#distract myself cause getting myself riled up for the next 7 weeks is just going to wreck me

[exposeacreep-blog]

Milo Moran is a child molester, manipulator and general scumbag

I met Milo when I was in year 7 (11 years old) at school. At the time, he was in year 11 (around 15). My English mistress had given us a creative writing task: to write the backstory of Edgar Allen Poe's poem "The Raven". Milo was in her form in year eleven, and he, along with his friends, were pretty friendly with her, so she would sometimes chat with them about her other classes during morning and afternoon registration. Apparently, my name came up in one of these chats, because one day in what must have been around October 2014, when my English class were leaving the classroom after a sixth period lesson and her year eleven form were coming in for afternoon register, my teacher pointed me out to him and said "that's the girl who wrote that Raven story you liked". He smiled at me, and told me how much he'd liked it.

Now, me being a fucking dumb, pubescent, hormonal little girl I was for some reason extremely receptive and innocently excited by older male attention at the time, no matter how much of an absolute minger they were, meaning that the fact that somebody as senior as Milo had so much as offered me a second glance I was a bit smitten with him.

After school had finished, I went to get the bus home only to find that apparently Milo was on the same bus route home. I didn't say anything to him that day, I was too busy being the epitome of preteen angst so I just plugged myself into my Panic! At The Disco and stared blankly out of the window, but then a couple of weeks later I ran into him with my mum while at Waitrose. We said hi to each other, and when she asked I told my mum who he was. She said that he seemed nice, and that it was good that I was friendly with people outside my own year.

We had very little interaction for the next couple of months until after the Christmas break, when two new kids, twins, joined my year group. I quickly became joined at the hip to one of them, we rarely spoke to anyone else and then wondered why we didn't really have any other friends. So when we saw a poster for the English magazine club at lunchtime, we figured it was a great opportunity to socialise. We went, and lo and behold who's the editor of the magazine? Milo, overseen by another English mistress. That was absolutely fine by me, he was an older boy who gave me special attention because, at least I assumed at the time, he liked my writing.

Not long after that, we began to talk and videocall fairly infrequently on Google Hangouts, where he mentioned a physical similarity in our respective appearances, and said it might be funny if we pretended to be siblings to confuse people. I fail to see now how this is in any way entertaining, but I suppose at the time my ape brain said "ooga booga male attention must maintain", so I went along with it.

Then there's a bit of a gap in my memory between the end of year 7 and the beginning of year 8, but somewhere in that gap my friend Vincent (who was the same friend I'd joined magazine club with) convinced me to take up the guitar so I could go to the lunchtime guitar group with him. I joined the group, and guess who the bassist is? Milo McNonce. I'll get back to that a little later.

So while he was still at school, he worked at a pub in the town where I live called The Fleece, and to get from there to his bus stop he had to walk past my house. By pure chance one day I spotted him out of my bedroom window and called out to him, and we began talking with him down on the pavement looking up at me through my open window. This same thing went on for ages until one day my parents got fed up of what they dubbed the "Romeo and Juliet" routine and invited him in.

Around this time I inexplicably developed massive crushes on two of Milo's friends, Chris and George. I told Milo, and he basically agreed to stalk them for me, even going so far as to write little stories wherein I had rough, kinky sex with his 17 year old for me to get my little 12 year old rocks off to. I, being a total and utter fucking moron, didn't find that weird in the slightest. Until fairly recently, I still had some of these stories screenshotted on my phone gallery but rather stupidly deleted them last year out of shame and fear that somebody would find them.

Then about halfway through year 8, when I was helping him with packing up after guitar group, he started hugging me out of nowhere and kissed me on the forehead. Ape brain struck again and said "Oh worm? Guess this is happening now, that's calm."

Nothing else of particular note happened in year 8 on that front, although it all continued as a regular thing.

So then began year 9, and the *real* shitstorm reared its head.

Remember how I said that eventually my parents had invited him in? That was the point that he began to *really* cosy up to my mum, like really sucking up to her. He didn't manage to have quite the same effect on my dad because he was usually at work, but since my mum is a goldsmith she works from home. It was also around that time when he rather conveniently decided that he was gay, at least that's what he told my mum, which meant that for the next roughly six months she felt unthreatened by the fact that her 12 year old daughter was having private conversations in her bedroom with a 17 year old boy with the door closed (bearing in mind I live in the UK, where the age of consent is 16).

