#i’m still so mad i didn’t get the black fuzzy heart shaped purse when it was in the grocery store seasonal decor/flowers section last winter

[amaranthsynthesis]

going to a valentine’s day drag show tonight with both of my partners for once and if the outfit ISNT slutty it’s like. what’s the point. why bother.

[peachyteabuck]

ceo chronicles. pt iii ~ wanda maximoff

series summary: a set of fics based off of the main au of sugar baby/mommy or daddy dynamics and ceo aus. each fic involves a separate universe wherein each character is the ceo of a different company and you’re their sugar baby. sexy times ensue.

fic summary: something goes very, very wrong at one of wanda’s business dealings. you are left to help her pick up the pieces - no matter what that means. 

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

words: 2398

trigger warnings: possessive wanda, anger-fucking, collars, spreader bars, riding crop, ball gags

notes/other: this was done for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor ‘s “old hollywood” writing challenge, my prompt was “Must I always wear a low cut dress to be important?” - Jean Harlow and has been bolded within the fic!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Wanda storms into the penthouse, her stiletto heels clacking against the dark, hardwood floors.

She’s angry, furious – and whether or not it’s aimed at you doesn’t matter, your heart picks up in your chest either way.

“That two-timing sun of a bitch!” she screams, throwing her purse on the ground. Her coat follows shortly.

You watch her, eyes wide in terror, as you stand in the kitchen. She bought the place for its open floor plan and, initially, you had liked it too.

Now, though, with nothing to hide behind, you regret not going with the more closed space in SoHo.

“That motherfucker undersold me,” she screams, standing in place as she yells to no one in particular. “He told me the piece was worth one point two fucking million, and it sells for less than a hundred fucking thousand!”

Oh fuck. If you weren’t scared out of your goddamn mind before you sure are now.

There are two things in this world no one should fuck with when it comes to Wanda’s possessions:

The first is you.

Once, a man accidentally brushed against you at a gallery opening and Wanda nearly bit him – throwing red wine on his white shirt and screaming at him to leave.

Once he was out of her sight, she dragged you to the nearest bathroom, leaving a deep hickey high enough on your neck that you couldn’t hide it before making you show it off to the guests for a few more hours.

The second, is her money.

It’s not that Wanda’s not charitable, far from it; she claims millions on her taxes every year.

It’s just that she’s in charge of those things. She decides who gets what and when, she controls when her Black card is used and why. When people promise to bring her a certain amount of profit, they better fucking deliver, or else…this happens.

This meaning her getting so mad she looks like she could cause wildfires. All those earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, everything – those aren’t tectonic plates, no, they’re something much more powerful.

Wanda’s anger can move mountains, make species go extinct.

And, most important by far, it can make you shake in fear.

“That fucker, I should have known when he asked that I wear some fucking,” you can hear the venom in her voice, spitting over everything as she grabs the Stoch – the nice stuff, from the lockbox deep in the cupboard. She throws the bags of junk food – the chips you like and the cookies she loves – across the kitchen before stabbing in the code with her perfectly manicured nails. She doesn’t speak until she’s had two sips straight from the container, face wincing slightly before she sets it back on the counter. “To wear some fucking slip to the meet up, as if he needed to see me in anything at all! Ugh!” she scoffs, taking another long swig. “Must I always wear a low-cut dress to be important?”

You don’t reply, staying silent and inert as what could be the scariest thing unfolds in front of you.

Out of nowhere, she stills, taking exactly three, ten-second-in and ten-second-out breaths. It’s after that that she steps over to the large navy-blue sectional, sitting on it with her feet flat on the floor.

“Get on your fucking knees,” Wanda hisses.

You drop to the floor without hesitation, petrified.

Wanda watches you intently for a moment, jaw clenching as she moves to sit on the couch, feet flat against the floor. She pats her right hand against her right knee twice, and you immediately understand what she wants.

You fall across her knees, one arm grabbing her ankle while the other folds behind your back for her to grab – each action desperate to be obedient, to try to throw a fire blanket over the ravenous, burning thing that’s overtaken her.

There’s very little warning before she’s pulled the sundress up and bunching it into your fist, giving you little warning before leaving a slap against your ass – barely covered by the flimsy cotton underwear.

