be good to know.
The next thing on Wanda’s list was sugar. Or some kind of substitute for sugar that could work - like this giant jar of honey-syrup from some creature comparable to a bug she was looking at. Some of these products came with labels so she was studying that too, seeing if she could make any sense of it when his question dropped.
Wanda blinked. She hadn’t really considered it, if she were to be honest. Not that she was unwilling - but more so that it was a common practice to change it anyway once you got married.
“Mmmm,” she hummed, deciding on the jar and dropping it into the bag. Then she stood on her tip-toes, and gave his nose a little boop with her fingertip. “That is a good question. I think…”
Flat on her feet again, she reached for a box of what was similar to a granulated sweetener. She’d take that too, as back up. “I want both. What’s the English word for it - hyphenate?” Don’t laugh, she’s probably never had to use that word before. “My last name is all I have left from my family. I want to keep it. But I would like to have yours, too.”
Strange would be part of the family they’ve made for themselves too, with Iryna. Billy and Tommy were hers too - she didn’t need to have a shared name between them to prove that - but the name felt like a new chapter for her. One that included all of them.
The nose boop actually made Stephen blush a little - there was literally no one else in the galaxy he wanted to boop his nose (he was even pretty sure he hadn’t let Christine do it, and she was someone another version of him had literally destroyed the universe for) but Wanda was different. Special. He loved her - she was a cannon (or maybe a nuke) powered by emotion and drive, and Stephen was all intellect and study. That was the fundamental difference between sorcerers and witches too, he supposed - one was nature, wild and free, the other was focused and practice; Iryna would be both. He didn’t think that had ever happened before - or at least, it hadn’t in their world.
Figured they’d be two people who would go against the grain - their arcs were always so similar, yet so different. But he would always choose her. He was always tied to her.
The box of granulated sugar she’d picked up was called pearl sugar and he wondered if it had anything to do with actual pearls or if it was a cocaine euphemism - guess they’d find out. “Hyphenate, I like that,” he nodded. “Maybe I’ll add your name to mine also. Because - I think we were both lost. But we found each other.” Was that stupid? He sounded stupid.
In the market. Big damn cheeseball.
Not stupid, no - but a cheeseball? Absolutely. The pink that dusted his cheeks (such a good color on him) didn’t go unnoticed, and after the box fell into this abysmal dimension that accommodated all of their shopping items she took Stephen by the hand again. It was best to take a step away from the stall they were visiting for a moment - would be rude to block someone’s view of the selections when they were making eyes at one another.
“I would like that,” she said softly, her smile the same - and she brought a hand up, thumb brushing along the contour of his cheekbone. “And I was also quite literally very lost when I showed up here. You found me, remember?”
The memory was a little amusing now come to think of it. Wanda had been fresh from Tony’s funeral, still an internal wreck about everything. It had been non-stop. Vision’s death at her hands, Vision's death through Thanos, turning into dust for five years - and then waking up to a battle that would decide the fate of the Universe, only to lose more people.
Then came Vallo. Wanda had been in a mood when Stephen located her wandering the streets. But it had been the beginning of something better, and she was grateful for that.
“I remember,” Stephen rumbled, taking her hand and kissing the pulsepoint at her wrist before letting go - he stepped back too, plucking the list from Wanda so he could check and see what was next. They were making the rounds at the market and he was glad that the bag was a never ending black hole - because he planned to fully stock up. “Now we’re together and - well, if my name is ever on one of those disappearance lists?”
He paused because that was a depressing road to go down - much like many of the roads in Stephen’s life, the paths he’d taken; he was a study in accountability and responsibility, stuck having to knit together the multiverse and be a go-to (when he wasn’t even Sorcerer Supreme, his title ripped from him and torn to dust just like he had been) because he’d texted and drove one rainy night. But he’d stepped up and here he was - he wouldn’t back down either, and it was a long learning process; he still wasn’t done, he was aware of that.
“I’ll have everything settled for you. I mean with the Sanctum and everything. It’s yours.” Cloak would probably go with him, but the rest of the relics and the library and even Looking-Glass, everything he’d accumulated in Vallo - the yin to his yang needed to have it all. That was an absolute fact.
That was… grim to bring up.
It wasn’t as if the thought hadn’t crossed her mind before. Thoughts like that were a constant with Wanda She was used to loss after loss, grief after grief - a vicious cycle she couldn’t shake, one that forged her into this figure etched inside a damned book. They’d be facing a reckoning at home sooner or later, and that she was prepared for (or so she’d like to think).
