#i'm experiencing The Horrors tonight gang

[butchdykekondraki]

hey guys im normal dont look at the tags or my posts look at me im a normal boy with normal thoughts and emotions

[jjk-anime-horray]

A Call in the Night

Dazai Osamu x reader x Oda Sakunosuke

Series Summary: While Dazai finally gets over the death of his friend and moves on with his life, he has to watch him unnaturally return into the world, and now he has to watch him turn twisted and into everything he hated in a way.

Chapter Summary: The Armed Detective Agency gets a call about an warehouse incident that happened in the middle of the night, and send two detectives to respond to it.

Notice: This fic series is going to have some dark themes in it so be warned, and in this AU Dazai and the reader are members of the armed detective agency, and this is a spiritual successor to “Late Night Tickets, and Meeting Him.” So I recommend reading that first even though you don’t need to. This is going to be a series!

Trigger Warnings: Blood, mentions of extreme violence, and description of illegal activities.

Getting a call about a mandatory and emergency investigation in the middle of the night, to be specific 2:32am, was something no one at the Armed Detective Agency wanted to do. So what's the most logical solution? Draw straws and the two people who draw the shortest are forced to go.

Unfortunately for you, you were one of the two unfortunate souls that drew a short straw. At least the other person who drew the short straw was Dazai Osamu, your coworker but most importantly the first friend you made in this city, so maybe you would be able to get a kick out of the bad situation at hand.

But when the two of you emerged from an alley to meet the crime scene at hand, that would by no means be the case because by the sight of the horror that layed out infront of you two it was enough for the both of you want to hurl.

Crime scene would describe the atrocity in front of as much as the phrases bloodbath and massacre would. No wonder this was an emergency for the ADA there were probably more than 30 people dead killed in various atypical ways.

First walking into the warehouse the most out of the ordinary sight would be a round wooden table with a duffle bag on it, but once someone took a closer look the rest of the ware house was completely empty other than the congealing crimson liquid that was pooling everywhere.

The five chairs around rickety table were matched with four bodies of executives of some sort laid face down on the table or dangling of the chairs.

But the most appalling sight was what was inside the duffle-bag, you were wishing it would be something tame like left behind money, however, much to your displeasure, they where severed off human heads. That by the looks of it were cut off with some sort of serrated knife my the edge markings.

"What are you thinking (Y/N)?" Were the words that Dazai spoke to snap you out of your spiraling train of thought. "I sure as hell am thinking this isn't the way I would have wanted to go."

"I'll have to agree with you on that one, this shit is something right out of a cheesy crime or horror movie.The only thing I can think of is the heads were a message of some kind to the people who were sitting at the table, and either the person at the empty seat with accomplices who killed everyone or are the only survivor, but it could be either. Were you able to identify anyone bodies or do you recognize anyone?"

"I don't recognize anyone, and most of the bodies are too mangled to be identified, but everyone at the table is wearing a customized Rolex, so I suspect that they were all executives of a organization of some kind, probably an illegal on based on all the gun men that were probably guarding the meeting before they got taken out."

"The only lead we have is the Rolex I guess, so Daz, will you take one for reference, we can visit all of the watch makers in the city to try to find out who was the person who commissioned these watches to be made, and then maybe through that we kind find out who the soul survivor was."

"Agreed."

Honestly the two of you would have been a little more playful and chatty if the events that took place tonight weren't so gruesome. The two of you were used to having to see and do brutal things, but Dazai had this gut feeling that this wasn't the typical violent act, and things weren't as the seemed.

The brown eyed detective just wanted to go take a nap after this, which was something you also wanted to do after see all the blood. Deciding to leave the true start to your investigation for a decent time the two of you swiftly communicated with the responders about the potential situation at hand. Then left to go deal with is mess the next day.

Timeskip........

After a horrible night's sleep and about three cups of coffee you were finally able to be semi-functional, so then you decided to grab your partner Dazai after dressing to impress and make for the horrible mood you currently were in from multiple factors. Dazai was even in a worse state than you where, you found him at the trying to convince Kunikida to go on the investigation for him, which was ultimately denied by the blonde haired man. Also leaving you to drag the genius yet idiotic maniac out of the office.

