i want a yellow cat named bill that would be so cute

Snow White (stan uris)

Request: “I just had a thought. Stan crushing on a girl that is like a Disney princess like birds with sit on her shoulders and let her pet them and deer walk up to her and softly nudge her. Feral stray cats turn into kitten putty at her fingertips like stuff like that”

Pairing: reader/Stan Uris

Stan presses his back against the tall tree trunk, hoping you didn’t see him creeping by.

He had noticed a few times while walking home, that you had always split off into the forest. It always intrigued him, but he hadn’t the will to follow until now.

He peeks out from behind the tree, watching intently as you stand there in the clearing, a single arm extended out in front of you. You look almost angelic, with a single ray of light bursting through the thick canopy, making you glow.

Stan hears a few loud chirps.

You’re smiling softly as several small, colorful birds land gracefully on your outstretched arm. A few more follow, perched on your shoulder and one blue jay on your head. He can’t believe his eyes; he’d never seen birds behave like that, especially wild ones.

He blinks rapidly, assuming it must all just be a figment of his imagination as you give a particularly small yellow bird a stroke across the head with your index finger. Wild birds don’t just let people pet them.

As you’re preoccupied with your tiny friends, a fawn moves gingerly towards you, ears perked up, and head tilted upwards in interest. It makes a small circle around you, before giving you a gentle nudge and falling asleep at your feet.

Stan turns around, hands pressed firmly into the rough bark as he spies.

He didn’t know many girls – or people in general, that wouldn’t shriek in terror if a bird got too close. It was almost like a dream.

You seemed to have a real affinity with animals. You were like a living magnet to everything gentle and soft that inhabited the small portion of the forest.

Stan’s heart swells in his chest with a sudden affection, and he silently makes his way out of the forest, leaving you to your furry friends.


Stan checks his watch timidly. His friends were supposed to be there by now. He sighs to himself, feeling a little ridiculous standing alone by a street post with his bike untouched beside him, propped up on its stand.

He jumps slightly, startled when he feels something rough and wirey dart past his legs. His first thought is a monstrously large rodent; a simple look however, shows it is just a stray cat. It returns his firm stare and opens its mouth, hissing loud.

Stan shifts a little in the other direction, as if an inch or two extra space would turn the cat back on its path to wonder elsewhere. He was never fond of the things. Especially when they dropped dead birds at his feet, as his childhood pet had done several times.

He remembers all the tears spent burying the poor things in his backyard, never noting them in his book, and becomes bitter. Dead birds didn’t count

‘‘Hey there,” somebody coos to his right. For a second, he thinks they’re referring to him.

He looks over, cheeks flushing red when he notices you crouch down and begin to stroke the cats thick grey fur. It’s back arches into your outstretched hand as it walks circles around you, leaning into your touch with each lap. Stan is aware of the contented rumble coming from its tiny chest and he stares in awe.

He was sure it wanted blood, not even a minute ago.

You look up, and he looks quickly in the other direction.

“Hey Stan,” you say with a grin. “Was Greyson giving you trouble?”

Greyson…? Oh. The damn cat.

“You named it?” Stan asks in disbelief. The more he encounters and interacts with you, the more he begins to see you as just as much a part of nature as a deer, or a centipede.

…And the more his heart swells and flutters at the sight of you.

You shrug, “just then. I’ve seen her try to attack some of the locals, but I think she’s just misunderstood, you know?”

Misunderstood only to you, who can see the purity in even vicious beings.

“How do you do it?” He gestures to the cat now laying snug at your feet. “How are you so good with animals, I mean?”

The question isn’t at his own interest to interact with wild animals, though he didn’t dislike the thought of a couple of birds sleeping sound and cute as hell on his shoulder. Rather, he’s genuinely curious why animals are naturally attracted to your presence. Was it a natural charm? Was it learnt from an old book?

Maybe she’s not actually real.

He pushes the grim thought from his mind, and remembers why he was standing there waiting for his friends in the first place. They were going to Neibolt for probably – hopefully – the last time.

Unless she morphs into that clown and eats me alive before we have the chance.

“I never really thought about it. Maybe I’m just too good to be true,” you say with a wink.

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”

Your eyebrows raise in shock; you hadn’t expected him to actually agree with your joke. The boy that had perfect posture suddenly seemed a little too flustered to stand up straight as he realizes what he said, trying his hardest not to make eye contact with you.

