#streetcar draws

[a-streetcar-named-anathema]

some A.K.I doodles

[stellagibs0ns]

no i actually will not stop drawing gillian in streetcar. hope this helps!

—

drawn in procreate !!

[pleckthaniel]

i neeeeeeed a KC Miku. she has got to be wearing one of those <3 KC shirts, a Chiefs hat and a TSwift beaded bracelet and chowing down on some burnt ends. And with the tackiest inner arm tattoos you've ever seen and still wearing acid washed skinny jeans in this year of our lord 2024. and a stanley cup

[transit-fag]

My ideal street layout, wide sidewalk, wide bike lanes, and a 2 lane road that only allows streetcars on it. Yes I know this a bad drawing, I made it in a hurry

[kristen-draws]

Inktober 2023 #6 - STELLAAAAA

[schlock-luster-video]

Happy birthday, Jessica Tandy! (1904 - 1994) Here's some new original art inspired by The Birds to mark the occasion!

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ i'll stay on this drive for as long as you'd like | fushiguro megumi

wc: 3.2k

summary: megumi knows you a lot better than you think.

contains: f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!reader, non-curse!au, college!au, established relationship, hurt/comfort.

a/n: some songs for the vibe: streetcar - daniel caesar, the movies - nightly, night drive - red velvet.

part: 1 | 2 | 3 series m.list: by your passenger seat

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: acting like it’s okay when you know it’s too much 

sponsored by @ceroseis and @itskilau for the @ficsforgaza initiative. please check it out and support if you can!

It’s on the drive back from one of your friends’ graduation afterparty that Megumi can tell something’s off. 

The trees whizzing past your window begin to dwindle, commercial buildings replacing them bit by bit—a clear sign of your trip drawing further away from the party venue and closer to the bustling streets of home. 

He looks over to you every now and then, your back pressed against the black leather seats of his sedan. That spot is yours, adjusted and fitted to your liking; on most days, you settle into it comfortably, but tonight, you sit with unease. 

There’s a tightness around your shoulders that extends all the way down to your clenched fists, and if it still isn’t any obvious from that, it’s one look at how you bite down tensely on your jaw that gives you away completely. 

Are you cold? He wonders, then checks the AC. 

Spring has brought in warmer days, but the nights are unpredictable—

His brows furrow, one hand tightening around the steering wheel as he uses the other to increase the temperature slightly. Just in case. 

—you’re still wearing the microfleece jacket he brought to the afterparty. 

Only a few words have been exchanged between you two so far—which is not unusual. Car rides with you are typically silent, comfortable in that either of you can speak whenever you want; there’s never any pressure to fill in empty pauses and long stretches of nothingness. 

It’s always a shared look, maybe a touch; a joint experience in enjoying each other's company despite not doing much.

But, this quiet is different. Tense. One that’s riddled with feelings you seem to be hiding. 

Megumi can tell. 

You pick your nails from his periphery, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you focus on the road straight ahead. On your lap rests your phone, filled with songs queued up for CarPlay—a task you’ve made your own since marking your permanence in his passenger seat. 

A slow reverb plays as the accompaniment to your silence, and the song is familiar, one he knows full well exists in some of your vaguely named mood playlists. 

“Sometimes you just want to feel something, y’know?”

And Megumi thinks that’s all fine and good; Kugisaki’s called him ‘moody’ more than a few times. But he watches you now and he can’t even tell what you’re feeling exactly, just that you don’t feel okay.

He hears you take in a breath. 

In the years you’ve known each other, Megumi’s learned that you tell him most things, but only when you’re ready. It’s not a problem with him, it’s just your way of processing things—is how you explained it. 

Still, something about the way you’d gradually curled in on yourself and avoided most of the night’s conversations makes him feel worried. It gives him the sinking feeling that if he doesn’t ask about it now, you’ll let tonight play out like nothing’s wrong; you’ll sweep it under the rug and when he asks about it next time, you’ll dust it off like it never happened to begin with. 

Then he’ll never know.

And, that doesn’t sit well with him at all. 

His eyes glance over at the directions on his CarPlay. The breath he takes is crucial, inhaled with contemplation before it’s released with his decision. 

At the end of the song’s chorus, right before it changes key for the bridge, Megumi takes a detour. His palm lays flat on the wheel as he turns it to the left abruptly. An excuse waits at the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out for when you say—

“I think we were supposed to go straight…” your voice trails off, equal parts unsure and fragile. 

“Gojo-sensei wants me to check out a property,” he lies, straight through his teeth. It doesn’t sound too far off from a real possibility. 

“Oh,” you mumble, more resigned than usual as your fingers reach for the screen. “Do you want me to pin it?” 

“No need,” he pauses, eyes momentarily flitting over to your hand. 

The thought simmers for only a second before he reaches for your fingers with his own, interlacing them together and stroking your knuckles with his thumb; back and forth, gently.

It’s a habit he’s developed in well over the year that you’ve been together; a grounding sign of his affection that no longer flusters him as much as it used to. It means many things, but he hopes you can tell what he’s trying to say right now—

“I want you to tell me what you’re thinking,” as he rests your interlaced hands on your thigh.

The warmth on your lap causes you to look up, your lips curling up into a tight smile. 

His grip on the steering wheel tightens. 

Maybe you think it does the job, but Megumi knows you; he knows how you breathe when you’re anxious, knows the way your eyelashes flutter when you’re on the brink of tears. He knows when your smile isn’t any bit genuine, when it fails to reach your eyes and you turn away quickly as if to hide that fact. 

He clasps your hands together and squeezes. 

You hold your breath, turning your head to watch the view: city buildings reverting back to trees. 

It runs down the side of the road in an endless stream, along with time, and the unease that settles in his stomach when you don’t respond to his squeeze with familiar grip. 