Then, in March, it was my school's annual Pump Room Concert. At the rehearsal on the day of the concert we were in the big room upstairs where all the instruments are kept in-between the rehearsal and the concert itself, when he hugged me tightly and began to stare into my eyes. We were interrupted by a teacher coming in to put his own instrument there, but Milo later told me a couple of nights later that had the teacher *not* come in when he did he'd have kissed me. Ape brain liked this very much.

That was something of a turning point I think, because after that I can only remember our conversations in my room ending with him on top of me, tongue down my throat and hand down my knickers. At that point I had just turned 13, and he was no younger than 18.

He started to tell me about his mental health issues, he'd been orphaned at a young age but old enough to remember his parents dying, which had understandably messed him up a bit. The last I heard of this he was being treated for bipolar disorder.

That was when my friends at the time began to smell a rather large rat, and told me about the stench of said rat, which I stubbornly ignored. This ended in me having a massive row with my friendship group, which promptly divided down the middle into two factions: one relentlessly took the piss and tried to rile me up about the whole thing (I'm not friends with them anymore), and the other kept telling me that they thought he was dangerous and that I should stay away from him (I'm still friends with them). I ended up ignoring both, which caused me to become more distant from them and spend more time with Milo, spurred on by the fact that he'd told me that I was helping him cope with his depression.

This routine kept up until the end of year 9, when he fucked up all his A Levels and managed to get a place at Cardiff University by pure good luck. I spent the next two to three months convinced that *I* was the reason he'd done so badly, and thinking that the time he spent molesting me (what I interpreted at the time as me "distracting" him) he could have spent studying.

After he moved to Wales our communication gradually petered out, and I eventually realised that I was not his taboo seductress or whatever the fuck I thought our relationship dynamic was, but that I had in fact been sexually manipulated and exploited and tried to cut ties with him.

He still came over during the holidays, but far less frequently and I never let him touch me again.

I got a proper boyfriend, and thought things were looking up, when a month before my GCSEs started, he messaged me out of the blue asking if I wanted to see him again while I had the chance because he was going to kill himself. I spent the entire day sobbing on the phone to him and trying to talk him down because as much as I resented him and wanted him gone from my life, I couldn't have responsibility for his death on my conscience during my exams. I still haven't quite figured out if he was serious about it or whether he just wanted to illicit some kind of emotional response from me, but that was pretty much the final straw.

To be honest? If I could go back and redo that whole day with the knowledge of what he's done since then (namely having been in the national papers for narrowly avoided jail time over revenge-porning his ex girlfriend), I'm not entirely sure I'd have expended that much time and energy into trying to stop him. I know it sounds horrible, but at this point, when I feel dirty and ashamed in my own bed and I can't even watch Catch 22 on Channel 4 and say "Damn, Milo's cute" without getting a jarring intrusive thought of that paedophilic creep sucking on my neck and palming my fanny, I don't think I really care.

So that's where we are. If you meet him, stay the fuck away from him, for all his slime he's a charismatic bugger and knows how to get into your head until you're trapped in a web of manipulation that you just can't escape.

I've since opened up to a very close friend, still not my parents though, who said that she could see what I was going through and feeling as it was happening, and the only reason that she didn't report it was that I begged her and made her swear not to. Despite this, she went to our school nurse to ask for anonymous advice and that's mostly what's helped me get to grips with how to handle this now, and for that I cannot be more grateful. Her support has made it easier to tell the truth to a couple of other people, and to contact this account. Will it get to the point where I feel I can tell my parents or the police? I'm not sure, but I hope so.

[deathtouch]

💛 femfeb day 19 | my femfeb masterpost 🧡 xposted → ao3 | dw | pf.io 💖 Ashe/Pharah | 3.6k | Mature 🧡 AU, Supernatural Elements, Werewolf AU, First meeting, Kissing 💛 Ashe keeps waking up in places she shouldn't be with no memory of the night before.

