#52 flavours

[lucytara]

a prompt for every week of the year

awhile ago, i created my own writing prompts along the lines of an old livejournal writing community called 52 flavours, whose prompts were always beautiful and abstract and poetic and evocative. these types of prompts have sort of become lost to fandom in favor of more straightforward and simplistic ones (which never inspire me much, personally) so as i start to post fics i'm writing to these prompts, i figured i might as well post the actual prompt list for anyone to use!

the distant glitter of the January sun

back then, everything was music

at the violet hour

the world begins at the kitchen table

it felt just like February; what had been falling snow was beating loudly in the street

Listen. Even the ocean begs.

still without sound

unsure of where to settle down for the night

March is a month of storms and lust

we’ve been alive just long enough

I wrote “valley” when I meant “longing”

you saw me one Friday afternoon and decided you should love me

I know I have been dreaming

April is the cruelest month

all this fucking with no hands on me

I’d write about you a lot more than I should

to put on your best outfit and feel like you’re dressing a wound

to be held by something reluctant to let go

Late in May as the light lengthens

I worry that love is violence

I’ve been trying to go home my whole life–

you can put your strength down

I wasn’t fooled. I knew you at once.

It is June. Let’s hope someone is kind, just in time

bend in a thousand directions

your smell was never unfamiliar

even hunger can become a space to live in

a kind of undressing

the July night is a song

you, you, and only you

they cannot exist without setting each other on fire

in your hand, its shaky penmanship, my own paper-thin nerves

staying up all night for it

the August sun, returning everything that was taken away—

and maybe love still smolders in my heart

the reverse of being haunted

I want I want I want

a day of rain; the kind you think will never end

September tastes of ashes 

the museum of past lives

maybe a meteor or maybe a phone call or maybe a sudden shift in atmosphere

an old, old wound about to heal or about to bleed

the ache of everything unsaid

October is a thick and hollow bone

the difference between intimacy and radical intimacy

I caught you forgetting me

the wish for winter

Will you forgive me these November days?

amazing how long a ruined thing will burn

Look, you said, sunlight.

All my stories are about being left; all of yours are about leaving. We should have known.

It is December and we must be brave.

[pennyngram]

2/52 Flavours: Back then, everything was music

(my masterlist)

[ prev // 2 // next ]

xxx

For college, I went to a music university and majored in violin. I did not become a violinist, but that’s another story. Ine day I went to the room I had reserved for rehearsal and found it occupied by a soprano, who insisted she had herself reserved the room.

I would have argued with her, but I was in a hurry to master a particularly difficult piece for an exam, so I simply asked the attendant to find me another room.

The problem was that it kept happening: I kept reserving a room and finding her there, or she would show up right after I had finished unpacking my things. It got to a point where I started suspecting she might be stalking me, and I’m sure she felt the same. After about a month of this, we decided to team up and get to the root of the problem.

To book a rehearsal room, every student had to use an app developed specifically for the university. We found out that, for some reason, the app would show us only one available room at a time, even when all of them were empty, and then allow both of us to book it at the same time.

We were each using our own accounts, so it wasn’t a mistake on our part. When we went to administration about it, they either thought we were crazy or trying to pull off a prank. The app developers could not give us an answer other than to turn our phones on and off. It didn’t help that none of our friends was experiencing the same type of issue, either. Our booking problems persisted.

In the process of investigating, though, the soprano and I got close, to the point that we even decided to prepare a piece together for our end-of-year recital. We had a lot of things in common, actually. We had been flirting with the idea of just calling it quits on this dumb app bug and start dating, when the results for that year’s Match My Melody came out.

Match My Melody was the matchmaking app for our university. You would input all your information and then they would find your soulmate, or at least the most compatible person with you among the other students. It had been a fun novelty for a couple of years but there were rumors that faculty was going to discontinue the contract as no one was actually meeting their soulmate and the only thing that had risen was the number of sexual harassment accidents.

That year, my soprano and I were a match. Now other students also came forward claiming that they had been encountering their match in weird happenstances and coincidences similar to ours. They would be in the same courses, same library rooms, same restaurants and cafes.

