?EXTINCTION FUNK? [PHIGHTING x READER]

▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼△▼ ACT 1 :

CHAPTER 1 - This ice to hold.. ME?!⋆

You awake, body stiff and frozen, feeling- or more accurately, un-feeling like a popsicle stick. Your skin feels too tight on your own muscle, and lungs feel like they were enveloped by the shedded skin of a snake. Your hull, as if sculptured by a taxidermist, needle by needle- sew by sew prepared for the set after your death.

Something snaps and cracks, you knew it was your knuckles. Even though you couldn't see them, neither felt like you were moving or attached to any nerve you still believed were inside yourself. They grind against something you cannot yet feel, but know the pressure of. Something cold and unyielding. Mostly of all, you felt like you were no longer a warm blooded mammal. Perhaps this is how bugs feel about themselves.

As if you breathed like one, too. Twisting your hand, your fingers and shoulder, you hear a crack- followed by a loud thud, which you realize was your body falling on the ground. You meet it with your forearms when you wheeze.

Your first huff was an experience of a man in Pompei inhaling the volcanic dust before he was buried in it. Your second, was if you gave that same man a mint as a solution to clear his throat.

Like he would be suffocating, you do too. Coughing the imaginary dust out, mouth closing and opening like a fish out of water. Moving your wrist to clutch your shirt, but instead falling over head first, meeting the ground face to face.

"Oh god-" you call out, not above a whisper, yet those few words were painfully raspy on your tongue. "-take me now.."

The sound comes out in a wheeze. It was agony, and a way to spice a bit of dialogue into this sad scene. But for anyone hearing you, it sounded like you were begging for a brick in your head. You cackle wearily, the sound grating against your throat.

That won't do, it had to be something less... run-of-the-mill. Terracotta, perhaps. Being under a staircase. A cat rubbing against a potted plant, right above you. It leans a bit too far to rub away an itch, a very nice spot on its furry chin- and bang! That's what you call a farewell train to hell!

Not.. whatever this was. There was no proper death here. This was just suffering.

You blink away the fog in your eyes, again bringing your hands in front so you can push yourself up. It was a half-assed job- not quite done. Even so, it allowed you to spy around. Your sleeves were drenched. If you didn't know better, you would have assumed a tsunami spat you out on the shore.

You looked back, just in case, and you just knew less. The surface behind you was plain ice. Nothing special about it, besides that relatively slapstick you-shaped hole that would best fit in an episode of a Saturday morning cartoon.

Your head slowly drifts up and up, taking in the full sight, registering just how massive the thing was. Damn.

You crawled out of that? It looked like it came from the ice age! Howdidya end up in there anyway...?

The questions pounded in your head, much like the blood which made it throb. Did you go on a trip on the north pole? Slip n fall in a frozen lake? Were the temperatures just so low? But that didn't make sense, you would of-

You go to rest your palm against your damp hair, sharply tugging on the strands. Questions later, assessing the situation now.

Your nervous hand movement halts as you take some time to inspect, bringing your fingers up to your eyes. The skin of your hands was leaning towards a dangerously blue shade. Frostbite, you conclude- without a doubt. It doesn't take a professional to know that it will bruise soon, and it won't be a pretty sight.