Walking down the streets in-between visiting different watchmakers and jewelers, you noticed some was off each time your boots hit the ridged pavement. In particular something about Dazai, his face was contorted into a being in deep thought, not to be disturbed for any reason. It was so out of character you were going to ask what he was thinking about, but then opted out.

"I know you were going to ask what I was thinking, I am a detective you know." He said his face morphing into one not of deep thought but of cockiness with a smirk. Damn, sometimes you really loved and hated that smirk, but right now you didn't know what to think of it. "I was just thinking of how now I know exactly who made the watches, and where is is for your information."

"Really who would that be? For my information."

"His name is Opāru Shokunin, he's done a lot of custom jewelry for Elise-chan and the port mafia in the past, but recently he's been doing a lot of foreign commissions for gangs and syndicates outside of Japan my word of mouth. When I first saw the watches I was initially reminded of how it looked like his handy work, but since the first three places we've visited were a bust, i'm confident it's him."

"Alright Mr. Mic-cocky, lead the way by all means." You scoughed lightly.

Unfortunately for the two of you, your desired destination was all the way across yokohama, so you had to hail a taxi which you knew you were going to be the one paying or it. The icing on the shitty cake was that you got stuck in rush hour traffic, so, the total time until arrival was three time longer than it should have been. At least you got dibs on the radio choice.

When the two of you arrived at your desired destination you now witnessed a normal looking office building, unfortunately, there was no elevator so the two of you had to work your legs up three flights of stairs to make it to Opāru's workshop.

Before you went in however you whispered to Dazai "how do we know he's even gonna be willing to talk to us?"

"He's going to be willing...."

"Why?"

"Simple you're gonna pay him."

"Um no you're going to pay him because I payed for the cab!"

"Um no."

"Yes!"

"No."

"Yes!"

"You realize I can hear you two bickering right?" was the raspy voice of the man you were looking for that ended your whisper argument. He was actually younger than you expected, about 38, but he looked older than his body by his eyes, the eyes of someone very worn out. Which would explain the smoking. "He's right i'll talk if you pay me, just come in before ya give everyone else a headache."

The two of you swiftly made your way into the working man's shop room. The room was a lot nicer than you thought it would be, and a lot lighter too. The man possessed a very nice view from his wall because his wall was almost completely filled with by windows. Dazai did mention something about the craftsmen liking natural light in the cab on the way here, so it wasn't too surprising and really lightened the room up.

You followed Dazai to the two chairs across from the white tufted sofa that Opāru was already occupying. Then Dazai placed the watch and a thick wad of cash on the coffee table separating the two parties of people.

"Oh, so you're here to ask who paid me to customize this for them? No surprise there they were particularly nasty."

"How where they particularly nasty?"

"I'm pretty sure that they were doing things even nastier than the port mafia, like taking kids of the streets and shipping them off."

"So, supposedly by word of mouth were human traffickers."

" Yeah, supposedly, but I didn't ask when the guy approached me."

"The guy?" You reconfirmed.

"Yeah, the guy, he had this weird tattoo on his wrist. The guy's name was Zinnnnnng, THUMP.

The two of you didn't even have time to blink or create when the bullet zipped through the head of the craftsman from. The crimson liquid from his head pooling on the couch were he was just alive a few seconds ago. The blood seeping into the fabric like the disparity of situation into Dazai and yourself.

Glimpsing out middle window now tainted with a hole you see the silhouette of the person responsible for this.

Dashing up without a second thought you sprint to pursue the culprit of the murder that just took place infront of you. Eyeing your target through the broken window.

Ahhhhhhh! Okay I’m literally really proud of how this came out! I’m really hope people like it. I’m really new to writing full fanics so if any experienced writer is reading this will you please give some pointers, that would be very helpful!

-Ellie

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hi sorry I'm greedy, but I bumped into the night folk (and the ghost) last night. I know you've written horror before... plus maybe reader is a new convert to the group and Arthur has to decide whether to kill you now or try to help... (ooft reader as a serial killer seeing how good Arthur is)

Dude you ain’t greedy for sending in requests! I love writing! 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

All is dark. The perfect time of day, when the only source of light is the stars and the flickering of the lightning bugs. From somewhere to your right, a low growl comes from the swamp. The gators are out hunting, just like you. 

