pairing + wc: parental erasermic + reader, midoriya izuku x reader in future chapters just not in prologue; 3.7k
specific tw: discussions of human trafficking + child abuse by villains, mention of foster system, mentions of death, mentions of chronic pain, collapsing buildings. see masterpost for genre + general tw.
notes: i’m rlly happy to be re-releasing this w gender neutral reader + some minor tweaks to the style! <3 pls enjoy!
your chamber is cold, dimly lit, and soundproofed. there’s very little for you to draw energy from, but there’s no worry of you getting too cold – the faint lights, far above, are enough for you to generate heat using your quirk. just not enough for you to get out, and just enough to make you strain as you force your quirk to keep running.
sensei stops outside your chamber – you can feel the buzz of electricity in his cells, and you press your tiny hand to the wall, trying to figure out exactly where he is on the other side of the one-way mirror. the warmth of your hand drags against its cold surface, a blur of barely-there fingerprints, the lines of your palm smeared with the motion.
pairing + wc: parental erasermic + reader, midoriya izuku x reader in future chapters just not in prologue; 3.7k
specific tw: discussions of human trafficking + child abuse by villains, mention of foster system, mentions of death, mentions of chronic pain, collapsing buildings. see masterpost for genre + general tw.
notes: i’m rlly happy to be re-releasing this w gender neutral reader + some minor tweaks to the style! <3 pls enjoy!
your chamber is cold, dimly lit, and soundproofed. there’s very little for you to draw energy from, but there’s no worry of you getting too cold – the faint lights, far above, are enough for you to generate heat using your quirk. just not enough for you to get out, and just enough to make you strain as you force your quirk to keep running.
sensei stops outside your chamber – you can feel the buzz of electricity in his cells, and you press your tiny hand to the wall, trying to figure out exactly where he is on the other side of the one-way mirror. the warmth of your hand drags against its cold surface, a blur of barely-there fingerprints, the lines of your palm smeared with the motion.
you stop when sensei is directly in front of you. the buzzing in his cells sings to you. you press closer to the mirror. there’s another pocket of electricity, but it feels odd, shifting; sensei is probably talking to that man with purple fog over his face. but you’ll never be able to hear them, not with the way your chamber is insulated, so you walk back to your bed, in the back corner of the room.
it’s starting to get warmer in the chamber, so training will be soon. you’re only allowed large quantities of energy when they know you’re going to use them up.
but hours pass, and the chamber is too hot, your whole body buzzing as the energy tries to jump out from under your skin. maybe it’s a new training exercise, a new way to push the limits of how much energy you can absorb. either way, you have to keep drawing it in, or it’ll get too hot.
you fall asleep and wake up sweating, skin crackling, and the air smells humid and warm and full of ozone. it’s hard to breathe, it’s so heavy – your lungs keep trying to hold it in, extract every last drop of energy from it. you have to force yourself to exhale, hard, like sensei taught you.
there’s light cracking through your skin, but you register it only faintly, too focused on grappling with the twisting, writhing mass of energy and trying to force it to stay in the center of your body.
but it’s not staying still – every time you push down on a wave of energy trying to escape in one direction, it just pulses out in the other. maybe, if you just let a little bit of it go, you’ll be able to hold on to the rest of it?
you hold your arm out, intent on discharging a small sound wave – but the cracks on your arm, the light energy seeping out of them in wisps, it scares you, and suddenly that ball of energy is tumbling out of control.
the wave of kinetic energy ripples out of you and slams into the walls of your chamber – they splinter with a deafeningly loud sound, folding and tearing like wet paper into the chambers next to yours, and the one-way mirror shatters into millions of tiny shards. but it doesn’t stop there – the entire building is shaking, and you can hear the other mirrors shattering and see the other walls crumbling throughout the warehouse. and then the ceiling comes down on top of you.
–
shota gets the call at six in the morning. or rather, he gets the call, but hizashi picks it up, because there’s no way in hell that anything is waking him from the dead of sleep on his day off.
except hizashi, who just shakes him awake and hands him the phone, saying, “it’s for you, babe. something about an explosion.”
“eraserhead speaking.” he wants to complain, but he knows it’s not the operator’s fault, and he knows there’s a reason they called him in on his day off.
“we need you to suppress some kind of explosion quirk in the warehouse district. there’s a collapsed, sorry, still collapsing building, and some fire and electricity issues. the fire department is dealing with the parts of the building that are burning, but there are people trapped inside, and the heat signatures indicate that one of them – a child, judging by size – is causing uncontrollable explosions, which are making it difficult to get anyone out. cementoss is currently stabilizing the building.”
“i’ll be there as fast as i can.” he can’t find it in himself to complain anymore.
as shota swings himself across the city on his capture weapon, rapidly approaching the warehouse district, he can see a plume of smoke billowing against the orange of the sunrise. he stops on top of a building and uses a nearby lamppost to lower himself to the ground.
the collapsed warehouse is smoking, and steam is rising off of it in the early morning light, but it is thankfully no longer on fire. cementoss is fusing cement slabs together in an effort to keep it from caving in further, and infrared hero, aptly named infra (hizashi calls her “heat seeker”) is intently watching the building. shota approaches her for debriefing.
“it was hard to see, earlier, with all of the fire interfering, and it’s blurry because of the heat retention of the concrete, but there are at least twenty people inside, half or more of which are children. there’s someone close to the center of the structure who is periodically letting out bursts of heat, and who we assume is also producing some kind of kinetic shockwave.”
“and cementoss has constructed a pathway so i can extract the person without disturbing the rubble and crushing other victims?”
