Conan Hill is a trans male looking to escape his haunting past. He wants nothing more than to keep his head down and remain unnoticed at his new school, though that is quite difficult when the captain of the track team seems to have fallen for him. ***** Life has been hard for Conan. In hopes of escaping past bullies and finding a fresh start where no one knows who he used to be, his family decides to move from Texas to Massachusetts. He makes a promise to himself that he will survive high school by going unnoticed and avoiding any conflict that might reveal his former identity. But this ends up being more difficult than expected when the school's golden boy and popular jock, Owen Wilson, takes up a keen interest in him. Could this be the beginning of something beautiful for Conan, or just another chapter of his life that he would have to run away from? Content/trigger warning: This story contains themes of bullying, transphobia, homophobia, abuse, and suicidal thoughts, as well as sexual activity. [[word count: 80,000 - 90,000]] Cover designed by Jenna Conrad

When Alistair Melek gave his life to the sea, a various degree of things changed. For starters, his love for bloodshed was exemplified. Bolder. He was drawn to the clash of a sword, blood spiling below to floorboards, like a moth drawn to a flame. And this love was damned to spread through his crew as some treacherous disease, claiming any and all who joined. But he knew this was the price he'd pay. The price for the sea itself. So when his crew completes another standard loot and pillage from a merchant ship, he allows his men a bit of fun. He liked to give them an audience, rounding up those who didn't fall victim to the blade during battle, and forcing them to beg for their lives. To prove how much they really wanted to live. Alistair had ruled the sea for some years now. Killed thousands, maybe tens of thousands. Destroyed hundreds, maybe thousands of vessels. And yet, each feeble human was all the same. There was not one man he threatened that didn't beg for their lives with all they had in them when faced with the wrong end of the sword. Each feeble human was always the same. Or so he thought. And yet, he also thought that this would be one standard job. A treat for his men after a night of good work. But this particular survivor, the one with long white hair and dead looking eyes... He wasn't a merchant. He couldn't have been. More important, there was no hesitancy when Alistair asked the fairly built man whether he wanted to live, and the man replied with a simple no.