This is all still quite new to you, but you’re adapting well. This hunting in the night, setting traps for the witless wanderer. Sometimes their screams haunt you, but you like the look of fear in their eyes when the trap has been sprung and they see you and the others approaching, ready for the kill. Those moments are the most telling of a person’s character. Are they cowards who tremble and hunker in the dark, or are they fighters, ready to take as many of you down with you? The hunt is when everyone’s obsessions with appearing a certain way come tumbling down and all that is left is their raw selves. 

You’re still new to the gang who the locals have begun to call the Night Folk. You silently call them that too as you don’t know what they call themselves. Talk is rare even in your hideout at Lakay. In fact the only time you heard one talk was when you’d accidentally wandered into Lakay at night and they captured you. They must have seen something in you when they trapped you. Perhaps a certain excitement or a general lack of fear. After all, you’ve never been afraid of death. More fascinated by it than anything. 

When the gang decided not to kill you, they had to test your abilities when it came to slaughter. They happened to have a live prisoner, so a man handed you a big machete, pointed to you then to him and the man and said one word: “kill”. You did just that and found that you were fascinated with the human body. 

The man, as a man, was uninteresting to you, but watching how the human body reacted on a biologic level as you murdered him was fascinating. You hadn’t done anything too awful, just slit his throat. Still, you’ll never forget the intense curiosity you felt at watching as his limbs flailed as the blood slipped down his body. How his eyes bulged and his jaw clenched. The Night Folk seemed pleased with your results and ended up incorporating you. 

Still, talk is rare. The most anyone speaks is when a trap is being set, but even then it’s minimal. Usually just a “you pretend to be injured, cry out for help” or “whistle like a bird, confuse the rider’s horse”. 

The Night Folk themselves are interesting. They have no leadership. Everyone is completely equal, even when it comes to things like eating and sex, both in the social and physical aspect of sex. Orgies tend to be a common thing with them, but as you’re a newby, you’re not allowed to participate, which is just fine. They may not have a leadership, but newcomers must earn their right to participate in all gang activities. In fact, you’re not even allowed to kill anyone when a trap is set. You’re the one who acts as lookout for when a new target heads your way. 

It’s uncertain how long you have to be the lowest person on the totem pole, but you don’t complain. You’ve never been a very talkative person anyways, and perhaps you’ve always had something sick living in you because you’ve always had a fascination with the human body, putting aside the knowledge that they feel, think and have a complex form of conscience. You could care less about them as you’d care for a fly being swatted. 

Despite the Night Folk having no leadership, they have tight bonds with one another. However, you have not gained that right yet. You’ve tried pushing yourself up into their ranks, even tried to dive into the slaughter when a trap has been sprung, but the results have not been good. The more seasoned members got extremely aggressive towards you and chased you off, threatening to butcher you next. 

It’s this lack of concern for you on their part that ends up getting you into trouble. Living in the swamps has plenty of risks. The gators are the most obvious of course, but there’s also snakes and biting bugs that can carry diseases. Boars can also be a problem as they spook easy and will sometimes bash their tusks into the thing that’s threatening them. Every once in a while, a panther will wander into the area. They are the most frightening, as they’re silent and cunning. It’s impossible to hunt one as they blend in so seamlessly. Luckily they don’t come this far down too often. 

You’re standing on the fork of a road. It’s foggy out tonight, providing the perfect cover. You’re watching for any travelers coming down the road, and pretty soon you see one coming down the path. You let out a low whistle, alerting the others of his presence. The man is instantly on edge. You decide to test him, see how curious or wary he is. After all, this section of the forest is known for its ghosts. Not only that, but he won’t see you. You’re too well camouflaged. All Night Hunters paint themselves when preparing a trap. 

“I still love you,” you call out. You’ve heard a spirit calling this out before and even see the ghostly apparition of a young woman. 

The man instantly stops. “Someone there?” he calls out. His voice says that he’s alert. 

“Come back to me,” you say. 

