Creeps And Weirdos | Various JJBA X Fem!Reader

1 | Miss Dead Girl

It's another morning, and (Y/n) wonders if anyone visits her grave anymore.

After all, she has to be dead. No one has come to see her in this maze of a laboratory, nobody has bothered to knock on her iron door that has never been opened, and not a single person had taken a moment to even think about the little girl locked away in the woods.

Sometimes, she expects to find her own dead body around the lab she resides in, having died without her knowing. She'll wonder if she'll find it by tripping over it, or if she'll discover the spot in her bed occupied by her own corpse; Because she can't be alive.

She stares at a little girl inside a silver mirror, leaned against a stained concrete wall. She has matted hair, thick with dust and dirt between its tangles. Stapled stitches trail across her cheeks and through her lips, and if they were taken out, her jaw would hang loose. 

The girls eyes were two different hues of the same (e/c), one a little bright, and the other a little dark. Her lips were cracked into the pattern of pomegranate seeds, and her arms were plagued with dried blood and patches of stitches. 

(Y/n) has seen this girl a lot. She doesn't like how she looks, and often times, wishes someone would help her. Would it be too much to brush her hair? Would it be too great a favor to wipe off the dirt on her poor face, to dress her in clothes that weren't practically apart of her skin?

Maybe it was, for if it wasn't, then she would look so much better. 

Aside from the girl, who she wasn't aware was the reflection in the mirror, (Y/n) was alone in the laboratory, left to her devices by whoever had brought her there. Who was it again? Right, papa. He said he'd come right back after he left, didn't he?

How long has it been? She doesn't know. He didn't put up any calendars, and didn't leave any clocks. But it's not like it matters much, she can just look at the window.

If there's one bit of the world she can savor, it's through the window by the staircase. There's scribbles of marker on the pane, depicting some strange creatures dancing by the dead flowers outside, sitting on the branches of wilted trees, and swimming in the dark pond. 

Her favorite drawing is of a rabbit. (Y/n) has never seen one, it's one of her greatest ambitions to find one in her lifetime. She's read about them in the textbooks stacked in the rotting shelves, how they have funny ears, and soft bellys; round cotton tails and beady black eyes.

Often times, she'll stand by that window, waiting, watching, hoping to see one pass by with its large feet, and little whiskers. She doesn't know what they look like, but she's sure she'll recognize one when she sees it.

Maybe, if she can find a way to get outside, she can make one her friend! Perhaps not, though, for the bugs might get jealous.

The creepy crawlies in the corner of the house, the little critters scampering along old wood and stone, those are her real friends, the ones that had made sure she was never alone. There were tarantulas, moths, and cockroaches. But there were also butterflies, praying mantis, and ladybugs.

None of them were ugly, and none of them were pretty. To (y/n), they were her friends, and all her friends were perfect.

Yes, that place would be lonely without them, so they deserve every bit of appreciation she could offer. They make the lab a little less lonesome, even if it was already home to others.

Handrails worn smooth by the touch of a thousand hands, the dark patch on the wall in the stairwell that she leaned against when she goes downstairs, the beaten paths across the wooden floors that spring up when she steps upon them. It was like hundreds of lives had lived there, and yet, it felt like she was the first one.