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About Literature / Hobbyist DirectionOfTimeFemale/United Kingdom Group :iconkakasakudevotion: KakaSakuDevotion
Love's True Devotion
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Firstly: I want to sincerely apologise in having taken so long to critique this piece! On the whole this piece is a little stilted and ...

The first thing that hit me about this piece - or at the least the way I read it - was that the present-tense and monotony in the langu...

by kersee9

I think the humour worked well in this story - and was well played, that didn't overstate it but still managed to cause a smile :D For s...

Wow! What an exceptional piece! ^-^ I think this really works in a number of ways - primarily, the way you've coloured this draws the e...



FFM 25 - The Cat Knows Best

Page One

You finally arrive home after a long, tiring day and flop into your favourite armchair, pleased to find a bit of peace. Surprise! Your cat — in a rare display of unprompted affection — leaps into your lap and begins purring. Just as you raise your hand to stroke your fluffy cat, a sharp rap at the door drawn your attention.

Answer door: Page Three
Continue to pet cat: Page Two

Page Two
You continue to stroke your cat. He approves of your choice. The knocking, though, becomes more insistent and a familiar voice calls out, panicked and fearful.

Discard cat and answer door: Page Three
Continue to pet cat: Page Seven

Page Three

You regretfully get up and slide the cat into your now vacant seat. Upon opening the door you see your neighbour who is thoroughly distressed, “Help! My boyfriend’s trying to kill me!”

Invite her in: Page Four
Dismiss her: Page Six

Page Four

You invite her in and she cuddles your cat whilst you make her a cup of tea. Another knock at the door and an angry voice makes you both start.

Answer the door: Page Five
Ignore Door: Page Seven

Page Five

You open the door and you both are killed by a wild rage and a shotgun. Your cat is fine, your corpses are enough to sustain him.

Return to Page Three

Page Six

You tell her to relax and that there is a police station just around the corner. In the delay of the open door, however, your cat bolts for freedom. No more cat to pet.

Return to Page Two

Page Seven

Continue to pet cat. Fuck strangers.
The Cat Knows Best
FFM Day 25 - Challenge.

Including a Choose Your Own Adventure style story and that the tale must begin with a knock at the door. Its the start of the dilemma, anyway >.>

Prompt: Having something important to do but can't because a cat is sitting on you ~ThornyEnglishRose
31 deviations

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FFM Day 8 — Photograph

What a shit house, he thought as his eyes raked over the dilapidated and peeling paintwork, not that this was anything new, it’d been dilapidated and peeling since his mother’d first bought the house. It looked, the anyone outside as if it held many dark and tantalising secrets, as if it was just waiting for someone Ben enough to look inside and reveal the treasure. But there hadn’t been any, the house wanted to pretend it had the depths of a large, placid lake, but it was just a lie.

Maybe it was fitting that such a house had birthed an angler like him.  Though it had also birthed a soldier, honest, fit and hardworking.

Jake sighed and walked up to the house, ready for another round of arguments and hatred between himself and his only sibling. And when they’d finally had enough, they walk away from each other back into their own lives. Perhaps they’d never see each other again bar one or two unexpected events. Jake would walk away, down this street for the last time before he returned to his now home town, met his best mate and occasional accomplice for some amber nectar and forget everything about this day and their endless hatred. Laura would walk away as well, back to rag on greenhorns and REMFs.

He did hate his sister, didn’t he? Maybe he was just angry that she was so good at everything he failed in. And sad, too, that she held nothing but distain for the skills he did have. The house was cool and looked untouched, though the pair of worn-in running trainers by the door told him that she’d beaten him to it; Laura was probably up in the loft, already sorting their mother’s effects. After she’d become too elderly to live by herself and moved into a nursing home, they’d cleaned up everything with the intention to sell the place, but before they had come to an agreement, his sister had been called away on several tours of duty. Jake had thought once or twice about selling the place himself, but it didn't seem quite right to sell it and keep the money, or just hand over a cheque. Besides, Laura would probably investigate the whole thing and find that he’d cheated someone out money then split — which he would have done — and rat him out to the fuzz. Or maybe she would have beaten the crap out of him first, she could have done it, too, Jake wasn’t a small guy but she was the tri-service women’s taekwondo champion. But, before he realised it years had passed and still the house sat alone; then their mother died and they decided that they had to do something.