His curls are cute, you think. You have a strange urge to scratch his scalp like a dog, or the cat at your feet.

You smile and stand up, heading down your original path. You had been meaning to collect a few bits and pieces from the convenience store before you got distracted, something that happened often. Your attention span was ridiculous at times, especially when outside.

As you pass Stan, you reach up and ruffle his hair. His curls shake and move from his face, but the wind blows them back into their rightful spot. He doesn’t move away from your hand, in fact, he could easily be mistaken for a statue.

“Well, catch you later, Stan the man!” You call over your shoulder.

His heart accelerates, and he quickly glances at his watch, noticing his 5 friends cycling towards him with grave expressions. He looks back to your retreating form.

“Catch you later, Snow White!”

Being Friends With A Dream Dorito

I…I don’t- Just, go for it, man. You want Phantom Falls? It’s already killed me, may as well let my headcannons ruin your life too.

Enjoy, or whatever.

“Hey kid!” an unfortunately familiar voice called behind him excitedly, and Danny let his forehead press against the old spines of the books in the Ghost Writer’s library. He really didn’t want to, but he knew if he didn’t Bill would probably make something loud happen, and then they’d both get yelled at.

Danny swiveled on his heel and looked at Bill with the most annoyed expression he could muster. The dream demon didn’t have a mouth, just that stupid bow-tie and his singular eye that, combined with his triangular shape, made him look an awful lot like bad Illuminati symbolism. Knowing Bill, he’d probably created the entire organization.

“Hey Bill,” Danny said in an annoyed monotone, giving him a look that clearly stated how he felt about the dream demon interrupting his shelving for the library. Bill, of course, ignored him completely and actually floated a little closer. It was ridiculous, because he was a two-dimensional yellow triangle about one fourth of Danny’s height, but still managed to be five times more annoying.

Danny could see, out of the corner of his eye, a few ghosts almost turn the corner into the aisle where Danny had been reshelving books, but quickly backtrack when they saw the occupants. Danny wasn’t that feared anymore. A few years floating around the open green skies of the Ghost Zone and establishing something of a Justice System and basic society that didn’t rely on Walker, his reputation of being ‘dangerously powerful’ was overshadowed by his reputation of being helpful. It was Bill they were avoiding.

The dream demon was inarguably insane, maybe from all the years of immortality, twisted from a normal ghost into a frightening demon that could enter people’s dreams and even make people fall asleep (the obvious similarity to Nocturne wasn’t to be mentioned unless you wanted to get ripped apart by both of them at the same time). For whatever reason, the annoying demon had chosen Danny as his new BFF as soon as he heard that he had died, and often brought screaming candy and other magic trinkets to Danny like a cat delivering dead mice to it’s master.

It hadn’t taken Danny long to realize that Bill wasn’t much different from a cat. Well, obviously he was, he was once a human consciousness and he did terrible things, that he wouldn’t hesitate to tell Danny stories about, probably in hopes of driving Danny just as insane as himself. But Bill was like a cat in many ways too. He acted vain and proud (and nasty) to all except a few chosen, and once you showed him the correct amount of attention he started bringing your things and giving you attention as well, though still sometimes (all the time, really) acting like he was so much better then you.

Whenever Danny had tried to ask Bill why, out of all people, Bill had chosen to be friends with him, the dream demon deigned not to answer, and avoiding him for a while, probably tormenting poor confused humans in their dreams, so Danny figured it was best not to ask. He just kinda went with it, and let Bill bother him as much as possible. In the earlier days, once Danny realized what Bill did in his down time, he actively sought him out, because he figured it was better than Bill twisting the dreams of mortals for his own amusement, and probably scarring those people forever (and, if the stories were to believed, causing more than the occasional suicide or homicide). Now, he knew he couldn’t spend all his time with Bill because it would literally drive him insane.

“Phantom!” Bill squealed in a delighted voice. Well, as close to a delighted voice or a squeal with his sleazy salesman voice and no face. “Hey buddy! How have you been?”

“Fantastic,” Danny repeated, in the same monotone as earlier. He turned back to his shelving. After a moment of pause, Danny sighed internally, because he knew exactly what Bill was waiting for. “You?” he asked in a tired voice, rubbing his temple as he placed an old, leather-bound book by Franco Jrofhoughdnqueasydoe (which made Danny kinda Jrofhoughdnqueasydoe, just reading the name, if you get it. Ha.)