He looks on ahead. 

Megumi has no idea where the fuck he’s driving to; the directions on his CarPlay constantly reroute him back to your neighborhood, but he’s taking every wrong turn and crossing every road he isn’t supposed to just to buy some more time to stay in this ride with you. 

“This is that new artist you’ve been talking about lately, right?” he attempts.

You only hum. 

The car slows for a red on the stoplight ahead, and he tells himself he’ll give you this time and wait until it ends. If after this, you’re still quiet—

It turns green. 

—”Is everything okay?” he makes sure to look at you when he asks. 

When your eyes meet his, he can already tell what front you’re about to play up. It’s painful when he watches your face shift into something else, eyes forcibly widening as your smile pulls tightly at your cheeks.

“Yep! Why wouldn’t it be?” 

He hates it. 

How can you pretend to sound happy in front of him, of all people, too? 

He turns away, eyes focusing back on the road. Your hand remains clasped in his, still unmoving; Megumi doesn’t know you like this—you’ve only ever squeezed back just as tightly, if not more, holding onto him all the way home. 

The furrow between his brows deepens as his finger taps lightly on the wheel. Restless. 

He allows the silence to stretch on.

.

A few more minutes find him driving past missed turns and wrong roundabouts, the scenery around you transforming into empty fields of tall grass dimly lit by lampposts. The lights fade in and out on repeat, casting itself as hazy, muddled hues upon your face.

Megumi glances from time-to-time, catching your reflection on the window of his passenger seat. 

The expression on your face remains tight, pulled together in an effort to keep it together. And Megumi isn’t typically one to pry, nor is he the type to outright intervene with what others are going through—

But, he just wants you to tell him what’s wrong. 

The feeling scratches at him, a quiet torture as it turns him impatient. He can only grind his teeth. 

Your songs continue to play as he drives down empty roads, each one turning sadder than the last. And he wonders for a moment when it’ll end; if listening to these songs for long enough will make you feel any better—enough at least, for you to begin to open up. 

In the midst of his rumination, you move, angling yourself away from him ever so slightly as you reach up to run your fingers through your hair, microfleece sleeve brushing against your cheeks lightly. 

You don’t think he sees you, he’s sure, but he spots you on your reflection—

The window of his passenger seat is pitch black, already heavily tinted on its own, but exacerbated more by the darkness of the evening outside. It lends itself as the perfect blank slate to return any image that light casts upon it. Tonight, its subject happens to be you.

—with tears streaming down your face. 

And it makes his chest ache, heart sinking straight to his stomach. 

The breath you take is heartbreakingly still, a staggered inhale that is so careful and so considerate of the fact that you don’t want him to hear it hitch. Your lips are trembling, bitten down to keep in any sob that might spill out. 

Megumi hates this the most, he’s decided. 

He clenches his jaw. 

Just a few meters ahead is a clearing lit up by another lamppost. The road is vacant enough for him to pull the car over to the side, still leaving room for other cars to pass by. 

So he decides.

Pushing the hazard button and signaling to turn, Megumi slows the car down to a stop. You wipe at your face quickly when you notice, trying discreetly to fix yourself up before facing him. 

“Did something happen?”

Your sniffle slips. 

He doesn’t say anything, shifting the gear into park as he leans back on his seat. The leather squeaks under his movement, each noise amplified now that the car is completely still.

Megumi takes a deep breath.

“Nothing happened,” he starts, considering his next actions very carefully as he turns to face you. 

His fingers reach up slowly, gently wiping at the tips of your eyelashes; your tears glisten at its tips. 

Something in your expression shifts, the front you put up gradually turning into guilt. 

(He knows; he’s noticed you this entire night.) 

Time stops for Megumi in moments you never know: when you laugh, and your cheeks lift life to your eyes; when you hold him, by hand or by heart—he can’t tell the difference sometimes; when you tell him you love him, whether whispered against his collarbone or spoken through your lips locked in his.

You look pretty in all of them, you always do; even now, drowning in the fabric of his clothes with strands of your hair kissing your nose. 

It’s enough to already make his chest hurt. 

But then your tears begin to spill over, rushing down in streams over your cheeks, and he can’t put a name to this feeling—this immense pressure that sinks down to his stomach, twisting and aching. It’s worse than what he felt moments ago. 

His thumbs press themselves to the dampness under your eyes, wiping away where he can as he cradles the rest of your face. 

Megumi is the last person anyone would ever call to handle tears, but his body moves on its own when it leans towards you. It feels natural, right, when his lips rest softly against your forehead, fingers slotting themselves around your ears. 

Your hands hold onto his wrists firmly, as if grounding yourself. 

“Please tell me what’s wrong.” 

He adjusts himself, quickly releasing his seatbelt to lean over the center console. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, and—

(It’s hard, you want to tell him. Nothing ever seems enough sometimes.) 

You tuck your face in the crook of his neck, your arms hooking themselves around his back and onto his shoulders. 

“Did I–” he starts, unsure, as he brings a hand up to cradle the back of your head, “Is it it me?” 

You shake your head. 

(Of course, it isn’t. How can it be?)

“I don’t know what to do, Megumi,” you mumble, choked up as you inch away from him to rub at your eyes. 

He waits for you to continue.

“We just graduated,” your fingers grip at your pants, “I should be happy, and I am, but,” you hiccup, “everyone has all these plans and big dreams and,” a deep breath, “I don’t even know what I want to do.” 

(Your tears soak through your speech, punctuating them in drenched uncertainty.

Everything throbs, a heavy thumping beating in your head. The only thing that cuts through is the familiar ‘click’ of the door unlocking, Megumi’s hand on the handle as you turn towards him curiously.) 

“Let’s step outside,” he directs, his door already half-open. 

When you move to follow suit, he turns off the engine before stepping outside.

