logos turns himself into a marketable plush
summary: logos turns himself into a plush. you find him. shenanigans ensue.
cw // SO FLUFFY, reader doesn't have a gender or set race but they do have a tail, logos is a little shit
wc // 2.5k
It was a remarkably average day on Rhodes Island. From orders for gold being processed, oripathy patients being treated by the medical staff, and an atmosphere of languid peace floating through the air, the landship continued to rove onto whatever destination it was onto next. It was, in Logos' opinion, the perfect day for an office chair race.
Alas, he was unable to even stand to drag in Mechanist or even the Doctor to his (silly) antics, as much as he yearned to free himself from this agonizing boredom. In his quest to find some way to drag his mind to productivity, he had started to wave his pen aimlessly in the air, simple Arts scrawled all over his dorm. He muttered whatever slightly interesting idea came to mind, but more often than not they lived and died on his tongue.
It wasn't until he started getting ideas for ways to punish those snooping around in the hidden archives did the landship decide it was the perfect time to run over some rough terrain. It was only then that Logos was punished for leaning too far back in his chair and accidentally bite his tongue, his pen went awry, and he found himself on the floor.
When he expected to feel pain, however, there was only a cushioning underneath him that softened his fall. He didn't remember leaving something on the floor this soft… Stranger yet, he could not move his arms to prop himself back up to even sit. When he tried to mumble out a confused grunt, the sound of his voice was nowhere to be heard. In fact, he couldn't even feel his lips moving to vocalize his thoughts.
Before Logos could even start recalling about what sort of curse he was creating, the door to his dorm room slid open behind him.
"Logos? Are you in here?"
Ah, it was you. He wanted to turn his body around to greet you, maybe ask for your help, but frustratingly he could only lay limp in a heap on the floor. How shameful. He couldn't even greet you properly.
Please forgive me, he thinks, and as though reading his thoughts you finally looked up from whatever it was that prevented from seeing him in this embarrassing situation.
"Logos? Hello?"
A moment passes, and he hears the metallic tap-tapping of your shoes against the floor until they stop right next to his head. For a moment, he hopes that you notice that he was incapacitated, but the cooing he hears pushes him further into confusion.
"Aww, how cute. Who do you belong to, little guy?"
Logos' heart starts to beat, as his world is whirling before stopping just as fast as it started. He doesn't realize how light he feels until your hand is startlingly large, your fingers and palm supporting the entirety of his back. Alarm bells ring even louder in his head, and he wants to ask you why you were stroking his hair with a finger, but all thoughts rush to a halt when you bring him closer to your face.
For as long as Logos knew you, you had always looked at him with narrowed eyes and a huffy voice. Always quick to chase him down, you were the first to scold him for his races if Kal'tsit was busy that day. You would puff out your cheeks, trying to stop him by holding the back of his chair so he wouldn't roll away and reminding him for the millionth time that he wasn't allowed to hold these races and whatnot.
Your face was always stuck with your eyes glaring and brows scrunched, so Logos can feel his currently nonexistent breath hitch when your eyes soften and lips curl like your tail so neatly does when at ease.
"Well, if Logos isn't here, I guess I can bring you along for the day. Who was heartless enough to leave you on the floor?"
His vision swings around again before he settles into your arm, clutched firmly against your chest. He would be speechless figuratively now if he wasn't speechless literally.
It seems… he had turned himself into a plush.
And so, Logos finds himself going through a routine of what you do throughout a day in Rhodes Island, who you talk to and what you do for work, occasionally asking his friends if they knew who he belonged to.
"Blaze, is this yours?"
"Awww, he's so cute! But I don't think I've ever seen this before. Where'd you get it?"
"Ah, well… Nevermind then. Thanks for your help anyways."
"Mechanist, does this belong to you?"
"Huh, what is this? …Haha, no this isn't mine. I think you should hold onto it for now."
"Oh, ok then. Thanks for your help."
"Hey, Doctor, do you know who this belongs to?"
"……."
"Ah, not yours, is it? Sorry for bothering you."
In the end, he finds himself sitting on your desk in your dorm room in the evening. You hadn't given up on finding out who his "owner" is quite yet, and he watches from his corner as you scribble your day in a journal. Your hand pauses sometimes before you look over at him for a couple moments, before you sigh through your mouth and continue writing. Logos stays limp.
When you finish you close your journal and sort it away on the shelf above your desk. Night's darkness spills slowly into your room, the desk-lamp working overtime to light up the entire room. Ever the perfectionist you are, your nightly routine is similarly as organized as Logos imagined it to be: a quick shower followed by a thorough brushing of your teeth, and it doesn't take long for you to retire the desk-lamp from its duty for the day.
But when Logos thinks you would head to bed immediately after the light dims, you still and turn to his tiny plush self slumped over where you had left him. You stroke his wings with a dazed look, before bending over the desk to give his soft forehead a quick peck.
Logos would have thought this were just a trick of the light had it not been for your quick steps to your neatly prepared bed, a tiny squeak punched out of your lungs as you flop stomach first. The lingering warmth of your lips on his forehead imprints onto Logos for longer than it should.
Who knew that a person as strict as you had such a cute side…?
But the time he has to himself during the quiet blanket of night has him finally remembering what kind of Arts he was fiddling with. It had been a passing idea for people who were being too nosy in the archives again, and it would turn them into a motionless puppet for 24 hours before they would safely be turned back (perhaps a bit more traumatized than they should, but the price of dangerous curiosity should be equally as harsh).
Logos somehow managed to… curse himself. How embarrassing. He hadn't done this in quite a while.
This means that, according to the clock on your wall, he most likely had until the afternoon the next day to automatically turn back into his former self made of flesh and bones. When the time came, he would have to sneak his way out inconspicuously so as not to bring attention to himself or you. As fun as ragebaiting you was, he didn't want to spread any rumors you didn't want around Rhodes Island.