“yes–” infra starts, and is abruptly cut off when the building rumbles, the ground shuddering along with it, the pavement near its base fracturing. “yes,” she pauses, eyes narrowing, “but you might want to wait while cementoss deals with whatever might’ve come loose just now.” she hands him an earpiece so she can direct him to the source of the explosions.
shota stands there, watching the wood and cement and metal smoke and steam, until cementoss gives him the go ahead.
he picks his way through the rubble, listening carefully to infra’s directions. sirens wail in the background, and broken glass crunches under his feet, but he can hear children crying through all of it. shota moves faster, pulls his goggles over his eyes.
infra tells him to stop and look down and to the right. all there is is a pile of debris, and it makes his heart leap into his throat. he starts digging through the chunks of cement, using his capture weapon to pull away particularly heavy or sharp pieces and to keep any large ones from falling. he has to work quickly, or risk getting hit by whatever quirk is hiding under there.
it only takes a few seconds, and then he’s looking down at a child – maybe seven years old, a little kid, curled up in a ball with their arms around their knees. there’s fissures in their skin with light pouring out of them, ashes in their hair. their eyes are glowing a terrifying, brilliant white – shota activates his quirk, hair floating up, and all the light evaporates from that tiny little body, they just look like a normal, scared kid.
it hits him that they really should’ve sent someone who was better with children. maybe gang orca. well, he might as well bite the bullet.
“i’m eraserhead. what’s your name?”
“[surname].” the kid looks up at him, face blank except for a slight frown. “what did you do to me? where did it go?”
shota offers his hand, and they take it, standing up. “where did what go?”
shota doesn’t have an answer.
he leads them out of the rubble, and thank god for the fact that they’re following – he really does not want to deal with a kicking, screaming kid in the middle of an unstable structure. the sunlight glints off of warped rebar, sharp and threatening. he tugs the kid slightly behind him.
“the energy. your hair went up and it went away.”
he has no fucking idea. “you’re right, it went away.” sometimes, telling kids that they’re right is the fastest way to get them to be quiet. surprisingly, it works.
they follow silently, gripping his hand with their tiny, slightly chubby fingers, until they finally get out of the rubble maze. now that the exploding kid is out, it’s safe to extract the other victims.
he crouches down in front of them, still holding their hand. “i’m going to leave you with the medical team, okay? they’re gonna check you over and take you to the hospital, if needed. i have to go get the other people out of there.”
except when shota stands up and tries to move away, they aren’t letting go. he tries stepping away again. it doesn’t work. it’s not just that they’re not letting go, it’s that he can’t break their grip – which is ridiculous, they’re a child, and their hand doesn’t even encompass his, meaning there’s a point where it should, in theory, be easy to break their hold.
theory isn’t holding up.
“you need to let go, or else i can’t get the other people out.” maybe he can guilt them into letting go? thankfully the other heroes on the scene are already digging through the rubble for the other victims.
they shake their head furiously, making some of the ash in their hair fly off. “no, sensei said i have to stay here. i can’t leave.”
shota resists the urge to drag a hand down his face. he really wishes tsukauchi was already here. “this is a school?”
“yes.” they nod solemnly.
“but this is the warehouse district.”
they stare at him. he tries breaking their grip again. they squeeze his hand tighter, and shota hears one of his joints crack.
“you can tell the police about the school and sensei when they get here, but you need to let go. i have to do my job. besides, your sensei is still in there, and i need to go rescue them.”
they cock their head, but loosen their grip a tiny bit. “no, sensei isn’t here. he left with the man who makes purple mist doorways. i think all the teachers left. i felt it, when they disappeared.”
felt it? grip strength? explosions? he can think about whatever the hell is going on with this child’s dangerous, wack ass quirk later. “okay, but the other students are still in there.”
“no,” they scrunch their eyes shut, grip tightening. “i can’t feel them. except amanatsu-chan. no one else is there.”
shota has a horrifying thought about heat signatures and dead bodies. he motions infra and one of cementoss’ sidekicks over.
“where is amanatsu-chan?” he asks, making eye contact with the sidekick, who is paying very close attention to the kid.
“she’s right next to where i was. in the room to the right, ‘cause she’s a month older than me.”
he turns his back to the kid and looks at infra. “that is the only person we need to rescue right now. everyone else is probably dead, according to them.”
infra looks toward the building, scanning. “the heat was probably trapped by the collapsed structure, and the fire made it difficult to see, but now that some of the rubble has been moved and the fire has been put out… there is only one heat signature that could possibly belong to someone who is alive. everything else… not even hypothermic bodies get that low.”
the sidekick rushes off with infra to guide them.
shota drags the kid along with him to the ambulance, which is now useless, with the exception of the two kids, and sits with them while the medical team looks them over. they still won’t let go of his hand, but he could break their hold now, if he needed to. if he wanted to.
he doesn’t.
—
they get the kid to the hospital, only with shota riding in the ambulance next to them, but they’re fine, and so is the other kid – a little girl. the only reason they decide to take the two kids to the hospital in the first place is because there’s nowhere else to take them, and they really, really need to see a quirk specialist. the other kid had some kind of odd, controlling speech effect, and he cannot, for the life of him, figure the first kid’s quirk out.
he leaves them with the quirk specialist, whom both kids use the sensei honorific for – they do that for every nurse and other adult, too – and goes back home to sleep. it’s almost the afternoon, but he doesn’t care. it’s his day off, damn it.
—
fuck that quirk specialist. he and hizashi are going to have to help the kid manage their quirk, according to his medical advice. thankfully, cementoss and tiger are more suited to the second kid.
he picks the problem child up from the train station in civilian clothes, hizashi next to him, cap pulled down to hide his face, hair half-down and not in that ridiculous cockatoo style. the kid’s brand new foster parents give them their phone numbers.
hizashi smiles at the kid and takes their hand, obviously completely forgetting that he’s not dressed as present mic. he does that around kids. “what’s your name, little listener?”
