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‘This is a rather overused trope.’ Y/N thinks as they open their eyes, finding themselves alive and well when the last thing they remember is the exact opposite.
‘Character dies in some predictable way and awakens in their favourite show.’ They had been walking home from a tiring day working, wishing to just get home and binge the latest episode of Bungou Stray Dogs season 5, an episode that concerned them as it was getting awfully close to chapter 110.
If Bones animates that chapter, they will likely run out of chapters to watch animated and as much as they hate the fisheye style they can’t have that happening.
Suddenly, an idea takes room in their bug infested brain, an idea that can possibly save Bungou Stray Dogs and the entire fandom.
They will purposefully slow down the plot. You heard them right, they will slow down the plot just enough that Kafka has time to write more chapters, therefore Bones will have more content to animate.
Not enough that it becomes unbearable, but just enough to draw things out.
And along the way they might hook up with a certain Russian man. Does this correlate with their plan? Yes, a different one but still a plan.
With their determination flying high, higher than it ever has for the depressed loser, they stand up and get ready to begin.
First off, and much to their disappointment, they don’t look like a gender envy inducing hot man, they still look like how they usually do.
They think back on all the delicious looking men in BSD and almost immediately their appearance changes to match the details they liked the most.
‘So I do have an ability, good to know.’ Y/N realizes gleefully, walking over to a stained window to admire their changes.
Quite an useful ability too, with this they could easily pretend to be someone important to the plot, slow the plot, then leave the rest to the actual character.
Sadly they have no idea of what time they joined the series in, so they would have to investigate on their own.
They can already feel their excitement die down, replaced with exhaustion as they realize they would have to actually walk around the city.
They don’t have their phone on them, they already checked, and even if they did they doubt it would be useful here of all places, specifically, this time.
The show never really specifies where anything is from what they can remember, so walking like a dumb tourist it is.
“Mierda.” They speak their first logical word since waking up and it had to be the most prettiest of words, portraying how they feel right now perfectly.
Asking their legs to forgive them for what they’re about to put them through, Y/N starts their walk down the street of Who-Knows-Where in Yokohama.
Call them vain, but they can’t avoid looking into the windows of stores they pass by, not to see what they sell but instead to admire the absolute snack they look like currently.
As if they hadn’t had enough of overused tropes already, during their momentary distraction they trip and fall.
Y/N crashes into someone to make matters worst, knocking the two down with painful thuds.
Y/N looks up to see who they tripped into and immediately pause, they swear their heart must have stopped for a second.
Before them is Fyodor Dostoyevsky, their babygirl.
He looks much prettier in person, if that were even possible. His eyes shine underneath the foggy sky, the light desperately trying to slip through simply to illuminate his beauty.
Y/N is left stunned, staring at the man with awe.
“You look prettier in person.” Y/N blurts out much to both their shock.
The Russian stands up, with a small shake and that’s when Y/N remembers that as much as they love him, he is rather sickly, mainly anemic.
Y/N reaches out to help him stand, barely holding back their admiration for him. Luckily, they remember they don’t actually know what his ability is.
Some claim he can only kill people without abilities yet that’s a theory so they can’t be too confident about it.
Y/N backs away, feeling their heart cracking at the forced distance between them and their cutie, sweet, silly pie.
This is the perfect time to set both of their plans in motion, the question is, how?
“Pardon?” Fyodor speaks up and Y/N is reminded that this is in fact the real deal, Fyodor stands before them and not as some guy who they have more images of in their gallery than of their actual face.
Can you blame them? They like staring at pretty things and Fyodor fulfilled that desire in his drawn glory.
While they’re here they should make an effort to capture pictures of his face from every angle, if they manage to stick close to him to do so.
Fyodor on the other hand can only stare at the person with mild discomfort, getting stared at as if he were a piece of art is a feeling he isn’t unfamiliar with.
Never to the extent where the person has been standing frozen in place for a while longer.
Uncomfortable, and quite literally not having time to deal with another one of the weird scoundrels this city houses, he walks around the stupefied person.
At least he tried to.
“Wait!” The stranger yells, reaching out to him yet stopping themselves as if knowing doing so would put them in great danger.
“Fyodor?” The stranger speaks his name as if they were greeting an old friend; Fyodor’s memory never fails, though, and he knows damn well he had never seen this person before in his life.
Or perhaps he had, as the more he focused on their appearance, the more similarities he found to people he had seen in passing or personally searched into from the comfort of his office.
This odd array of physical traits is likely the result of an ability, whether it be theirs or somebody else’s is anybody’s business.
He is anybody, this now involves him.
God had chosen him specifically to rid the world of sin, the Armed Detective Agency being one of said places. He recognises the eyes the person wears as belongings of somebody else.
Certainly, that could be merely a coincidence if the similarities stopped there yet they only seem to grow.