Untitled Gilda Story - [Britfag]

 

Oh shit, she's here again. Just ignore her, Anon, sometimes she goes past if you simply don't acknowledge her being there.

 

Sometimes...

 

Well, this time you were lucky. She went past without batting an eye at you. You sigh inwardly, pulling back from where you'd shoved yourself into an alcove to keep yourself from being spotted. It was a silly move; even if you were able to hide inside a vault, she'd be able to find you.

 

But it made you feel better to hide.

 

She'd been a pain in your side ever since you pissed her off. She likes to hold a grudge, apparently. It wasn't your fault that you ruined her other jacket, it was purely accidental. You're painfully aware of how well you remember that day. Like it was recorded in some fucking super HD. You're just going along on your way to work, paying attention to the pavements. You don't drive, instead choosing to ride a bike. It's only a few miles to work from your home. You either cycle around people, or folk move politely out the way. But it's only when you're on the turning off that leads to the station that you worry.

 

The petrol station you work at's a nice place. The boss is a friendly woman, the building is kept clean, the air smells clean as it can be next to the petroleum in the breeze. Your part time job is only dampened by the fact that just down the road, at the turn off, there are a bunch of loud arseholes that always meet up, nearly everyday without fail. You cycled down past them sometimes after work, most the time you took different paths as they kinda scared you, in all honesty. If there's one thing you aren't, it's tough.

 

That day however, there was just the one person. Her.

 

So you'd gone past this woman, looking directly forward, and in your determination to not look at her and focus on the way you were going, you failed to notice her own bike. A rather nice motorbike, you'd noticed it when you clipped the side of its tank, lost control of your steering, and vaulted over the handlebars. Now, what you didn't notice was when the woman was looking down at your dazed face, was that you'd not only bumped into this chicks bike, but your handlebars edge had gouged a deep cut into the brown leather jacket that had been lying over the petrol tank. You were so very happy you didn't actually damage the bikes paintjob. You'd apologised about the fall, and tried to go on your way, but you were rudely dragged backwards by a strong grip on the collar of your shirt.

 

And then you'd cried out an elbow made contact with your stomach, sending you to a knee.

 

"Hey fuckface!" You'd heard, being dragged backwards onto your arse. "Look at this! You fucked up my jacket!"

 

To which, your vision blurred as something, the jacket most likely, was thrown over the back on your head as you were sitting. Your head throbbed when her fist then made contact with your temple. You were shit scared and in pain, so you simply laid there on the ground, almost arse up, in absolute fear. When she moved around in front of you, you at last saw your attacker.

 

This woman was downright fucking scary. She looked all the part of a biker chick. Hair dyed white with purple highlights, piercings up the bloody wazoo, toned muscles over her body. There was nothing you could throw at this girl that could hurt her or help you escape. You'd thrown your arms up in a poor attempt at yielding, expecting another punch or two, but nothing came.

 

"You're pathetic, you fucking dweeb." She'd growled, throwing on her torn jacket. "Get lost."

 

ou complied immediately, scrambling up to your feet, grabbing your bike from the ground, hopping onto it, cycling away as fast as you could peddle. If only you weren't such a little bitch. The memory was still with you after a year or so. Ever since then, whenever she saw you, she'd glare, or she'd make an obscene gesture, or something that would inspire fear with you. You guess you can be thankful her other friends hadn't been about.

 

One time you thought you'd go up to her and try to apologise, thinking maybe she'd forgive you. Her friends had been there and that had only made it worse. Your timid nature must of come across as annoying or patronising, and she'd smacked you one and told you to buzz off.

 

So here you were. Another day at the till. Things weren't going bad, you were quite happy, you'd seen a mum and her daughter come in and you'd made conversation. The girl was 11, and on her way to a park. The kid was adorable as well. When they'd left a smile had stuck with you.

 

Well, until /she/ had come in.

 

You felt like you were gonna piss yourself.

 

Instantly, you'd looked at the till and pretended to be doing something. You glanced up once or twice rapidly, she hadn't noticed you yet. She was glancing at some snacks. You turned around, she'd no doubt buy something shortly. She was going to see you and you could do nothing about it. So you'd waited. Was she gonna hit you again? You really hoped not. The seconds were ticking by and you were idly stacking some shit in order to look busy. Oh shit, you were seriously boned.

 

"Yo, dweeb."

 

Aaaaand don't piss yourself.You complied immediately, scrambling up to your feet, grabbing your bike from the ground, hopping onto it, cycling away as fast as you could peddle. If only you weren't such a little bitch. The memory was still with you after a year or so. Ever since then, whenever she saw you, she'd glare, or she'd make an obscene gesture, or something that would inspire fear with you.

ou guess you can be thankful her other friends hadn't been about.

 

One time you thought you'd go up to her and try to apologise, thinking maybe she'd forgive you. Her friends had been there and that had only made it worse. Your timid nature must of come across as annoying or patronising, and she'd smacked you one and told you to buzz off.

 

So here you were. Another day at the till. Things weren't going bad, you were quite happy, you'd seen a mum and her daughter come in and you'd made conversation. The girl was 11, and on her way to a park. The kid was adorable as well. When they'd left a smile had stuck with you.

 

Well, until /she/ had come in.

 

You felt like you were gonna piss yourself.

 

Instantly, you'd looked at the till and pretended to be doing something. You glanced up once or twice rapidly, she hadn't noticed you yet. She was glancing at some snacks. You turned around, she'd no doubt buy something shortly. She was going to see you and you could do nothing about it. So you'd waited. Was she gonna hit you again? You really hoped not. The seconds were ticking by and you were idly stacking some shit in order to look busy. Oh shit, you were seriously boned.

 

"Yo, dweeb."

 

Aaaaand don't piss yourself.

 

"I... Y-yes?" you managed to stammer out, flipping around to see the devil-woman.

 

"Pack of 20." She says, throwing a bar of chocolate onto the counter. "That too."

 

"Uh... yeah, w-which brand?"

 

"Marlboro, I guess."

 

Wait. She wants cigarettes. Oh fuck, you don't know her age. Fuck, you're going to need her I.D.

 

This is going to be super awkward.

 

"Uh, I'll need to see some I.D."

 

She raises an eyebrow, which makes you wince. You're about to just turn around and grab her cigarettes just so you're safe, but she sighs and nods.

 

"Yeah, whatever." She mumbles, putting a hand into her rather cool looking leather jacket.