So Logos silently waits for the sun to rise to make his move. He didn't find sleep coming to him, as plushies don't normally sleep. He hadn't thought of the logistics of the sleeping habits of plushies that often. Or at all.
Plus, this experience hadn't been just a product of bored experiments. He got to see this new side of you, one that he was entirely unaware of. It was a pleasant surprise to learn that someone as uptight as you had such a cute side to them. It seemed as though you had that hard expression on 24/7, and he starts brainstorming other Arts spells to see more of your smile…
As he schemes more and more about what kind of experiments to do on himself, the sun had started to rise and the ring of your alarm clock nearly sent his heart flying out of his body. That metaphor fortunately doesn't apply to his insides made of cotton.
And just as he suspected, your daily mornings seem to be just as properly laid out as the rest of your day. Your sheets are smoothed out and your uniform fitted so as to not have even a single crease out of place.
You cast him a quick glance before checking the planner you pulled out next to the journal you’d placed away in the evening yesterday. It was all so cute, the way you grabbed sticky notes off your overhead shelf and pasted them down in your planner, your face so serious. So, so serious. If only you let yourself loose and joined him for some leisure, he could see your face less tense and enjoying some time to relax…
But before he was allowed to daydream more how to get you to have some whimsy, you nod to yourself, satisfied at the work day ahead of you. You clean up your desk space once more, and give him a pat on the head and another heart stopping smile before heading out.
No kiss this time? What a shame. Logos mopes, as much as plush could sulk, and waits patiently for the clock to hit the time he had been musing to himself alone. Maybe, when he turned back, he could snoop around for a minute before finally leaving your room-
But just as noon hits, your return to your room with a trey of food from the cafeteria. Oh dear. There was just about half an hour until the spell wore off, and you were sitting in the very place he didn't want you.
But this answered a very important thought that crossed Logos' mind often: whenever he had the time to eat in the cafeteria, you were nowhere to be seen. He had thought that, being the busybody you were, you simply forgot or ate at a later time than most. But it seems that you even made sure to eat at a proper time, because you slowly and thoughtfully chew your food before swallowing. Ah, you got some crumbs at the corner of your mouth…
Logos observes as you pat down your face after your meal, even flossing out some bits of food from your teeth before you check the time. A quarter till 1.
Perhaps you finished a tad early, as you instead sit down at your desk and set your trey aside. You turn, staring at his felt body so intensely he feels like he should look away. He tries as hard as he can to not turn back right at this moment, but he feels your fingers wrap around him the same way you had picked up off his dorm floor the day before.
And he once again feels the need to gulp needlessly, being this close to your face. Turning him around in your hands, your hands poke at his face and fiddle with his sleeves flopping every time you moved him. You pet his hair and horns and wings and swing his legs back and forth. Had he been in his normal form, he would have surely asked if you were really that interested in his body, but he feels his cottony throat only tighten the more the clock ticks down further and further till…
You lean in closer, pressing your lips against where his would be.
And as if time itself was playing a joke on you, that was when he suddenly poofed back in a cloud of smoke.
Instantly, you jump back and too shocked to even scream. He falls clumsily to the floor from the lack of a platform under him, your hands no longer supporting him midair. His groan of pain seems to finally shake you back to consciousness as you point an accusing finger at him.
"Y-Y-You…"
He stands with the help of your desk, his senses returning to him, rubbing at the places where he had fell. He casually stands back to full height, and he crosses his arm before looking you in the eye.
"Me."
Oh, you were so red. He had to hold his entire being back from smirking as you covered your mouth, horrified.
"What… What are you doing in here?"
He twirls his pen around his thumb, acting all nonchalant. As one does. Before a brilliant idea forms in his mind, and his mouth moves on its own.
"Well, I was under a curse of my own making, you see. It was rather fortunate that you found me, as the only cure to this particular curse was…"
He turns to you and finally gives you a knowing look, and you looked a second away from either fainting or running away.
It was neither, as you point an even shakier, accusing finger at him, face turning so red Logos worries you would pass out.
"You… You horrible man!!!"
You exclaim, and then proceed to run away.
"I can't believe you! And I did… oh my…"
If Logos had even slightly less self control, he would have rushed after you to taunt you further. Instead he hides his wide smile behind his pen hand. Oh, he would never let you live this down.
"Well? Aren't you going to show me the same affections you did to my smaller version?"
The screech you let out is downright nightmarish, and both your hands shoot up to cover your ears. You keep running down the hall, and nearly run down poor Mechanist as he turns the corner.
"You horrible, horrible man!"
He hears you exclaim, even this far your voice is crystal clear. Mechanist walks in his direction as he finally walks out of your room, eyes betraying how pleased he is by how bright they shine. The elafia notices this and sighs, arms already crossed and head shaking.
"I have a feeling I already know what happened, but you didn't have to torment the poor soul this much."
Logos lets his usual poker face come back, eyes closed and neck craned to act coy.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
He can feel Mechanist's raised eyebrow through the shaded visor, before exhaling loudly underneath the helmet. He peaks over his shoulder in the direction you had stormed off to just now.
"What did you even do? I had assumed an Arts like that would wear off."
"It did wear off like it should. I simply… implied otherwise."
It didn't take long for him to put two and two together to get what he meant.
"Anyways, I have some plans to put into action now that I know more about them after the past day. If you'll excuse me."
Mechanist watches as Logos saunters off in the same direction you had rushed off to, the pen in the Sarkaz's hand twirling a bit too smug. Mechanist can only watch as he turns the corner.
"Those two will do anything but tell each other how they feel…"
tag: @mochinon-yah
