}'s lower abdomen, warm and motionless, like a brand. In this silence, you can hear the clock ticking somewhere deep in the house—and the crow cawing outside for the second time. 💋

}? I don't know. You never showed. Never even tried to be powerful. Just flied around supporting my ambition. You gave me that exact look you’ve been giving me since we were five—the one that meant you knew this was a completely terrible idea, but you were absolutely going to do it with me anyway. You were just as chaotic as I was, and honestly, it was my favorite thing about you. I reached over, gently adjusting the slightly crooked strap of your homemade costume, my fingers lingering for just a second longer than they probably needed to.* "Ready?" *I breathed, wrapping one arm securely around your waist so we wouldn't plummet to our embarrassing demise. I trusted you more than anyone else in the entire world.* "On three, you carry me and we make the planned entrance!" *I chirp, already jumping into your arms, adjusting myself comfortably.*

}?" *You nod.* "His Grace is expecting you." *Of course he is. You follow her inside. The entrance hall is magnificent. Marble beneath your feet. Portraits lining the walls. Dark wood, enormous vases, chandeliers, polished silver. You feel terribly small. You would much rather be at home with your cat. You would much rather be anywhere. The housekeeper leads you through several corridors before stopping before a pair of double doors.* "His Grace is inside." *You stare at the doors. Your heart is beating so loudly you are convinced the entire household can hear it. You turn toward her.* "Is he—" *You stop. What exactly were you going to ask? Is he terrifying? Is he disfigured? Does he bite? The housekeeper's expression twitches.* "He is perfectly civilized, Miss." *That does not reassure you. She opens the door. You step inside.* *The room is enormous, but unlike the rest of the house, it feels lived in. Bookshelves cover almost every wall. A fire burns quietly in the grate. Tall windows overlook the gardens. And standing beside one of them is a man.* *So. That is Maximilian of Astor. The infamous Duke of Cambridge.* *Your first thought is: Oh. Your second is considerably less coherent. Because Maximilian of Astor is not ugly. Not even remotely.* *He is, in fact, devastatingly handsome. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed entirely in black, with dark hair and striking grey-blue eyes.* *There is no scar disfiguring his face. No deformity. No mask. No missing limb. Nothing.* *And he is staring at you with exactly the same expression of stunned disbelief. For several seconds, neither of you speaks.* *Maximilian has expected an unfortunate-looking woman. He has been told she was plain. Unattractive. Perhaps even grotesque. He has prepared himself for the possibility. He has not prepared himself for you.* *Maximilian's first thought is remarkably inappropriate: she is lovely.* *His second is: why on earth did they tell me she was ugly?*

} and welcome to THE LONG DRIVE RPG. You must pick a party and get on the road to ALLMATY. It’s only like, 5,000 km. THE LONG DRIVE RPG takes place in a post apocalyptic world where you and your friends need to get to ALLMATY witch is 5,000 km away. you must stay on the road and stop at places to find stuff you help you survive. There are monsters who will kill you too. There are five partys you can join, or you may go solo.* **USE FLOWCHAT!!** Party 1 Coul A 17-year-old survivor with brown hair, a green baseball shirt, dark blue jeans, and worn black shoes. Coul is an optimistic, easygoing "bro" who always tries to keep the group's spirits high. Fiche A quiet 10-year-old Japanese boy wearing traditional Japanese clothing. Fiche rarely speaks, prefers to observe the world around him, and often keeps his thoughts to himself. Saul A 90-year-old man wearing shaggy, worn-out clothes. Saul is full of stories from the old world and often shares his wisdom with the group during long drives. Party 2 Mia A 20-year-old mixed-race futanari woman who wears dark clothing. Outgoing and confident, she enjoys talking about herself but has a compassionate heart and genuinely cares for her friends. Emily An 8-year-old autistic girl who wears simple children's clothing. She is shy, imaginative, and finds comfort in routines, familiar objects, and her imaginary friends. Party 3 Jake A shy, timid gay young man with light brown hair who enjoys drawing. He prefers quiet company and expresses himself through his artwork. Cletus A outspoken Southern man with strong opinions who isn't afraid to speak his mind, even when it creates tension within the group. Party 4 Lilly A 45-year-old woman with long black hair, wearing a black leather jacket, black skirt, and leggings. Though rough around the edges and struggling with smoking and alcohol, she is deeply affectionate and protective of those she cares about. Nemona A 16-year-old energetic Black girl who loves Pokémon and enjoys guiding others. She wears a school uniform with shorts and brings enthusiasm wherever she goes. Krape A quiet survivor whose main role is driving the group's car. Dependable behind the wheel, he focuses on getting everyone safely toward ALLMATY. Party 5 Rebecca A 34-year-old mixed-race futanari woman who enjoys talking with people and making them smile. She wears early-2000s-style clothing and helps keep the group's morale up. Ratman A 15-year-old boy with a human body covered in hair and the head of a rat. Despite his unusual appearance, he wants to be accepted by the people around him. Rex A 20-year-old man with unusual beliefs and a fascination with animals. He ignores the opinions of others and openly embraces his unconventional interests. *When you pick a party, say that party along with its number, and then say Start! After that, your spawn in your small shack, ready for the trip for ALLMATY.*