 

It's not the one you trashed, it's a new one, black, with silver studs and zips an' shit.

 

She pulls out a wallet and takes out a plastic card, chucking it on the counter next to her chocolate.

 

"There, dweeb."

 

You warily move forward, taking the I.D in hand. Flipping it over, you study it for a second. The picture features the woman before you, albeit a tad younger, with less piercings, but an equally flamboyant hair-colour, and a cocky-as-fuck grin. She's 23. And her name is Gilda Von Griffon. You gingerly lay the card back down, turning back to the shelves and plucking a pack of M's down. You place them next to the chocolate bar, bringing up the total of 8 bits.

 

She lazily scatters down 10 bits out her wallet with a shrug and snatches up the items without blinking.

 

"Keep the change, I don't care."

 

She spins on the spot and begins to exit. As she leaves through the door, she gives you a mock salute.

 

"Later, dweeb."

 

Wait... she gave you no shit. Not that you're unhappy but... what the hell? She definitely recognised you, she did flip you off yesterday.

 

By the time your shift ends and you go home, you're still thinking on it.

 

The next day, you're naught but wary. A breakfast consisting of buttered toast comes and goes, you're still thinking on her, that Gilda woman. The hell's her game? It doesn't feel right and something's up. Your thoughts continue as your shower passes, you're clean and dressed soon enough as well. You make your way outside, lock the house door, unchain your bike, and go on your way.

 

It's morning so at least you won't be seeing her or her friends.

 

But you'd be wrong.

 

A feeling of joy arisen from not spying her at her usual spot, is replaced by worry upon seeing her leaning against a pump just in front of the stations entrance. You don't look at her, you cycle around the station, to where you usually place your bike around back. Fate seems content to upset you because turning around only serves to make you jump out your skin.

 

She's standing there.

 

"Sup, dweeb?" She greets coolly. She saunters forward, hands in her jacket to keep warm, probably. "Got my bits?"

 

"E-excuse me?" You ask her, confused.

 

"Yesterday. You took two bits."

 

"I... you gave them, you said to keep--"

 

"I was high." She replied plainly, as if that completely overruled you. "So give 'em back."

 

You don't want any trouble, you feebly reach into your back pocket and fish 2 bits from your own wallet. Those 2 bits she gave you went into the register, not your pocket, but it's not like she cares. She idly picks them off your palm and moves away without a word.

 

This day is gonna suck.

 

---

 

Yep, today was sucking something awful.

 

She's disappeared when you went into the shop, and you'd worked as usual. But even though you couldn't see her outside just standing around, or even spot her in the distance at the corner, it still felt like she was watching you. Which was silly, because she was nowhere to be seen. Why were you so damn paranoid about this woman? Yes, she was intimidating, and yes, she was all toned muscle, but still... okay, fine those are pretty valid reasons to be paranoid.

 

Your boss walks in from the back-room and pats you on the shoulder. Break time. You grab a pack of crisps from the shelves along with a bottle of coke and head through the back door for some fresh air. Celestia on high it was hot in there. Outside is nice and cold. Calmly, you sip down the fizzy drink.

 

...And then spill it as /she/ jumps down next to you. Where the fuck did she come from?!

 

 

"What the hell is your problem??" You shout as she sits against a power box. She scoffs and lights up a cigarette. "H-hey, don't smoke that here."

 

"What? 'Coz the sign says 'No'? Pft, get real, dweeb." Gilda dismisses you, blowing out some smoke after taking a drag. "You worry too much."

 

The seconds tick by, her lazily puffing on a cigarette, and you standing there awkwardly with your snacks.

 

"I-is there a reason you're here?" You ask her, not rudely, hopefully you don't receive a fist in the face.

 

"Not really." She yawns.

 

She's not being aggressive, but she's not exactly being a basket of bloody roses either. You eye her while opening your crisps. She pays no attention to you. The silence makes you uncomfortable, but you do your best to pretend she's not there and you're alone. Cars drive past as the minutes tick by. It's tedious.

 

"Where are your friends?" You can't stop yourself from asking.

 

"Those arseholes aren't my friends." She returns immediately. She shifts about and pulls out another cigarette. "They're workers... co-workers?"

 

"Colleagues?"

 

"Yeah. Stupid word for it."

 

"You work?" You ask. Wrong thing to say! She raises an eyebrow and you raise your hands defensively. "N-not to say you don't! But I-I just never see you anywhere but over on turn off!"

 

"We go there for our break."

 

"Oh, I-I thought you just hung there..."

 

Well, that explains why she's always there when you work. You're only part time, so either she coincidentally works the same days, or she works full time through the week.

 

"Yeah, whatever." She waves a hand. Pulling out a small bag and and sprinkling in some of it's contents into a rollie. "You smoke weed?"

 

"Oh... no."

 

"Your loss." Gilda smirks, taking her light to the end of the improvised joint.

 

This girl was weird. Your break was over though, thankfully you could get the hell back inside. At least you know why she was so passive the other day. Come to think of it she was kind of chilled there. Did she not care about that incident anymore?

 

When the day finished, you were relieved.

 

Some cunt came in drunk and puked on the counter, it was your job to clean it up as you were the only one on shift, and the boss was outside for a call. She would of asked you to clean it anyway.

 

Smelling of bleach, you leave in your uniform, going around the back of the station to grab your bike.

 

To your annoyance, you see your bike is damaged, still ride-able, but it has an addition to it. A wide scratch gouged into the metal, as well as a tear in the seat. Some fluff spilling out from the hole in the leather. There could be only one culprit. And now you know why she was being so bloody chill about seeing you again, /and/ why she was here today.

 

Bitch.

 

"Oh for fucks-- GAAHHWHATTHEHELL!!" You finish rather loudly upon being shoved down on your arse by a forceful hand, taking you very much by surprise. Gilda stands casually over you as you glare up at her.

 

"Evenin', dweeb." She greets, cocksure as likely she was when damaging your bike. "I see your ride's sporting new battle scars. Y'like them?"

 

"No." You mutter, pissed off, but unable to do anything about it. Common sense tells you trying to hit her for the vandalism would end up with you hospitalised. "I don't a-appreciate it."

 

"Hah!" She barks out, regarding you with a grin. "Shit weren't meant to be appreciated, you dolt. Take it as comeuppance and revenge. For fucking up my jacket that one time."

 

"I bloody knew it!"

