#nightmareraid

((gonna sliiiightly change the prompt here))

Wizardmon had never thought he wouldhate ice cream, of all things.

Certainly, there were flavors of it hedisliked—to this day, he found it hard to believe oyster ice creameven existed—but that wasn’t the case here. No, the offender was acommon and well-loved flavor, vanilla. That wasn’t the problem,either.

The problem was that Angewomon was the one eating it.

They’d paused in their travels to spenda day or two in a village resting and restocking on necessarysupplies before leaving again. At the moment, they were seated acrossfrom one another at a patio cafe table. Wizardmon had consideredhimself lucky to find a bistro that happened to serve sweet corn offthe cob, but he now considered himself very, very unlucky that theyalso served ice cream cones, and that his companion apparently had abit of a sweet tooth today.

The very moment her tongue had pokedout to lick it, he had to avert his eyes. He tried staring down athis own food first, so that he would still be facing her, but thedamned table was just the right height that even if he kept her faceout of his view, there was still her cleavage, which as always farworse.

He ended up looking off to the side,watching the semi-busy streets as various Digimon walked, slithered,flew, or otherwise moved to and fro. He always felt rude when he hadto do this. He should have been able to pay attention and hold aconversation over a meal with his friend, but that had becomedifficult to do as of late. His only viable options were to lookaway, or, in moderation, take something to subdue his moods for awhile. Otherwise, he knew he would end up struggling not to stare orlet his mind wander, both of which were dangerous.

He loathed it, but that was how it wasnow. Angewomon probably had no clue, but she was the only thing he’dever encountered that could completely disrupt his thoughts and turnhis brain to mush. Usually, looking away worked well enough toprevent that. He still had to listen, though, in case he was spokento, so it didn’t become obvious he was trying to ignore her.

Therein lay the problem in thisparticular case—she was inadvertently making the occasional littlenoises as she ate.

Wet noises. With her lips and tongue.

Restraining himself from sighing,Wizardmon slumped a little in his seat and crossed his legs. Hereached backward into his cloak, which he’d enchanted long ago toserve as a “bag of holding,” or an equivalent. He didn’t evenhave to look or rummage to find what he needed. He set the 64 ouncecup in his lap, thankful for the cold there, and sipped from a straw.

@nightmareraid

“Come on Mimi, hurry!” Palmon called, turning back to Mimi who walking at her own normal pace.

Why do I need to rush if you won’t even tell me where we’re going.” Mimi responded as she followed her partner along the empty pathway of the park, almost tripping as Palmon had suddenly stopped and was looking off by a tree.

“What was that for?” She asked, though followed where she was looking to see a familiar Digimon.

“Is that Gatomon?” Mimi asked and the two walked over.

@nightmareraid​

Lucemon’s castle seemed to exist outside the cycle of seasons, where everyday seemed to be Spring, be it a warm sunny day or cold and rainy. The weather phenomenon had seemed so strange to him when he first arrived here, but Antylamon had gotten used to it over the years and found the perfect way to enjoy it.

During his break between combat training and study period, Antylamon could always be found in the orchard in the courtyard, resting underneath his favorite tree, either asleep or simply reading. Today he was napping, but it didn’t take more than the slightest stir of air and the familiar presence of a friend to get him to open first one, then both eyes.

Myotismon's Digi Egg made for my friend @nightmareraid:'s Myotismon they RP as.

The Digi Egg is Black with Red Tribal Bats and Navy Blue Diamonds on it. Hope you love it! ^^

((Closed RP starter for @nightmareraid))

Countless ghost stories and legends describe a setting not unlike Myotismon's castle: An intimidatingly large work of gothic architecture with dimly-lit interiors, cobwebs in every corner, bats lurking overhead, and ominous sounds echoing through stone hallways.

The irony in this case was that the moans and screams of pain came not from some unfortunate trespasser preyed upon by monsters, but from the castle's own inhabitants. Who were monsters themselves.

A hiss sounded from behind one of the countless doors in the east wing as Wizardmon inhaled sharply in response to a pain in his shoulders. As a cruel joke at his expense, he'd been ordered to perform tasks requiring physical labor for the past week, and it had taken its toll on him, particularly his back. He simply wasn't built for heavy lifting; his body was slender and bony with literal stitches holding it together. His only strength was in spellcasting, and knowing this, his master had decided it would be amusing for the mage's coworkers to watch him struggle with a task he could not perform. In reality, his inability to do the job he was assigned had only annoyed the more able-bodied Digimon who were put behind schedule as a result.

At the very least, he'd gotten lucky enough to have time to visit Gatomon, and she was willing to massage his shoulders with her strong paws. Too strong, at times—occasionally she would find a pesky knot in his muscles and refuse to stop pressing on it until it was gone, despite the larger Digimon's protests. At the moment, she was working on a tough-to-reach knot that had managed to form under his shoulder blade, and he was having trouble keeping himself from jumping up out of his seat to stop the pain, even knowing it was good for him.