The crisp air of spring is sharper in the evening, littering goosebumps down the sides of his arms. A breeze picks up and brushes against his ears, but being near you, in any capacity, has always been enough to make his insides feel warm. 

He circles around the front of the car to get to your side, pausing a few steps in front of you, as if asking for permission. 

You take a step and then another, tears welling up as you inch closer for a hug. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, voice small as you slack in his hold. He tucks you under his chin, hand cradling the back of your head again. “I always thought I’d figure it out eventually,” you continue, “but we’re here and I haven’t, and…” 

Your grip on him tightens.

“Did anyone trigger this earlier?” he asks softly, his finger rubbing against the nape of your neck. 

(That’s the problem, though—there isn’t anyone in particular. You know Megumi is asking so he can steer you clear of any future interactions with said person, but that’s not the case; it’s all you and the things you’ve overheard. All you and the things you see on your social media feed—an insecurity that drowns out anything else around you. 

People often mean well when they ask what you’re up to, but your response always leaves a bitter, acrid aftertaste when you feel like you can never give them an honest answer.) 

You shake your head, digging your face deeper into his neck. Your lips tickle his skin when you speak, “Just overheard stuff.”

Megumi sighs, holding you closer. 

He blinks once, taking in the clear open fields and the endless road ahead. Up above, stars splatter white against the sky, and if he listens closely, he’ll hear the faintest hiss of the springtime breeze. 

“It’s all just… noise,” he mumbles, lips pressing on the crown of your head. “You always tell me…” in the depths of his mind he fishes for a memory as proof,  “everything else is just noise when you have me and good music with you.” 

He feels shy recounting it word-by-word, heat rising to his cheeks; but Megumi has never been good at comfort, and this is his honest attempt at that. 

You chuckle sadly, a little watery as you reply, “It’ll just be me and the music when you leave though.” 

And even though this is your honest attempt at taking the situation lightly, the statement hits him square in the chest with its gravity.  

He hums and chooses to linger with you in the quiet, the occasional wisps of wind whizzing in the background. 

There’s not a lot Megumi can say that’ll make any of his statements valid, because all his plans have been laid out since his third year in uni: work his way through his course (which he did, in flying colors, actually), bag an internship (which he also did, for an extended contract too), and eventually land a job offer (which he also just did, a few days ago for a company in Kyoto). 

But, there is one thing he knows he can say with utmost certainty:  

“We’ll figure it out together.” 

Your head whips up quickly, brows furrowing as you give him a look. 

(If it’s what you think he’s implying, you won’t allow it. He has to—)

“...’ll still go. You’ll kill me if I don’t.” he huffs, leaning back to get a better look at you.

You look confused. 

(Megumi staying behind in Tokyo isn’t even an option for you; not when he has an attractive offer waiting for him in Kyoto, and most especially not when the only reason he’d be staying is because of you.

You’d been the one who encouraged him to apply and you promised yourself that you’d continue to support him all the way through. The fact that he’s leaving is sad, but you’ll never forgive yourself if you end up being the reason he’s held back from something so good.)

“I’ll visit,” he tucks your hair behind your ear, “or you can stay with me whenever you want while we figure something out for you.” 

“You can lean on me.” 

(His eyes meet yours sincerely, deep blue speckled with street-lit hues. It’s honest, and he only means to reassure you, but something inside you is saying—)

“You’re not… you’re not a failure, or a disappointment, or whatever, just because you’re having a hard time figuring it out by yourself.” he continues to speak, finding the right words as his hands fall down to press on your waist. “It’s why I’m here.” 

(—you should still feel bad. Your life is your responsibility, and Megumi shouldn’t be the one holding onto all the pieces when you’re struggling to get it together. And yet—)

When you open your mouth to rebut, Megumi, somehow, already knows what you’re about to say. 

“It’s not baggage, and even if you insist it is,” he pauses, as if working a way to verbalize how he feels. His eyes hold yours in this moment, tears welling up along your lash line; there is a weight to what he’s about to reveal. 

He takes a breath, swallowing. 

“I want to take it on with you.” 

Your tears fall and Megumi catches them, his thumbs gently pressing against your cheeks. 

(There are a lot more thoughts racing through your mind, but for now you focus on the peace he offers you. Megumi is rarely verbal with his feelings, so hearing him be so open like this means more to you than anything.)

“Okay,” you rest your forehead against his collarbone. 

Megumi pulls you closer as you both stand by his car, his arms a steady stronghold that grounds you. He gives you a few more moments of quiet until he feels ready to ask, “Are you ready to head home?”

You lift your face from his chest, eyes puffed up and a little dry. Your hand searches for his, interlacing your fingers together when you find it resting against the small of your back. 

“Can we drive for a little bit longer?”

He nods and his lips curl up into a smile, small and knowing as he opens the car door. 

But before you go back in, his hands take hold of yours, rubbing them gently to heat them from the cold. He brings your fingertips up to his lips, the display of affection rendering him pink, still (to you, the look on his face never gets old); he kisses them lightly before he lets go, walking to his side of the car so he can stay on this drive for as long as you’d like, until you’re ready to go home. 

a/n: i hope you enjoyed! thank you so much for reading 🥺 writing this was deeply personal, and writing megs will always be one of my favourite things 🥺

thank you notes: @pastelle-rabbit for thinking about drive megs with me and sending me songs! 🥺 + @ceroseis @mieiri for everything always 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[josy57]

In the Streetcar by Josy57

This is one of the drawings I created to illustrate my poem ‘The City of Lost and Found’. You can find the video here

[shittyjakeenglish]

Day 171

but day 3 of dirkjake week! retro/decades!!! oh this one was fun. i watched a streetcar named desire (1951) today so i was in a 50s mood.

reference image under cut

i wonder what became of these two. what would they think about me drawing yaoi based on their photo

[glowinggator]

Any ideas of what a first date would look like with Rocky? 👀

(Side note, I adore your writing style so much!! ^^)

A/N: Awe, thank you so much!🧡 Sorry for the late reply, school has officially started back up again, but I'm glad I was able to get this out! I remember in one of the livestreams Tracy said that he'd see nothing wrong with taking you to 7/11 for a date, which let's be real, is my ideal man. Enjoy! 