Somebody was moving something big. Ashe didn’t know what, and she didn’t know when, but she knew it was coming through her territory and she knew it was going to be soon.   She’d had the supreme misfortune of coming upon shipments guarded by Helix Security before. It was a bad idea to try and take them on, but maybe if she had the right information... If she learned a little more about what Helix was doing swarming, her town and her bar. Maybe she’d be able to work something out. Cook up a plan, score big, keep the gang happy. “You want another beer, Ms. Ashe?” Ashe tipped her head up, looking out from under the brim of her hat at the new gang member that had joined the ranks just last week. She looked past him, over to the bar where a handful of strangers stood drinking. She took in the display of muscles, the brown bomber jackets, the aviator sunglasses. Helix, alright. “It’s just Ashe, sugar.” She said, sliding off her stool. “And I can go and get it myself. Keep playing pool.” She left her vantage point in the corner with its perfect view of all the entrances and exits and it’s inconspicuous location next to the pool tables. She cut passed a few Deadlocks lingering around, leaning on pool cues, sipping from their own mugs of beer. She made her way to the bar, subtly situating herself next to the only Helix loner, some woman sitting all by herself instead of with a cohort of colleagues. Ashe slid her empty mug across the bar and tapped the bar twice with two fingers. It was her signal that she didn’t want service but an excuse to speak to whoever was next to her for as long as possible. Ashe would see to the bartender at the end of the night, toss a couple bills her way in exchange for any information she happened to pick up while pouring drinks. “You folks ain’t from around here, huh?” Ashe said conversationally. She pinned an elbow to the bar and tucked her fist under her jaw, making it obvious she was ready to sit here and chat awhile. The woman next to her turned to look her over, brandishing a face tattoo that Ashe couldn’t help staring at. She was pretty. The kind of gal Ashe would like to take home, with a face she would be happy to ride for hours. “No,” was the diminutive reply. “Name’s Ashe,” she flashed her teeth in a smile. “...Fareeha.” Reluctant, but not a lost cause. Ashe could charm her. By the end of the night they would be good pals. Normally she left this kind of grunt work to the grunts, but there was something in the air tonight. She was itching to get things done herself.

.oOo. .oOo. .oOo.

 Ashe was surprised to see it wasn’t entirely dark out just yet. She’d been in the bar since 7 and it was nearly 8:30 now. Summer meant that the sun was setting later and later each day. The horizon was painted in vibrant colors; gold and peach clouds on a warm purple sky. The air was hot, dry, and gritty with dust rucked up by warm wind.

 Fareeha followed her out the door trying to hide the smile on her face. She must not get much attention from many people, because she was like a moth to Ashe’s flame. All Ashe had to do was play it sweet, flirt little, bat her eyelashes and stroke a finger over Fareeha’s muscled arm.

 Now alone with no prying eyes to watch, Ashe shamelessly reached out to hook two fingers in the belt loops of Fareeha’s jeans. She dragged her in close and backed up against the side of the building. She pressed their lips together, mouths hot. Their tongues tasted like the beer they had been drinking but sweetened with the pleasure of kissing someone soft and pretty.

 Ashe pulled away just enough to ask, “You got a place around here we could go? Just you and me?”

 She was hoping that the Helix Security folks were all set up in one spot, probably the motel up the road if she had to guess. There was plenty to be gleaned from getting a look at where they were staying. Who knows what she might come across?

 Ashe was definitely in it for the score, for the tantalizing prospect of a job she and the gang could work. She wasn’t mad at the idea of going home with Fareeha, though. God, she really was a good-looking gal. Ashe liked the feel of her, the taste of her, the smell of the sweat on her skin from the June heat. She looked good enough to eat.

 There was something itching under Ashe’s skin, this need she couldn’t identify. She normally didn’t get this riled up or invested in her marks. Maybe she needed a good hard fuck to settle her down some.

 Fareeha didn’t answer. She pressed her lips to Ashe’s jaw, her neck, her throat, her collarbone. Ashe tipped her head back and let it happen, staring up at the sky where she could see the color changing before her eyes. The purple was smothering the gold light, turning it pink and then red.

 The moon was on the rise.

 .oOo. .oOo. .oOo.