Turns out that we had all opted in to be beta testers for Match My Melody. Seeing the poor matchmaking results of the app, one day the developers had decided that the problem was with people not meeting organically. So they created a new feature and Terms and Conditions, which allowed them access to the users’ university apps in order to manipulate matches into bumping into each other again and again, in hopes that the improved number of organically-born couples would save their contract with faculty.

Dumbest idea I have ever heard. Needless to say, none of the couples ended up dating: we were too weirded out by the whole situation. But we did all come together to file a class-action lawsuit. We received a waiver on our tuition fees and a huge settlement, which allowed me not to work another day in my life. So I guess this story and the one of why I didn’t end up becoming a violinist are one and the same after all.

xxx

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(my masterlist)

[pennyngram]

52 Flavours Writing Prompts Masterlist

original post by @lucytara

Taking up this challenge to get me to actually write some fiction, even if it's a tiny bit a week, no excuses. Will try to mix genres and styles (so strive not to only do introspective melancholic stuff but also comedy??? and experimenting with POVs I wouldn't usually think of).

Starting in nov 2024 at Week 46, should be done in nov 2025 with Week 45 :)

(the ones in blue are Leonie stories)

the distant glitter of the January sun [05.01.2025]

back then, everything was music [12.01.2025]

at the violet hour [23.01.2025]

the world begins at the kitchen table [26.01.2025]

it felt just like February; what had been falling snow was beating loudly in the street [09.02.2025]

Listen. Even the ocean begs. [15.02.2025]

still without sound [26.02.2025]

unsure of where to settle down for the night [13.03.2025]

March is a month of storms and lust

we’ve been alive just long enough

I wrote “valley” when I meant “longing”

you saw me one Friday afternoon and decided you should love me

I know I have been dreaming

April is the cruelest month

all this fucking with no hands on me

I’d write about you a lot more than I should

to put on your best outfit and feel like you’re dressing a wound

to be held by something reluctant to let go

Late in May as the light lengthens

I worry that love is violence

I’ve been trying to go home my whole life–

you can put your strength down

I wasn’t fooled. I knew you at once.

It is June. Let’s hope someone is kind, just in time

bend in a thousand directions

your smell was never unfamiliar

even hunger can become a space to live in

a kind of undressing

the July night is a song

you, you, and only you

they cannot exist without setting each other on fire

in your hand, its shaky penmanship, my own paper-thin nerves

staying up all night for it

the August sun, returning everything that was taken away—

and maybe love still smolders in my heart

the reverse of being haunted

I want I want I want

a day of rain; the kind you think will never end

September tastes of ashes 

the museum of past lives

maybe a meteor or maybe a phone call or maybe a sudden shift in atmosphere

an old, old wound about to heal or about to bleed

the ache of everything unsaid

October is a thick and hollow bone

the difference between intimacy and radical intimacy

I caught you forgetting me [18.11.2024]

the wish for winter [20.11.2024]

Will you forgive me these November days? [30.11.2024]

amazing how long a ruined thing will burn [06.12.2024] (superman ff)

Look, you said, sunlight. [31.12.2024]

All my stories are about being left; all of yours are about leaving. We should have known. [31.12.2024]

It is December and we must be brave. [02.01.2024]

[pennyngram]

8/52 Flavours: unsure of where to settle down for the night

(my masterlist)

[ prev // 8 // next ]

xxx

On my first multiple days hiking trip, my partner was way more experienced than me, so it was very surprising when I was the only one to come back alive.

As I explained to the cops the next day, Justin and I were colleagues. He was a passionate hiker and after leading me on a few beginner’s trails, he had finally invited me to an overnight trip. When I showed up at his door with my backpack chockfull of equipment, he laughed at my “preppy spirit” and said that we wouldn’t need all those “useless gadgets” but we could bring them with us if it made me feel more secure. I was annoyed at his attitude, but no matter. He would come to regret it anyway.

The hike went well. It was a fine day, with fine weather. The problem came when choosing where to set up our camp. He seemed oddly fixated on stopping at an area where I had heard there had been many bear sightings. He said there had been no such thing and that he was the expert there. It was true that he knew too much and I was the new comer to the hobby and to our workplace, so I ended up relenting. We pitched our tents and went to sleep. Justin never woke up again.