Extravagant; Theatrical; Moonstruck. These are but three of the most common words to describe Rocky. Despite his handpicked friend group -- or more bluntly, his small group of people willing to stick around -- Rocky tends to draw quite a bit of attention. Very little of it is good, but still: words like that are thrown around with ease. As such, one might assume that Rocky's perfect date would be to some extravagant place where the music never stops and the night never ends. 

But… they would be wrong. 

Because despite his tales of grandeur, Rocky's life has taught him to enjoy the simpler things. Car rides down the streets of Saint Louis, hopping through abandoned streetcars, pocketing snacks from the big convenience store down the lane… that's what Rocky really looks forward to. 

And let's face it: Rocky would love to take you out to a fancy dinner and a movie, but this cat just doesn't have the funds for it. Closest he could get would be the Little Daisy during daylight -- Miss M's always makes sure he's at least somewhat fed -- but he knows all too well that Ivy would leap at the chance to get him back for all the times he's teased her about Freckle. 

(He's sent her off on a few wild goose chases before to grab a bite with you, though. Pancakes can't be beat,  you know.) 

But loving Rocky, you know that money isn't everything. Every moment spent with him is memorable. Many of your date nights are just the two of you hanging out together, whether it be driving around or completing a run for the Lackadaisy -- any moment spent together is so damn good that it's hard to call it anything but a date. Your friends don't quite get it, but that's alright. 

For your first ever date though… he tried pretty damn hard. 

He hopped the fence of some richman (it was Sedgewick, although he'll never admit to it) to steal some flowers for you, tying them together in orange and blue ribbons. You still have their petals saved, pressed into books and stored in mahogany boxes along with all of the letters he's ever written to you. 

The rest of the day is spent in each other's company, driving, talking, and occasionally stopping to dance in the streets of Saint Louis. You can't say you were much of a dancer before meeting him, but he has an infectious energy about him. 

He eventually convinces you to let him sneak you into a movie -- he refuses to let you spend a dime on him, even if you're well-off. You can't tell if he likes the thrill of sneaking in, or if it's out of some chivalrous obligation. Likely both. 

All in all, the night is one of the most magical you've ever had. No price tags for rose colored glasses, or awkward lapses in silence. Just the two of you, taking every moment as it comes by. 

He insists on driving you home that night, just to make sure you get in safe, still thrumming with excitement. Neither of you really want the night to end, but alas. 

(It's not like the two of you don't see each other daily.) 

(He short-circuits when you press a kiss to his cheek before darting out of the car. His voice cracks a little when he says he'll see you tomorrow, hands slipping off the center console when he leans out to shout. You can't wait to see him again.) 

[a-streetcar-named-anathema]

A Whole Bunch of DnD doodles :)

[attemptsonherlifepdf]

a streetcar named marge: a character study of marge simpson through the lens of tennessee williams

trigger warning for brief but not graphic mentions of assault & abusive behaviour throughout

wacky, absurd comedy ‘the simpsons’ has been airing since 1989 and remains an integral part of the pop culture ecosystem. its self-referential humour and parody structure work in conjunction with one another to effectively satirise the lives of lower-middle class america. set in the town of springfield, that shares its name with approximately thirty other towns across the states, the simpsons strikes the balance between relatable and outright absurd that keeps the show entertaining. the show slots neatly into the cultural zeitgeist of the 1990s and 2000s, and has constructed spoof after spoof of the significant political, social and pop culture moments of each season’s respective time period. most notably, the second episode of the fourth season titled ‘a streetcar named marge’ draws on tennessee williams’ ‘a streetcar named desire’, using the histrionic character of blanche dubois to create commentary on marge’s role in her relationship with her husband, homer. the episode’s main plot follows marge auditioning for and starring as blanche in springfield’s local production of ‘a streetcar named desire’ and depicts parallels between blanche and marge’s romantic lives. homer is likened to stanley kowalski, famously portrayed by marlon brando in the 1951 film adaptation of the play; a brutish, loud ‘uncouth lout’ who dominates both his wife and delicate sister-in-law. the core themes this comparison explores include the notion of animalised masculinity, marge’s passiveness and invisibility, and the idea that the character of blanche is used as a vehicle for marge’s unexpressed feelings regarding her husband.

williams’ descriptions of stanley throughout the play draw on a notion of animal masculinity; stanley is described upon his introduction to the audience as having ‘animal joy his being [which] is implicit in all his movements & attitudes…his heartiness with men, his appreciation of rough humour, his love of good drink and food and games…’ this description paired with blanche’s comment that he is ‘a little bit on the primitive side’ demonstrates the beginnings of a semantic field of animalism, characterising stanley’s masculinity as almost being below humanity, simply base and primal in comparison to his more humanised counterparts such as mitch and steve. we can also see these traits, particularly ‘rough humour…love of good drink and food’ echoed in homer simpson’s characteristic obsessions with food and beer that are consistent throughout the entire shows run so far. similarly, ‘a streetcar named marge’ has lewellyn sinclair, the director of springfield’s ‘a streetcar named desire’ production, aim to depict that ‘blanche…is a delicate flower being trampled by an uncouth lout-’. additionally, lewellyn gives ned flanders (who plays stanley) the direction that he is ‘pulsing with animal lust’, again referencing williams’ construction of animal masculinity that encourages the audience to view stanley’s desire as less than human.