She ignores you, when you cry out, ignores you when tears begin to stream from your eyes and when blood spills from your bottom lip when it gets caught between your teeth.

It isn’t until your ass feels like it’s been branded when she lets up, inadvertently giving you a moment to breathe as she clenches her fists in front of her.

“It’s not enough!” Wanda screams, pushing you onto the floor. You fall against the wood hard, making you cry out in pain as she stomps away. “It’s not enough! Why isn’t it enough!”

Through the ringing in your ears you can hear her in the bedroom, the distinct sound of a six-bolt padlock being clicked open ricocheting in your eardrums. The only thing locked with that sort of hardware is the chest Wanda keeps all your kink-related items in, separating into layers by the degree of play.

It starts light at the top; blindfolds and a few cute collars with equally cute pet names engraved onto small heart-shaped nameplates. One of them is even diamond-encrusted, PROPERTY OF WANDA spelled out in bold print across pink faux leather. You can picture them even as your brain becomes fuzzy, can see them vividly against a distinct white velvet Wanda picked out especially.

The second layer, and the third (due to the size of the collection) are dildos, vibrators, butt plugs of more sizes and varieties than you can count. You can hear her removing those two shelves hastily, tearing through the rest of the box until she gets to the last level, the one you fear the most:

They’re rarely used, only barely broken in. A spreader bar Natasha got Wanda as a gag gift about a year ago. A riding crop Wanda bought at a kink convention awhile ago on an intoxicated whim. A thick collar meant for posture made of pure, soft leather and a solid gold latch. And, lastly, a fine leather ball gag, deep and black and beautifully handmade.

All four of them stiff and mean, just like Wanda in times like these.

She calls you into the bedroom with a shout, smiling when she hears you rushing from your felled position in the living room.

You can see the last fleeting moment of it when you cross the threshold, see that her anger has an end and this is not some permanent fixture in your still-budding relationship.

“Down,” she says simply, and you drop, sitting back on your heels.

Your hands remain palms-down on your thighs with your spine straight as one of those expensive paintings that decorate so many of the walls in the place you and her call home.

It stays that way – your spine parallel to the walls – as the collar is dangled in front of your eyes before being secured around your neck.

“Too tight?” Wanda asks, emotionless.

You shake your head as she sticks two fingers, the pads pressed into the soft skin of your neck. “Good.”

The ritual is repeated for the ball gag, the toy wrapped around your head and subsequently checked for fit.

She then instructs you to get on the bed, perpendicular to her as you lay on your back. You can’t see it – but the rustling and distinct clacking sound of metal pieces moving together can tell you she’s grabbing the very toys you’re terrified of the most.

The plain white ceiling gives you something to stare at, to fixate on as you feel the soft leather cuffs tightening before being checked. It’s almost sweet – the little ritual – if it didn’t immediately lead to your imminent torture.

You can feel her stepping back, heated eyes raking up your body slowly, surely. She watches carefully as your cunt pulses under her heated gaze, watches each muscle twitch as you anxiously await her next move.

Wanda looks at you the same way you think starving lionesses look at zebras separated from the safety of their heard. Her eyes zero in on her pulsing cunt, watching for the perfect moment to-

SMACK!

The riding crop comes down quick against your center, a sharp pain causing a fiery heat to spread up your ribs and down to your toes.

“Does that hurt, baby?” Wanda coos, twirling the end of the crop between the fingers of her nondominant hand.

You nod, trying desperately to gasp for air as drool spills out of the sides of your mouth. “Mmm,” is all you can get from behind the plastic. “Hngf.”

Wanda just laughs down at you, smacking the end light enough not to hurt but hard enough to tease you.

“Aw, my pretty little thing,” a faux pout paints itself across her face. “Such a sensitive baby.”

You whine, overwhelmed and desperate and oh so desperate to press your thighs together for any kind of pressure where you need it most. But no, of course not. Wanda wants to see you struggle, looks down at you with a smirk playing across her lips as you twist and beg, hoping she’ll find it in herself to give you mercy.

Given how the hours previous had gone, though, you doubt she’ll give you any.

“I’m going to give you one of these,” Wanda snaps the crop against your left inner thigh and smirks when you yelp. “For each hundred thousand I lost today.”

