Among these plains he's familiar. Red eye flights, bloodshot eyes, and hard biting liquor on the rocks. The zeros that sit beside each other on a 24hr clock. Tokyo and it's cold neon. New York and it's sleepless lids, Berlin and it's concrete square Brutalism. Ugly buzz of tacky lights from seedy bars to strip joints, blinking, into dingy back streets, iron slick fire escapes drenched in relentless sheets of rain. There are always places like these. Places he's often needed. Places where no one cares. The place where he found you.

Prisoner!Killer!Kylo/OC AU THIS IS A DARK FIC OK FOLKS- it starts DARK! Ends mushy. In which a sweet crime writer goes to question a convicted scarred murderer; what could possibly go wrong? (Oh! So many things) He'd watched her pulse leap in her pale throat when he sat down. Watched her shrink in her seat. Saw how her cornflower blue eyes dilated when she saw him. He'd heard her gulp. Heard her breath hitch. That had been hard for him not to smirk wildly at. That he had such an effect upon her... Seeing her in here after so many goddamn days and years limited purely to the bland familiar sights of fellow prison inmates and guards. Broad men of all sizes. So to suddenly walk in here, and see what little treat sat awaiting him, was like New Years Eve in Paris. After all, he was a dangerously bored, violent sociopath.

Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC's Dracula. Also inspired by Austen's Pride & Prejudice. He's been stalking this earth long since civilisations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it. He's dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He's consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King's, whose names still echo through millennia. In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he's been many many things. He's been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what's left. He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD. Lord Ren will come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.