to add to this semantic field that both the original play and simpsons episode share, ‘a streetcar named marge’ recreates the infamous ‘stella!’ scene wherein stanley screams his wife stella’s name from below her balcony in a desperate attempt to win her back after physically assaulting her. the simpsons replaces the original incident of domestic abuse with an example of homer’s weaponised incompetence instead, where he fails to pull the lid off his can of pudding in marge’s absence as she rehearses next door with flanders: ‘[screeches] oh no! …so i can open my own can of pudding, can i? shows what you know, marge.’ he then shouts ‘marge! hey marge!’ in the garden while marge looks on from flanders’ bedroom window, referencing stanley screaming for stella below her balcony. marge comments dryly, ‘keep yelling, you big ape.’ the use of the insult ‘ape’ serves to contribute further to the characterisation of homer / stanley as animalistic and dehumanised. both the simpsons and williams animalise masculinity to demonstrate the danger of it, presenting it as uncontrolled and wild in comparison to the average male. in this moment, the simpsons subverts the narrative of the original play. in williams’ original, stanley’s screams draw stella downstairs to him and they embrace as she ‘forgives’ his abuse. in the simpsons’ version, marge instead responds with contempt for her husband and appears disgusted and unforgiving. in the wider context of the show, marge is largely portrayed as a very passive housewife character, including in this episode. in the opening scene of this episode, the following exchange takes place:

HOMER

and where exactly are you going?

MARGE

i’m auditioning for a play.

HOMER

well, this is the first i’ve heard about it.

MARGE

i’ve told you several times. it’s a musical version of a streetcar na-

HOMER

excuse me, marge! i think if you told me, i would remember. i mean, i’m not an idiot!

MARGE

hm. well, i-i thought i told you. i’m sorry honey.

HOMER

it’s okay. we’re none of us perfect.

the audience is shown marge informing homer of the play multiple times before this exchange, to which he repeatedly and absentmindedly replies ‘sounds interesting.’ despite being in the right, marge timidly apologises to homer and accepts blame she does not deserve. this interaction contrasted with her later contempt for him demonstrates how the role of blanche has encouraged marge to see her husband’s flaws rather than ignoring or tolerating them as she usually does. additionally, marge’s initially failed audition again presents her as passive and defeated by her husband’s lack of support. lewellyn witnesses marge’s phone call to homer and recognises blanche’s delicateness and defeat in her:

MARGE 

(into the phone)

homie, i didn’t get the part. you were right. outside interests are stupid.

LEWELLYN

wait a minute.

MARGE

(into the phone)

[groans] i’ll come home right away. alright, i'll pick up a bucket of fried chicken, extra skin…rolls, chocolate cream parfait-

LEWELLYN

[snatches phone from marge]

stop bothering my blanche!

marge’s admission, ‘you were right. outside interests are stupid’, shows her beaten down by homer’s lack of support for her interests and suggests that she was ‘stupid’ for branching out outside of her duties as a parent and housewife. this echoes blanche’s eventual exhaustion and ‘defeat’ after stanley’s aggressive, dismissive and abusive treatment of her.

marge’s attitude towards abusive behaviour in general is notably submissive: when rehearing the scene where blanche breaks a bottle in order to attack stanley and defend herself, she struggles to get into character and gives a lacklustre performance. lewellyn encourages her, ‘passion, mrs simpsons, this man disgusts you.’ in a later rehearsal a few scenes later, marge argues, ‘i just don’t see why blanche should shove a broken bottle in stanley’s face. couldn’t she just take his abuse with gentle good humour?...i just don’t see what’s so bad about stanley.’ this is a clear reference to her relationship with homer, wherein she has consistently, throughout the show so far, responded to his boorish behaviour with passive disapproval, attempting to make light of the ridiculous or unkind situations that homer creates with his behaviour. lewellyn retorts with ‘stanley is thoughtless, violent and loud. marge, every second you spend with this man…he is crushing your fragile spirit.’ lewellyn’s description of stanley is interposed with homer’s comedic but frustrating attempts to use a vending machine wherein he screams and charges at the machine, and proceeds to honk repeatedly at marge from the car to rush her into leaving. this pushes marge to a breakthrough where she suddenly becomes genuinely angry at ‘stanley’ / homer, directing that fury at her stanley (flanders), who’s face morphs into homer’s:

[car horn honking]

HOMER

marge, move it or lose it!

MARGE

[lunging at flanders]

♪ i'll twist this bottle in your face ♪

LEWELLYN

hallelujah! i’ve done it again!

ned, you’re supposed to overpower her.

FLANDERS

[straining]

i’m trying, im trying!

this scene exemplifies the extent to which marge is usually subdued and quiet, by creating a stark contrast with the outburst she has here. lewlleyn’s reminder that blanche is ‘disgusted’ by stanley is reminiscent of marge’s very real but very repressed disgust at her husband. marge’s demeanour in the episodes leading up to ‘a streetcar named marge’ is largely resigned to homer’s typically thoughtless behaviour. comparing her usual quiet disapproval with her strong reaction to homer in this scene demonstrates the extent to which she usually fits the descriptions of blanche so far in the episode - that of a ‘delicate flower’ with a ‘fragile spirit.’ these comments on blanche’s character oppose those of stanley and paint the two as contradictory. stanley is a brutish ape whilst blanche is the flimsy rag doll in his grip. ‘a streetcar named marge’ relies upon this contrast to illustrate that marge and homer’s relationship is dominated by homer’s careless masculinity which serves to leave marge feeling resigned, defeated and unheard. however, while blanche becomes weaker over the course of the play and becomes less like herself due to stanley’s behaviour towards her, marge also becomes less like her usual self due to homer but becomes stronger and more assertive instead. the character of blanche serves as a vehicle for marge’s repressed resentments and frustrations and facilitates both her and homer’s understanding of their relationship.