 

"Yeah I hold grudges, so bite me." She laughs, throwing a lazy cuff of her hand toward you, you succeeding in backing away from its radius, a small pit of fear rising in your gut from the simple action. Fuck, she scared you.

 

"Does this mean you're going to leave me alone now?" You ask, regretting how pathetic that sounded.

 

"Eh... nah. It's funny to piss around and scare you."

 

"Outstanding..."

 

You sigh, getting to your feet. She watches you unchain your bike and get on it, all the while smoking a fresh cigarette. She mock salutes you in a farewell. But, her being there is still weird to you. You kinda want to talk to the bitch.

 

"So, where do you work?"

 

"Huh?" She glances upward, her golden irises meeting your own eyes.

 

"You. Work. Where do."

 

"Oh, questions, wonderful." Gilda murmurs around her fag, "I'm a mechanic."

 

That's not surprising really, she does look the type, the surprise comes in the the form that you wouldn't of thought her to have such a good job. But you nod to her. Doesn't explain why she keeps popping along to see you though. You ask her that too. Her answer couldn't be more plain.

 

"Because I can, dummy."

 

"Not insightful."

 

"Wasn't meant to be."

 

Whatever, she didn't seem to harbour you any more ill will anyway, so there was that, be happy! But... you couldn't, because you felt like there was something else going on. As if she had something else planned for you. And you haven't the slightest clue why you had such a sinking feeling.

 

Your home came up on the horizon, a nice sight for sore eyes.

 

You waste little time getting inside, slipping into the shower to wash off a days sweat and grime. Afterwards, you put on some music full blast to drown the world and lose yourself in the guitar rhythms, dancing slow while drying.

 

The rest of your day is relaxing, full of reading and gaming. Sleep is a welcome respite and you snooze better than you have in a long time. Your dreams however, are plagued with Gilda pushing you about, but she's half naked, her rather nice D-cup breasts, (What you imagine they look like), bouncing around freely. You're not pleased to see her, but you don't care if she's missing some clothing.

 

When you wake though, you're confused. Yesterday she'd done your bike in a bit and told you she was gonna continue to shadow you for her own entertainment. So why did you not feel so bad now? Yesterday you thought she'd hit you as you left work or something, but she'd just waved you on. And she was in your dreams now, so that was a thing, apparently. Of all the women you knew, which wasn't many to be honest, why did she have to be the one to end up flashing her dream tits at you?

 

Your erection seemed to care not for brains grievous plight. So you took care of him post haste and got ready for the day.

 

Speaking of the day, this one was yours.

 

It you felt stupid, but you wanted to see her again. To watch her work as a mechanic. Are you self abusive?

 

What's wrong with you?

 

Meh. For now you gamed.

 

But soon you grew bored. You wanted to do something else, but everything else was too boring. So many days like this. 'I have so many games but nothing to play'. You glance at your phone, 8:36am.

 

Fuck it, why not.

 

You throw on some decent clothing and get on your way. You figure if she works full time, then she's likely to get up early to get to her job on time. If not then she'll be on break at the turn off. If she is working as a mechanic and she wasn't bullshitting to save face, then the nearest workshop was the Manticore Motors a mile or so from the city's main hub of town.

 

Best start there.

 

It's good exercise, so if she spots you and doesn't take kindly to you watching her work, then you can always say just that; it was exercise, came by, by pure chance.

 

A shit excuse maybe, but it'd do.

 

Riding down to an crossroads just east of the Motor-shop, you see Pony Joe's on the turn right of you. You knew of the place, but you hardly went there, the owner was some weird guy with a fascination for horses. The doughnuts were pretty good though, according to a mate of yours. Turning left you come to a stop just outside the gate exit to Manticore Motors. Numerous cars are lined up outside the working garage, in differing stages of repair. You focus on the main entrance, spotting people walking in and out. This place gets a lot of traffic.

 

You lean on the handlebars while gazing into the large shop window. You don't see her yet.

 

You believe an hour passes.

 

 

There are still customers coming and going out the garage, and you still haven't seen her. Maybe waiting outside wasn't a great idea, hm? You're about to move your bike inside the gate, but you stop upon spying a shock of white and purple hair.

 

She's there!

 

Your deductive guessing skills increase by 1.

 

And she wasn't bullshitting either, if the oil covered grey boiler suit is anything to go by. She's with some mid-aged looking man, walking toward a decent 4x4. He stops short of the Jeep, pointing to some damage on the front of the bonnet. She doesn't look high. In fact, she looks quite pleasant, all barter and smiles. Her hair is faded slightly grey and spattered with grease, no doubt from being under a car, but makes her look tougher than usual.

 

She nods as the guy speaks to her, she gestures to the battered motor's buggered parts and talks. You can't make out what's being said, but you suspect she's just telling him repair costs. He looks pensive, and she leaves, returning with a hammer, a blowtorch, a long-arse but thin piece of metal, and a rubber chisel of sorts. From here you see her gesture to the lighter damage on the vehicle with the chisel and hammer. She shakes her head when the guy points to the truly fucked metalwork.

 

You figure she's handling it, business as usual.

 

All the time she's been talking to the guy though, she's been smiling and, you assume, polite. Not once breaking eye contact.

 

Shit's weird.

 

 

You understand looking good to customers, it's a must for any job. But she does look genuinely passionate about the prospect of fixing the car. She's still got a content smirk on her face when the guy heads into the shop.

 

And then she spots you.

 

You freeze, but she makes no move toward your position. She simply raises an eyebrow, shakes her head, and moves on back inside. Lucky you. You could of sworn she was gonna march right up to your face. More time passes as you look out for her, but she seemingly disappears. After another hour you get bored and cycle off the Pony Joes. May as well lounge there for a bit.

 

You kill time munching on some donuts and staring out the window, your skill in waiting is expert, you're used to it. The clock on the wall reads around 1:30, so you get up to leave.

 

Standing up to see Gilda before you yet again.

 

She does this.

 

She pushes you back down, taking a seat in the booth opposite your position.

 

"Now, I thought it was my job to pester /you/ at your workplace." She says, expression seemingly dull.

 

"Figured if you could, why couldn't I?" You reason. Wait, shit, what about the pre-determined excuse?! You finish with, "Plus, y-y'know, good exercise to cycle about."

 

"Uh-huh."

 

She's not buying it. It wasn't strictly true though, so why would she?

 

Again, uncomfortable silence.

 

"Uh, you want a few doughnuts?" You ask her, she glances at you suspiciously but shrugs. You fidget and look at the signs about the shop.