“[surname].” they turn to shota and blink accusingly, like he was supposed to tell hizashi.
“your first name, though?” hizashi prods, and shota laughs quietly through his nose.
“six.”
he stops laughing.
hizashi laughs awkwardly, his complete opposite, and definitely trying to smooth the situation over. “well, do you want to be called something different?”
their eyebrows furrow, and they reach for shota’s hand; he lets them. fine, they can hold both of their hands, dammit.
“is that allowed?”
hizashi gives him a look, one that means what the fuck. “yeah, yeah that’s allowed.”
“i think [first name] would be fine then.” they nod, like it’s an important decision.
“okay, [first name] it is, then. can i call you [first name]-chan, little listener?” hizashi says, starting to walk in the direction of their home. honestly, shota forgot that people use that honorific for children. he tries to avoid them in rescue missions; they’re uncomfortable around him, find him unnerving.
[first name] nods again. “mhm.”
“great! you can call me yamada-sen–” shota activates his quirk to tell him to shut up without actually telling him to shut up in front of the kid.
“no sensei honorific,” he mutters, thinking of the warehouse.
“you can call me yamada. that’s aizawa, kay?”
they nod again.
great, he’s training a child.
—
turns out they don’t need much training. the email from the quirk specialist explained that they could absorb energy and then manipulate its form, but it did not explain the frankly worrying level of precision they had.
they’re standing in the park, across the street from their hero-specialized apartment complex.
“i’m going to scream, kay? and you’re going to try to absorb it, and then we’ll see what you can do.” hizashi is still holding the kid’s hand, fifteen minutes after they’ve gotten back from the train station. shota is starting to worry that he’s getting attached. who is he kidding – of course hizashi is attached.
“aizawa will shut your quirk off if it’s too scary.”
they nod, already frowning in concentration. hizashi steps back and screams “HELLO!” at the lowest level possible. it still makes the grass ripple and the leaves on the trees shimmer. the kid just giggles, unphased, eyes glowing, and the grass and trees behind them are completely still, undisturbed. their control is disturbingly tight.
“again!” they shriek, relaying every bit of hizashi’s volume, and shota has a sickening thought about the types of bonding activities this kid had in that warehouse. training is playtime, to them.
all the pieces fall into place; the blacked out, confidential police reports, the inability to locate biological parents, the overpowered quirk, the ridiculous level of control for a child, sensei, the other children, the number six. quirk trafficking. all for one. collecting successors. his stomach turns.
he jerks back to the present as hizashi laughs and complies, yelling “HELLO!” again. shota can see the worry and caution seeping into his stance, though. they’ve been together long enough that he knows they’re both having the same thought, because hizashi isn’t stupid, and he’s seen every ugly little thing the world has to offer.
this time the kid doesn’t yell back, just holds out their hand. “wanna see what i can do?”
shota gets ready to activate his quirk, and hizashi nods.
their hand bursts into flame. shota’s hair flies up on reflex, a familiar burn in his eyes. the fire goes out, and a blast of light spirals off of their skin and dissipates into the air.
they all try several times more. [name] sends electricity crackling across their arms, drills a hole in the ground with a push of kinetic energy, makes their whole body glow with light, lifts a rock that no child should be able to lift. not once do they seem scared, not once do they hurt hizashi or break anything they don’t mean to.
they don’t need help managing their quirk. they need an outlet. (they need parents).
—
the years pass quickly; he and hizashi get teaching positions at UA, he expels and re-enrolls hundreds of students, works the streets at night. hizashi runs his radio show and works as a daylight hero and teaches english. they train [first name] every weekend, until the kid occupies the spare room at their house and the cats almost like them better than shota. [name] stays with their foster family during the week, and hizashi says he misses them, and shota wishes he could say different. (he doesn’t).
they watch the way they avoid going to their teachers when they need help, avoid going to their parents, and only ever come to them, shota and hizashi. shota thinks they have issues with trust, hizashi says they have issues with authority. shota worries about what that means they see their mentors as – authority figures they can trust. (it doesn’t worry him at all).
they crush exams and don’t talk to other kids, and hizashi and shota only know this because hizashi tries to make dinner table conversation about the kid’s classes and friends, and [name]’s answers are noncommittal, “i’m near the top of the class, okay?” and “i don’t really have any.” they proudly tell them that they punched someone in the face for bullying another kid. they ricochet wildly from sullen and silent to laughing obnoxiously loud. hizashi worries for their social development, shota tells him that they can’t go to parent teacher conferences, because they’re not the damn kid’s parents. (they are. [name]’s foster parents don’t go.)
they get sick after training some days, staying an extra day instead of traveling by train, just lying in bed while their quirk makes their whole body hurt,because it was cultivated for power, not for compatibility with the human body. hizashi calls their parents, who call the school, and he makes them tea with honey and lemon. shota sits in their room with them and the cats. the next day, after they leave, hizashi will say, “it’s just the weekends, but it feels like we’re raising them,” and shota will say, “we’re not.” (they are).
he teaches them how to use a capture weapon after they beg for months. they’re terrible at it. they keep trying. they get better, and they like heroes in black costumes and they listen to english music, and they want to be just like them, and they’re loud and sharp and sarcastic and competitive and sometimes quiet and kind, and it doesn’t make him cry into hizashi’s shoulder at night, it doesn’t. they don’t have a kid. they don’t. (they do).
—
they want to take the UA entrance exam, and shota wants to throw himself in front of a bus. he tells hizashi as much.