That night we were not visited by a bear, but by a poisonous kind of snake (I forget the name) that was pretty rare in the area but still not completely uncommon. It slid into Justin’s tent and caused his almost instantaneous death.

I was traumatized and our colleagues were in grief. Mr Jones, the boss, was very attentive to me after the incident. He gave me a month of paid vacation to recover from the shock and once I came back even promoted me.

For the next twenty years, I was head butler in his household and he was able to continue his clandestine commerce of endangered reptiles undisturbed.

xxx

(my masterlist)

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[pennyngram]

7/62 Flavours: still without a sound

(my masterlist)

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xxx

At the end of a generic romcom in which the leading lady comes back to her small hometown for the holidays and reconnects with her unknowingly mutual high school crush and decides to leave her miserable city life behind and move back home, there is always the question of how exactly she is going to sustain herself. What happens after she leaves her lucrative job as Serious Manager at Boring Company?

Thankfully, in this particular generic movie the solution can be found in the beginning, as our leading lady had been steadily but unknowingly (many things seem to occur unknowingly in her life) accruing more followers when posting reels of the Christmas celebrations in Smalltown City.

She has the idea of turning this into a lucrative influencer gig (this is going to work immediately, as that is the law of generic romcoms*).

After hearing her animated explanation of how this is the perfect solution for them and their situation, the leading man was perplexed. “But Christmas is over. What are you going to talk about?”

“City girl readapts to country life content. And then if things to well, I will have enough money to take over Mama Joe’s cafe. At which point I could move into renovation and cafe blogs!” At his still perplexed face, she then went on to explain how those three niches were huge, enormous. Right when she was losing herself in the meanders of brand deals and audience building (she had after all majored in Marketing), he chuckled.

“You’ve obviously given a lot of thought about it. I don’t understand what you want me to say. Are you asking for my permission?”

“God, no. Just input. This is going to be about you as well. I mean, it will show our lives to the public to some extent and you might appear on camera from time to time. So what do you think?”

He sat next to her on the bench in the cold in silence for a while, staring off in the horizon.

“Alright.” He finally said. “But you need to promise me one thing.”

“Shoot.”

“That you are not going to use our kids for content.”

He seemed to realize what he had said only after the words left his mouth.

She gaped at him. “You did not just say that.”

He snortled. “I mean, we are headed in that direction, aren't we?”

She blushed and sputtered even more at his sheepish expression.

“Suzie—”

“No, stay still, don’t make a sound.” She jumped up and started walking away all embarrassed.

He hid his face in his hand for a moment, then smiled and ran up to her, ready to tease her.

Needless to say, both conversations were postponed to another day.

.

.

* for famous applications you can consult the A Christmas Prince saga and Emily in Paris.

xxx

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(my masterlist)

[pennyngram]

6/62 Flavours: Listen. Even the ocean begs

(my masterlist)

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xxx

One time in college, I went on a road trip with my fiends and some friends of friends. We ended up in a seaside town with a highly recommended seafood restaurant.

One of the friends’ friends, who had been particularly stuck up the whole trip, started saying that we shouldn’t eat there, that eating fish was unethical and that the level of the sea and rivers rose up because of the tears of the family members of the lobster we were eating.

“Who are you, a merman?” I answered with my mouth stuffed with crab and everyone laughed.

As it turns out, he was. The next day we were arrested from the mer-police for discovering his identity and locked under the sea. Apparently, merfolk take words too literally.

After moving everyone’s ire from my unfortunate joke onto the fellow who had invited the guy, who really was the true one at fault here, we started prepping for the trial. We ended up agreeing to follow my strategy: we argued that if eating fish was a crime, then every other fish, merfolk and human being on earth was also guilty. The prince smiled widely, showing off his sharp canines, and said that I was incorrect, since merfolk feed on drowned human being corpses. He then swam closer to us and started popping the air bubbles that kept us alive with the long nail on one stretched out finger. My friends convulsed, shriveled and died beneath my eyes, as the merfolk immediately bolted (can one say bolted in the ocean?) and devoured their cadavers, leaving only the skull to float in their place.

