drjholtzmann

[drjholtzmann]

Since we keep getting "live action" CGI remakes of already perfectly adequate animated movies, and because people need to understand that animation is a medium and not a genre, I have prepared this primer about the importance of Visual Language for Conveying Information.

Can you tell what the personalities of these two mice are?

Can you tell now?

Which of these two tigers feels safer to be around?

Which of these three dogs is the funniest one?

If you can answer these questions, then you already have experience with the idea of visual language and stylistic choices being used to impart narrative meaning. If you can understand why these choices were made to impart meaning, then you can understand why animation is a medium for telling stories that has its own inherent value, and is not merely a "placeholder" for the eventual implementation of photorealistic presentation (aka "Live Action" CGI). Animation does not need to be "corrected" or "legitimized" by remaking it into the most representational simulation of observable reality.

[drjholtzmann]

house martin gathering mud

(photos by m.geven)

[drjholtzmann]

10 things to get to know me better! tagged by @h0ldthiscat (thanks!)

last song: fuckin, the video for ok go's 'here it goes again' (iconic) came up on instagram so i guess that. but before that it was my måneskin playlist on shuffle

last book: just finished 'gwen and art are not in love' by lex croucher, which was a real cosy comfort read

last movie: i think it was addam's family values - no wait! it was you've got mail

last tv show: "last" is really continuing to challenge both my sense of linear time and memory. taskmasker??

sweet/spicy/savory: sweeeeeeeet

relationship status: [*the ceaseless screeching of the void*]

last thing I googled: cotton batting

current obsession: dead boys and dreamling. also dipping back into my periodic obsession with linguistic history, old english, the thorn, and looking forward to starting a new obsession about the great vowel shift

looking forward to: a really good pastry

tagging: uhhh @agentdanascully @jimmymcgools and/or anyone who feels like it!

[drjholtzmann]

charles rowland save me… save me charles rowland……..

[drjholtzmann]

one of my favourite moments in the show that doesn't get enough credit

[drjholtzmann]

Likes to charge reblogs to FUCKING cast

[drjholtzmann]

“Can I ask a stupid question?” There was a brief time when Edwin would respond to such queries with various affirmations about no question being stupid, and about the merits of curiosity above all else. Now he just gives a little puff of breath and glances at Charles as though he is trying, good naturedly, to not roll his eyes. There’s no heat in it though, and Charles knows its more of an act than anything else. Edwin is impatient with many things, but rarely ever with Charles. Not really. “And if you hate it just tell me and I’ll drop it.”

“Very well.” 

“What would…” Charles glances at the ceiling, steeling himself while trying to remain casual. “What would being in love, what would that… look like? If we…” 

“Charles, you don’t have to –”

“No, I know. But I just, um. I just, like…it would – would it… change,” he scoffs in frustration at himself, eyes returning to the ceiling as if it has cue cards that will help him say what he wants. “Things would change, yeah? Isn’t that the point?” 

Edwin, though still, seems far calmer than Charles had anticipated. “I… don’t know. Charles, I didn’t tell you to make you feel like you have some kind of obligation –”

“I know.”

“It was just important. That you knew. I don’t want to keep secrets from you. And it also… it seemed important that you know, that you are loved. It doesn’t have to be requited – that was not the point.”

“I know.” Charles whispers, trying with everything he is not to start tearing up. “But let’s just say,” he clears his throat, “hypothetically… what would it be like?”

read on Ao3

[drjholtzmann]

[drjholtzmann]

weird-ass uncles

[drjholtzmann]

🐄

[drjholtzmann]

A Dreamling hug for you all

[drjholtzmann]

Some practice dreams

[drjholtzmann]

Practicing PDA

[drjholtzmann]

may I present, the difference in how Charles looks at Crystal and how Charles looks at Edwin, in one gif

I rest my case.

[drjholtzmann]

for the @dreamlingbingo prompt: swim team

—

“Which one’s yours, then?”

Dream starts at the voice beside him, and turns to see a man—about his own age, handsome—smiling enthusiastically at him, holding out a cup of the bright red cordial being served at the under fives swimming team’s Halloween party. It is, Dream understands, intended to resemble blood. There are gummy eyeballs floating in it, though Dream has been spared the indignity of having to fish one out of this particular cup.

“It’s disgusting,” the man says, still smiling broadly.

Dream accepts the cup.

“That one is mine,” he says, gesturing with his cup to Orpheus, who is currently engaged in a game of zombie tag. He is ‘it’, and chasing Robyn, who as far as Dream can determine is his favourite person in the entire world.

“Oh!” the man says, offering his hand. “You must be Dream! I’m never done hearing about you, you’re the coolest person in the world. You’re an artist? Or an author?”

Dream blinks at him.