“shota, you can’t just expect them to be a civilian. they want to be a hero.” he’s doing his hair, yelling from the bathroom so shota can hear him from where he’s laying in bed, wondering how much longer he can stay there until he has to get up and go teach the brats.
“it’s dangerous, and they’re a kid, hizashi. kids always want to be heroes, it doesn’t mean they have to be.”
“first of all, they’re almost an adult, UA is a college. and even if you still think of them as a little kid, they have training, two mentors, and a burning desire to save the entire world. good luck stopping them. and it’s not like we haven’t been encouraging them for their entire life by giving them said training!”
“but it’s dangerous!” he sits up and slaps the quilt.
he hears hizashi sigh and sees him stick his head back into the bedroom. “they’re in too deep to stop unless they suddenly hate heroes. plus, we literally teach kids how to be heroes. you literally are a hero. you have no room to talk. none.”
“but those kids are–”
“less well-trained? not our kid?” hizashi raises an eyebrow as he cuts him off.
shota shuts his eyes and lays back down. “fuck.” he wants to go back to sleep. “they’re not our kid,” he adds, as an afterthought. it makes his stomach twist.
“sure,” says hizashi, and goes back to doing his hair.
—
“kid,” you hear aizawa say, and you look up from your homework. it’s a saturday.
“yeah?” he’s standing in the doorway, holding a flat, white box, like the kind fancy clothes come in.
aizawa shuffles in and sits on your bed. he pats the space next to him, “sit.”
you set down your pen and sit next to him, cross legged, in your pajamas, eyeing the box. he puts it on your lap and you lift the lid off; inside is a pile of black fabric, one long, thin strip, with threads of metal glinting in it.
“you’ll need it for the exam,” he says, and stands to leave.
you clutch the cool, heavy fabric to your chest, knowing it’s the ticket to your dream, your chance to prove yourself. “thank you.” thank you for believing in me.
“don’t mention it.” of course, kid.
reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!! ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* main taglist here,series taglisthere. back to gt&h masterpost.
It’s hard to be an aromantic asexual human trafficking survivor
Trigger Warning: What you are about to read will contain graphic descriptions of violence. If you will be traumatized by this, please stop reading now. I’m proud to be who I am and glad to still be alive. I love you, reader. :) <3 Because God loves you. I strive to love.
I’m proud to have survived human trafficking and I credit Jesus for helping me through it. All my life except for certain times, I have believed in God. Somehow I sensed God with me through all of my struggles. I even felt somehow my asexuality was a blessing from God that was hard for me to express to others. I was born into slavery and was trafficked to pedophiles since birth, and had to deal with incest along with that and Satanic blood rituals that involved my family cannibalizing me by drinking my blood.
I struggled with getting teachers and police and parents to believe that I was being cannibalized. No one ever believed me; they said that stuff was only in movies. Though some understood I was being raped and trafficked, they offered no support or help. They thought “a man should save me” and they hated the idea of me being rescued by an adult woman or a young girl, of having relationships that would support me like sister and mother type relationships. When I was younger, they wanted a man to marry my mother and he was supposed to save me as a protective father. That never happened, of course because my mother dated and had sex only with pedophiles as well as raping all her kids including me and all the other kids she could get her hands on. Gender did not matter to her, she just loved power and lust and blood. I believe she had demons within her that she invited there. She told me later that she sold her soul to the Devil years ago. I tried to get her soul back in 2012, but she said it’s too late to repent and she enjoys being evil.
As I got a bit older, people in the community and the high school suggested that I should marry a pedophile who had been part of the human trafficking to get me away from my mother or that I ought to find a boyfriend my own age (14-15) who I was supposed to have sex with and live with and then the boyfriend was supposed to protect me along with his dad. They ignored the fact that age 14 is too young to have a live in sexual relationship and also they had no idea or belief that I was asexual. None of them were reasonable in agreeing with me that I really ought to go to a girl’s orphanage and live with a woman and other girls taking care of me and not having any sex while I was still a kid in high school. So this caused boys my age to drag me into bathrooms to rape me or to stalk me and then ask me to live with them so they get ongoing sex which they apparently craved.
Meanwhile, while all this was going on, I also had to deal with purity culture, where religious girls who asked me if I needed to be saved were screaming and cursing me to Hell after I told them yes I do need to be saved because I am being tortured with rape. Please get me away from the rapists and my family, but do not do it all by yourself because if you are alone, you will get raped and may die. They claimed that I am too impure to be saved and that God does not want me. They victim blamed me. I had gotten my hopes up that they were going to save me from all the torture, but all they really wanted to do was to prosthelatize at me like Pharisees and do absolutely nothing to help me. If they truly had been worshipping Jesus they wouldn’t have shouted and said they are so much purer and better than me, they would have helped me. They also did not understand my asexuality.
When I tried to explain I am not attracted to guys to the kids in my high school, they thought that had to mean that I was a lesbian. I said I’m not lesbian, I am an incest survivor of female rape who is celibate. When I tried to explain I am an incest survivor from my mom raping me and getting my younger sister to copy her because my mom incites violence and is trying to brainwash my sister and I to become exactly like her, they were certain that this proved I am a lesbian and then they beat me up for it. Sometimes they tried to ban me from things, saying that I’m a lesbian, like the prom. But then some other students said that lesbians are allowed to prom and they ought to let me in. Neither of them were allowing me to say I’m not a lesbian. To them there were 2 orientations. Straight or lesbian. I have to pick one. So none of us had heard of asexuality.