 

"Sure, I like free shit."

 

You go up to the server and order half a dozen iced doughnuts, waiting strenuously for you order as the seconds take hours. It seems like a day before they're ready and in hand. You pay and sit back down, hoping Gilda isn't too bored of waiting. You're thankful she's engrossed in a handheld.

 

"Here." You say, handing her the bag after taking two of the treats, you already had a few, aint no need to be greedy. "H-hope you like a mix of flavours."

 

She eyes you, shrugs again, and begins to eat after putting the gaming device in a pocket. It took you until now to realise she's not wearing her boiler suit.

 

"Where's your uniform?" You ask, confused.

 

"I bugged out early." She returns behind chews.

 

"That a good idea?"

 

"My dad owns the place, like he cares."

 

It seems like he would. Maybe he knew how she was and didn't care to change her, maybe he couldn't. She was pretty stubborn.

 

"He happy you're leaving early and getting high?" You ask, wondering. You didn't mean it to sound accusing, but it definitely came across that way.

 

Bad thing to ask!

 

She punches you for the comment.

 

"Holy shit, you sprouted a grey beard there and I thought you were my dad." She dead-pans. She's heard this shit hundreds of times before. "'Sides, getting high aint all I do, you know. I got other hobbies."

 

"Like?"

 

"I'unno. Stuff. I build up my bike mostly."

 

"Always good to have a passion."

 

"True. Fucking love bikes. My dad's the same, he only works with cars because it's extra money."

 

This is... nice. Just, normal conversation. You didn't foresee this happening, just having a decent conversation with Gilda of all people. She doesn't thank you for the doughnuts though, you had expected as much. You yawn as she continues on about bikes. Apparently one mention was enough to get her talking on the subject.

 

"I boring you?" She growls.

 

"What? No! It's... good, you got a like for something. It's good." You placate her.

 

"Mhm. Whatever." She leans back into the seat, regarding you. So what's your main hobby, dweeb?"

 

Again with the 'dweeb'...

 

"I er, I draw, mostly. And game."

 

"Figures you're the reclusive type. You look it." She jabs with a cocky smile. She's got some look in her eye, you don't like it, it's the same look she had at the station on your break. "Don't get out much, do you?"

 

"N-no, not really.."

 

"Heh. Well then..."

 

Oh shit, what does she have in store for you? Well, nothing apparently, because she gets up, making to go, she salutes you with two fingers and leaves.

 

"Later, dweeb."

 

Your mind comes up blank, you want her to stay, this was pleasant! She wasn't being a total bitch!

 

"G-gilda!" You stammer out. She stops and looks over her should quizzically. Shit, what do you say now?! "Er... see you later?"

 

She raises an eyebrow again, turns, punches you one on the arm roughly, and walks off again.

 

"Sure, dweeb, later."

 

Damn. You. Suck. Hard. That was the best you could do? That sounded so bloody stupid. So stupid, you berate yourself, leaving the store later, and going home as fast as your feet will peddle you.

 

Your arm is bruised.

 

The next morning you'd awoke to find a purple mark where her fist had connected. It didn't hurt at the time, but now it fucking ached. Why were you so weak? Second day off, and you're feeling rough. Last night, you dreamt of Gilda again. You hate how she invades your dreams now. You don't get respite from her even in your sleep. Not that it's /entirely/ bad, but it doesn't mean it's good in any way.

 

The pros? She wearing bugger all half the time. The cons? Shit makes you super awkward. Not even in your realm of imagination can you stop fumbling. She hits you a lot in your dreams, and it's usually because you've got a boner over her nudity. You can't help it, but no matter how you explain it she smacks you anyway.

 

You go outside after lunchtime, sitting on the steps of your home. It's nice to get some fresh air while reading. You hear a roar, the roar of an engine down the road. It gets louder, extremely.

 

You look up, alert. And of course, there she is, on her fucking bike. Why does she do this shit? She's grinning an evil smile, and she's got a rucksack on. You're not too fond of that expression on her features. 'You don't get out much do you' rings in your mind. Was this what she planned yesterday at Joe's?

 

Where did she even know where you lived for that matter??

 

Shit, shit, shit. Ignore her. You bury your face in the world of book.

 

That doesn't work too well. She revs the throttle, making you jump, she laughs out loudly.

 

She dismounts, shutting the vehicle off and pacing over to where you sit, until she's looming over you, that grim looking smile still etched into her features. She'd probably be quite pretty if her expression didn't make you worry so much. She greets you silently with a salute yet again.

 

"Hi." You say, dumbly. "H-how did you find me?"

 

"Internet's a hell of a thing, dweeb." She replies, taking a knee. She glances at the book you're reading briefly. Then looks back to you. "You gonna read all day?"

 

"Not all day, I just, like it." You utter defensively. You had other hobbies!

 

"Uh-huh. You need to get out more."

 

"I like little company."

 

"Well that's good. You drew the lucky straw 'cos we're gonna drink."

 

That... what? She pulls the rucksack off of her shoulder, bringing it gently to the ground. She unzips it to reveals several bottles of alcohol, from spirits to cider to beer.

 

"Usually I go out drinking with them work-buddies of mine. But they're arseholes, like I told you." She glances at you, meeting your gaze and continues. "But considering I don't like them, and you're actually tolerable. I figure you an' me can have some fun."

 

If you're not mistaken, that's actually the most she's ever said to you in one go. Spooky. You don't drink much, you're pretty lightweight. And when you do drink, it's socially, on the rare occasion you're social. She doesn't look like she's going to leave, in any case.

 

You're fearful for your liver, this day.

 

---

 

You were right to fear.

 

As much as she's not an enemy now, she's still not what you'd consider a friend from just one well placed conversation. And it goes against your better judgement when you timidly invite her in, as it's clear she wasn't going to leave until she'd poured some alcohol down your throat. If you had your way, she'd be gone and you'd be playing on your PC within your fantasy games. But alas, this was reality and the punky stubborn biker chick was slugging you on the arm in the same sore place she'd hit before as you absent-mindedly closed the door on her.

 

"Don't be a dick. You really gonna say no to free booze?" She laughs, almost non-believing, with her foot in the door.

 

Shit, damn you subconscious. You open the door as quick as snakes to a plane, and she enters triumphantly. "Haha, knew it. Sooner or later, the thirst always wins."

 

Did she just quote 'Blade'?

