#gretta keene

[brynnterpretations]

Vomit My Heart, Pull My Legs Apart

“If it was what Beverly was good for, nobody could fault Gretta for wanting a taste."

🔗 Read on AO3

⌗ gretta keene/beverly marsh (one-sided) ⌗ referenced gretta keene/sally mueller ⌗ bullying ⌗ sexual harassment ⌗ eating disorders ⌗ love/hate ⌗ binge-drinking ⌗ vomiting ⌗ song: i wanna sex you up (color me badd) ⌗ song: poison (bell biv devoe) ⌗ song: push it (salt-n-pepa) ⌗ its 1991 what can i say ⌗ titled after "vomit heart" by babes in toyland

By fifth period, word had gotten around that Beverly Marsh had been sucking Belch Huggins’ dick behind the bleachers.

“Christ,” laughed Sally, “that’s sad.”

It was. While everyone knew Beverly was a slut, Belch Huggins was a new low. Since Henry the Psycho had been jailed for killing all those kids, the Bowers Gang had splintered off, and while Victor had graduated, Belch had been held back a year. The guy was dumb as rocks. Ugly as them, too. Plus, he reeked. Just thinking about the dick cheese on the fucker made Gretta involuntarily shudder.

“It’s a new low, for sure,” muttered Gretta, leaning closer to the smudged bathroom mirror as she reapplied her mascara. Tears from her earlier vomiting of stomach acid and bile had made her bottom lashes clump together, and she hissed as the wand only further melded them. “Marc, do you have your L'Oréal?”

Truthfully, it was such a low that it pissed Gretta off, for a reason she couldn’t really decipher. Beverly was easy — everyone knew that. Since she’d affiliated herself with the Losers, it became common knowledge that she was riding all of them at the Quarry like they were Stevenson rocking horses. Still, though, she couldn’t act like she hadn’t expected some modicum of decency since sophomore year had started. Bev, to some extent, had started cleaning herself up, flying through the APs and IBs she shared with Marcia and playing on the lacrosse team in that egregiously short uniform of theirs (“easy access, am I right, boys?”). She’d started dressing a bit nicer, too, even though her clothes were still clearly coming out of Salvation Army bins down on Main Street. One may even say Beverly was pretty now, with her dusting of cheap mascara and wide eyes and toned legs.

“Shit,” cursed Gretta. She’d been so lost in her head that she now looked more like a raccoon than a human, her cheeks fat and bloated and eyes outlined by halos of charcoal. 

“Do you want me to help?” asked Sally. Gretta thought of her bubblegum breath and hot, damp hands, cloying and always so desperate to please, and inhaled through her nose.

“No,” she murmured under her breath. “It’s fine. Whatever.”

She grabbed her cheer bag from the ground, rifling through it to find her camisole and miniskirt. She and her girls were going to Jeremy Bent’s party at Witcham, and they had a decent amount of time between now, the pregame, and the actual party. 

“Wait outside,” she said, tossing her clothes over her shoulder. Sally and Marcia gave each other a dubious look. “Do you people even listen to what I say? Guard the door, too. Jesus.”

The two scuttled out as Gretta rolled her eyes and started stripping off her uniform. Bruises stained her inner thighs and hipbones, which jutted out unattractively in comparison to the doughiness the water retention in her face had created. If she wanted to get laid tonight and not have shit clogging up her school’s ecosystem, it would have to be with someone very, very drunk. 

That just made her think of Beverly Marsh, and she huffed. Beverly, who slept with half the town, yet didn’t have the marks to show it. Beverly, who always acted so poor and weak around her white-trash father, yet always left her apartment with a smile on her face and this holier-than-thou attitude that she held like a knife whenever Gretta treated her like the garbage she was. 

Maybe the whole Huggins debacle pissed her off so much because Gretta knew that Beverly really wasn’t sleeping with everyone in existence and probably would’ve dropped dead before getting on her knees for Belch Huggins. She was a pump-and-dump, sure, but Beverly clearly had standards, as nonsensical to Gretta they were.

 Once in her outfit, backed away to the back of the restroom, getting on her tiptoes to inspect herself. Black skirt with a bow-tied string for a belt. Lacy, hot-pink tank top. Neon Reeboks. All to say, look, but don’t touch, and ooze a certain sense of bitchiness. Chipmunk cheeks. Stubby legs. Rotten teeth.

“Come back in,” she said.

Sally and Marcia sheepishly walked in, looking like they’d been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. She knew they gossiped about her, but considering she knew damn well that they’d never tell anyone besides each other, she let them have at it. Within reason. She’d let them have their little moments of “wow, Gretta seems off” together instead of being at each other’s throats 24/7.

“You look beautiful,” said Sally, closing the door.

“Your shooters in the bag?”

Sally nodded.