Slowly, the prince made his way to my own air bubble, the last one. I knew I had nothing to offer to him except for my body, which he already wanted if in a different way.

“Before I die, could you at least tell me what the hell you were doing on the surface, infiltrating a group of college students?”

“I attended that college, you filthy human being.”

“Why are mythical beings always so obsessed with attending the human school system? Don’t you have anything better to do with your time?”

The prince blushed and mumbled that they, indeed, did not have one. That is how I became the well-respected dean of the newly founded Underwater Academy. Over the years I have formed several generations of merfolks and formed some brilliant merfolk teachers too, and a research institution to investigate merfolk sciences and record menfolk humanities. I was not sure what would happen once they realized that my academic knowledge was actually quite limited, so after a while I started introducing some bogus classes. So far they haven’t noticed and if things proceed this way, one day I will end up even teaching them how to swim.

In the meantime, somehow, the merprince even fell in love with me but kind of physical contact would burst my air bubble, so I had to respectfully decline. Sometimes it still feels like he is only waiting for the moment I’ll drop dead to swallow me whole. My only consolation is that I have already made arrangements for my skull to be placed alongside my friends’ in the place of honor at the entrance of the academy.

xxx

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(my masterlist)

Is this a new series, "my weird salary history?"

I've decided to become one week "late" for my peace and also because technically I'm 7 weeks early anyway.

[pennyngram]

5/52 Flavours: it felt just like February; what had been falling snow was beating loudly in the street

(my masterlist)

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This is a Leonie story.

xxx

Before we start this chapter of Leonie’s story, we should explain what we mean by “the prophecy”. Once, when Leonie was just a child, a group of entertainers, almost a makeshift circus, had passed through their small town for a couple of weeks. Among them was a soothsayer and Leonie’s mother had insisted that she got her fortune read. With time, the details of the encounter became fuzzy and only one revelation stayed in the family’s collective memory: Leonie would marry a man named John. Or her life would be changed by a man named John. Or the most important person in her life would be named John, depending on the many times Leonie’s mother had told the tale.

This prophecy was the reason why she had pushed for Leonie to marry John Trevor. Leonie herself thought that the fortune-teller had just been a charlatan, especially since John was such a common name. But a part of her wanted to trust her mother’s words. That was why she ultimately accepted Mr Vogel’s offer: his first name was John.

xxx

Living at the Fogel mansion had been different from what she had been expecting.

First of all, they were moved into one of the family rooms, rather than in the servants quarters. And while the most of her time was spent tending to the birds, she had other duties.

She needed to keep Mr Fogel company every evening. The man was quite lonely: nobody ever came to visit him and he never left the house. Leonie suspected that gaining a companion was the main reason why Mr Fogel had hired her.

They chatted by the fireplace about how the day had gone or the books she had been reading. Mr Fogel had given her a comprehensive list of books she should read, so that they could discuss them during those tête-à-têtes. He had also arranged for her to take lessons at a finishing school a couple of times a week. Their main focus at the moment was with improving her diction, or rather “getting rid of that frontier cadence” as Mr Fogel said.

Teachers also came to teach Mary and George. Mr Fogel had offered to send them to boarding schools, but Leonie had refused, wanting to keep them close to her.

There seemed to be an unspoken agreement among the servants to heed to Leonie’s words and Mr Fogel himself sometimes spoke as if one day she would be the owner of the house. That made her uncomfortable. She was not part of the family, she had to remind herself. She was an employee. Mr Fogel was generous, but not that generous.

It was difficult to remember when she was around the other girls from the finishing school. That was the best part of her new life. They seemed fascinated by her stories about a rough life in the fields in far away state. They invited her to teas and parties and Mr Fogel had even bought her a whole new wardrobe for these events. The invitations usually also extended to him, but he had never attended and Leonie didn’t mind.

High society was interested in her because of his absence. Nobody knew that she lived at Fogel House (thank goodness) but the voice that whoever wanted to get through to the retired banker had to go through her had spread quickly. At parties, she was swarmed both by gentlemen interested in ornithology and those who wished to make business with Mr Fogel.