homer’s eventual understanding of marge is illustrated by the final scene of the episode; homer congratulates marge on her performance as blanche and explains, ‘it really got to me how…blanche was sad, and how that guy stanley should have been nice to her…the poor thing ends up being hauled to the nuthouse…when all she needed was for that big slob to show her some respect.’ marge’s demeanour shifts and she reacts with ‘...homer, you got it just right.’ homer muses, ‘hey, you know, i’m a lot like that guy…like when i pick my teeth with the mail and stuff.’ the classic structure of a sitcom like the simpsons requires that things are resolved or return to the status quo by the end of each episode, and while marge and homer’s relationship becomes peaceful once again due to homer’s realisation, it is not necessarily returning to its previous state; if it did, their relationship would be strained due to homer’s lack of consideration for marge’s feelings. instead, marge finally feels seen. marge is understood and has asserted herself. as is suggested by the play’s title, ‘a streetcar named desire’ has desire itself as its core and central theme. the audience are shown stanley’s desire for sex and power, blanche’s desire for validation of her beauty, stella’s desire to have stanley’s baby. these desires are what drive the plot of the play and motivate each character to act in ways that push their desires into being realised. similarly, in ‘a streetcar named marge’, the audience are shown homer’s desire for food, drink and so on but more significantly, marge’s inherent desire to be seen. she makes repeated attempts for her family, particularly her husband, to notice her and take an interest in her endeavours which is consistently ignored until the end of the episode. the opening scene exemplifies this:

MARGE

i haven’t been in a play since high school…and i thought it would be a good chance to meet some other adults.

HOMER

(not looking away from the television)

sounds interesting.

MARGE

you know, i spend all day alone with maggie…and sometimes it’s like i don’t even exist.

HOMER

(still looking at the television)

sounds interesting.

marge’s invisibility within her family and within the wider context of springfield is interestingly addressed in raphael bob-waksberg’s fifteen-tweet poem entitled ‘does marge have friends?’ the poem explores marge’s role in the show via the lens of her relations to other people, e.g ‘who are marge’s friends? is helen lovejoy a friend? sarah wiggum? agnes skinner?’ the third stanza questions ‘who tells marge to leave the brute, knowing she won’t? ‘you don’t have to stay. you deserve so much more.’’ the use of ‘brute’ to describe homer is a sentiment that ‘a streetcar named marge’ hones in on, and is a descriptor that we can again see paralleled with the original ‘a streetcar named desire.’ as previously explored, stanley is described as ‘primitive’, a familiar adjective in the context of homer. additionally, bob-waksberg uses a hypothetical voice to tell marge ‘you deserve so much more’ to illustrate that there is no real friend in marge’s life to tell her this themselves. in williams’ original play, blanche’s isolation is also addressed and it is shown to make her an easier victim for stanley’s abuse; eunice reassures stella in the final act ‘she couldn’t stay here; there wasn’t no other place for her to go.’ blanche is alone aside from stella, who has her institutionalised, and this makes her all the more vulnerable as she has nobody to tell her not to accept abuse. this is another way in which ‘a streetcar named marge’ subverts source of its parody; where blanche is abandoned and becomes weak and ‘mad’ from stanley’s abusive behaviour, marge is empowered by the character of blanche and experiences the opposite of abandonment - she is finally seen and acknowledged. 

‘does marge have friends’ also touches on another moment where marge can be likened to blanche in a more roundabout way. as a succinct character study of marge, the poem alludes to her relationship with maude flanders. stanzas six to ten speculate on the nature of their relationship, asking ‘does she [marge] see in her late neighbour a cautionary tale? seldom-remembered, semi-anonymous maude - could this fate too befall marge?’ this is vaguely reminiscent of blanche’s relationship with stella in the sense that marge mourns maude and blanche mourns stella and while their respective reasonings are different, the central theme here is the mourning of a fellow woman for her ‘smallness.’ while marge mourns maude’s invisibility and sees the same in herself, blanche mourns stella for being dominated by stanley, a ‘common…animal’ and mourns stella’s insistence on forgiving his abusive behaviour as she does in the infamous ‘stella!’ scene. blanche says to her ‘you go out with a man like that once, twice, three times when the devil is in you, but to live with and to have a child by? well then i tremble for you…’ to blanche, stella is a cautionary tale of the consequences of accepting abusive behaviour from a ‘rough’ man, and as bob-waksberg puts it, ‘could this fate too befall’ blanche? it can and it does, as she concludes the play having been assaulted by stanley herself. it can be argued that blanche’s mourning of stella matches the way a hypothetical friend would mourn marge’s relationship with homer, worrying about her wellbeing in the face of his carelessness and strong personality. furthermore, bob-waksberg describes a hypothetical scenario between marge and maude that echoes blanche’s encounter with the local paperboy: ‘perhaps, once at a summer barbecue, when both were still alive, maude grabbed marge's hand under the table and held tight. what prompted this sudden connection, this sudden expression of— what was it, warmth? the two weren't close— acquaintances, sure, had they ever even hugged? and yet here they were, holding hands, silently, secretly, while their children shrieked and their husbands grilled the hot dogs.’ this moment depicted in the poem is soft, mundane and warm. in ‘a streetcar named desire’, scene five demonstrates these same themes, wherein blanche says to the paperboy ‘i want to kiss you - just once - softly and sweetly on your mouth.’ the direction then follows, ‘[without waiting for him to accept, she crosses quickly to him and presses her lips to his.]’ this exchange shows blanche seeking the same ‘sudden expression of…warmth’ that bob-waksberg discusses, echoing the same principle that in this interaction, ‘the two weren’t close.’ it must, however, be acknowledged that blanche’s advances on the young paperboy, while seeking warmth, were arguably predatory where marge and maude’s interaction is less romantically charged and more platonic and equal.