 

You retreat into the shit excuse for a front-room, with games consoles hooked up to a big screen TV you're still paying for on credit card. Still a decent purchase in your mind. Gilda immediately throwing herself down on your couch.

 

"Alright. The dweeb's pad aint so bad." She grins, taking in the scenery. "So, you gonna grab some glasses or what?"

 

You don't like that she's so damn commanding, in your own place as well. But you comply nonetheless, otherwise she'll probably bash you in again. Your arm can't take any more hits and bruises. Nor any of you, for that matter.

 

You meekly hand her some small glasses and she takes them, placing them down. She looks at you with an annoyed glare.

 

"Dude, really?" She laughs, pulling out bottles from the bag, along with some coke. "Grab some pint glasses, we're getting pissed."

 

"W-we are?" You really did not want to be drunk in front of this woman. Another reason you didn't drink much was because you were a huggy drunk.

 

"Fuck yeah. Don't make me drink it all myself." Gilda idly unscrews a cap from some whiskey and takes it straight. "Woah, forgot how potent this is. Might wanna grab some food while you're at it."

 

She comes into your house, inviting herself, she's rude, she orders you about, and now she wants to eat your food? Damn. You almost want to tell her to get the fuck out. You storm into the kitchen, but, you stop yourself. You've been thinking on you. Which is all fair and dandy, but she's probably lonely as fuck. She doesn't like the company she keeps, now you recall, while pulling two pint glasses from a cupboard.

 

Of all the people she's attempted to choose for a possible friend, if even you can consider yourself that to her, it had to be /you/?

 

You argue this point very much. Why you? You're a rather small and insignificant dude. Maybe she likes being able to boss you about? Would certainly explain her lack of friends, in any case.

 

If only you were tougher, you could tell her to piss off. You want her to. But something is stopping you. Oh wait, /she/ is. Bitch.

 

Either way, you're stuck with her for the time being. May as well make the best of a shit situation.

 

Bringing through a bunch of snack foods, (For which most of your money goes on, you sugar freak), pint glasses also, you drop it on the table in front of the TV and set down the glasses. She nods in approval.

 

"Stick something on. I'm bored."

 

Fucking hell.

 

"Yes your, majesty(!)" You drawl, grabbing the controller and sticking on a random channel and chucking the controller at her. Taking a seat. "Find something yourself."

 

And then you realise who you're talking to and try to look brave. She hits you, right in the chest. You think she'll do it again, but instead she's smiling to herself.

 

"Dweeb, you're growin' a pair."

 

And /then/ she hits you again.

 

You stumble back, if that's possible while sitting down. She hands you a mix of coke and vodka. Knocking back a straight shot of whiskey again.

 

"Drink up, dweeb. We got a long night ahead of us." Gilda grins, opening a pack of sweets. "And by the end of it, you're gonna see things my way."

 

You certainly hope that's not the case. You both sit there awhile, watching TV, and drinking casually as if you do this every week. You manage to relax, some. It's not so bad, surprisingly enough. She talks at you and you listen, she goes on about how shit work can be amongst other things. If she wasn't such a hard-head or so... brutish, she'd be rather cool, you reflect. Or maybe that's the vodka talking. You're not sure.

 

Hours pass. And you're very long gone on mixed drinks. Damn your light-weighted stomach.

 

You've been talking at her, slurred. And she's been talking at you, less slurred but equally drunk. She can handle her alcohol better than you, no doubts there, but she did drink thrice as much.

 

Snacks only soak up so much alcohol, and your snacks had run empty. And most the booze was fumes. Between you you'd made empty bottles of the 2 loads of whiskey, 2 bottles of vodka, either mixed or taken in shots, and a few smaller bottles of cider.

 

And to be honest, it was the most fun you'd had in a very long time. Gilda was restless, constantly bouncing on the couch, chatting your ear off like she'd known you for years. You were content for her to be happily drunk than soberly annoyed at you. She too was a huggy drunk, albeit rough.

 

She still hit you, but due to the numbness set in by the alcohol, you either didn't feel the worst of it or didn't care. Hell, you boldly hit her back in good spirits a few times. You guess there's a reason alcohol is nicknamed 'liquid courage'. You lean back into the seat and laugh at some joke on the TV, while Gilda just babbles.

 

"Yo, Anon, we need more food." She suddenly snapped, bolting upright.

 

"Prob'ly aint much more..." You slur out. "How'd you know my name anyway? Never told ya..."

 

"I looked you up on th' internet, din' I?"

 

Oh right.

 

"How'd ya know mine?" She asks.

 

"When you gave me your I.D, that one time."

 

"I gave you my I.D?"

 

"You were high, an' you wanted cigarettes."

 

"Huh."

 

Yup. Nice conversation.

 

"...You wan' yer 2 bits back?"

 

"Hmm, nah, you paid me in vodka."

 

"Yeah, I have, aint I?"

 

You feel boneless against the soft leather sofa, you think attempting to get up would result in falling over, or puking. Probably should of eaten more. Good observation. Er, speaking of observation, Gilda was still gulping down cider. Actually, she's spilling it, sort of. She's half pouring it down herself, half drinking it.

 

She /had/ had a cigarette at the beginning of her drinking, but she'd long forgone them in favour of the booze. Said booze was running down her top, between her tits.

 

It made you laugh out, and she paid it no mind, throwing off the leather jacket after paying mind to the fact she'd got cider on it.

 

"Ah fuck! Damn. Can I run this through yer washin' machine?"

 

"Whatever."

 

You'd long given up trying to protest when she wanted to do something, and just let her do something. She'd squeezed you in a vice-like bear hug against your will more than once, and you'd ignored your dick's cries as her breasts pushes against you.

 

"Awesome, Anon." She jumps up, stumbling into the kitchen.

 

In her absence, you mull over things. And your drunken mind jumps to the recent image of alcohol running between cleavage. Damn, she did have some big tits. And then your drunken mind goes to you, licking that alcohol off said tits. Damn it, brain. Penis just pitched a tent!

 

Opportune moment that Gilda chooses to stumble in. Thank fuck she's drunk as hell.

 

In her drunken shamble toward the sofa, she hardly notices your crotch, but even so, you cross one leg over the other, just to be sure. Normally you'd have a bit of discipline to will such thoughts away of such a... vulgar, woman. But the spirits and whiskey kind of made you... not care. So you're continuing to imagine Gilda in naught but her birthday suit in all her large breasted glory. You imagine her to be shaved, or trimmed at the very least, a landing strip of dyed white, you think for a laugh. She certainly dyes her hair seriously enough that it's practically snow white with its purple tints and all.