Leonie decided to take advantage of this. She knew that her position at Fogel House was as precarious as could be and that she would need to marry well to be able to truly protect her siblings. She paid attention to whatever bachelor was invited to her same parties, looking for someone who would catch her eye, putting on the facade of a carefree heiress to attract potential matches.

The facade of her new, peaceful life, fell down at one of such parties.

That night, one of her friends from finishing school happened to drink a little too much. “Leonie, my dear Leonie.” She said while hooking an arm with her friend. “Tell me, what does really go on in Mr Fogel’s house? How were you able to get under that old man’s skin?”

Leonie smiled at her friend’s words and started to repeat once again the story of the Winter Bird.

“No, silly. I want to know the truth. Don’t you know?” Her friend giggled and leaned in closer to whisper. “They say that you are Mr Fogel’s mistress or his secret lovechild. Some even say both.” Leonie dropped her arm like it was burning but her friend only kept laughing. “Well, then? Which one is right? I’ve put quite a bit of money on this.”

Some of their other friends came to take her away but the damage was done.

That hurt Leonie more than she had expected. Was that how society viewed her? Was she laughed at? Despite their vastly different economic backgrounds, the girls had never let her feel less than, but had that been a lie due to Mr Fogel’s influence?

When Leonie went home at the end of the party, Mr Fogel was waiting up for her. In seeing him, a million details of their interactions during the past few months came to mind. Did he also consider her a mistress?

xxx

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(my masterlist)

Author's notes: in my intentions, there would have been a powerful scene at the end of this in which Leonie realizes how Mr Fogel sees her by the way he treats her, but it's Sunday of Week 6 so I need to keep moving.

[pennyngram]

4/52 Flavours: the world begins at the kitchen table

(my masterlist)

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xxx

After months of correspondence, the gods had finally come to an agreement about the destiny of the old universe: with how dire the situation was, it would be necessary to destroy everything and start anew.

The only thing left to decide was what the new world would look like. They therefore arranged to have dinner together on a neutral ground, where their three domains met.

The table was set and over a delicious meal, they successfully came up with what would become the new genesis and a new division of their powers. While waiting for a last cup of ambrosia, they abandoned formality and started reminiscing about the old world, soon to be replaced. What had been good, what had been wrong? What could they take from this universe?

“We can consider it a first trial run. We are not to blame, of course, for what came to be. We only inherited this world from our father. The whole foundation was already rotten.”

“Yes, we deposed him for a reason. We will learn from his mistakes. For one, a harder grip on technological advancements.”

“I will say one more: no titans at all.”

“And men should be different. I suggest a more advanced reproductive system, that would allow the man to choose whether they wish to produce heirs from a union of the bodies or not.”

The other two gods laughed, knowing of their brother’s plethora of illegitimate children. “Your wish is granted. But what about of the shape of human beings? I’ve often received prayers from individuals who wished to have a third arm, for carrying things and styling their hair more easily.”

“No. That would make them unbecoming to the eye. Their appearance needs no improvement. The proportions are already perfect.”

“But more importantly, what of free will?”

“I believe the origin of free will is imagination. If we give it in moderation, just enough to understand our words and commands, they will follow us until the end of time. Not like with today’s men, who have abandoned us and been misled by false gods—”

“Come on, brother. No need to be bitter about it now. You’ve had millennia to stew in your bile.”

“Forget of them and think only of the new.” The ambrosia had finally arrived now and each grabbed a glass. “A toast! To the new world!”

But no sooner the golden drops touched the gods’ lips, that they lost their divinity and their celestial bodies turned to dust.

Their wives, who had been quietly serving the meal, stilled for a moment. Then one of them conjured up a light breeze and dispersed the dust through the plains. They all started on cleaning up the table from the remains of the dinner.

“Those old tyrants. I’ve been waiting for this moment since my wedding night.”

“They would have killed every living thing rather than have some introspection.” She spit on her husband’s chair. “Cowards.”

“Now, now. They are gone. We should focus on the future, don’t you think?”

The goddesses decided not to destroy the universe. In their opinion, it was still salvageable.

xxx

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(my masterlist)

Next week it's a Leonie week!!!! + I've been doing this for 11 weeks, wow.