land of snow and glyphs


You can call me Arrows or a4p; other people who let me ride on their zombie dinosaur call me Kate.

anotherboywholived:

I’m gonna come out of nowhere and ask you to play make fishingboatproceeds find the thing.

My sister Faye is 12 years old and her and her friends had a week to obsess over The Fault In Our Stars adaption before one of them, Rachel, was diagnosed with bone cancer in her leg. She’d been poorly for awhile but doctors brushed it off as an active imagination; within weeks of finding it it’s spread to her lungs and she’ll be lucky to see in another Christmas.

My sister is now trying to get hold of John Green as a missive from him would mean everything to Rachel at this point. She’s set up a small industry emailing anyone she can find but I know he’s active on here so I though I’d give that a go, as well. I can’t even imagine what she’s going through, hell I can’t even imagine what my sister’s going through, but I know they’d all be struggling a hell of a lot more if there hadn’t been that story. All they want is a chance to say thank you.

Today’s September 16th and Rachel’s getting weaker by the day and spends a lot of her time sleeping, so I don’t know how long we have. All I can do is beg you - please, please help John Green find the thing. 

 ( anotherboywholived )

HEY fishingboatproceeds COME FIND THE THING

anotherboywholived:

I’m gonna come out of nowhere and ask you to play make fishingboatproceeds find the thing.

My sister Faye is 12 years old and her and her friends had a week to obsess over The Fault In Our Stars adaption before one of them, Rachel, was diagnosed with bone cancer in her leg. She’d been poorly for awhile but doctors brushed it off as an active imagination; within weeks of finding it it’s spread to her lungs and she’ll be lucky to see in another Christmas.

My sister is now trying to get hold of John Green as a missive from him would mean everything to Rachel at this point. She’s set up a small industry emailing anyone she can find but I know he’s active on here so I though I’d give that a go, as well. I can’t even imagine what she’s going through, hell I can’t even imagine what my sister’s going through, but I know they’d all be struggling a hell of a lot more if there hadn’t been that story. All they want is a chance to say thank you.

Today’s September 16th and Rachel’s getting weaker by the day and spends a lot of her time sleeping, so I don’t know how long we have. All I can do is beg you - please, please help John Green find the thing. 

JOHN GREEN FANFIC PREVIEW

10. October 2013

maureenjohnsonbooks:

As you may or may not know, I am writing some JOHN (and also HANK) GREEN FANFIC for the HPA’s Equality for the Win fundraising campaign. I thought I’d put just the FIRST FEW PARAGRAPHS here, just to give you a TASTE. If you’d like to get the entire story, you can DONATE HERE.

************** 

            The day John Green realized Benedict Cumberbatch was hiding in his house was the day his collection of Nicholas Sparks novels spontaneously fell off the bookcase in his office. This surprised him. What surprised him more was that there was a face, shelf high, now clearly visible in the spot where the books had been.

            It was the face of Benedict Cumberbatch.

            “Who are you?” Cumberbatch said, Cumberbatchly.

            “I’m John Green,” said John Green. 

            “Clearly an alias. Let’s see who you are really.” Benedict Cumberbatch touched his hands together in prayer formation, and touched them lightly to his lips. “Weight evenly distributed, no reliance on the lumbar region of the spine, a slight hunch in the thoracic. You work at a standing job, at a counter. Your hair is tousled, quite high, indicating that you either use a lot of product or it’s stress. But no one with that haircut would use that degree of product and there’s no telltale smell or sheen, so it’s natural. Stress. Combined with the standing job, that indicates customer service. There’s residue of some kind of foodstuff on your shirt. You’ve tried to wipe it away but the trace is still there. Food service, then. The stain is high on your body—you work at a counter, most likely. The substance is high fat but highly viscous and faintly white. A commercially produced milkshake, most like. Considering your age, I’d suppose you’re likely to be advanced in this position, so I think we can reasonably conclude that you are the manager of a fast food restaurant. A Burger King, perhaps, or a Wendy’s.”

            “You’re right about the hair being caused by stress,” John said. “The white stuff is baby puke, and I stand at a treadmill desk, which you know because you’re looking at me standing on it. What are you doing behind my bookshelf?”

            “I’m thinking.”

            “About what?”

            “Things you couldn’t possibly understand,” said the Cumberbatch. “You’re boring.”

            It was at this point that John Green realized something was not right. One, Benedict Cumberbatch was concealed behind a bookcase in his office. The second thing was that Benedict Cumberbatch seemed to be behaving like Sherlock Holmes. These two things together painted a clear picture, and John Green didn’t like the look of that picture.

