#write requests

𑣲me: bani, daesol, gi, marcus... he/it... 20yo genderfluid(pan/aro) creature who loves too much and too many... i'm also a witch and brazillian ♡ i don't mind being moots/followed by minors, just behave :) ♡ I may refer to myself as a woman but pls don't use she/her with me ♡ be aware that I may interact with and post NSFW ! (I'll tag it!)

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𑣲fandoms i'm currently actively on (because there's too many so i have to put some aside sometimes): dead poets society, house md, heated rivalry, hannibal, brokeback mountain, jjba, overwatch, the magnificent 7, stardew valley, jake gyllenhaal (any movie of his I've watched lol), boots, teen wolf, beyond evil, moon knight, twilight, f1 (cs55, gr63, ka12, ob87, fc43 !) ♡ i luv movies

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𑣲places you can find me at:

letterboxd ! :x

ao3 username: uljimango

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𑣲I'm slowly building the tag #bani ♡ writes for little fics, x readers, hcs n etc! I also do take requests! you'll find who i'll write for on my masterlist bellow :]

⤷ MASTERLIST (I'm building it !)

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𑣲basic dni criteria + pls if you dont respect my identity and the things* i stand for just don't follow me ♡

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𑣲*the things being: burn israel down, save palestine (also congo, sudan and everyone else); death to generative ai!; education and community are the only weapons against fascism; protect the dolls, the queers (yes, even the "cringe" ones), women and children, specially poc and disabled; black lives matter; absolutely despise terfs, radfems and transmeds; i'm an intersectional  feminist and not a misandrist; decolonialist, no one is illegal in stolen land; read more non fiction books, trans, black and women authors pls; pro abortion in any case; i'm an anarchist and deeply believe in community (it takes a village); kinda an agnostic in the sense i don't believe in the christian god nor jesus/messiah but i do believe there's something, not up nor down there, but among us, like mother nature; don't mind religion as long as it's not used to torture, control, brainwash, conquer and kill; love and respect to all animals and creatures, even the non fluffy ones; protect all types of art, and physical media; acab; always believe the victim first; no one deserves an ethnostate; food, water, healthcare, dignity and freedom to all; recycle, reuse, reduce; everything is political; mental health is as important as physical health; be free, be cringe; dni if you support j.k.rowling!; (that's all i can remember so far!) ♡

(i literally had to tell myself sternly not to make this into a johndave fanfic its fucking unnatural for me to write sappy fallinginlove stories without it being johndave shit ) so this is going to be really. sappy. because josie’s first kiss story was really sappy.

To Pheobe

Your favorite thing about high school was this: in any devistatingly boring class, no matter what the social diversity of the student makeup there was, you all had this strange and tight bond that developed in the extreme boringness this class. This created a perfect environment for when notes needed to be passed between classmates. Not that that happened a lot, it didn’t, but when it did, everyone understood. So as long as the name of the reciepient was written legiably on the paper, your note would be delivered promptly. 

You recieved a paper airplane on a day when the even underground, stuffy chemistry room smelled like spring and senioritis. Notes were not usually folded into paper airplanes, unless they were notes from Gino, and in that case, you smiled to yourself when it was placed in your hands by the poor, sleep deprived soul who sat behind you. To Pheobe was written on one of the wings, and as you unfolded the plane you recognized Gino’s desperate attempt at recycling- blue sharpie scrawled over calc notes. 

wait so you seriously havent seen harry potter

After your mechanical pencil’s graphite failed to withstand the pressing  matters of the conversation several times, you managed

nope 

And sent it back with a To Gino on the other wing. 

To which you recieved:

come over after school then?

And you went

bluh fine but it better not be as boring as the books

He caught your gaze from across the room and rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t even pretend he was mad at you because he was cute like that.

You sat criss cross applesauce on his couch downstairs after the first movie, which was better than you were expecting, you’ll admit, but not by much. Gino insisted on a ‘comprehension quiz’ to make sure you actually payed attention because yes, you were still in school. 

He turned to face you with this little smile on his face and went, “What shape are Harry’s glasses?”

And you looked at him like he asked you what color his eyes were, because shit, you didn’t fucking know either of those things. So instead, you threw this silly smile on your face going, “God, you’re dumb.”

And then he called you a loser, so naturally, you called him a dork. This exchange repeated for literally five thousand goddamn years, and each dork was one millimeter of space between both of you gone until, finally, there were no more dorks to be said because there were no more millimeters to be lost and your eyes were closed and fuck his lips were dry and you both pulled away equally fast.

Bees.

When people peel their fingernails off with their other, remaining fingernails.

Dog tags.

Snow.

I’m more proud of this four-thing list than I should be, because it’s short, stupid, and not at all intrusive to other people’s lives. I don’t have to ask people to change how they are for me to be unhateful of them, and for that, I’m grateful.