You do the mental math – whole body tensing. Nineteen. You’re about to get whipped nineteen times with a toy you haven’t broken in…

Shivers run up your spine and each muscle in your body tenses – whether in fear or anticipation, you don’t know and don’t really care to find out.

The first one comes down against the same inner thigh as before, sure to leave angry hot welts that will need constant care in the next few days. The second goes against the opposite side – skin previously untouched now screaming.

The third and forth are against your hips, fifth and sixth hitting just above your knees.

You lose count after that, mind numb as your wetness pools onto the freshly cleaned comforter. Between your racing heartbeats and the blood in your ears you assumed Wanda had finished with you, but coming to for a breath of fresh air only makes to bring the final blow – this time against your cunt.

With the gag the only sounds that reverberate off the walls come from deep in your chest, screams remnant of a horror experienced from another room. Wanda smiles as she watches you squirm as sparks of pain jump across your center and thighs.

There a few moments of silence as your panting curbs to low breaths, giving you a moment for recovery as your vision clears and the ringing in your ears stops.

It’s only then that Wanda gets up, trailing her fingertips across your sweaty skin as she walks past you.

“C’mon kitten,” she murmurs, stepping out of sight and back towards the chest of toys. “Let me make you feel good…”

Your brow furrows in confusion, pulling weakly at the restraints until you hear a plug being insert into an outlet, and the distinct sound of a long, long cord being unraveled.

The sound of the vibrator makes you groan in anticipation – ecstatic and terrified of how Wanda will use it on you. If she thinks you’ve been good, maybe she’ll be nice – get you off with it pressed against your clit with three of her fingers buried deep inside of you.

Or, if she remains unsatisfied with your performance, she could keep you just on the edge or pushing you over it until your begging meets expectations or she gets bored enough to stop.

As the head is pressed to your clit you nearly scream with relief – the soft vibrations and even softer words hitting you like droplets during the first rainstorm after dry season. It washes over you, coating your skin in delicious relief as your buck your hips and cry out.

Each word, each scream, remains muffled by the sphere in your mouth, but Wanda coos down at you nonetheless.  

“Such a pretty little girl you are,” she says, watching you with the same hawkish gaze as before. It feels more reserved, though, as if she was watching over you rather than attempting to pin you down. “Such a pretty little girl for me.”

She climbs over you, then, never letting the toy leave your body as she pulls your head into her lap. Wanda looks down at you as you fall apart, watches you with eagle eyes as you cum.

As the initial waves of pleasure subside, you sigh in relief.

That is, until the head of the toy is pressed to your center once more. The next orgasm, and the one after that, and the one after that and-

They’re nearly painful as they hit you like a spray of bullet, like you’re being tased. You’re crying and doing your best to wail as you writhe around, Wanda cradling your face the entire time.

Your brain is numb when Wanda decides you had enough, whole body limb in her arms when she switches the soaked toy off.

She unties you with quick fingers, allowing you to slump against her as she takes off the rest of the restraints that litter your body.

“Rest up,” she tells you plainly as you nuzzle into her side. “I’m still pissed.”

You smile into the bare skin of her ribs, leaving a small kiss on the warm skin. Despite her tone, you can tell there’s not much behind it – fury that had settled just beneath her skin long dissipated into something she can save for the next time that man dares show his face in her presence.

There’s a pause once you stop adjusting, a heavy beat of silence that neither of you feels a need to fill. It’s a long while before either of you says anything, and even then the words are quite soft-spoken despite the two of you being the only ones in the large house.

“I love you, you know that, right?” Wanda whispers into your hair.

You give a small nod, unable to move because of the soreness attacking each of your muscles. “Yeah,” you mumble, voice equally low. “Yeah. I love you, too. Do you know that?”

Wanda smiles. “Yeah, yeah. I do.”

[fundeadasylum]

This Photo of Us Part 4: We Must Never Be Apart

This one is a bit shorter than the others and I apologize for that. But that was a perfect spot to end it so it had to be done. (tfw you wish you had time to illustrate this tasty fic)

There’s also a big ol’ disclaimer for some stuff at the end of this chapter. 

Warnings: emotional abuse and manipulation, mild physical abuse, non-consensual bondage (not sexual!), psychological torture and abuse, drug related withdrawals, captivity, descriptions of panic attacks

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 

***************************************

He’d lost track of how long it had been.