 Ashe woke with a pounding in her head. She cursed herself for drinking too much. She hadn’t gotten black out drunk in a good long while and she was too old now to be doing that kind of thing. She blinked, catching glimpses of a motel room she didn’t recognize, before shutting her eyes to the bright morning light filtering in from the open window. She laid still where she was, eyes closed. She tried to remember what had happened last night. She remembered going to the bar, and the Helix goons filling up the place. She remembered drinks with a pretty woman, though she couldn’t quite recall her name. They must have gone off together… Ashe had this soreness in her muscles like she’d spent the whole night fucking. Her jaw ached and she wondered just what kind of use her mouth had been put to. She was sticky with sweat already. The motel room’s A/C wasn’t running, and if it was it wasn’t cranked up high enough. When she could manage it, she sat up. Her head throbbed. She looked down at herself and her naked body and was immediately shocked into sudden alertness when she found blood on her hands. Not just on her hands but soaked into the beds of her nails and all the fine wrinkles of her fingers. It wasn’t just her hands, it was everywhere. Her thighs, her stomach, the bed. The bed! There was so much goddamn blood on the bed. She scrambled off of it, damn near knocking the lamp on the side table over in her haste. There was blood on the carpet too, pooled black and thick. Ashe frantically grabbed the first piece of clothing she could find, an oversized threadbare t-shirt with a peeling Bruce Springsteen decal. She yanked it on over her head, pulled it down enough to cover her nudity, and went running out the door. It had been left wide open so that the desert heat could come rolling in. There were bloodstains in the parking lot, on the gravel and sidewalk. She wasn’t sure where they lead to and she wasn’t about to stick around and find out. She needed to find a phone, to get one of the fixers in the gang to come out and fix this. Something had gone terribly wrong last night, but she couldn’t remember what.

 .oOo. .oOo. .oOo.

