z

Young Writers Society


fireheartedkaratepup


About fireheartedkaratepup

You're not supposed to give out personal info over the internet.
I've been here long enough to not care anymore: there comes a point in time when you can pretty much tell who's genuine, and who's being nosy. (Hint: the nosy ones ask for information up front; the genuine ones WANT your information, but are shy about getting it because they're aware of STALKERS OH NOES)
Seriously. Stalkers? Come at me.
I will eat you for breakfast.
Having said that, I'm just gonna leave this chatroom. If I'm there (as I'll probably be), ask me questions and stuff.
Idk.
http://tinychat.com/4fmfa
Stay safe, kids. Don't be like me.


Interests

Cartoons, Dragon Age, assorted other things.

Occupation

NOTHING THAT'S THE PROBLEM


It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats—the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill —The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it—and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another.
— JRR Tolkien