I tried to explain my feelings by using the word celibate a lot and seeing each human as a creation of God and I can acknowledge that some of them look nice like in the light or the colors of their skin and hair and the clothes that they choose to wear, but I just don’t want to have sex with anyone, and I need to be rescued from the rapists and the cannibals.
The problem I faced with the sexual people was that they insisted the only way I could get away from rapists and cannibals was to pick one person I am supposed to want to have sex with. It can be a girl or a boy, although they mostly preferred I pick a boy. This partner was supposed to save me and protect me from literally everyone who came to torture me from my entire life and the life I was living when they said that. That included frenemies (girls diagnosed with mental health disabilities used by my mom to spy on me and see which boys in school were raping me so she could get them to pay her), police officers who beat me or raped me, teachers in the school who groped me or raped me, ex-felon sex offenders that my mom looked up on the sex offender list and invited over to to torture me, beat me, rape me and try to kill me, grown ups chasing me and raping me with weapons like knives and guns, people raping me with objects, all the kids my own age who raped me of their own accord and the ones who got coerced by their dads to rape me or kids coerced by the pedophiles who also made child porn of themselves or kids raping me, all the drug dealers/addicts, alcoholics, gang members, cannibals, KKK members, all of my incestuous family members and all the cult members who they knew who raped me (Baha'i cult, Seth cult, Satanic cult).
It just seemed like too much for one person to handle. I told the sexual people that and they kept insisting it is the only thing that can save me. I said no kid or man could resolve all this, especially if they were a 14-15 year old kid themselves. They all put so much emphasis on “the romantic sexual relationship will save you” while totally ignoring that I do not want sex and I hate it and am repulsed by it and I’ve almost died a lot of times when being tortured by rape. It is a very bloody and painful thing. I had PTSD and seizures and they ignored that too.
So things went on, I grew up and went to college and I was still dealing with some pedophiles from the state where I was forced to go back to having been gone for 6 years, so these guys were stalking me as I was trying to go to college telling me that they had been fantasizing about me being an adult so they could have legal sex with me instead of raping me as a child and a couple of them actually raped me and I fought them all off as best I could. This was part of the human trafficking because they were paying my mother as they were raping me and stalking me. I cried a lot in class but the teachers just screamed in my face that I was a drunk and told me to get a boyfriend and were appalled to hear I was celibate. I told them it made me happy. I still was involved in the Baha'i cult which does have a religious law saying to preserve your virginity and celibacy until marriage and I thought it was a good idea and I liked it, but when I discussed how much I liked it, all the sexual people harassed me and told me how horrible it was and now that I’m an adult I need to stop being celibate and go run around and have sex and then tell them all about it. They kept saying how hard celibacy was and projecting it onto me. I told them it’s normal and easy. This way of seeing the world made it hard for me to form relationships with anyone.
So after I graduated I tried to get jobs in my field of wildlife biology (degree from University of Idaho in Moscow) and I was able to get some seasonal ones. My mom made it a point to incite as many people at my workplace to rape me in the wilderness as possible by calling and emailing them to give them ideas on how to do that and then she got really mad when they did not send her a lot of money or any money. Growing up, she had made a lot of money when rapists raped me an paid her. She called me a slave and was convinced I was still her slave. She had married another pedophile human trafficker cannibal in 2000 who did horrible things to torture me and collect money from people to rape me too prior to me graduating high school. Summer of senior year. So I had to survive his torture and human trafficking of me and hers from summer 2000- January 2013. Though in 2012 he said he had been raping me since I was 12, which would be 1994. I have some traumatic amnesia so I can’t remember all of the rapists who raped me. So between 2001 - 2013 I had jobs where I studied wildlife or taught camping and nature science and English to kids around the world and had to survive stalkers and rapists at my workplaces, some of whom did attack me so I lost blood from their rapes and some also tried to murder me, all incited to violence by my mom. In between that I kept on going home to be with my family because I was suicidal and wanted them to kill me or because I was trying to rescue my sister from human trafficking, which I failed to do or because they threatened to kill animals, themselves or people and I got manipulated to go back.
All of the people around me who were not abusing me as well as the ones who were continuously told me that I need to get a man and have sex with the man in a relationship in order to not be tortured and be able to have human rights and not be a slave. Even the people in positions of power that could have helped me like the Child Protective Services, Police and FBI told me that. After I finally got the FBI to come over to try to rescue me because human trafficking is a federal slavery crime and it’s their job and they threatened to shoot me (despite me being naked and terrified and completely unarmed) I had a couple of pillows I was trying to cover myself with to hide my nakedness when I asked for help in 2012…I gave up on getting rescued by another human being and fortunately I survived all my suicide attempts and was able to rescue myself. I think Jesus helped me survive all my suicide attempts because looking back I think there had to be miracles taking place for me to survive everything I and others did to me. I also was given Jesus visions and dreams, and surprisingly so were my mom and stepdad who were hard core blood drinking Satanists. So Jesus was there, with me. Then entire time. Supporting my soul and keeping it safe. So I eventually left the Baha'i cult I had been raised in and became a non-denominational Protestant Christian. :) I go to Life Church Online.
So I escaped the human trafficking by going to live on a campus of a masters degree program I had started online while hiding under the desk from the rapists. I had done some classes under there in-between tortures in Environmental Education and I was able to get a summer job with the US Forest Service and go live with a cult member who my mom approved until she threatened me with violence and my mom saw the police and got scared and started screaming her head off and wanted to leave and I got to go stay in a hotel until the Forest Service could get me into one of their dorms. It happened on Independence Day :) Yay Perfect timing, right? LOL God is Good. So then I went from living in a Forest Service dorm to living at the college campus where I hoped to get counseling and help as I finished my masters degree at the University of Wisconsin Stevens Point.