“Jake? Finally, thought you were going to jack on me and leave me to clear all this up,” She spoke with a formality, despite her slang, and the immediacy of the poorly veiled insult had his defences up,

“What and leave you to heave all of the valuable stuff?” He shot back as he climbed fully through the hatch and stood, with his arms folded in a space between all of the boxes,

“That’s all you ever think about, isn’t it? And don’t talk like that, you sound like a mong.” She offered cooly as she lifted one box aside to begin digging in another, Jake, deciding against arguing further for the moment, turned and lifted a box off the stack himself. As he lifted it by it’s edges, though, the unsecured bottom fell through, spilling the boxes contents all over the worn floorboard, “Bell-end,” Laura shot, though otherwise ignoring the mess he’d made.

Jack glanced of the miscellaneous items, one was a tarnished pocket watch that had long been broken, traces of acid from the long dead battery nibbled at the edges of the face. A cheap, plastic hourglass had also tumbled out, Jake remembered that he’d won this hourglass… well, found it in a box of cereal, anyway. The last item of any interest had always been something dear to his mother — an old, small fossil and an exceptionally clear one, at that, it was a partial wing of some creature or other embedded in the rock, though that was only part of it, on the other side of it, was an impression where something — a piece of wood — had been near this fossil. It was so clear that, as a child, Jake had taken great pleasure in counting the visible tree rings in the impression. His mother had always encouraged him to make up stories as to how this had come to be. Maybe that’s where his fascination with gamoning people had come from.

Jake sighed heavily, as if to blow his next sentence away on the breeze instead of speaking it, his eye was drawn by a fallen over frame that he reached to pick up, in it he found a professionally taken portrait of their mother. It must have been one of the last taken of her, her face was wrinkled and sagging, though her eyes were still crisp and sharp, if rather sad. It looked to Jake as if she could still hear their argument and was disapproving as ever of their reluctance to reconcile. Or maybe she didn’t even need to hear their argument, it was still about the same old crap that it always had been. He set the photograph up on the edge of one of the cardboard boxes, facing the siblings. Laura looked over to see what he was doing to be greeted by the image of their aged mother, she stared at it for a few long moments before her eyes flicked to her brother’s; she looked, for a fraction of a moment, as if she was about to say something, her expression was unusually soft. But the moment faded and she turned back around to busy herself with the boxes,

“Come on, we need to get this done.”
FFM Day 8! Nasty Ass Challenge time!

15 instances of slang used (some military and some 'thieves' (apparently?)): 

Ben — fool

Angler — crook, thief

Mate — friend

Split — leave, escape

Rat — inform [the police], to squeal on

Fuzz — police

[to] jack on — to leave someone alon, to be rude or unhelpful or generally selfish

Heave — steal

Mong — idiot, someone especially incompetent 

Bell end — an insult, along the lines of ‘dickhead’ 

Gamon — lie

Amber nectar — beer

Rag — to be hard on someone, firm, almost nasty to

Greenhorn — a junior, fresh from training, inexperienced 

REMF — Rear Echelon Mother F-er, referring to behind the front line troops, i.e. equipment support roles etc 

Also included as per the challenge: the theme of realism, a flash back and a flash forward, the inclusion of a fossil, broken watch, hourglass, an old lady's wrinkled face and tree rings as well as a total word count of 1000. Phew! 


FFM Day 3 — Two Hearts


Edmé sighed as he threw down the blood soaked sack he’d used to transport the deer’s heart back to the butcher’s; for the fact the creature was a completely bloody mess when he’d found it and was almost unrecognisable as a deer — though he had assumed that was because it was half crushed by the weird metal thing that looked as if it had fallen from the sky; but that was impossible — the heart had still been beating fiercely. It was large too, and had earned Edmé a good price and he thought that after such a day a good skin of wine would help him unwind. It was already getting late and the tavern lights were on.