Between passing out in the grass and the sick vertigo and unending headaches he’d been experiencing since, Jake had no idea how many days he’d been in Rosie’s care. It felt like years had been drained from his life, hours on top of his bruised and battered heart and crushing it under so much stress and time. His legs and arms were stiff and sore, his neck creaking as he moved, his spine a dull throb of pain. Moving too fast brought on a wave of vertigo that made his stomach heave and wretch, and his body was wracked by shivers and chills.

And he was tired. He was so very, very tired. The exhaustion dragged him down even more but no matter what he did, he couldn’t get enough sleep. The insomnia gnawed at his brain, chewing slowly away at his sanity as his heart ticked down his remaining minutes. No matter how low the shock setting on the collar had been, Jake knew his body had taken some damage from the device. And it was taking even more from the lack of sleep.

Jake slouched against the wall, splayed out on the bed with the sheets tangled in his legs and the heavy comforter wrapped around his shoulders. After his failed escape attempt, Rosie had carried him back inside and pushed the bed back against the wall. She’d done nothing to secure it but there was no danger of Jake trying to use it to get out the window again; he was much too weak now.

The sound of footsteps came from upstairs and Jake let his head roll on his shoulders to look at the door, his eyes lidded and tired. His bones felt rubbery and weak, jello melting in the heat around him. Too cold with the blanket off, too hot with it on.

The stairs creaked, locks jingled, and then Rosie stepped into the basement, her lips pursed in a displeased manner. Jake watched as she approached, hauling with her a couple of large shopping bags, one of which was making an awful lot of noise.

“How are you feeling today, hun, any better?” She set her bags down and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. He flinched at her touch but didn’t pull away, “Hm, you don’t seem to have a temperature but you’re definitely experiencing symptoms like a cold. And these have been getting progressively worse. Did you get any sleep at all?”

He just stared at her. Rosie’s expression hardened,

“I asked you a question and I expect an answer. Do you want to lose more privileges?”

She’d stopped bringing him delicious home cooked meals after his escape attempt, telling him that bad behavior needed to be disciplined and good behavior could earn his lost privileges back. He’d been eating bowls of white rice and bologna sandwiches for who knew how long and he was getting tired of it.

So Jake sucked in a shaky breath and murmured, “No. No sleep.” He let his eyes fall closed and saw shapes swimming behind his eyelids. He snapped them open again and his throat clicked in a dry swallow when the phantom images remained, translucent fingers of grey smoke pressing against the edges of his vision.

“Poor, sweet thing,” Rosie cooed, smoothing his black hair from his face. Jake shivered at how hot her skin was against his, a sour taste filling his mouth as she coddled him, “I wish I knew how to help you. But you’re just being so uncooperative. If you know what’s wrong, I could end this suffering for you.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and his skin burned where her lips had been, “I don’t understand why you want to punish yourself like this. Why won’t you let me help you? I’m only trying to do what’s best for you.”

A likely story.

Jake was pretty sure he knew what was wrong but that didn’t mean he was so eager to tell Rosie. It was some small act of rebellion on his part. Most people didn’t know because Jake didn’t want them to know and if Rosie didn’t know, then she was just another part of the general mass of humanity around him rather than a villain on a pedestal to be feared.

But this...this was too much. He could feel his mind fragmenting, splitting into slivers of who he was, breaking off to spiral slowly into a void of terror and mindless horror. This would destroy him eventually, he was sure of it.

“I…” His voice caught and shame crept over him like a wet blanket. He stared at his hands laying thin and pale in his lap, “There’s one med you didin’ get. Goin’ cold turkey on it…’s bad news.”

“What?” Rosie sounded genuinely astonished and Jake glanced up at her through his lashes, dull eyes sweeping over the startled expression on her face, “You were on more medication than just your aldosterone inhibitors and ARBs? Why didn’t you say something sooner!? Sweetie, this could have killed you!” She pressed her palms to his cheeks and lifted his head, making him look her in the eye. Jake whined at the contact, trying to pull back because it was just too much, but she dug her nails into his scalp and it felt like burning pokers searing his flesh,

“What was the medication? Tell me what it is and I can make this all go away. You just have to tell me, baby, and I can help you feel better.”