I got disappointed by the way I was treated though. In my body I was starting to heal. My therapist told me that I should forget about my stepdad raping me and one of my landlords raping me in Colorado in 2010 and go be a lesbian since I do not want sex with men. He said he wanted me to go have lots of sex with women even though my mom had raped me so that he could put on his resume that he helped a lesbian. When I told him I am not a lesbian, he said he was just going to put it on his resume anyway. He continually tried to force me to go have sex with women even though I did not want to. The student health center did not offer me any help or any healing and they claimed my way to healing was sex. I told them no. My academic advisor was pregnant and saw that I was hanging out with a guy. She was shouting at me that I ought to start a relationship with the guy if I hadn’t already because that is how you get pregnant and I need to get myself pregnant. I told her I do not want to be in a relationship like that and I do not want to get pregnant. I already know how people get pregnant. I am obviously well versed in biology. So she was mad that I didn’t want to be pregnant and also said that a man will save me from my family if they are abusive and that I should devote myself to one man and then suggested I must be sleeping with lots of men if I can’t pick just one. I told her no, I am celibate and I do not have sex with anyone. So she was confused and angry and told me, like many other people that I will just always be abused until I get myself a man. I said I don’t want a man. So then she was scared I’d want a woman and I told her I don’t want a woman. So then she insisted I wanted to be all alone. Completely alone forever and I told her I want good close friends and she like many others told me I am not allowed to have them or I can’t find them.
Some people when I say that tell me that I need to join a convent and live with nuns and they laugh at me when I bring up the idea that I might get raped by priests because it’s not safe anymore to be a nun and nuns these days do get raped by priests along with kids being raped by priests. Some nuns who get raped by priests then go on to rape kids too. So there is too much corruption in the Catholic Church and predators hiding there waiting to attack me for me to be able to be safe there, it makes more sense to just be a regular Christian layperson who is Protestant. When you dress differently like in a nun habit, you become a big rape target for people like soldiers who enjoy raping and murdering nuns, like in “Les Innocents,” a story of some Polish nuns who got raped by soldiers in WW2 and had to have an atheist girl and a Jewish guy from the Red Cross help them with the pregnancies and the orphanage they built so the Catholic Church would not murder them. The Catholic Church has murdered pregnant or raped nuns before so its dangerous to be a nun.
So long story short, I finished my degree okay and I found my classes interesting, but the guy I was hanging out with broke into me dorm room late one night and violently raped me despite me saying no and having no clue this was going to happen. I had already told him prior to the rape that I was asexual and celibate and had been abused and had nerve damage from the abuse. He was Catholic and told me during the rape that his priest told him to do this to me and I learned he also heard it from his roommates and people in our dorm had been stalking us and asking us from time to time if we were going to have sex. We both said No because we were celibate. I found out from him that he did all kinds of sexual things minus the vaginal sex and called that celibacy wheras I did nothing and felt no desire to things and I called that celibacy. He was doing it because of Catholic purity culture and I was doing it because it was part of who I am. I felt very betrayed by his torture of me and I got suicidal and he got aggressive and tried to convince everyone in the dorm it was consensual which caused the dorm and Title 9 office to completely ignore me and discount me. The rapist then denied my access to a doctor (The doctor I saw that Medicaid approved already was screaming and cursing at me and saying it was consensual and then the guy who raped me called the doctor to shout and curse and say it was consensual too.) So I got a lot of abuse and no one really understood my celibacy or my asexuality. I did not get help with my pain. So in addition the bleeding from the rape, I developed severe pain with peeing and difficulty walking without pain. I had a lot of seizures every day then which I now think to be Psychogenic Non Epileptic Seizure Disorder (a disorder caused by the mind of traumatized people to make the body have seizures usually associated with PTSD, Anxiety and panic attacks.) So I was just about to graduate when the rape happened and I had made plans to go get Wilderness First Responder Training in the Grand Canyon hoping to get hired in Wilderness Rescue and some places which do environmental education that require WFR training. I hoped I could get away from human trafficking and Wisconsin that way. Because I got raped and was in so so much pain, that it was hard to walk much less hike the Grand Canyon, I had to cancel and I ended up being homeless for 5 years instead of getting a job with my great new master’s degree. 3 of those 5 years I was experiencing severe chronic pelvic pain from the rape. I still am within the statutes of limitations and I hope to get the guy who raped me arrested and sued.
So I had made another friend in the dorm, a girl, and she was nice but I mistook her kindness for her church being nice and helpful to me as a homeless person looking to find work I could do or a way to take care of myself while I had severe chronic pain and cried a lot every day because I hurt and was terrified to get raped by homeless men. Her church sent me to a series of abusive churches, shelters, and houses of abusive men who tried to rape me or did rape me and claimed that its okay or correct because I do not have a husband to protect me, and that I ought to marry one of the old men who was waiting for God to give him the reward of my body because he had practiced celibacy and I’m supposed to be the prize. I was like Princess Jasmine and I was like “I am not a prize to be won!”
Anyway she married one of the guys in the church after being celibate and taking part in the purity culture and she was like me, in that she didn’t think much about sex. But she felt strong fear and guilt whenever she did think about sex and wouldn’t hear from me that its normal and okay if you are not asexual to occasionally have thoughts on sex. Or just to have thoughts every day is also normal for non asexual people. The difference is that celibate people have the thoughts but they choose not to act on them and non celibate people choose to act on their sexual thoughts. But she insisted that the thoughts themselves were terrible and unnatural and she needs to feel guilty about every time she has a sexual thought. I thought we were discussing heterosexual urges and thoughts because she is heterosexual.