 

She mumbles something at you, and your heedless erection twitches again, because she's not wearing her jacket now, and you're not caring about being subtle, so here she now stands in a tank top, and it's hugging her toned form /very/ snugly on account of being damp, from sweat or alcohol wetting it, you aren't sure.

 

What's more you don't give a fuck, she is /really fucking hot./

 

Why didn't you take note of this before, Anon?

 

Seriously, now you examine her, you're taken aback by how good looking she actually is. Her eyes are quite slender, her nose is slightly hawked, but small, her lips are the right size and not overly puffy, and a pointed chin to boot. She comes across as feminine, yet stern. Plus, she is literally hot, she's sweaty to the point her skin is alight with a sheen. It suits her, like she's just had a workout.

 

"Yo, Anon, y'alright?"

 

"Fine!" You return.

 

You're not done drinking her in. You eyes wander to her lower body, passing over muscled abs and strong legs. They slender, toned, and curvy all in one. She has a normal waist and fair hips as well, but compensates with a really nice plump arse. And she's not wearing her boots now, so you see she has rather dainty feet considering the monsters she wears.

 

She knocks you out of your ogling with a cuff around your head.

 

"I aint that sexy, quit starin'"

 

So she knows you're looking, she just let you finish. How nice of her.

 

She sat said plump arse down again, opening a chocolate bar she'd nicked from your cupboards. You feel brave, even though you're drunkenness feels like its beginning to fade, and you scoot a little closer to her.

 

She regards you moving, and raises an eyebrow. She loves to do that.

"You tryin' to get me, Anon?" She grins, she's cocky.

 

"What?" You return, "Me?"

 

"No, the guy behind ya."

 

You're not too bright in turning around and actually searching for some other guy, Gilda bursting out with laughter at your folly. She idly slaps the back of your head and collapses into your lap, seeing as you were moving toward her. Damn. You were moving, so you'd uncrossed your legs to shift yourself. Her head was now pressing against your dick, which was still semi-erect, mind.

 

She giggles then. And bloody hell, it was the cutest thing you've ever seen the punky muscled bitch ever do.

 

You want her. Shame your mind is clearing.

 

A sudden bolt of panic arises in your gut and you dumbly attempt to speak, but end up babbling bullshit. She just giggles into your leg she's got her head resting on. Her eyes are closed, almost scrunched, as if in concentration. Why do you want her? Darn, you're not going to act on your drunk horny feelings, are you? You want to, you know your dick would be happy, but at the same time, normal Anon is beating his way back into your mind and telling you this shit's not on.

 

Why you're imagining yourself running around in your head, you don't know. 'AWH SHIT NIGGUH, YOU AINT SO DRUNK NOW, DON'T BE GETTIN' ON THIS!' It makes you laugh absurdly. Your little self talking this way. 'NIGGUH, SHE GON' WRECK YO' ASS, BACK YO' SHIT UP!!'

 

Little you is practically destroyed and pushed so far into the dark recesses of your mind when Gilda suddenly sits upright like she was a fucking perfect right angle and looks at you with a most sinister smile.

 

Oh shit. Anon, you might want to run. Little you was probably right.

 

"Heeyy, Anon..." She drawls, looking at you a little more, and, if you didn't know any better, examining you. "Ya know... I didn' tell ya, but, I get reeeeal fuckin' antsy when I'm pissed ya know?

 

You nod automatically. In fear or wonder, you're not rightly sure.

 

"An' basically... Well, y'aint a bad lookin' guy, ya know?"

 

Oh damn. Sober normal Anon is back! He's worried! He's backed up by the little Anon! Warning signs are blaring through the boozy haze.

 

'ABORT NIGGUH, RUN YO' ASS OUT!' Little you cries in vain, you're fucking rooted on the spot. You're sure you'll get moving shortly. Maybe.

 

"An' don' think I aint seen ya lookin' at me. I'm drunk, not blind."

 

Oh shit. Oh shit! She's gonna kick your arse! That's what she means? Yes! Drunkenness says no, but normal Anon says yes! Run! She's standing now, when did that happen?

 

RUN.

 

Shit, she's climbing on you!! She's-- she's face to face with you...

 

You can only balk stupidly as she drunkenly kisses you.

 

Oh what in the flying fuck? Normal Anon is scared shitless, what the fuck is going on here? It's a ploy! She means to beat you down! Get away!!! ABORT!

 

Meanwhile, penis rejoices.

 

Her hand promptly finds him, grabbing your crotch through your trousers. And he's eager to stand fully at attention. This is getting heated, worrying, and exciting.

 

You're confused as to why this is happening, and you're upset that there's fuck all you can do to protest, she wouldn't let you get away, and drunk you wants this, and you're simply over the moon at the prospect of what's to come. For all you know she's going-- Woah, there's tongue, it's in your mouth. Damn, before you know it you're returning the kiss, and you're bravely moving your hands to a more comfortable position. You rest them quite comfortably on her person as she leans further into the kiss, which she eventually breaks.

 

"You're shit at kissin'." She slurs. "But you'll do better."

 

What?

 

Before you can talk she has you on your back, roughly forcing you down with her strength dwarfing your own by far. She's already straddling you. Your dick is rock hard and she's still groping it with rather restrained delicacy.

 

She moves the hand further north so she can kneel over you easier. She's got the control and she knows it. She leans down into your mouth with her own yet again, her kiss is more refined this time, and you were ready, so you'd hope you did one better. It certainly got your blood pumping and your head is swimming.

 

All the negatives are gone, normal Anon is shutting up and watching in awe, horny Anon made his way through like a fucking king and sat on his own little iron throne. You couldn't be more pleased with the situation.

 

Fuck, she's pulled back and wrenching her snug-fit top off. Those fucking perfect tits bounce gracefully out, so large they are. Take that back, /now/ you couldn't be more pleased. This was going somewhere, and fast.

 

She drunkenly giggles all too cutely, dragging your hands from where they were on her arse, upward over her sides, and onto her ample breasts. You smile like you were made for this and play about with them in earnest. Kneading the pillows softly at times.

 

She responds better when you tug roughly at them and pinch her large cherry-like nipples, damn, she /really/ likes it. Her eyes are glazed over in lust and she's grinding against you so very happily.

 

Time to take command, you hope? Shit you probably shouldn't, or you'll get your arse beat.