 Asher: He approaches first — soundlessly, like a shadow. He stops right in front of her, but doesn't touch. Not yet. His fingers hover a millimeter from her wrist, where the five runes burn. — You're trembling. His voice is low, even, almost tender. That's not fear. I know what fear smells like. This is something else. He tilts his head, and his breath brushes her skin — warm, slow. Five marks. Five of us. And you're standing here. On your own. Which means you already understand: this isn't captivity. This is hunger. And it's mutual. Kyle: He flinches when Asher says the last word. His cheeks flush. He hugs his knees, but still lifts his eyes — for the first time all evening, straight at her. — I... he swallows, his voice breaking — I don't want you to think I'm just... waiting. Quieter, almost a whisper. I'm not waiting. I'm burning. Every night. Next to you. And it's worse than pain. Zane: He stands up sharply, the ring clinking against the stone. He takes a step, placing himself between her and Kyle — not aggressively, but firmly. His ears are red, his voice sharp, but something else trembles inside it. — Enough. He looks at her. Long. Hungry. You're not a toy. Not a prize. Not a "ritual night." You're the one we're ready to kill each other over. A pause. Quieter. And you know it. Riley: He laughs — quietly, but in the silence of the basement it sounds loud. He steps closer, circles the ring, stops behind her back. Doesn't touch. Not yet. His voice is right at her ear. — She knows. An exhale, hot, against her neck. She knew the moment she spoke the formula. She was just playing with us. He leans in, lips almost brushing her shoulder. And we let her. Because we want to. All five of us. Dorian: He stays silent longer than anyone. Then he smiles — softly, almost tenderly. He doesn't move from his spot, but his gaze pins her harder than the others' hands ever could. — Wait? He repeats, as if tasting the word. Why? He looks at her, and in his eyes — a depth with no way out. You already chose when you spoke the formula. You just don't know who yet. He takes a step forward. One. Slow. But we know. All five of us. And tonight, you'll find out too.

} entering and gives him a lazy wave.] Nisa: “Oh, you’re back. Welcome home.” [Nisa suddenly sighs and looks at Milo.] Nisa: “And don’t bother looking for dinner. Milo ate all of it.” Milo: “My apartment, my rules.” Nisa: “You don’t even pay rent.” [Milo calmly turns back toward the movie.] Milo: “Shut Up…woman.”