The man unwittingly begins coming towards the sound of your voice. “Miss, are you hurt?” Just a little closer. 

“Come home,” you plead. He’s feet away from you and still can’t see you hidden in the foliage. 

Suddenly the others are on him. They stalk over to him, not running. They don’t need to. With their camouflage and the heavy fog, there’s no need. He doesn’t see them until it’s too late, and even his horse doesn’t. It gets spooked, sure, but it fails to spot them until they’re onto him. 

The man yells out in fright as the others pull him off his horse, throwing him into the mud. You watch in excitement as they begin beating him, then hacking at him with their machetes. He pulls out his gun, preparing to shoot one, but his hand is smacked away and the gun points in your direction. It goes off suddenly and something slams into you, just above your right hip. Pain rips through you like you’ve never experienced and you fall, letting out a grunt of pain. The others don’t hear it as they’re killing the man, but you’re in trouble. 

As they finish killing their man, you try to stand but can’t due to the excruciating pain. Three of the men take the kill and begin strapping it to a tree, a warning to others passing this way. Then the signal is given that it’s time to find a new spot. You end up hobbling your way onto the path, a hand pressed over the wound as blood seeps onto your fingers. 

The others see and what they do next is a surprise. You thought that by this point they’d value you enough to try and help. Instead, they turn on you. They start kicking you, knocking you down. A loud crack comes from your left arm, signalling its break. You scream and try to fight them off, but there’s too many. 

When you think it’s over, they stop and one of them grabs you by your hair and drags you to a new section of the swamp about a hundred yards away. They position you onto the soggy grass and put a lantern down. Then, to be sure you can’t run, one takes his machete and cuts your thigh. The gash is deep and you holler in pain. 

You don’t understand why they’re doing this, then it becomes obvious. They’ve no means nor desire to care for their wounded, so rather than fight the inevitability of death, they’re using you as bait. For what though is unclear. It can’t be for gators, most of them are too lazy to come this far out of the water to eat. Boars, maybe. They’ll happily eat a person who can’t defend themselves. 

The Night Folk suddenly scurry off, back into the foliage. You know they’re not running, but hiding. You try calling for them, your body burning in pain, but they ignore you. You try getting up, but the bullet wound, your broken arm and gashed leg completely prevent it. You’re stuck here, and you don’t like it. You feel like one of the dozens of people you’ve lured into a trap, and the fear they must’ve felt comes into you. It’s not fun. 

Despite your best efforts, you begin to cry. This must be what they want anyways. The sounds of a woman sobbing would lure in any unwitting person. It works. 

After a rather short period, another man comes down the path. He’s not dressed like some city man, but rather a man of the wild. A man who’s been many places and seen many things. You feel the urge to not let these bastards who’ve betrayed you get another kill, not on your watch, but you can’t help the sobs. 

“Ma’am, you a’right?” the man calls out. His horse paws the trail nervously. Surely it senses the danger. You want to tell him to leave, to save himself, but you can’t. The idea of uttering a single word seems as impossible as walking. “You hurt?” 

He prods his horse to get closer to you, and once again you try to tell him to leave. He keeps asking if you’re okay, and you keep on failing to say anything. He’s about ten feet away and looks like he’s about to dismount when they attack. 

The Hunters start their slow stalking out of their hiding spots, wielding their machetes. The horse roars in anger. Clearly this man has been in many dangerous situations as he notices the danger almost immediately. He pulls out a shotgun and kicks his horse into a trot, becoming a moving target. As the Night Folk carry no aerial weapons, they’re left with chasing his horse. The man clearly has the upper hand though and he quickly takes them down. 

“Creepy bastards!” he grunts as the last one falls. He looks at you, disgust on his face. You realize that this man is your only hope at surviving at this point. He puts his shotgun in its holster on his saddle. 

“You,” he says harshly. “You one of them Night Folk.” 

He waits for you to respond but you don’t, other than to whimper. 

“Say something right now or I’m leavin’. You can fend off them gators alone.” 

You try again to speak but can’t. You’re in too much pain. He throws you a look of contempt and kicks his horse into a walk. 

“Help,” you somehow manage to say. “Help me!” 

The man stops and looks at you. “You ain’t gonna try to kill me, are ya?” 