Then she suddenly told me she was scared that I was a lesbian and I had to reassure her that I was not one and that incest does not turn a person a lesbian. Its just a form of torture. Apparently the people in the church had been calling me an abomination and she was trying to stick up for me. Then they started to harass me and ask me and her if we want to kiss on the lips. I said No I don’t like kissing because Ive been raped and kissed by both genders. She was trying to kiss my cheek without my consent which made me uncomfortable so she decided she ought to kiss my shoulder instead and I just thought it was silly and I just let her. I knew she was trying to help me, to be a sister to me. Sometimes she comforted me by holding my hand which is a normal human thing to do. The men at the church saw how we were affectionate like sisters and shouted at us that they needed to marry us off so that we wouldn’t become lesbians even though we both told them we consider ourselves to be sisters. They ranted and raved that we’d one day come to wanting sex with each other and she cried and had a panic attack and I comforted her and told them to go away and then after they went away, I cried and had a panic attack with seizures and she comforted me. Then we went home.
The guy she married, he was abusing her emotionally and making her cry all the time and she used to call me for emotional support, even though I was also crying all the time and was being raped or emotionally abused by the church or the people they knew because I was homeless. I tried to encourage her to leave him and the church but she insisted that if she did that, her family would disown her and she would end up homeless like me. She thought the church and her abusive husband gave her stability. She didn’t think she could just use her college degree to support her. So the church got fed up with me not marrying anyone and running away from rapists and calling them rapists and trying to warn her so she would not get raped by the rapists who raped me, so they tried to throw away all my stuff I had stored in the church attic and tell her I died, which made her cry. She managed to salvage some of my stuff before they tossed it and has sent it to me but has said we can’t be friends and seems to want to believe that I am a bad person now. The church and her family and husband finally brainwashed her. :( Maybe in a few more years we can be friends.
So all of the homeless shelters and social workers I came into contact with while homeless and even the ones when I was not homeless insisted that I need to get into a sexual relationship with a man and that is how I’m supposed to stop being homeless and some suggested also getting myself pregnant. They expected me to just find a man and move in immediately and start having sex. They claimed I wanted sex, a family, a husband and children. They refused to listen to me when I explained I am asexual and aromantic and that I just want to find a way to take care of myself. Once I figure that out, I may get myself a pet and some good friends as I am advancing my environmental career, because I want to take care of the environment. Once I have a good enough network of friends, I may choose one to three friends to live with me in the same house, but separate bedrooms, to help me adopt one or more orphans and raise the children. I was called stupid and crazy for saying this and told I can easily end my homelessness if I submit to sex. I was also told to sell my body for sex by stupid misogynistic social worker men that made me scream and want to tear their throats out because besides physical and emotional pain from being human trafficked, there is a lot of rage. I had to give the rage to God to not completely lose my mind and try not to commit suicide again.
Some churches were a bit helpful but not that much because they thought the government was going to help me. The government had misogynists in it that wanted me to live with someone for sex or sell my body for sex. The government thought the churches would help me. There were plenty of men in the church who wanted to take me home with them for sex when I came just to worship God but very few women willing to let me come over and stay with them to trade my labor for room and board. When it did happen, I was glad to clean for them or take care of their kids or pets.
I did get accepted into Palmer College of Chiropractic in 2015 in San Jose for doctoral degree and I thought things were looking up and I did get some chiropractic treatments to feel better but people constantly sexually harassed me and tried to get me to enter into sexual relationships with men. I survived one attempted rape by another person before a classmate broke into my apartment to rape me and then he tried to rape me again and I had to brandish a knife to get away and then another guy at the party tried to rape me. One of the teachers sexually harassed me really badly, so it wasn’t just students. They don’t have a Title 9 office. The therapist was not all that helpful and they only allowed me to see them 5 times. Everyone harassed me for looking at the genitals of the cadavers to give myself exposure therapy so that if I see a naked person who wants to rape me I can fight them off better without having a panic attack that makes me faint. They said I want sex with dead bodies. This hurt me because my stepdad raped my grandma before and after she died. I couldn’t get the police to do anything about both crimes. They just laughed at me. The other chiropractor who had dealt with chronic pelvic pain caused by rape was trying to force me to do it her way by having sex every day until her body healed even though it hurt her for three years. I had to tell her, no I am asexual and I have no interest in that and I believe I can heal without sex, over and over and over again. It was so exhausting. Anyway because of the stress and abuse, I ended up flunking half my classes I had taken over the past 6 months I was there, and being homeless again until I got into my current graduate program in the summer of 2018 where I work to protect the environment and there is a working Title 9 office here and good campus security to protect me.
Throughout my time being homeless, I was continuously harassed and told to shave my legs and remove my body hair so I look like a woman and some people might have filmed me naked because they were concerned I am not a woman due to having all my body hair. Plus a police man molested me after a teen boy screamed at me for having armpit hair when I was swimming to try to get clean. So getting myself clean was dangerous and so was having body hair…but I like my body hair and I dont want to get rid of it. I almost got thrown out of a homeless shelter because they were worried I was a hermaphrodite and they said they only have beds for men and beds for women and hermaphrodites have to sleep outside or die.
I was constantly being told by shelter staff that I deserve to die, they want me to die, they want to throw me out so I can die…followed by them telling me they hate me and then some weird explanation of how they think I ought to behave or live so they do not murder me with hypothermia (stop being a vegan, eat expired food and give myself food poisoning/botulism because other homeless people do, let the witch doctor posing as a dentist who tears out people’s teeth at the Salvation Army in Madison WI next to the hair salon named “Lust” and gives them no medicine tear out my perfectly good teeth for his tooth collection, have sex, shave my body hair, mop the same kitchen floor 5 times so they can break my spirit, etc) Hearing all the death threats was really scary and it made me cry a lot and have panic attacks and seizures because I knew that the likelihood of me dying of hypothermia was very real and if they really did throw me out to die in the freezing cold, I could be dead in a couple of hours. Some of them did throw me out in the freezing cold, hoping I would die, but thanks to God and my own drive to survive, I made it to warm place in time to not die. Yay!