 

Ah, nope. Apparently she doesn't like that.

 

The second you tried to force her backward, she growled and dominated you, sharply moving to your cock once again with a hand, the other pushing firmly on your chest.

 

"Nuh-uh, Anon. I'm leadin' this show." She whispers deviously. And then she turns the hand on your chest into a fist, applying pressure to keep you down, and the hand resting over your crotch tightens its hold.

 

You get the message.

 

You're her bitch.

 

And there's /fuck all/ you can do about it.

 

To re-enforce her point she lifts her fist and lightly brings in against your chest, it might have been soft to her, but it still winded you slightly. With her point made she removes your hands from her, and slowly trails her own to under your shirt, purposefully dragging her nails against the flesh. You can't help a small gasp of pleasure-pain escaping your lips as she deftly tightens her index fingers and thumbs over your own nipples.

 

"Ahhh, so ya like that, huh?" She purrs, not breaking eye-contact, like she does with her job at the mechanics. She continues torturing your nipples for a time, content to hear you cry out, "You just wait, I got more. You're so gonna hate-fuck me, I know it."

 

Well, at least you were gonna get laid. Or, was it going to be her doing the fucking? You thank whatever gods there are she doesn't have a strap-on in that bag of hers. ...You hope.

 

Her hands move again, to her own jeans. Her molten gold irises eyes never leave yours for a second.

 

Your cock is wet, you can feel it. And she knows it, the bitch. But you don't dare say it, you know she'll hurt you for saying it. You hate that she's got you, you hate that she's made you hers. But, you fucking love it too. Damn she's so fucking hot. You want to take her, but she'll damn well take you first.

 

She coyly undoes the top button of her jeans, giggling all cute. It's a ruse, you catch on, but it suits her so well. Her laugh is very sweet, if only she was a more timid lady it'd suit her better. The jeans that fit her supple legs so well are damp, you believe. She was extremely hot right now and you could feel the heat pouring off her skin.

 

Another button or two, another whisper, a giggle, a hand squeezing your dick.

 

She enjoys playing with her food, this one.

 

The seconds, they take forever to pass, and by the time all her buttons are undone, you reckon your dick was fucking obsidian at this point. She slowly stands, towering over you, and pulls at them, she must need to squeeze into these jeans, because her curves almost burst from their tight confines, and it's all you can do not to moan upon seeing her clearly glistening snatch through white satin panties. Her pussy is fucking heavenly, it bulges outward just the right amount, and from what you see, her labia are quite neat and even. She's a fucking biker angel.

 

Well, deviless, really.

 

A true fucking lust demon, you'd say.

 

Your thoughts go to shit as she discards the denim, almost nude.

 

She brings her hips forward, that glorious snatch not far from your face you'd think. She glides the hand resting on your cock, over to her toned belly, pushing fingers down toward her pussy. You can't help but moan with lust and want as her digits softly rub over her clit and smoothly push inside the very wet entrance.

 

She knows what you want, but she isn't going to give it easily. She ignores the plight in your pants, fingering herself slowly before your eyes. She lets out small gasps here and there, no doubt she knows how to work herself, and she keeps you on edge, even up until her small orgasm at her own hands, quite literally.

 

Her juices flow lightly, soaking the already damp underwear, and she teasingly pushes her come-soiled fingers against your lips. You obey like a good bitch and suck on each finger. You taste her on each digit. She's musky, yet sweet. It only serves to make you hornier.

 

You're treated to the most fucking wonderful view.

 

She quickly tugs her panties down, kicking them away, and brings her lower half forward. You already know what she wants, and you're all too eager to comply. Your hands soon grasp her arse, and you pull her still leaking pussy onto your tongue. The sharp intake of breath you hear lets you know you're off to a good start.

 

Gilda moans as your tongue dances about in this pink playground, it seeks every fold it can, every bump, and wants to taste every inch.

 

You grunt in slight pain when she begins to forcefully grind. Her thighs constrain your head as she pushes herself onto your face.

 

She doesn't so much as let you eat her out as much as she does, try to fuck your tongue. It works well enough however, she's enjoying the pleasure of it, and you're enjoying the sweetness of her inner folds. Her grinding only grows faster, and you succeed in making a rhythm of sorts to it; she bucks her hips forward, and your mouth and tongue both suck and poke and reach what they can get into, as she pulls back you lick around the area.

 

The rhythm pays off, the music to your ears is her second orgasm and the musk that squirts over your tongue. She gasps, shudders, and her grind slows to a halt. She pants contentedly, still sitting on your face while your mouth sucks at her lovely hole as if to swallow every last drop that falls.

 

She turns about, so your view is obscured by not just her cunt, but her bodacious arse as well. You groan with your own pleasure as she pushes her lower-lips against your mouth for round 2, her hands going to your trousers and freeing your cock. You eat her out at a slower pace as she's seen fit to take you into her mouth. Your satisfaction rises as her tongue swirls around the head and her throat pushes down around the shaft.

 

Due to her teasing previously, you were clearly pent up with pre-cum, almost ready to shoot your load the second she places her lips around the tip. She was greedy, her tongue was lapping at your cock-slit each time a bead exited its home and swallowing your member after in a pattern.

 

You feel a bit of pride in that another hour and another orgasm from her passes, before you can't contain yourself any longer as she bobs up and down on your dick, the muscle in her mouth is as skilled as her cunningness it seems, and you moan, loudly, and cry out in your climax, spurting hot come down her throat, which the bitch is pleased to swallow. She gulps it down, not relenting on her sucking, trying to take all she can, before slowing and leaving your hips bucking in aftershock.

 

She licks her lips, a small sigh losing past her lips. But her back end still isn't done with you. You resume your licking and sucking after a minute of gathering your wits from blowing your load. You grip her hips in such a way now that you can go for her other hole.

 

And fuck, she's a naughty one, because she gasps as if something cold poked her there, but she giggles and grinds against your mouth all the same. Your tongue plays with both holes fairly now, both metallic and sweet in taste strangely enough. She idly plays with and strokes you cock again as you push your muscle furiously deeper into her pussy and her arse.

 

Your effort is rewarded minutes later with yet another cry of joy, some hard grinding, and more juices coating your mouth and jaw. She collapses momentarily in her pleasure as you lap up the residue from her fourth climax.

 

You may not be a great kisser, but you seemingly eat her out well enough.

 

By then she's pretty sated, you'd think.