 Ashe watched the pool balls go rolling across the green felt of the table in front of her. She couldn’t quite stop her foot from tapping against the bar stool she was sitting on, a steady rhythm of anxious energy thrumming through her body. She was trying her damnedest to act natural. She had gone out drinking like usual, refusing to deviate from the norm in any suspicious way that the law might pick up on later. She couldn’t catch the heat for this. She just couldn’t. She was so careful everywhere else; there was absolutely no way they could ever pin her Deadlock crimes on her, no matter how guilty she was. That didn’t matter, though. Al Capone went down for tax evasion, after all. She would be furious if her whole operation fell apart because of some botched murder she couldn’t even remember. Deadlock had already been decimated by the authorities once, she wasn’t going to let it happen again. If she could just remember who she killed, or why, or anything about what had happened last night it would be different. She couldn’t. She couldn’t remember a damn thing. It was all a blank. What was worse, her fixers couldn’t fix anything because there wasn’t a crime to fix. If someone was dead somewhere, they sure as shit couldn’t find the body. Any evidence that Ashe had ever been in that hotel room was gone and that was the best they could do. “It’s a full moon tonight,” The new kid was saying, trying desperately to make conversation with her. It would serve him much better just to shut his trap and quit sucking up, but Ashe didn’t bother telling him that. Talking to him was just about the best distraction she had from her own paranoid thoughts. “I thought it was a full moon last night.” She remembered that. She remembered seeing the moon in the sky. Big and white and glowing, a beacon in the purple haze. She got a weird itch between her shoulder blades thinking back on it. It was the same feeling from the bar last night, the one that had her all riled up and raring to go. It was back again and twice as bad. “Almost.” He lined up a shot, took it. The seven ball sank into a corner pocket. “The moon looks so full the night before and the night after most people can’t tell the difference.” Ashe stood abruptly, unable to sit for a moment longer, all this talk about the moon was making her antsy. She needed a smoke or something to settle herself down. The Deadlocks hanging around the pool tables parted ways for her and she disappeared into the dimly lit back hallway. Ashe went out the rear exit. It opened up to a sad looking parking lot where the bartender’s beat up old truck was parked. The dumpster was propped open and stinking of sour booze. The sun wasn’t quite set yet but almost. She could probably smoke inside, no one would care, but stepping out where it was quiet might do her some good. She took out a cigarette and fought with her lighter. It was thirsty for more lighter fluid and unwilling to light. She sparked it again and again, cursing under her breath at the damn flame that just wouldn’t ignite. In a split second she went from trying to light her cigarette to being throttled up against the side of the building, head banging back against its brick exterior. She knew better than to cry out or make noise, though it hurt like a son of a bitch. Anger followed her surprise like a chaser, flashing through her, making her furious. “You,” The woman pinning her hissed, voice vicious. Fareeha. Ashe recalled her from the previous night. It was hard to forget that tattoo. “What the hell did you do to me.” “What did… What did I do to you?” Ashe repeated back, incredulous. She grabbed at Fareeha’s wrist, trying to pry her fingers back. “What the hell are you doing to me! Get your damned hands off my girly, I’m warning you.” Ashe needed absolutely no reason to throw down. She was ready to tear something to shreds with her bare hands. Fareeha had gone and given her the excuse, anyway, slamming her up against the bar like this. It was getting dark with the sun sinking down below the horizon. Visibility was getting low. In the pale evening light, she swore she could see the brown of Fareeha’s eyes blazing gold. She had this savage expression on her face, lips curled back in a bloodthirsty snarl, and Ashe thought she saw the other woman’s teeth growing longer… getting pointier. Her own jaw began to ache in some odd form of empathy. Her own teeth felt wrong, too big, like they were filling up her mouth. Her skin was itching again. She felt violent. “What did you do to me!” Fareeha demanded, shaking her like a rag doll. Her voice was pitched down low, unearthly and chilling. When Ashe dug her nails into Fareeha’s wrist she found that they were nails at all but long black claws. .oOo. .oOo. .oOo. Ashe realized she recognized the driver of the dusty old Camaro rolling down the road and immediately felt relieved. It was the new kid, the one always running his mouth. A little sad that he was driving something with four wheels and not maglev, but Ashe wasn’t about to put down her savior. Not to his face at least. “Ms. Ashe, that you?” He said, slowing to a stop by the side of the road. “It’s just Ashe, sugar.” She reminded him, gesturing to the crumpled blanket in the backseat. “Hand me that, will ya?” She certainly was a sight. Naked as the day she was born, baking in the hot morning sun, walking slowly but surely down the Interstate back towards town. Or what she hoped was back towards town. She was so far out she couldn’t quite tell. The bottoms of her feet were burning from treading barefoot on the hot sand and asphalt. The new kid hurried to snatch up the blanket from the back and shove it out the window to her. She wrapped it around her middle, trying not to be too concerned about the stains on the fabric or the stale smell. It was better than being naked. She felt a bit bad that she didn’t remember his name, but Deadlock was a big family and he hadn’t quite made his mark yet. She’d go on calling him sugar, that was fine. “How’s about you give your boss a lift back into town.” Sugar seemed confused but he nodded, reaching across to open the passenger door for her. She slid inside, wincing as she moved. Her whole body ached liked she’d been run through the ringer. Maybe she had been. The last thing she remembered was Fareeha accosting her outside the bar. Had they gotten into a fight? Ashe didn’t know. She didn’t seem to have any bruises, but something had happened. Something. “…Just out for a walk then?” Sugar asked awkwardly, shifting the car