“Edmund, a skin, if you will!” He called over to the unnaturally chipper barman, he might have looked like a grizzly old bear, but was, by anyone who met him regarded as a teddybear. It had become, in fact, a running joke in the town that he hadn’t been born, but rather sewn by the fairest of all maidens who, upon completing the final stitch had been eaten by a dragon and with her dying breath had wished the man-bear into life. Edmé wondered, idly, what his creator-mother would think of him being a wine-drinking bar tender after such a mythical start in life.

“Comin’ right up,” He filled a flagon from the bloated pouch and set it down in front of his old friend, “Rough day?”
Edmé offered up a few small coins before drinking deeply of the warm, dark liquid, “You might say that; got some meat, but it was… well, pretty mangled up, not sure what creature’s heart I took,”

“H—” Edmund opened his mouth to respond but the door of the tavern suddenly flew open with such ferocity that they both froze, as did the few other patrons; the creature stood like a man but was covered in dirt and blood and held an enormous mass of shaggy hair upon his head,

“Who took my heart?” The creature boomed, his voice filling every square inch of the tavern, before he stomped further inside, right up to the bar, “Who took it?” Upon received no answer (other than the bug eyes of lowly humanoids around him) he lifted a table with a single hand and heaved it across the room, splintering it and several chairs in the process,

“Oi, OI!” Edmund snapped, his wits recovering, “I don’t care who’s wronged you, but you will not come and smash up my tavern!” He darted from behind the bar, only upon standing in front of the creature was it obvious that he was a good foot shorted than the other, but even so, Edmund was no coward and bravely threw a punch at the creature. It did little good as the thing barely reacted, instead, it took a step forwards and lifted Edmund up, clean off the ground by his vest,

“You have an admirable spirit!” The creature still shouted, though his tone had changed a little. Edmé, unsure what to do faced with such a monster, smashed his glass of wine over the creatures head. This still achieved nothing. As the alcohol dripped down the creatures’s mangled, ridged forehead and down the dark skin of its face, it took a long, slow lick of its lips.

“What is this liquid?”

“…Wine,” Edmund offered, trying not to struggle at the uncomfortable position he was still held in; this did not go unnoticed and he was set back to his feet, causing him to stumble against the bar for balance.

“We Klingons have no concept of such drink…” The creature gazed at nothing, or maybe it was at everything as it appeared to have just found a very important solution to… something. “Ugn, ugn,” The creature grunted as he gestured for more, Edmund reached for the pouch to pour some out, though it was unceremoniously ripped from his hands and the creature took a long, deep draught.

“W-what is you name?” Edmund ventured, though it was a few moments longer before the Klingon lowered the pouch and dried his lips on the back of his thick leather sleeve,

“I am Q’artan, of the House Mordo,”

“Where are you from? The Middle East?” Edmé asked, timidly; Q’artan looked squarely at him, clearly unimpressed,

“I am from Q’onos, it is a world many light years from here, I knew you were a primitive people, but I did not expect to find such discoveries on your world,” His eyes slipped back down to the skin in his hands,

“You don’t have wine on your… Qo-noz?”


“Forgive me if I misheard you, but didn't you come in here saying someone stole your… heart?” Edmund queried, his curiosity replacing his anger now sure that the… Q’artan thing would not start fighting again,

“Yes, some petaQ found me unconscious and stole one of my organs,”

“Then… should you be dead?”

“Dead? Ha ha ha ha! If the theft of one of my hearts was enough to kill me, I would not be able to call myself a Klingon warrior!” Q’artan laughed, it was rich and deep, “You will give me the recipe for this!”

“Wait a minute, if you’re from… whatever that planet is,” Edmé cut across, “Then how can we talk? How can we understand you?”

“They’re called translators, a rather useful device, if unpopular, in the Empire’s march to conquer the galaxy we need to open trade routes and learn of anomalies, for this we need to understand one another,” The Klingon explained succinctly, though it was falling on deaf ears as the blank, confused expressions of the two in front of him stared back. Q’artan pursed his lips in disapproval of the levels of intelligence of the dominant species on this planet. Still the ‘wine’ was good. Perhaps these creatures would make valuable kitchen slaves?
Two Hearts
A lo, the tale of the origin of Klingon Blood Wine was told!

