If you actually want this as a story then please like and comment!!! Also leave prompts and I'll try to write longer and better chapters I promise!! Sorry the intro sucks!!

~Four years ago~
I was being beaten by my mom's always-drunk jackass husband again. "Say it!" He spat as he landed his belt on my already sore ass. "No!" I spat back, though it was less intimidating than I hoped since I was a weak little bean and my voice hadn't changed yet. He then punched my glasses off, leaving a bruise near my eye. "No! I'd never call you that!" I screamed and thrashed as I squirmed like a fish out of water, trying to get away from him. He picks me up by my arm and drags me to my room that was more like a prison cell, my ass getting a rug burn as it was dragged across the carpet. I held back a whimper since my bruised backside stung. I could feel my arm cracking under the pressure of his death grip. "Just kill me already!" I sobbed. "I can't, I'd promised your mother I wouldn't," he growled as he threw me against the wall. He then slammed and locked the door. As I sobbed, I put on boxers and a pair of sweatpants, wincing as it stung my bottom. I grabbed my spare glasses before grabbing the bag I had prepared for a month now and then ducked out the window, landing on my freshly broken arm. I held back any noise of pain that dared escape my mouth and ran as long as I could, which wasn't long since I was out of shape. I only get food once a week and even that wasn't anything. I walked for what seemed like hours until I ducked into the forest and laid on my stomach on a patch of soft dirt and cried silently, hiding my face with my arms. "I'm never going back!" I vowed in anger. And I meant that, I never will.

~flashback end~
I'm a lot stronger than I was when I ran away, physically and mentally and I'd never gone back to my old home. I live in the forest in the house I had built for myself once my arm had healed, using the carpenter skills my dad had taught me before he died when I was almost ten years old. I had became a fiction writer to get money to pay for things, little did I know I'd become that famous for it. My most famous work was the one I had wrote after my childhood, changing and tweaking a few things so no one would suspect something. I even included the day I adopted my first son. He was abused like me and lost. I had taken him in and Took care of him. I had adopted a seventeen year old, five years younger than me. I had stood as a good father figure to him and I do treat him as if he was actually my child. I don't abuse him, but I do punish him for what he does wrong, like swearing and stealing, and reward him when he does good, like his chores and helping me overcome writer's block. Sometimes he even calls me "daddy" which actually makes me adore the boy even more. Most people would call it weird, but to be honest, it's precious, and I wouldn't change that for anything. I love you Ashen. Though I'd never admit that, you just know.