Notice there are no humans on this list. There is one act, one animal, one form of precipitation, and one form of identification in the form of jewelry. Meaning that in theory, I should not hate anyone fully, because none of these things describe a human as an entire whole.

Except my roommate.

God.

Jean is her name. She is studying entomology, specializing in bees, her dad gifted her with a dog tag that she has not taken off since she was presented with the grimy slab of metal, she is in love with winter, and she has a habit of peeling off her fingernails with her other, remaining fingernails. She leaves them in tiny little piles in a Dixie cup in the trash can. She’s not known as an annoying or gross person, it’s just a “quirk” that she has, that happens to be on my four-thing list of stuff that I hate.

So whenever she gets back from her 9:00 AM lecture at 11:00 AM, she waltzes through the door, going, “Hi, Ari!” With a tiny wave of her basically-fingernailless hand, smile bright on her lips as she makes a goddamned beeline for the tiny cabinet that holds are small stash of food. She takes out the Cheez-Its and plops on her bed, the comforter’s colors matching somewhere between her green, greyish eyes and Listerine mouthwash. The kind that has that really potent and unsettling smell. It’s an okay color I guess, and I realize I’m staring at it, eyes focused on nothing in particular but gaze cast down and to the left, towards the foot of her bed. Her soft, smooth voice rings through my ears like a fire alarm, “Hello, Ari!” Laughing, waving her hand, the non-dominant one, without the fingernails. Well, I mean, she has fingernails. Just not the part of the fingernail that doesn’t hurt when she pulls it off. Like, none of that.

“Hi,” I manage, eyes slowly focusing on the cinderblock, beige painted wall behind her.

“How are you?” She offers me the Cheez-Its. I shake my head while my eyes focus now on her face.

“Okay.” I tell her. “How about you?”

“Good! Professor Abba was being such an a-hole today though,” small, breathy laugh, “like, I don’t get how he can expect us to read the whole chapter on one thing and lecture us on a completely different thing and still expect us to do well on the exam! We were supposed to be reading about the anatomy of the apidae’s antennae, and then he was lecturing about their interaction and influence on North African agriculture, and we’re having an exam on all of apidae next week. It’s BS!” She threw her hands up with a sigh, setting the box of Cheez-Its on her desk next to her bed. Her voice was all bouncy, like if she was bounding through a meadow or something stupid, wearing a hoop dress and had curly hair in a ponytail so every part of her bounced as she moved, that was her voice. “Anyways, what have you been up to? Still taking that long exposure shot of the sky or whatever?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I just hope my tripod and camera don’t get stolen.”

Now she nodded, standing up and returning the box of Cheez-Its back to its cabinet after offering them to me again. “Well,” she said, grabbing her coat off the hook and resting it like a cape over her shoulders, “I think that’s pretty cool.” She turned to head out the door, telling me, “Remember, you promised you’d show me when you’re done! See ya!” The whole room rattles when she swooshes out of the room and slams the door a little too hard.

 That night, Jean comes back with Chinese food. “I got Chinese,” she says, unbuttoning her flannel and taking it off so she’s in a sports bra and jeans now. Her dog tag dangles down so it barely touches the top of the purple bra when the chain cascades down her neck.

I look at the Chinese food , gravitating towards it as I pluck out the chopsticks from the bag, opening all the little paper boxes to see which one has rice and which one has noodles.

Jean stands over by the door, shaking the melting, but still white snowflakes off of her backpack and hat, “Gosh, it really is starting early this year, huh?”

“Yeah,” I say, trying not to drool as the warm, tangy, Chinese smell mixes with the freezing and stale air of our room. The snow she’s sprinkling all over our tile floor makes it colder, probably, as does the fact that she insists the window is cracked overnight. Sometimes I’ll find a light dusting of snow on the nightstand that sits between our beds in the morning, and I’ll close the window, placing her entomology textbook on the puddle because I’m stupid and an asshole and I don’t want her to bring snow in here.

 The thing is that my philosophy was I couldn’t hate a person. Because I only hate four things, a person can’t possibly have four things that make them up! Wrong. Jean does.

Jean has all the things on the List Of Things I Hate.

But the other thing is that I can’t hate her.

Because I love her.

I look at her and her stupid dog tag and her snow that makes the whole room freezing and her bees and her lack of fingernails and I go “Wow, I really like her. She is a really cool human being.”

And I try my best not to worry about what she thinks when she looks at me, but I hope it’s close to the same. I notice this every day, and every day it’s a life changing realization because when I find that snow dusting basically my face in the morning, and I decide once again leave a passive aggressive sign that she might not want to crack the window in the middle of the winter overnight because stuff might get ruined.