Jake only grinned at her, a lopsided, snarky thing that showed off the mad glint in his unfocused eyes, “F-fuck you. I c’n wait out the with--withdrawals. An’ then you’ll n-never know. Ha...haha…” He broke off into a wheezing, hysterical laugh that squeezed out a few salty tears. They felt like streaks of fire going down his face.

Rosie’s expression became cold and distant and she let him go, allowing him to thud back painfully against the wall. He was still grinning at her, the fear he should have been feeling muddied by exhaustion and hysteria.

“Okay,” Rosie said, taking a deep breath and letting it out again, “Okay. I see. I understand. You still seem to think that I’m trying to hurt you. Okay.” She reached down and pulled some things out of the forgotten shopping bags and knelt by the foot of the bed. Jake twisted to see what she was doing, frowning in confusion as he watched her use a power drill to screw a metal plate with a heavy ring to the wooden frame. There was something attached to the ring but no matter how he blinked, he couldn’t shake the fuzziness from his vision. He leaned back and closed his eyes, breathing deeply to steady himself. He floated for a moment that took years to pass and only came back to himself when he felt her hands on his legs.

Then there was something ice cold and heavy around his ankles.

Jake startled, jolting and pulling himself away from Rosie’s touch, his eyes wide despite his swimming vision. Something clanked loudly and dragged across the bed and his heart ached as his pulse sped up.

Chains.

He wondered if his hallucinations had really gotten that bad already. But hallucinations didn’t have weight and he could feel the heft of the black metal around his bare ankles, could feel the tug of the chains hooked through them. He pawed at the U-shaped shackles, whining and pulling and trying to unscrew the thick and heavy pin that pressed against his Achilles tendon. The chains were hooked through these pins, two separate, shortened lengths that were then hooked through a third U-shaped shackle and hooked onto the last and longest chain. The last chain was evidently cinched to the ring now fixed to the end of his bed.

Jake’s hands shook, tears spilling down his face as he gasped in shortened breaths, his heart thundering painfully in his chest. Sheer terror took over, cold sweat blistering against his fevered skin as he kicked and pulled and flailed, crying out in wordless fear at his own helplessness. White-out panic numbed his brain and all his animal brain could think was to get away. He backpedaled across the bed until he hit the opposite wall and wedged himself into the corner, shoulders bunching painfully as he pulled and yanked on the chain. The noise was deafening in his ears, so loud it rattled in his skull and made his teeth ache. His throat hurt and he couldn’t breathe and he was probably screaming but that barely registered beyond the blind panic that had consumed him.

Something warm pressed against him, caught his hands in a gentle grasp. A soft voice murmured in his ear and he couldn’t understand what they were saying but it was gentle and it was slow. Jake squeezed his eyes shut, tried to remember how to work his lungs properly, all the while shuddering with choked off sobs of fear and pain.

A soothing hand in his hair.

A soft brush of fabric against his bare arm.

“You’re so sensitive,” That voice, that voice, he knew that voice. Now if only he could get his racing thoughts to settle down, “It hurts me so much to do this to you but you’ll see, it’s better in the long run. I’m doing this for your own good, sweetie, I promise.” A kiss to his temple and it burned.

Jake’s eyes snapped open and he found Rosie inches away, smiling sadly at him as she ran her fingers through his hair. He froze, held his breath, didn’t dare move.

“Oh, honey,” She sighed and it smelled like peppermint, “You don’t need to be scared of me. This is what living with those people has done to you. They’ve made you so sick and afraid you can’t trust anyone anymore. Poor thing. But I’ll fix you, okay, I’ll make you all better. You just need to listen to me. You’ll get used to it. And then, when you’re finally free of what they’ve done to you, we can be together, forever, just like we’re supposed to be.”

She kissed him again, deep and passionate and she filled Jake’s world until he couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved her away in revulsion and wrapped his arms over his head, ducking his face between his knees. He was cold, so cold and tired and sick.

He heard Rosie shift and the weight left the bed. There was a long drag of fabric and he glanced through his fingers to see her bundling his sheets and blankets into her arms.

“NO!” He launched himself across the bed, scrabbling to snatch them away, but she stepped back with that sad and disappointed look on her face.

“I know you’re hurting but this is punishment for withholding information,” Rosie said, turning away and heading for the basement door, “You’ll get these back when you’ve decided to cooperate more. I’m going to make a phone call now. Why don’t you think about how you’ve hurt me while I’m gone.”