But she wasn’t prepared for the possibility of seeing his name on a list (Disappearance Notification - Stephen Strange), sent as a thoughtless ping to her phone (his absence would be felt before that, she was sure of it). She didn’t think she’d ever be.
Wanda would think it was sweet to know Stephen wanted to ensure her security here in his absence if it also didn’t break her heart. “Do you think,” she began, a crease appearing between her eyebrows, “that we will ever stop preparing for the worst?”
“No,” Stephen replied honestly, thumb gently sweeping over the crease between his beloved’s brows; his fingers trembled and the scars looked like someone had drawn red lines on his hands with a swipe of a lipstick tube, but he was still capable of a loving touch regardless. “I don’t think people like us get that luxury.” They were broken, flawed, and some days just needed strength to get by - strength they could find in each other. “But we can accept the past. Give ourselves some credit, and give ourselves a break too - because we know we’re capable of handling whatever problem, even if it goes sideways.”
He almost forgot they were standing here in the middle of a market, while activity surged around them - it was easy to get sidetracked, holding a bag of sparkly milk that would magically keep cold, and perfect eggs in all these beautiful, vibrant colors. Like nothing he’d ever seen before - new experiences, all because Wanda wanted him to be able to eat his own wedding cake.
It was easy to forget the crowd and the more mundane aspects of grocery shopping because he wanted to cherish the moment, wanted to freeze it - he simply ducked his head, pressing a kiss right in between Wanda’s brows where his thumb had been, lingering there for a moment. “I love you,” he said, and it wasn’t a grand declaration yet it felt weighty. Important. Heady too, despite the simplicity in the syllables of those words.
Terrible timing for wetness to gather in her eyes, leaving her lashes damp after a single blink. Wanda wasn’t crying - that would be embarrassing, they were literally grocery shopping - but it was impossible to keep from getting even a little choked up. It wasn’t just about how he got his affairs in order for her sake; it was also his words, his touch, his lips on her forehead. The weight of his feelings that she felt from their link, some thin red string of fate that kept them tethered to one another.
“This is the most emotional errand I’ve ever run,” she chuckled, the sound scratching uncomfortably against the tightness of her throat - it was fine, this was fine. Wanda needed a moment to fold into him though, pressing their bodies together so she could kiss his shoulder; squeeze his waist while the other held the bag, breathe him in to steady herself. “I love you too. But let’s - finish this, and maybe we can get some of that chicken at the club to go if it hasn’t caused you terrible pain yet.”
Wanda was smiling at him. She did her best to keep the bittersweetness of everything out of it.
“For me also,” Stephen laughed a little, sheepish, but he didn’t mind - he’d spent far too long running from emotions and the idea that someone would want to bestow affection on him, afraid of it and what it could mean. Or, even worse, that he didn’t deserve it - you didn’t always have to ‘love yourself’ fully for someone else to love you, no, but it didn’t exactly hurt either; mostly, seeing value in himself had been a struggle - especially given recent memories that had trickled in, a freezing cold stream in his head reminding him that he couldn’t seem to find a balance.
He was either too selfless. Or too selfish - and when something went wrong, it was always going to be blamed on him. Maybe trying to squeeze everything so tightly in his controlled grasp was his way of an attempt at balance, but it likely wasn’t working - he wasn’t sure what would, for that Stephen.
Here, he knew - he was looking at it right now. Feeling it within him, the marrow of his bones and in his veins - linked with her, always, and the path that brought him to her.
“But no, I feel fine.” He kissed the top of Wanda’s head as she nestled into him, before pulling back so they could continue. “I think strip club fried chicken sounds perfect for dinner, so let’s check off what’s left on the list.” And deal with the rest of everything else later.
While exploring the belly of a hidden supermarket with exotic wares was an experience, Wanda found herself eager to wrap it up and head back. Her initial plan had been to hit the kitchen ground running when it came to recipe experimentation with the help of magic when it came to stirring, pouring, measuring - but that could wait. She felt needy, and she doubted Stephen would protest in being pulled onto the couch so they could be a mess of tangled limbs.
And chicken.
“Some kind of vegetable oil next,” she announced, bringing her list back up to view. Back to their original purpose - she refused to waver from the ambition of making everything at their wedding Dr. Strange Friendly. “And an applesauce-like substitute that will help keep the cake moist. Don’t make a joke about that word.”
If they had a chance to get lost in this normalcy, they needed to take it.