into gear and pulling away from the shoulder. This was an unreasonably undignified position for her to be in and she knew it. She couldn’t explain it. She’d awoken this morning in the middle of nowhere, dunes of sand and scrub grass all around her, with no idea how she got there. She’d possibly lost a fight? Or won one? Or maybe this was some failed attempt to bury Ashe’s body where no one would find it? “The less we say about this the better, Sugar,” Ashe told him. “You keep this between you and me and I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of on the next job. Got that?” Sugar’s eyebrows went up and he brightened considerably. “Yes, ma'am.” As soon as they hit 50 MPH he was grinning like an idiot. New gang members were easy to please. “Guess it’s a good thing I saw you. Gang’s been talking about some wild animals near town. Wouldn’t do either of us any good, you becoming some wolf’s breakfast.” A wolf? Ashe adjusted the blanket, covering herself up a little more before casting Sugar a look. “There ain’t no wolves in these parts. Whoever told you that’s fucking with you.” “Somebody saw one. A white wolf running down the highway. Some kinda coyote too.” “Uh-huh,” She nodded. “Just shut up and drive, Sugar.” .oOo. .oOo. .oOo. “It wasn’t no coyote.” Being at the bar was probably a bad idea. Suspicious deviations from her usual routine be damned. Something bad was happening, to her specifically or around these parts in general Ashe couldn’t quite tell. She wasn’t sure where else she should be, though. She was safe here at the bar. Half the gang was here with her, a dozen men, women, and omnics ready and willing to go to bat for her if she needed them. It seemed like every time she stepped out these doors things went sour, so it was best just to stay put on her favorite spot in the corner. “Small though, right? Sure it wasn’t a dog?” “No, it wasn’t no dog either!” The rumor about animals passing through town, wreaking havoc and running amok, was spreading through the gang like ripples on water. Ashe supposed she was grateful for these stories, dumb as they sounded. She would rather have everyone in town talking about this massive white wolf and its tiny dog friend than about her waking up naked in the middle of the scrubland and strolling down the interstate. Sugar had done well enough to keep his word about the whole thing, but he kept sending her odd glances between his turns at pool. He would lean up against the cue and gaze at her as if waiting for something to happen. Ashe felt like she was waiting for something too, but she didn’t know what. “It had marks on his back, black and white. I never seen no dog and no coyote with marks like that.” Her skin still itched, right square in the center of her back. It wasn’t as bad as yesterday, but it wasn’t a good feeling either. She tried not to pay it any mind, but it was easier said than done. Even with everything that had happened to her these last few days, with all the things she should be worried about, this was what was bothering her the most. She wanted to sink her teeth into something, tear it apart with her hands, chase it through the dust and the dirt of the desert until her body ached. “A jackal?” “...the hell? A jackal? In New Mexico?” The bar door creaked open, the noise of it almost lost to the din of drinking and shooting pool and the endless conversation about who had seen what type of animal. Ashe looked up from under the brim of her hat to see a handful of those Helix Security types wandering in. Slices of golden light from the setting sun fell across the barroom floor. Fareeha was the last to enter, backlit ominously. Ashe felt eyes on her immediately. “Makes about as much sense as a white wolf.” Without even the pretense of buying a drink first, Fareeha made her way over to the pool tables. She looked ready to raise hell. Something about her presence and the way she approached set the entire gang on edge. The pool playing slowed to a stop. The conversation died down entirely. Everyone turned to watch her. Fareeha was fearless in the face of this threat. She stood in front of Ashe, a good few feet away, and crossed her arms over her chest. Her muscles were bulging gloriously. “We need to talk.” “Yeah, I suppose we do,” Ashe agreed reluctantly. She slid off her barstool intending to take this conversation somewhere more private. “You want someone to come with you, Ms. Ashe?” Sugar spoke up. “Not now, Sugar.” Ashe waved him off and nodded for Fareeha to follow her right back out the front door she’d just come in. .oOo. .oOo. .oOo. Ashe bounded through the open expanse of desert, the sand dunes painted pale grey in the moonlight. Her feet carried her far faster than she had any reason to be going. She cut through the quickly cooling wind as it ruffled her white fur. Fareeha was faster, quicker, far ahead of her, making a break for the horizon. By the end of the night she would be in Ashe’s clutches, that was a certainty. She could run but she couldn’t hide. Giving chase was fun but she wouldn’t last forever sprinting like this. Ashe would catch up to her one way or another. Above them the stars glittered in the sky, twinkling white in a dark blue blanket. Out here, in the middle of nowhere with no light pollution to speak of, they could see just about every glittering spec and glorious constellation. The moon, round and full, beamed down its pristine silver light. The two of them were basking in it, soaking it up, letting it wash over them. Fareeha bounded up the side of a sharply rising slope. She stopped, perched perfectly on the peak, to pant open mouthed. She cocked back her head and brayed up at the moon in the sky. Her howl was uniquely high, curiously sharp, and it pricked at Ashe’s ears. She burst forward with newfound speed, scaling that same slope in record time. She launched herself at Fareeha, tackling her, taking her down until they were tumbling, rolling, spilling out across the sand and brush. She nipped at Fareeha’s neck, not hard but enough to set her whimpering. She submitted easily, rolling onto her back, offering herself up. Ashe licked down her pointed brown muzzle pink tongue catching the saliva at the corner of her mouth. Fareeha tasted good. Unlike anything Ashe had ever tasted before. She thought she had Fareeha good and pinned but the twisty little thing managed to wiggle out from underneath her and go darting away. Ashe gave her a head start before chasing after her again.

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