“I’ve got a great story this time!” Bill exclaimed as Danny turned back to the library cart. He inhaled deeply to get himself ready for the tales of insanity about to be unleashed on him, and grabbed another book.

“Oh?” Danny asked, feigning interest as he shoved Franco Jrofhoughdnqueasydoe over for Vanessa Jrniaouckkh’s study about prism’s and ectoplasm.

“You wouldn’t believe it kid!” Bill exclaimed, bobbing gently next to Danny’s head. Danny peeked out of the corner of his eyes at him, and couldn’t help a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Sure, Bill was a psychopath, but there was no stopping him, really, and he was kind of cute sometimes. Though Danny didn’t doubt if he ever said that sentence aloud he’s be stuck overshadowing a Tarantula for the rest of his immortal life (he’d heard Arachnaphobia was a bitch when stuck as a spider yourself).

“Guess!” Bill challenged him playfully. Danny tilted his head slightly at the dream demon and cocked an eyebrow. They stood like that for a while, staring at each other, neither one having to blink or breath, before Danny sighed and rolled his eyes in exasperation and reached for another book.

“Okay, let me think,” he muttered sarcastically, making sure not to take out any of his frustration of the books he was shelving, fearing the Ghost Writer’s wrath. “It somehow relates to Dipper Pines.”

“How did you know?” Bill whines pitifully, and Danny rolls his eyes again, before turning to look Bill in the eyes.

“Lately,” Danny began, leaning his hip against the cart of books. “It’s all about 'The Pines Family’, but specifically Dipper.” Danny put up a hand to his chest and acted offended. “I’m beginning to think I’m being replaced.”

“Never!” Bill exclaimed, a little too loudly, and Danny winced for a moment, expected to be shushed, before remembering that this was Bill he was talking about here. Even Ghost Writer was afraid of him, after Bill had shifted reality so he’d been stuck in a tiny room with orange walls for almost a week. (Which would have been disproportionately hilarious except for the fact that GW was apparently paralyzingly claustrophobic. Something to do with how he died, and everybody knows you don’t bring that stuff up.)

“Okay, well, what was the story, then,” Danny asks, tilting his head a little to the side to demonstrate curiosity as he softly sets another book in it’s place.
Bill bobs up and down a bit faster in what Danny assumes is excitement before beginning his story. “So, I did tell you about how Pine Tree, Shooting Star, Question Mark, and Ice Bag wandering into the author’s secret bunker and Pine Tree actually chopped into his 'secret’ crush’s stomach with as ax on a hunch, right?”

“You mean Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and Wendy, right?” Danny asks from above Bill, having floated off the ground to set a book on the highest shelf. “I don’t really get what is up with you and the nicknames.”

“Predestined fate,” Bill replies, sounding the furthest from ecstatic that he’s gotten since he arrived here. Almost bored. “Anyway, the laptop is password set, right? Ha, best irony ever, really, they set it to protect themselves but they ended up ruining everything.”

Danny nodded vaguely. He was kinda out of it when Bill had told him who the mysterious 'Author’ was, so he didn’t really remember who it was. Somebody called Fiddleford? Stanley? Stanford? 2/3 chance it ended in ’-ford’, at least. Though, at the same time, 2/3 change it started with 'Stan-’. Who knew, really?

“Anyway, so Pine Tree immediately starts obsessing over the laptop, right?” Bill continues energetically. Danny mumbles something to let Bill know he’s listening as he stares incredulously at the keysmash of a name “Gdjweblrsifuoyralywlkobdsnewu”, which he couldn’t pronounce in his head if he tried, and he certainly wasn’t trying. He really was listening, though. The Pines Family had drawn him in, and know he was concerned for the safety of all of them (and the personal hygiene of poor Dipper, if he was to believe all of Bill’s stories.)

“Pine Tree’s going crazy trying to figure this thing out, and Shooting Star goes off and finds herself a new crush. Very handsome, name was Gabe, obsessed with puppets, though. Shooting Star is all over this guy, even though she promised Pine Tree that she would help him with the laptop thing. Seems to happen a lot with those two.”

Danny squints at the books he’s holding. “Gud-. Gud-juh-web…”
Bill ignores his efforts and continues with his story. “So, Shooting Star gets so caught up with this guy that she completely forgets about what Pine Tree’s doing, and when he confronts her, she guilt trips him into helping her. Though, admittedly, she doesn’t realize how important all of this is yet, or what would happen if she had helped. Her eccentric attitude would have figured it out of the third try! To think they were so close! Thank goodness for my quick thinking, right Phantom?”