the final parallel to be noted between ‘a streetcar named marge’ and ‘does marge have friends?’ lies in the final five stanzas of the poem. bob-waksberg describes marge in her garden on a sleepless night, encountering maude over the fence: ‘maude, pale as a sheet, her eyes wet with tears.’ she goes on to say to marge ‘it’s not the calm before the storm that frightens me, it’s the calm that follows.’ this is evocative of blanche’s rise and fall through the play; the ‘storm’ in question being the assault carried out by stanley and the ‘calm that follows’ being her subdued but also hysterical, dreamlike-state in reaction to the assault that results in her being institutionalised. ‘a streetcar named marge’ depicts this ‘descent into madness’ by having marge / blanche fly around the stage on a harness with flashing lights and a smoke machine in the background, in typical overexaggerated simpsons fashion.

at its core, the simpsons is about dysfunctional american families. homer is both a ridiculous and exaggerated buffoon character but circumstantially lives the life of the average working class / lower middle class american man that stanley kowalski also lives. while homer’s unsupportive behaviour towards marge is often played off humorously throughout the show’s run, ‘a streetcar named marge’ uses the intensity of williams’ play to construct a legitimate criticism of homer’s actions and a commentary on marge’s invisibility, unexpressed resentments and her experiences of marital dysfunction. as the title suggests, ‘desire’ itself is at the core of both williams’ play and the simpsons episode based upon it, and marge’s inherently repressed desire to be seen and appreciated is finally realised via the adoption and subversion of williams’ classic play and its connotations regarding the transfer of power between characters. marge is finally seen by homer, and she no longer has to depend on the kindness of strangers.

[coelary]

Glade is a vine hawk-moth who works on Coelary's telephones. He is 28 years old. His partner (a wax moth) is named Rulix Mesters. They ride the streetcar home every day together. Glade lives in a basement apartment near the factory district.

This adoptable was a backer reward for the Mothboy Monthly Kickstarter! And I had a lot of fun designing and drawing him.

[worldsewage]

what does july like to do🥺 i wanna draw them but i have no idea what to draw them doing lol

omg… erm they like building model planes/trains/streetcars, anything legoset adjacent. they like plants but is pretty bad at talking care of them, they like walks because they’re just in general happier out doors, but u will frequently find them just sitting around on thier phone because they like to stalk clothing companies and are always paying for pricey hoodies and sweaters.

[sunevial]

The Districts

Silver Bones (residential)

Sanctuary

The air is kind. The air is kind, and the streets are clean, and there are places to sit and rest and watch the world go by. Streetcars are regular, and the buildings are eclectic, and there are children waiting under colorful lamps. It’s never exactly quiet, but it’s never crowded either. There’s someone offering food, a blanket, a hand, a young child offering up a glass of lemonade. It’s calm. It wants you to relax. It wants you to let your guard down and find somewhere to call home.

While the entirety of the Torn Veil has residential housing, the Silver Bones district is a bit quieter than the hustle and bustle of the trading districts. Shops and services are more tailored for residents, offering home goods, furniture, and cheap groceries for its residents. Lamps and lanterns light up the many corridors and bridges, bathing the whole district in soft lights of every color. Many who work in the city live in Silver Bones, whether they stock stalls in the stores or work at the Necropolis.

Shadow Puppets (entertainment)

Reflective

The song ever plays on, but what does it say about you? Why do you end up in front of a 1920s speakeasy instead of a tavern? Why go to a crass theater production instead of an orchestral ensemble? Why do you pick out one of the overlapping buildings instead of another, watch one street performer over another? The buildings all blend together through space, but go inside one and it’s like stepping back in time. Reality is fuzzy at the seams, so you have to pick what you see. Why did you pick it?

A brightly colored district where reality seems especially fuzzy at the seams. Buildings seem to fade into each other, overlapping to show architecture styles that have only one unifying theme: they’re all from places long, long in the past of their respective worlds. Strange music echoes down the streets, drawing people deeper into the maze of colors and sights and sounds. Theaters are packed day in and day out, ghostly bards and their living apprentices keeping shows running regardless of the hour of the day, while skeletal stuntmen and acrobats perform feats impossible for the living at strange circuses.

Dutchman's Docks (port)

Transitory

The ironic nature of a port is that no one ever stays for long. Sure, there’s places to stop in, grab a drink, warehouses store goods, places for people to sit down and chat and catch up, certainly. But it’s a working place, and it feels like a working place, and it’s not a place most folks stay for long. There’s work to be done, places to be, things to sell, and the roads are wide and they seem to get a little wider when crates are being sent elsewhere. Everyone is going elsewhere. The city calls the land folk further in, and the sea calls the sailors back, and the water itself calls the dead to find what they lost. It’s not a place to stay. Maybe that’s not a bad thing.

Ghostly ships sit docked next to modern sailboats and larger vessels on the easternmost side of the city, all laden with goods. Occasionally, ships and aquatic folk appear out in the foggy distance that always seems to swallow the distant sea. Once ships are docked, porters and dock-hands quickly unload goods, bringing them into the city and loading them up with cargo as captains barter over strange alcohols and games thrown with bone dice. It's connected to the Idle River, the main thoroughfare of the Torn Veil.

Kelsara's Tears (administrative)

Stark

There’s something about busy silence. Perhaps in a true afterlife, this would be the place where the dead would be processed and registered, where you might find someone tending the gates or long lists to consult. It has that feel, certainly, but those lists and those meetings are a little mundane and a little boring and a little unremarkable. The buildings are grand, but the tasks are familiar. Repetitive. A little thankless. Grounded. Unusually grounded. Perhaps it’s the fact that its workers know that progress is often a little boring. Perhaps it’s because it was named after a necromancer who became a god and died for what amounted to civic duty.