Tears leak from your eyes. “N-no. I can’t.” 

He sighs and dismounts. He keeps one hand on his gun as he slowly approaches you. When he’s close, he inspects your body. The odd angle your arm is lying in, the bleeding wounds on your thigh and hip. 

“You’re in bad shape. What happened?” 

“Got… got shot. They turned on me.” 

“Those lousy bastards. Well, I can help ya, but you have to promise me you won’t try killing anyone. You do and I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your head.” 

You nod and he leans over. Instead of helping you up, he quickly searches you, making sure you have no weapons. You don’t, so then he picks you up, making you wince and grunt in pain and he apologizes. After settling you on the back of his horse, he mounts up in front and canters down the path. You clutch to him with your good arm and somehow manage not to black out. 

After a while, he slows the horse down and rides up on an old cabin. You recognize it a bit as it sits not too far from the swamps you and the other Night Folk occupied. An older woman, who looked like a gunslinger, used to live there until she just left one day, the land surrounding her cabin littered with bodies. You thought nothing of it, but the cabin’s sat empty since. 

The man carries you into the cabin and settles you down on a dingy, old mattress, damp from the humid air. You cradle your arm to your body. He inspects your injuries a little closer. 

“Bet you still got that bullet in ya. That, uh, needs to come out.” 

You shift away from him, knowing it’s going to hurt like hell. He starts looking around and finds a file which he then heats up over a candle he lit. Then, he approaches you with the hot file. You scoot away from him, your eyes boring into the file. 

As he starts instructing you to lay down so he can help. Maybe it’s a result of spending time with the Night Folk or maybe your fight-or-flight instincts kick in, but you’re suddenly standing up and lunging at him, waving your good arm around, trying to strike him and you yowl like a wildcat. The man fends you off, and suddenly his fist pummels into your face, knocking you back onto the bed and into a world of darkness. 

******************************************

Hours pass and you finally come to. Your body is in a lot of pain and  you’re lying on your back, settled on the bed. When your vision clears, you scan the cabin and find it empty. The man’s gone and early morning light streams through the tattered curtains. 

You look down at your body and see that you’re bandaged in multiple places. That man, dispute you attacking him, must have done this. You inspect the bullet wound and figure he must have gotten it out. Your arm’s in a tight cast and in a sling. Guilt floods you as you knew he was just trying to help, but after what your old gang did, it’s no surprise you didn’t trust him much. 

On the night stand beside the bed sits a bottle of whiskey which holds a folded piece of paper. You unfold it and read: 

“I don’t know if you can read, but if you can, I just wanted to let you know you should be safe for now and I’m sorry for having to knock you out. However, I strongly advise you to get away from here. Them folks who turned on you are likely to still want you dead. 

If you are wise, you’ll try ending up with better folk. I myself run with a gang, and I thought about bringing you to them as you seem to need the protection, but the honest truth is I can’t trust you not to kill any of them. There are days I want to kill some of them, so forgive me for not trusting you.”

There is no signature, but you feel even more ashamed. Here is a man who was willing to bring you to run with his gang, as you’ve never been a fan of following laws yourself, yet even among outlaws you’re an outcast. You decide from here on out, you want to get cleaned up. Not go straight, necessarily, but just enough that you can be trusted. After all, a life of isolation is no life at all. 

As the man recommended, you decide to leave the swamps when you’re healed enough. However, it takes a long time for travel as you’ve no horse, but after a few weeks, you end up in the Cumberland Forest. It’s a lovely place and you find yourself enjoying the hot, dry air rather than the humidity. 

As far as your behavior goes, you don’t change so much in that you rob and sometimes kill people. You just don’t put them on display the way you did with the Night Folk. Often you still feel that intense curiosity as to the human body and lack of empathy. However, you know that your behaviors are not normal so you curb your desires to study the corpses you create as you know it will only lead to trouble. 

Years have passed since you were saved by that man. You haven’t seen him since, but you did hear, only a few months after he saved you, of a gang being chased out of a place called Beaver Hollow and that a man died during the escape. Part of you wonders if he knew the man who saved you, but you’ve no way of knowing since you never even learned his name.