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Golden Girls Memorial Drabble Tree
As I'm sure you all saw last week, Betty White is the last Golden Girl standing now that Rue McClanahan has passed away.
Fanfic for this show pretty much does not exist (as![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thelastgoodname can attest), and that's just wrong. Wrong, I say!
So if you love Blanche, Rose, Dorothy, and Sophia half as much as I do, let's change that 100 words at a time!
Femslash, gen, het, slash, whatever you want to write--as long as it celebrates these wonderful characters!
Please signal boost, says the girl with the tiny flist. :)
Fanfic for this show pretty much does not exist (as
thelastgoodname can attest), and that's just wrong. Wrong, I say!So if you love Blanche, Rose, Dorothy, and Sophia half as much as I do, let's change that 100 words at a time!
Femslash, gen, het, slash, whatever you want to write--as long as it celebrates these wonderful characters!
Please signal boost, says the girl with the tiny flist. :)
Okay, this is sadder than I meant it to be
Rose tries for tact. "Isn't it, um, a bit short?"
"Nonsense," Blanche says and wheels herself over to finger the fabric. "Doesn't matter anyway. The bottom half of the casket will come up to my navel. I could be completely nude underneath. Hey, now, there's an idea."
Rose tries; she really, really tries not to let Blanche know how much these funeral plans upset her, but Blanche must see something in her face. "What is it, honey?" she says. "Rose, what's wrong?"
"What's wrong? What's wrong? What's wrong is that we're picking out clothes for you to be dead in!" Rose balls her hands up into fists and tries not to cry. "And I don't understand why you even want me here. Shouldn't Rebecca and Janet be helping you with this?"
Blanche sighs. "I'm sorry, Rose. I know this must seem morbid to you, but it's important to me. Janet would lay me out in some god awful twin piece I wouldn't be caught dead in, and Rebecca would have me buttoned up to the chin and down to the ankles. No, thank you. I love my daughters, Rose, I do, but I have always lived my life on my own terms, and I'm gonna die on them, too." Blanche smiles a watery smile and holds out her hands to Rose. Rose takes them. "You are one of the best friends I've ever had, Rose. You and Dorothy and Sophia have meant the world to me. I know it's selfish of me, Rose, and maybe it's too much to ask, but I can't think of anybody that I want at my side here at the end more than you girls."
Rose squeezes Blanche's hands. "Then that's where we'll be." Rose wipes her eyes, they browse for a few more minutes in silence. "Hey," Rose says, taking a dress off the rack. "How do you feel about sequins?"
Re: Okay, this is sadder than I meant it to be
It's good to have friends like that. :)
Re: Okay, this is sadder than I meant it to be
I caught the finale of the show a little while ago before Rue died and I just love that episode so much--how they just all love each other so much and they can't let each other go and I cry every damn time I watch it. Cause that's what we all dream of, right? A handful of people to be there for everything.
*sob sob*
I am so distraughted (to borrow a student's term) over Rue dying.
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Re: Okay, this is sadder than I meant it to be
This is such a great take on that -- Blanche is her sassy, confident self (and I love her SO MUCH) but she's also emphathetic and she *knows* Rose right down to the bone. <3333
Re: Okay, this is sadder than I meant it to be
One of the things that I love most about GG is that it's a show about older people, and so death and infirmity and all of those issues of aging are part and parcel of the show. And I adore that it treats older people as beautiful, complex, sexual beings.
I just wanted to pay a little homage to that.
And also, I couldn't help but tear up at the thought of Blanche going to meet her Maker in a dress that would have the preacher hot around the collar.
Rose is just so fun. She's so innocent and sweet, but, as you say, she's fearful as well, and I think she can be the cruelest of them when she puts her mind to it because you don't expect it of her.
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Blanche likes men, always has, but sometimes she wants to put her hands on skin as soft and cool as an azalea blossom, wants to kiss a mouth as red as a cardinal's wing and sweet as pear preserves.
Blanche meets George when she's a teenager. He's kind and smart and handsome as sin, and by the time they've got little ones leaving grubby handprints on everything, Blanche has mostly convinced herself that she never wanted to press her lips to the hollow of Edna Mae's throat.
Blanche does such a good job of forgetting that she's shocked at the fierce twist of desire she feels when she meets Dorothy. Dorothy is tall and confident, funny and wry. She's strong and stalwart and so very much Blanche's type that Blanche is nearly giddy with the need to touch her.
One night after everyone else has gone to bed, Blanche can't sleep. She walks out onto the porch and is startled to find Dorothy curled up on a chair reading.
"Can't sleep either?" Dorothy says, closing her book.
"No." Blanche sits beside her and watches the moonlight on the lawn for a moment. She can smell flowers and Chanel Number Five and Dorothy's White Shoulders in the night air.
Blanche almost jumps out of her skin when Dorothy slides her fingers underneath Blanche's hand on the armrest. She looks over, shocked, but Dorothy is smiling the most beautiful smile Blanche has ever seen. Blanche smiles too and curls her fingers around Dorothy's, holding on tight while the moon arcs across the sky.
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Girl loving, FTW!!
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Thank you!