So John Green picked up his phone.

            In Missoula, Montana, Hank Green reached out of his massive outdoor hot tub to answer his phone. His hot tub was in the shape of Science itself and was the only one of its kind in the world.

HELLO, JOHN. said Hank Green. I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW I’M IN MY HOT TUB SO KEEP IT CLEAN.

“Got it,’ John Green said. “Listen, it looks like Benedict Cumberbatch has been secretly living in my house.”

BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH IS IN YOUR HOUSE? said Hank. YOU MEAN, LIKE, SHERLOCK?

“I mean exactly that,” John said. “And I think? He thinks? He’s Sherlock Holmes?”

THAT’S REALLY WEIRD. said Hank.

“I know.” John cast a glance over and saw Benedict Cumberbatch sniffing the edges of his books. “He got, like, behind the bookcase? You know that kind of free-standing one, that’s like a grid?”

OH YEAH I KNOW THAT ONE.

“Yeah, well, he got behind it. I don’t know how long he’s been there.”

HANG ON…

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT? Donate to find out.

fishingboatproceeds:

Reblogging this from effyeahnerdfighters because you should all be following them.

But anyway, here Nat Wolff and I answer questions from the set of The Fault in our Stars movie.

Did the pun just go straight over Nat’s head or does he have the best poker face in the world? o.o

Mr. Brightside

10. September 2013

fishingboatproceeds:

So “Mr. Brightside,” a song by The Killers, is on Sarah’s “New Workout” playlist, so called because when she created it in 2009, it was new.

Usually when I work out or run, I listen to podcasts, Watsky, or the Mountain Goats, but sometimes I will fire up the old New Workout playlist.

At any rate, the relevant information here is that I’ve listened to “Mr. Brightside,” I would estimate, 4,000 times. The song is (I think) about a possibly unfaithful romantic partner. And every time I’ve listened to the song I’ve been stopped by the lyric, “Now they’re going to bed / And my snowman is sick.”

Now I understood this wasn’t a literal snowman; I figured a snowman was slang for a drug dealer (cocaine, I guessed), and that the guy singing the song was doubly upset, because his girlfriend is (possibly) cheating on him AND his cocaine dealer is unwell, and therefore (presumably) unable to deliver cocaine.

This always seemed to me a strange thing to mention in this song about jealousy. Like, I found it much harder to empathize with the narrator when he can’t get through a single verse without mentioning his snowman’s illness, and anyway, no wonder you’re having relationship problems when you view the health of your cocaine dealer as equal to the health of your romance.

And I would just be like: BREAK IT OFF WITH THE SNOWMAN, OBVIOUSLY. Now’s the perfect time: He’s already sick, and so you’ve got this great window to begin your recovery. And the narrator’s total blindness to his problem just really frustrated me. Obviously drug addiction is no simple beast to confront, but surely you recognize that your attachment to your snowman might be problematic for your relationship with your girlfriend.

But then this evening I was running and I realize the line is “My STOMACH is sick,” and I was like, “Oh. Right. That makes more sense.”

I’m honestly not that excited about The Fault in Our Stars movie.

28. August 2013

sharkeyejones:

The only scene I’m looking forward to is the one right after Van Houten steals the hidden treasure from the Anne Frank house and he and Hazel and Augustus have that intense foot/boat/car chase through Amsterdam. And they end up in that empty warehouse and Van Houten corners the kids. He kicks Augustus’s prosthetic leg and Hazel’s oxygen tank out of reach and he has his gun out and everything. All seems doomed until Lidewij crashes through the window on her motorcycle and knocks down Van Houten. And he loses his gun and Hazel scrambles for it. She points the gun at Van Houten while she gets hooked up to another oxygen tank that Lidewij brought with her. Augustus climbs into the motorcycle’s sidecar with the recovered treasure and Hazel climbs on the back behind Lidewij. Hazel still has the gun pointed at Van Houten and he’s looking all scared and he says, “Please, don’t shoot. I don’t want to die.” And she goes, “The world isn’t a wish-granting factory.” Then she shoots the oxygen tank that’s near his feet and it explodes and Van Houten is consumed by a fireball while Lidewij drives Hazel and Augustus the hell out of there.

That scene is going to be so badass.

(via fishingboatproceeds)

allonsytimelord:

allonsytimelord:

allonsytimelord:

woo look what i finally got after seeing it so much on tumblr

image

the blurb looks pretty depressing, but i dont see john green hate here like i do with moffat so i assume its not that sad

this isnt going the way i wanted.

i fucking hate john green.

(Source: bennidick, via persona-q)