Day 3! 

A little late unfortunately, my bad! 

petaQ - trash, garbage, a common and oft-used Klingon insult! Star Trek DS9 Klingon Chef Kaga 



Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
United Kingdom
I've been a writer for as long as I can remember, with never a long time passing from having written one story to when another plot idea would occur to me! I've published a lot on websites such as deviantART, but nothing more formally than that, unfortunately!

I like to help others with their writing as well, and I offer a beta service for those who want a second pair of eyes to help them with anything from typos to character and plot developments over their story as a whole. I really enjoy the process of editing - reading and understanding a story, its meaning, characters and journey, whilst still remaining a step back from being completely immersed, is something I find very curious! :aww:

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I would really appreciate some tips/links/thoughts from you guys on character development. A lot of what's written on this site calls itself 'character development', but to be honest, it's more about character creation instead of the post-conception growth. Frankly, this is a little frustrating! :noes: I'm working on a novella at the moment (aside from all the other projects lol) which is, at its heart, a coming-of-age fic and so that I can work on my skills of character development as well as character interaction between people of seemingly wildly different natures and motives.  Unfortunately, I'm a bit stuck on how to dig myself (realistically and in a manner pleasing to the reader) out of the inherent cliche present in the story...that yes, was intentional lol :dummy:

(I have a feeling that you're gonna face-palm at this) but my protagonist is an orphan from the start - I decided that parents in this case would remove a lot of what else I wanted to accomplish in the story. However, since she's been an orphan from her earliest memories (as opposed to loosing her parents at a later age) it isn't something that bothers her so much as it does others. Which I think its typical of children, they tend to simply accept their situation rather than mourn or wallow in the way adults do.

She is blind too, just thought I'd throw that in there, mostly because I've never written a story where any character has been faced with some sort of disability - and I felt like it would be really interesting to explore the world through eyes that can't see, so to speak, where I'd have to focus on the other senses to give the impression of her lack of sight. That and I reckon it will give some cool urgency to situations like meeting strangers etc.

This story is also a fanfiction for James Gurney's Dinotopia - so there are dinosaurs a-plenty! Which I loved the idea of to give a more interesting landscape XD ....and okay, I just love dinosaurs :meow:

As a final word - and before you dismiss this just as me being an idiot with no imagination - the whole POINT of this story is for me to improve my skills by challenging cliches, to fully develop characters and to write a wicked story from a crummy beginning. I want to work on this as a tool for skill improvement - which means starting off with a challenge! So please comment and add in whatever you think might be helpful - I would really, really appreciate this!

Thank you! :iconbummy2: :iconbummy3:
  • Reading: Dinotopia!
  • Watching: Bit o' TV
  • Drinking: Honey and lemon tea


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QuiEstInLiteris Featured By Owner Aug 4, 2015  Professional Writer
Thank you for adding Last Call for Tanner Lee to your collection. <3
DirectionOfTime Featured By Owner Aug 4, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
No prob! It was really beautiful :)
historyhunter Featured By Owner Jul 14, 2015
thanks for the info did you already do most of them
DirectionOfTime Featured By Owner Jul 15, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
No prob :) and well, sort of, been a bit of a long week ^^;; If you want to join in, it's not too late to sign up - you can join FFM at any time in July! Come and join the fun! :meow:

If you need some inspiration:…

To sign up:…
historyhunter Featured By Owner Jul 30, 2015
naw I'm good thanks thoe
MrWootton Featured By Owner Oct 27, 2014  Professional Writer
Thanks for the favorite! =)
DirectionOfTime Featured By Owner Oct 29, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
No prob, thanks for the llama :D
GrimTruceShipping Featured By Owner Apr 14, 2014  Hobbyist General Artist
Sorry it took so long to add you to my watch list on this other account ^^''''

Forgive my fail at life! =P
DirectionOfTime Featured By Owner Apr 18, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
No probs! I wasn't any quicker at adding you, so I guess we're even! 
nattrozanska Featured By Owner Feb 7, 2014  Professional Writer
Thanks so much for the fave =)
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