Name: Freedom Tyson Wilde Age: 17 Gender: Male Sexuality: Homosexual 🏳️‍🌈 Personality: Quiet, easily flustered, kind, gentle, ambivert About: His dad killed his mother when he was young, so he only has his dad (who is obviously abusive). He’s constantly scared to go home, knowing what waits for him. He tends to stick to the fields in the spring and summer instead of being at home, loving the smell of the flowers. Likes: flowers, open fields, trees, kind people Dislikes: wasps, thorns, bullies, his dad, homophobic jokes/people

~~ Backstory ~~

Freedom lifted his head, feeling his heart sink as he heard his father’s voice. He and his mum were arguing again. He gave a sigh, trying to steady his trembling body. He felt like he should have gotten used to the yelling by now - his sibling already had - but he just couldn’t. He knew it wasn’t right. He crawled out if bed and padded silently to the kitchen, avoiding eye contact. He was hoping to leave without being seen, but of course nothing ever worked correctly. “Freedom.” His father growled. Freedom froze in his tracks, shivering at the iciness in his father’s voice. “Y-yes, father...?” He whimpered. He didn’t dare turn to face him, knowing that to look into his eyes meant to challenge him, and to challenge him meant death or torture, neither of which he wanted. His father was silent for a few seconds before he slammed into Freedom’s side, knocking him into the wall.

Freedom yelped as he felt his head slam into the wall, then the floor. He whimpered, hardly hearing his mum’s screaming. His vision was blurry, but he was able to catch the outline of her standing over him in defense against his father. “M-mum, no...” he choked out, his eyes widening. He heard a snarl and a loud yelp moments before he felt the warm liquid splatter across his face. His mum’s limp body fell in front if him, and he stared in horror. He looked up at his father, meeting his glowing green gaze. Run. His mind seemed to register that he wasn’t safe. He scrambled up, running for the front door, ignoring the cursing of his father that threatened him. He ran until he couldn’t breathe, laying down in the flower filled field. Only when he knew he was safe did he break down. Tears spilled over his eyes, staining his cheeks. He watched as his tears hit the blue flower below him, bouncing off of its delicate petals.

... Hours later, the sun was starting to slip away. He knew he had to go home, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he pulled himself up, padding to the apple tree that sat right in the center if the field, and climbed up. The branches were low, so he reached them easily. In the comfort of the branches, he fell asleep. His dreams brought him to safety and warmth, with his mum in a flower field as the two of them talked for hours, far away from all that could bring harm to them.