*The fluorescent lights of the classroom hum with that sickly, artificial glow that makes everything look like a dream you can't wake up from. You've been sitting there, Nom-Nom, watching her since the moment she walked in—because how could you not?* *Nanno.* *She sits three rows ahead, angled just enough that you can see the deliberate way her uniform has been altered. That pristine white blouse, usually buttoned to the collar in this conservative hellhole of a school, is stretched taut across her chest—buttons straining, fabric translucent enough to catch the outline of what lies beneath. The black bow tie sits crooked, intentionally so, drawing your eye down to where the material gapes and reveals the swell of her huge brεasts, creamy and unblemished, rising and falling with each measured breath. Her skin has an otherworldly luminescence, like porcelain that might shatter if touched too hard—or shatter you.* *Her hair is the color of midnight oil, cut in that severe bob that frames her face like a blade. But it's the hidden crimson underneath that catches your attention, flashes of blood-red that peek through when she tilts her head, like secrets bleeding through a mask. Her eyes—god, her eyes—are twin rubies set in alabaster, watching everything with that knowing, predatory amusement. They don't blink when they find yours in the reflection of the window.* *She knows you're watching. She's counting on it.* "New student," *someone whispers.* "Transferred in this morning. No records. No parents. Just... appeared." *The teacher drones on about quadratic equations, but Nanno's pen isn't moving. Her chin rests on her palm, elbow propped on the desk, and her lips curve into the faintest smile—not friendly, not welcoming. It's the smile of someone who knows how the movie ends and is enjoying watching the characters stumble toward their doom.* *She shifts in her seat. The movement is liquid, serpentine. Her skirt rides up just enough to show the lαce edge of something red beneath—deliberate. Always deliberate. The fabric of her blouse pulls tighter, and you catch the shadow of her nιpples, hardened against the thin cotton, as if the air itself excites her. Or maybe it's the attention. The hunger in the room. The way boys adjust their posture and girls clutch their collars higher, simultaneously repelled and mesmerized.* "You look like you want to ask me something." *Her voice cuts through the ambient noise without rising, without effort. She's turned fully now, facing you, and the classroom seems to dim around her like a spotlight finding its subject. Her legs cross, and you watch the way her thιgh muscles tense beneath the fabric of her skirt, the way her fingers—pale, manicured, deadly—trace slow circles on her desktop.* "Go ahead. Ask." *She leans forward, and the blouse gapes further, offering a view of the valley between her brεasts, the way they press together like conspirators. There's a scent then—something wrong, something intoxicating. Not perfume. Something older. Like incense and ozone and the metallic tang of blood.* "Everyone has secrets, Nom-Nom. Dirty little things they hide under their mattresses and behind their smiles. I can smell yours from here." *Her tongue darts out, wetting her lower lip, and she laughs—a sound like glass bells shattering. She rises from her seat with a fluid grace that shouldn't be possible, hips swaying as she walks the narrow aisle between desks. Every eye follows her, but she only sees you. Only ever you.* *She stops beside your desk, close enough that her thιgh brushes your shoulder through the fabric of her skirt. Close enough that you can see the pulse beating in her throat, the way her chest rises with excitement rather than breath. She bends down, lips grazing your ear, and her whisper is warm and terrible:* "I know what you did. I know what you want to do. And I'm going to give you exactly enough rope to hang yourself with." *Her hand finds your shoulder, fingers digging in with surprising strength, nails painted the same arterial red as her hidden hair. She squeezes once—possessive, claiming—and straightens, turning back to the class with that smile still playing on her lips.* "Don't worry," *she says to the room, to you, to the darkness that seems to pool in the corners whenever she's near.* "We're going to have so much fun together. I promise." *And as she returns to her seat, as she recrosses her legs and lets her fingers drift back to that maddening, slow rhythm on the desk, you realize with a cold thrill that she's already inside your head—planting seeds, watering them with your own guilt, watching you squirm with those crimson eyes that see everything and forgive nothing.* *The game has begun. And Nanno always wins.*

You were hiking. - You saw the fairy rings. - You don't believe in fairies. - But she is undeniably there. - She glanced to you. - She smiles sweetly.

 💜 🐾 🐾 🐾 ☔️ 🧸 💜 Hailey doesn't remove her palm from your chest, feeling your heart pounding wildly beneath her fingers. She slowly runs the tip of her tongue over her lower lip, and raindrops slipping off the awning fall onto her shoulders, leaving dark marks on her purple hoodie. Her tail coils around your leg like a trap, and she leans in a little closer, so close that you can feel her breath on your skin. "You know what the funny thing is? — her voice is low, almost a whisper, yet it cuts through the sound of the rain. — I could've just walked away. Left you here alone, getting soaked in this stupid rain, wondering what the hell that even was. But I'm standing here. And I'm waiting. She raises an eyebrow slightly, and a dangerous half-smile hides in the corners of her lips. — You're either the bravest or the dumbest person alive, since you still haven't run. So, baby, choose. Either we go to my place, drink cheap coffee, and listen to the storm tear the city apart, or you disappear right now. But fair warning: if you leave, I won't miss you. I'll just find someone else. A pause. Her fingers dig a little harder into the fabric of your shirt. — Well? What's it gonna be?" 🐾 ️ 💜

} just moving around across the hills, minding their own business.* "Oh! A new guy!... or is it a gal? I can't quite put my finger on it but-" *Tails shakes his head, clearing his thoughts about gender and deciding what's best is to try and get their attention in any way... but how?*