Jake ran for the door as she stepped through it, the chains loud as they scraped against the cement. But he never reached it. The chain wasn’t long enough and it tripped him, nearly sending him face first into the floor as he stumbled to a halt. The door shut and he heard the locks turn and then he was alone again.

He wanted to sink to the floor and die right then and there, just waste away and vanish into the earth.

But he was cold and he was tired and his entire body hurt. So he dragged himself back to his bed, crawled into the corner and curled around the pillow, shivering and wheezing and trying to ignore the flickering images and phantoms that slid back and forth in front of his eyes.

The shackles on his ankles and the thick collar on his neck were heavy and they dragged him down into a despair he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

----

A phone was ringing

Dan starred without seeing at the tabletop, his coffee growing cold in his mug, his mind a million miles away.

The phone kept ringing.

With a blink and sigh, Dan pushed his chair out and abandoned his coffee to investigate the noise. He was surprised the ringing hadn’t brought Milo running; the boy had been feverish in his attempts to find Jake, so much so that he refused to go to school despite Dan’s protesting. And Dan didn’t have the heart to push him. He knew Milo had exhausted himself this morning running around town and asking questions again so he was probably napping up in his room.

Dan frowned; it wasn’t the house phone that was ringing. So then where…

A light was blinking on the coffee table, next to the piles of paperwork and photos the police had asked for.

Jake’s cell phone was ringing.

Dan scrambled for it, nearly falling over the couch in his effort to retrieve it,

“H-hello? Hello, Jake?”

“Um,” There was an awkward pause on the other end of the phone, “N-no, sorry, um. I thought I was calling Jake? Who is this? Do I have the wrong number?”

“Oh...oh, no, no, you don’t…” Dan sank onto the couch, shoulders slumping, “Sorry, um, he’s not...he’s not here right now. He, uh,” Dan cleared his throat, stubbornly blinked back the tears, “Anyway, um, this is Dan, his roommate. Who--who is this?”

“I’m Rosie? I...don’t know if he told you about me? We were--we’re friends but it’s been a while since we spoke and I just...I would very much like to speak with him. It’s kind of important. Is he around?”

Rosie. The girl Jake had been hanging out with. The girl he’d asked to start dating. The girl who’d rejected him. Dan wanted to feel flare of defensive anger at her for hurting Jake but he couldn’t find the energy to muster it. If anything, it broke his heart more because she was in the same boat he and Milo were.

“Um, he’s…” Dan swallowed, took a deep breath, started again, “A-actually, Miss. Rosie, this isn’t really something to...to say over the phone. Are you--can you come over to the house so we can talk about this?”

----------

I did kind of a day's worth of research on heart medications and the conditions of heart failure, etc so I am by no means an expert. Some medicines for heart attacks and related heart failures are aldosterone receptor antagonists (or aldosterone inhibitors) and angiotensin II receptor blockers (or ARBs) which are what I have Jake taking.

I'm more intimately familiar with anxiety and depression medication as I've been on several different kinds over the past couple of years. The problem with prescribing Jake anxiety medication is that sometimes it can actually INCREASE the heart rate in some instances. There are A LOT of anxiety medications and if his anxiety is as bad as it seems he should probably be carrying around a situational medication. But given that he's so secretive about his meds, he probably wouldn't want those. So I just have him taking the same stuff I do, which is venlafaxine. It can affect blood pressure but that's not a big problem. It DOES, however, need to be taken at the same time every day with food as it's an extended release capsule. The major issue comes from quitting venlefaxine without weening yourself off it properly. Quitting it cold turkey can cause dizziness, insomnia, nausea, loss of appetite, vomiting, blurred vision, and even hallucinations. The meds take anywhere from three to five days to get out of your system completely. I couldn't find anything about how long withdrawal symptoms will last but I'm betting it's no kind of pleasant experience.

To be honest the guy also seems like he should also be on trazodone to help him sleep at night but that might be too much medication interacting with each other.

Also! The U-shaped shackles I have Rosie using are actually pin anchor shackles. Ones big enough to fit around an adult male’s ankles probably can’t be purchased at your typical marina but for the sake of fan fiction I can do what I want.