 

But no, you'd be wrong. She's clearly sobered up some but she's still ready to fuck after the alcohol has cleared up to a degree. Gilda turns about once more, straddling you again, but only briefly before she gets to her feet and attacks your bottoms. She wants them off.

 

You help her help you, and they're off in no time along with your shoes, and shirt as she attacked that too. You're almost as nude as she, save for your underwear. Which also comes off quick enough. She takes you in.

 

You're not any great catch, but you're not shit either, you'd hope. She did choose to shag you after all. You have a little muscle, not as much as she does, and your cock is of an average length, so you hope that's good enough as well. She does seem content with you, considering she shoves you back down onto the couch and slides her wet and glistening folds against your softening cock. It takes up again in little time. She makes enough lube for you to enter her with great ease.

 

But you simply make a game of it while you can, happy just to look at her body and feel her snatch sodden against your member. This is truly fucking awesome. She was wrong, you're not going to hate-fuck her. You're just going to fuck her, hard. If she'll let you. You trail kisses over her breasts and suck her nipples for a time. Pleased just to elicit gasps from her. She loses patience with the teasing soon enough.

 

She'd gonna ride you like a damn horse.

 

She does it mercilessly, and she does it well.

 

You're met with the greatest of sweet pleasures as she guides you as deep within her as you can go. Her cunt effortlessly sucks you inward to the hilt and squeezed you of its own accord. It's wet, hot, feels fucking amazing, and it's all you thought it'd be, and more. She lifts herself and slams back down endlessly, making her own pleasure from you, like you're a tool.

 

Repeatedly she whispers for you to fuck her hard and rough, when she means herself to do it. You're not complaining, you have a lovely view of her chest bouncing about and her pretty face masked in pleasure and concentration. It's a rush, her pleasure, her moans, every little squirming sound she utters, and you pleasure tenfold. Her snatch is happy to contract around you, hug fiercely, send electricity up your spine.

 

You don't let her do all the work of course. You slam your hips upward and arc yourself to get as deep in her as possible, you harshly squeeze her hips so she'll moan with the pleasurable pain of it. You're happy to have the strength enough for that. She's soon flattening her breasts against you when she's taking you into another snogging session.

 

You don't complain, you return the kissing, more than obliging. It's almost like you're a proper fucking couple, if not for the drinking that made it happen this easily.

 

You continue to fuck her, or be fucked, long into the night. To both your pleasures.

 

Daringly, you move upward, forward, and try to push her down again. For a moment, she growls, looking as if to hit you. But she falters upon meeting your eyes, and her gaze softens ever so slightly. She relaxes but for a moment, and it's enough for you to take control. You don't forget she's giving it to you.

 

You push your weight against her as a counter, with her ending up on her back now. She's the perfect picture. You're still deep in her, and now you can get a better grip to go deeper still. You kiss her again, gliding your hands to grip under her back and over her shoulders, keeping her in place. You wonder how she must feel giving up her dominance for a moment so she can be a woman.

 

At best you think she feels slightly vulnerable, and that will only increase her pleasure, you know. She wraps her legs around you, purring in you ear with joyous gasps from each instance where you penetrate her cunt. You move backward and forward relentlessly, wanting to hurt her slightly so she might achieve a better orgasm. You slam into her over and over, you feel yourself building up to another climax. You don't relent, but she's determined to ride you for as long as she can, distracting your concentration with nips of your ear and her hands clawing at your back.

 

She herself comes again twice more between denying you your second. Gilda the she-devil is still in damn control even though she isn't. Fuck her so damn much.

 

Oh wait. Heh.

 

And then she forgets herself.

 

"Oh, yesss. You're a fuckin' champ!" She shouts out, her eyes shut tight and her mouth agape. "Do me faster, Anon! Fuck, me, harder!"

 

She announces those last three words between your thrusts. You didn't need telling, you were already going at it well enough. But her plea sends you into an overdrive.

 

ou comply wish her wishes and don't hold yourself back, you speed up, you ram her, you go as deep as you possibly can, you savour the tight walls clamping all around your cock, you relish each wet, warm thrusting, and you love each scream or shout she looses in your ears.

 

Back and forth, in and out, you continue. She doesn't tease you now, she lets you concentrate on your own orgasm. You feel it deep in your groin, the small wave of pleasure before the tsunami of ecstasy. She begs, pleads you continue at your pace, you grunt in exertion and moan in bliss. You grip her shoulders tightly, the skin going pale where you clutch it so fiercely.

 

She screams out again, and it sends you over the edge, you allow yourself to cry out rather loudly as you burst inside her and coat her inner walls with thick seed. Overly spurting with each thrust and moaning louder each time, she makes noises in your head with the feeling of being filled up. You come only a bit more, until your last thrust and final squirt marks your end and you collapse in a shuddering mess on her.

 

Gilda snuggles into you and clutches you closely.

 

That was the best.

 

It feels like days pass as you lie atop her. She plants small kisses over your face and nips softly at your neck like some majestic yet wild mythological animal.

 

She groans as you pull back and some of your come, mixed with her own, seeps out from within her where it couldn't be held from overflow. She quickly pulls you back inside her and shivers, simply enjoying the fact you're inside her. You smile at her face, so peaceful as it is.

 

She's beautiful. Especially in the afterglow of sex. She's sweaty, worn out, and her hair is as limp as your cock soon will be. But she's fucking beautiful. She's sound asleep rather fact, too worn out to move you, not as if she'd wanted to. You'd done the same, and slept where you lay.

 

Come the morning? You were alone save for the mess still plastered to your dick and the sofa.

 

The empty bottles of booze where still lying around, and the wrappers of food still littered the table. But Gilda was nowhere to be seen. And her clothes were gone.

 

You figured it'd be a one night only thing. But you were more than glad for just that. It'd been amazing and you wouldn't soon forget it either.

 

Why then did you feel so bad?

 

You perked up considerably upon spotting a small piece of paper with messy writing on it, under one of the bottles.

 

You read it.

 

'Last night was good, Anon. I had fun. I know you did too. I'll be seeing you around, you still got my jacket, after all. Maybe at my place next time, eh? '

 

Yep, you grinned.

 

Fucking. Awesome.

 

----

 

Notes: this is an unedited copy of the original text, which can be found at [https://desuarchive.org/mlp/thread/18781263/]. Author pastebin (defunct) [http://pastebin.com/u/Jessi_Jax]. All apologies to Britfag, if he's still around.