Named after a long-since dead lich god of a dead world, the most important people in the Torn Veil live and work within sprawling white and gray marble civic buildings that are built so tall that they seem to defy gravity. The Torn Veil’s premier university, the Necropolis, is also within this district, as well as its oldest libraries and grandest museums. Additionally, the district is also home to training facilities for various guards and soldiers that help protect the city from invading forces, all managed by an undead dragon general possessing a dragon-sized suit of armor.

Shrieker Road (artisan)

Divine

If there is a place that is holy, it is in the burning furnaces and pots of paint and piles of metal and under a scoring blade. The air is hot and dusty and sooty and filled with strange smells, and a thousand small workshops weave and beat and shape and mold their creations with loving, awe inspiring care. Art and love and frustration and triumphant joy overflow into the streets, mixtures of prayers for something to finally work and the hard earned sweat of a beautiful blade or a glazed vase or a tapestry embroidered with silk. It never sleeps. It never wants to sleep. Creation never wants to rest, and a thousand, million small gods of their own making would have it in no other way.

Though called ‘a road’, Shrieker Road is a full district that has built up around the bank of the Idle River. Buildings have large windows and plenty of ventilation, and the architecture is as bizarre as it is beautiful. This is where artisans both make and sell their wares, with workshops and kilns going at all hours of the day and paintings drying in a steady fluttering wind. The Torn Veil is especially known for its incredible pottery, crafted using clay dredged up from the bottom of the Idle River.

The Aurora Agora (market)

Nostalgic

It’s a place that you swear you’ve been before. It looks like the main street of a small town you visited once when you were seven and was burned into the back of your mind. It looks like walking down a street you cannot name in the middle of the night. It looks like a city center as you remember it, but it’s never quite real but never not real either. It looks like a movie, a memory, a time you were younger or a time you wish had come to pass. It’s a place that looks like it belongs somewhere else (maybe that’s why it has so many hotels, because it’s made up of those liminal memories).

A section of the city that is caught much more in the darker part of the sky. It is near the West Gate, where the bulk of travelers come into the Torn Veil on foot. Reality is slightly more stable here, a little more grounded, streets and buildings interspersed with fountains, small shrines, and hotels to stay in for a night or two. The district is still busy, certainly, but it is busy in a way that feels more like a city somewhere else. It is nostalgic, and it is strange.

Faded Dreams (market)

Imaginary

The district lives up to its name: it feels like it should only belong in a dream. There’s anything you could ever want if you just look hard enough, just wander down another aisle, talk to another person, find something that you lost or that you never knew you lost. You can’t actually buy an experience, a dream, a lost past, a second chance here, but it feels like you could. You can’t actually learn to fly either, but it feels like you could be like those semi-suspended buildings too. It doesn’t feel real, and somehow it feels less real because you can actually buy things here, as if you could take a daydream and make it solid.

A district centered around a large plaza, or at least, what at one point was a plaza. Now it’s a maze of stalls, booths, blankets, and grills, surrounded on all sides by towering buildings with a million balconies and small terraces. Those who can defy gravity most commonly frequent this market, and it is full of ghosts, avariel, fairies, and all folk who can float and fly. For those that are earthbound, levitation-powered elevators, sky carriages, and sky-trams can ferry shoppers up to the higher shops.

The Undercity (market)

Hidden

The city hides things down below. Doors are hard to find. So are shops. So are people. It’s not that the pathways change but that they shift just enough to make it hard to find things if they don’t want to be found. Sure, there’s folk who take advantage of that (more than a few, not every living dead is a good person, nor admits to be), but others want their privacy, their anonymity. If you want to disappear, the city grants that wish. Just make sure you have a way back if you want to be found again.

Tightly packed buildings crowd this section of town, with doors to taller buildings often leading to the roofs of shorter ones. Getting anywhere requires navigating a maze of back doors, tight alleys, and flickering lights. Shops are packed within, selling small goods, silver trinkets, evil eye pendants, often smaller, nich-er things that only the skilled know how to find. While often considered a seedier part of town, it’s no more dangerous than the rest of the Torn Veil… most of the time, anyways.

The Idle River

Exchange

What are you willing to learn? What are you willing to lose? The river takes and the river gives, just depends on if you want to remember or desperately want to forget. There’s souls in there too, deep, towards the bottom, where the dead rest in blissful stasis and sleep. It’s a place to start anew, and it’s a place to let yourself be washed elsewhere, and the boats on the surface are always full with wares. What have you come to gain? What are you willing to give up?

A slow-moving, meandering river that cuts through the Torn Veil, glittering with small specks of glowing light. Undead who have felt the years begin to deteriorate their mind are often found by the riverbanks, as drinking the water helps to restore their memories and overall clarity. The living can step into the river, but prolonged exposure tends to whisk memories away instead of restoring them. Many long, flat boats are also set up along the riverbanks, crewed by landfolk, while ghostly aquatic merchants barter for strange goods from within the river.

The Farmland

Growth

It’s the only part of the city that’s quiet, because it’s not within the city proper. The plants here are stubborn. So are the people, in fact. You have to be, to put down roots and force cellular production in a place with no light, to coax strange soil and stranger water to make something live in a place of death. It’s not calm out there, it’s feral, it’s almost spiteful, a metaphorical defiant ‘I will do it anyways’ to anyone who listens. Yet, despite it all, things grow. And they are tended to largely by the dead. Yet, despite it all. Things grow.

[de-lyc-ful]

I did what had to be done

A Streetcar Named Ohio

I don’t know how to draw streetcars. Now this is sort of a postcard/magnet thing. I finally got my Ohio tickets for the 20th so I’m working on a little sketchbook/drawing compilation to show my appreciation and love for the show.