“Sorry, I’m Robyn’s dad. Hob.”

Dream had known, logically, that Robyn must have had a father, but he has not met him. It has always been Robyn’s mother who brings him to his swimming lessons. They are friends, Dream thinks, he and Eleanor, and he only realises now that she has said nothing of her husband.

In fact, he is nearly certain she had mentioned a wife.

“Oh,” Dream says, shaking the offered hand. He sips the cordial, and wrinkles his nose. “Oh that is disgusting.”

“I did say,” Hob says, taking a generous sip of his own. “Can’t wait to take Robyn out to run around the park for about six hours after this, to work through all the sugar.”

“Indeed,” Dream responds. He had not thought that far ahead. “I’m afraid I’ve heard nothing of you.”

Hob laughs. “Yeah, well, from Robyn’s point of view, I’m just Dad, aren’t I? Not terribly exciting. I teach at the university. Medieval history.”

“That will explain the viking costume,” Dream says.

“Much to Robyn’s constant disappointment, no, actually. More fourteenth century. Chaucer, Hundred Years’ War, Peasants’ Revolt. That sort of thing. I’ve got a colleague waiting in the wings to pounce on him when he’s old enough to care about King Arthur, though.”

Dream’s lips twitch at the thought. There are many things he is eagerly awaiting Orpheus to be old enough to appreciate. For now, though, he is happy to finger paint and read him stories.

“He took me very seriously when I said they didn’t have horns on their helmets though. You should have heard him giving Gwen orders about it.”

That is the name of Eleanor’s wife. Dream is certain of it.

“Listen, I’m realising I’m absolutely going to have to confess here,” Hob says. “Because it’ll eat away at me if I don’t. I knew who you were. Eleanor showed me a picture.”

“Oh?” Dream asks, sipping his cordial absent-mindedly. It is still disgusting.

“Mm,” Hob says. “Took me twenty minutes to work up the courage to approach you, but you haven’t even bitten me so I suppose that was being silly.”

“That I haven’t seems poor guarantee that I won’t.”

Hob laughs again. “Eleanor said you were funny.”

“She is not your wife,” Dream says. He is fairly sure at this point.

“No,” Hob says, toying with his earlobe. “No, she’s my best friend in the whole world. And the mother of my son, obviously. She thought I’d like you.”

Dream raises an eyebrow. “And?”

The hint of a blush spreads over Hob’s cheeks. “I do, yeah. And I’m told you’re the coolest person in the world by the number one authority on coolness, so there’s that.”

“Robyn is four,” Dream says.

“Well, if a four-year-old thinks you’re amazing, you must be. They’re excellent judges of character.”

Dream snorts. Hob smiles at him again. He takes a breath to speak, but is interrupted by a tiny viking crashing into his legs.

Hob scoops Robyn up one-handed and perches him on his hip, twirling him around. The two of them laugh together, and when they come to a stop, Hob rubs their noses together affectionately. He may have gone unmentioned thus far, but he clearly adores his son.

At that moment, Dream feels a tug on his coat sleeve, and looks down into Orpheus’ irresistible brown eyes. With some measure of relief, he sets the remainder of his cordial aside, and picks Orpheus up in turn. As he looks around at the wider party, he sees it is beginning to break up.

“Have you had fun?” he asks. Orpheus nods solemnly, glances at Robyn—who has his forehead pressed to Hob’s and is whispering excitedly—and then, with surprising force for such a small child, headbutts Dream.

Beside him, Hob giggles.

Dream settles Orpheus less precariously, breathes in the familiar scent of his baby shampoo, now mingled with the unmistakable cloying of sugar. He will not settle for some time, and Dream is never certain what to do with him like this.

“Hey,” Hob says, touching Dream’s sleeve for attention. “Sorry, but someone wants to ask you something.”

Dream turns his attention to Robyn. Robyn has his father’s eyes, and they are no more resistable than Orpheus’.

“D’you wanna come to the park with us?” he asks.

Dream glances from Robyn to Hob, who shrugs, and smiles wryly. “I’m game if you are.”

Dream looks to Orpheus, wide-eyed and hopeful, and then back to Robyn. One of them must have learned the look from the other, though he is uncertain which. He suspects Orpheus has learned from Robyn, who must have learned it from his father. It is very easy to imagine Hob employing the same look.

“… very well,” he says, obviously outvoted.

Hob’s smile breaks into a bright grin, his eyes glittering with it.

“Off we go, then.”

Dream texts Eleanor one-handed—Orpheus holding the other—on the walk.

Are you setting me up?

Why, Eleanor texts back. Is it working?

[drjholtzmann]

oh i’m going to lie down in the street

[drjholtzmann]

TOM STURRIDGE | The Sandman: Season 2: Behind the Scenes Sneak Peek [x]