I did a variety of work trades in people’s farms or houses, some of which I nearly got raped in or did get raped in and then I was singing musical theater or Christmas carols as a minstrel on people’s porches until I entered this graduate program.
It’s a pretty good graduate program but the police of the town are mean and misogynistic and they don’t help women, children or animals. They are still using the old Nazi inspired gas chambers in the animal shelter to kill the animals and that takes like an hour of suffering. I know about it because my mom gave her approval that the pound in Idaho ought to make me kill some shelter animals by gas chamber when I was a 10 year old child and I got really upset and tried to kill myself in the gas chamber along with the cat. I survived but the cats and dogs I was forced to kill did not. Since 1992 when I was forced to do that a lot of states have banned animal gas chambers but not this one and not this town. When I called the police to come stop people hitting each other, their kids and their dogs, they literally told me that they go home to hit their own kids and dogs so I need to stop reporting domestic violence and animal abuse to them. They also called me a schizophrenic and they said they do not help disabled people. I went to the police station to report and the officer kicked a police dog right in front of me. They are cruel and hate women and children. My friend got raped and defended herself and they arrested her and put her in jail and refused to give her the bipolar medicine she needed so she was running into the walls and then they strapped her to a restraining table and this hurt her and made her have a miscarriage. Now she hallucinates that she sees police all the time because of the trauma. She got raped by some other people too and then one o the rapists was threatening me and I knew I couldn’t rely on the police to help us so I tried to just tell the security staff at her apartment to take care of her as I knawed on my hands in fear and tried not to draw blood. The KKK is active here but so far I haven’t been raped my anyone. Anyway I don’t know what became of her, because the last I knew she was living with a rapist who took away her phone and I can’t get in touch with her anymore. :( She came from an abusive family of lesbians who beat her and tried to kill her so it’s not like she is able to reach out to family for support. I hope she found a shelter. I kept on sending her shelter links. I only got raped one time at a couple of shelters and not at all at some others (just had to deal with panic attacks and lots of death threats and horrible food and emotional abuse) so I was safer there in shelters than being put through rape every day by human traffickers who were making me lose lots of blood every day and trying to murder me every day.
So when the pandemic hit, I was really pleased to be able to move on campus where we have kind and responsible officers to take care of us and not a lot of violence. There is still lots of drug abuse on campus and that was giving me asthma attacks. But I have an air purifier now that takes the secondhand vape and smoke out of the air which is actually not allowed on campus. I wasn’t allowed to live on campus before, because they try to say that all non-freshman must live off campus, despite how violent and awful the town and the police and all the drug addicts living in all the off campus apartments are. So they took my money to live on campus because the freshman went home and they wanted people to pay them to live in residence halls.
Then I finally started to get a little help from medical professionals and got a letter stating my PTSD and need to be accommodated in class and in housing and I finally have a safe place to be. I have now been told I may have mild agoraphobia because of hard it is for me to leave the safe place I have found. Hopefully once I am done here, I can find another safe place to be and can still support my progress through academia to become a professor who works to save the environment and teach children and I can just be an asexual without any more bloodshed and torture heaped on top of me. I’m trying to make friends. I have two good friends that are treating me well and do not seem to be associated with any bad churches that want to hurt me or kill me. We find ways to worship God over the phone or just hang out and pray and talk together. We sometimes just hang out and hike. I spend a lot of time alone, trying to heal. I still need a lot of medical care that I am not getting and I keep not getting hired, so I can’t pay for it. I just did my appeal for SSI disability because I got rejected the first time. If I get SSI, then I can get Medicaid again. Right now, I’m not eligible and I got rejected. I feel pretty good and relaxed most of the time and I am working on my thesis to help homeless people experience nature mindfulness meditation so they can heal any broken bonds they may have with nature. It’s a qualitative study with pre and post interviews that will explore the relationships homeless people have with nature. I should be able to publish it in a sociology journal. :) We’ll see. I’m looking forward to helping them, so hopefully I have come somewhat full circle.
I hope the rest of my life is much more productive and I can teach a lot more people and avoid all the violence. So far I have taught about 7,400 children about nature and also English in my temporary seasonal jobs and really connect with them and have a positive impact on them despite bleeding and being tortured, and I was able to do a bit of substitute and assistant teaching during the 5 years of homelessness as a working homeless person living out of my SUV. So I know I have already impacted a lot of lives and helped the environment too. I will just be able to do so much more once the torture stops and I am accepted as I am. Christian vegan asexual kind creative powerful academic woman. I am going to try to get everyone into jail that I can who hurt me. This will help protect others. :)
Thank you for reading my story. :) Please share it. We should educate people about human trafficking and asexuality and aromanticism.
The Women of Asgarda | In the Ukraine, a country where females are victims of sexual trafficking and gender oppression, a new tribe of empowered women is emerging. Calling themselves the “Asgarda”, the women seek complete autonomy from men. Residing in the Carpathian Mountains, the tribe is comprised of 150 women of varying ages, primarily students, led by 30 year-old Katerina Tarnouska. Reviving the tribal traditions of the Scythian Amazons of ancient Greek mythology, the Asgarda train in martial arts, taught by former Soviet karate master, Volodymyr Stepanovytch, and learn life skills and sciences in order to become ideal women.