Danny is frowning down at the book now. “Gud-juh-web-lars-if-oyra? Ayra? Oira?”

“Of course,” Bill preens. “I did an awesome job with that boy coming in. Just some dream suggestion, on my part, and I averted a disaster!”

“Gud-juh-web-lars-if-oira-alley…” Danny is squinting at the book in his hand like it’s worse than Skulker, but Bill just pats his back with a tiny hand and keeps on.

“Anyway, Pine Tree spends the week making lots and lots of sock puppet’s with his sister, while squeezing in as many passwords onto the computer as possible. He’s going about it logically, though, common words or phrases, pet names. He wouldn’t guess the right password unless he got a hint, right?”
“Oira-alley-wilk-ob-desen…” Danny mutters under his breath.

“With all these puppet’s around, of course I see my opportunity!” Bill shouted excitedly. “So, I just need to add a little desperation with Pine Tree to really seal the deal, right? SO I waited until he blinked next and, boom, instant sleep.”
“It’s Gud-juh-web-lars-if-oira-alley-wilk-ob-desen-ew-wu!” Danny exclaims happily.

“Congratulations,” Bill cheered sarcastically. Danny frowned at him, but then made a 'continue’ motion with his hands before turning to face away from Bill.

Anyway,” Bill says pointedly. “Pine Tree’s dreaming, and I make it look like the laptop’s had enough, and it’ll destroy it’s hard drive if Pine Tree doesn’t enter the correct password in the next five minutes. So I say I’ll give him a hint, right, in exchange for a puppet. Pine Tree, being the smart cookie he is, is initially suspicious, but, I mean, he’s twelve, so it doesn’t take too much convincing. He thinks I’m talking about one of the Sock Puppets.”

Danny turned around, floating about three centimeters off the ground, and crossed his arms over his chest. “What did you mean?” he asks suspiciously.

“Yeesh kid!” Bill exclaims, rolling his eye and slinging an arm over Danny’s shoulder. “You act like you don’t know what us demons can do.”
“I’m not a demon,” Danny hissed angrily, pushing Bill away from him and snatching another book.

“Touchy subject,” Bill mumbled, floating back neat Danny’s head. “Anyway, what I really meant was an actual puppet!” Danny stares at him blankly, and Bill would be almost fooled, if it wasn’t for the slight narrowing of his eyes.
“So the kid shakes my hand, and the usual stuff happens. Flickering lights, maniacal laughter, turquoise fire. Pine Tree was too naive to realize I meant his body as a puppet!” Danny’s eyes widened, and then narrowed as he glared at Bill. Was it his imagination or did the dream demon flinch a bit? Must have been his imagination, because Bill returns to his cocky-suave self in less than a millisecond.

“It’s been centuries since I last inhabited a body!” Bill drawls. He’s got Danny’s full attention now. “I forgot how it felt to feel. Pain is hilarious.”

“Oh yes,” Danny says sarcastically. “Ha. Ha. I love experiencing pain. So refreshing.”

“I know!” Bill agrees full-heartedly, seemingly missing the sarcasm. “Pine Tree’s body is so weirdly small. It felt hilarious slapping myself. But it wasn’t enough, even though his body kind of felt like lead.” Danny’s eyes narrowed again. “So I threw myself down the stairs!” Bill sang.

“WHAT?!” Danny shouted, before flinching in on himself. “What?!” he whisper-yelled that time. “You threw a twelve-year-old boy’s body down the stairs! Are you crazy?” A pause. “Yeah, I know you are,” Danny mutters ruefully, looking back to the library cart and rifling through the books to find the nearest author to the section of the library where they were.

“So, anyway, the kid is now a spirit. Not a ghost, though he kept calling himself that, so I let him-” Bill was interrupted.

“You know what?” Danny said, turning back to Bill. “No. I don’t want to hear this story. I’m going to assume that you decided to do the right thing, even though that’s very unlikely, and left the poor kid and his family alone. I don’t want to hear the story about how a raging psychopath overtook the body of a preteen and probably got him run over by a semi or something! Try catching me in a better mood later, or at least someplace where I can yell at you without feeling guilty!”

With that, Danny grabbed the stupid library cart and stormed to the next aisle, leaving a very conflicted dream dorito floating in midair.

My jokes are terrible. This fic is terrible. Everything is terrible. I have a raging headache and it stopped raining :(.

Until next time, yada yada.