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    Summary

    Under the paring knife, the mango unbecomes itself. Now it is only: flesh, skin, pit. Core, flare, chromosphere. Sticky nectar rivering down: wrist and palm and knuckle. Wakatoshi watches Iwaizumi like he’s seated at another game, another ritual.

    Series
    Language:
    English
    Words:
    7,228
    Chapters:
    1/1
    Comments:
    97
    Kudos:
    591
    Bookmarks:
    196
    Hits:
    5186
  2. 26 Sep 2020

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  3. 25 Sep 2020

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  4. 20 Sep 2020

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  5. 19 Sep 2020

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  6. 19 Sep 2020

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  7. 18 Sep 2020

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  8. 18 Sep 2020

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  9. 16 Sep 2020

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  10. 14 Sep 2020

    Rec

    Bookmark Notes:

    luscious imagery

  11. 14 Sep 2020

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  12. 14 Sep 2020

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    Bookmark Notes:

    favorite favorite favorite

  13. 10 Sep 2020

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  14. 09 Sep 2020

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    Bookmark Notes:

    tender, intimate, permanence in the transient

  15. 07 Sep 2020

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    Bookmark Notes:

    literally the most beautiful fic ive read .

  16. 06 Sep 2020

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    Bookmark Notes:

    i want to eat this fic what the hell — this is so unfair the prose is phenomenal, the inherent eroticism and romanticism of sharing food is something i'm painfully weak for, and the ushiiwa fling furudate gave us was an appetizer and you made it one hell of a meal.

  17. 06 Sep 2020

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  18. 05 Sep 2020

    Rec

  19. 04 Sep 2020

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  20. 03 Sep 2020

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    Bookmark Notes:

    Prose as sweet and ripe and decadent as mango

  21. 31 Aug 2020

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    Bookmark Notes:

    Wakatoshi takes the spoon. With his left hand, he digs out a pre-cut orange cube from the mango’s flesh. When he brings it to his mouth, his eyes widen.

    Is the sun in my mouth? he asks his father, four years old and still learning the difference between things that stay in the sky and things that don’t.

    His father laughs, but it’s not unkind. Mangoes aren’t the sun, Toshi, but it’s the closest thing we’ve got to it.

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