“Toss me one,” said Gretta, “we’re starting early.”

I Wanna Sex You Up blared through Jeremy’s speakers. Despite Jeremy wearing knockoff Calvin Klein and living on Witcham Street — cow shit chic, as her mother called it — the fucker had a nice house. Big open living room, marble-topped kitchen counter already sticky with alcohol, and a pool outside. Gretta wished it wasn’t October in Maine, because she could use a swim. Derec Ruddock had let her finish his joint, and she felt like she was itching out of her skin.

She didn’t really feel as drunk as she did irritated, to be honest. She’d had three shooters, a swig of vodka, and two glasses of jungle since arriving, yet her mood the entire day had sullied the normal giddiness alcohol gave her. It was only thirty minutes into the party, and Gretta was over it.

Sally tottered over to her, already sporting a stain on her white tulle shirt. “BP?”

Gretta gave her a size-up. Sally’s cherry lip gloss had smeared past her lip into a milky pink sheen, and her eyes had that giddy, distant sort of look she always got when she’d had too many shots. “Not if you’re gonna make me lose.”

Sally whined, a shrill, irritating sound, snaking her arm around Gretta’s. “You don’t have to be on my team, you know. There’s someone I think you’ll really want to see.”

Gretta scrunched her nose. There wasn’t really anyone she was interested in. Sure, she’d staked her claim on Mikey Ewart, but she’d made it clear since 8th grade that she was not the type of girl to immediately fuck a guy within the start of a party.

“Fine,” muttered Gretta, “where’s Marc?”

“Talking to Jeremy,” giggled Sally as she led her through the crowd. She was needy — whenever Gretta was in a bad mood and hadn’t let Sally get in-between her legs in a couple of days, she became skittish, histrionic. “They’re quite the match, I’d say.”

Rolling her eyes, Gretta allowed Sally to whisk her down to the basement. It was stuffier than the rest of the house. Tarp was laid over the carpet and made soft noises when Gretta’s Reeboks treaded on it, and there was a lingering smell of stale beer. Still, it was less crowded than upstairs with less harah lighting, so Gretta would take what she could get.

“There,” nodded Sally, “have a go?”

Beverly fucking Marsh stood at the corner of the room, wearing one of her nicer donation-pile dresses, some billowing cami with an old couch pattern to it. It was clearly for someone more well-endowed than her, the hem of the dress awkwardly bunching up where her sparse chest was. As always, she wore a collection of cheap jewelry dangling off her wrists, her apartment-key necklace knocking into her prominent chest bones as she laughed with Mikey Ewart. Bitch bitch cunt. Beverly had done herself up a bit, with dark eyeshadow framing her freakishly blue eyes, mascara making her eyelashes even more voluminous than they already were. Slightly smudged red lipstick, too, a shade that Gretta’s mother would immediately call a slut paint. As Gretta stared her down, stomach churning, she felt like Beverly was actually able to pass as someone not the epitome of white trash, while Gretta was balloon-cheeked, stubby—

“Hey, Marsh,” called out Gretta, hand already fishing one of her last whiskey shooters from her purse. “2v2.”

Beverly looked up with those impossibly wide doe eyes, clearly startled. Considering Beverly’s reputation, she, at first, had no clue how the little shit had made it to a place like Jeremy’s, before recalling she was on the team with Mikey’s big sister — Dina, or something. She was upstairs and another one of those holier-than-thou types, probably thinking herself to be a good, sweet person for inviting fucking Swampmonster to a party.

“Oh, hey, G,” grinned Mikey. Unlike Jeremy’s, Mikey’s CK was actually real, but she was so pissed that she couldn’t care, downing her shooter and giving Mikey a nasty smile.

“Whatcha waiting for?” she sing-songed. “I don’t bite.”

Gretta did bite. Hard. Beverly had looked over to Mikey with that stupid faux-innocent look on her face, the one that said please daddy get me out of this sticky situation, but Mikey was too stupid to notice — one of the things she liked about the guy. Dumb boys were the easiest. 

As Mikey jovially pranced over, Beverly shuffled behind him, holding her jungle with an iron grip. Cute. “Eye to eye. You and Sally.”

“Your wish is my command,” said Mikey with a smile. 

The alcohol was finally starting to kick in for Gretta, making her body feel like it was buzzing, the remnants of her headache fading into a pleasant thrum. 

“Eye—to—eye—“

Despite her drunkenness, Sally’s ball made it — a fucking golf ball, Jesus, what did a girl have to do to get a ping-pong at a party — while Mikey’s didn’t. Baseball apparently didn’t do much for the guy’s hand-eye coordination. 

“Broadways first,” smiled Gretta as Mikey faux-grumbled to Beverly. Gretta saw her laugh weakly, obviously trying to just get through the round before skittering back to her shithole of an apartment. “You go, Sally.”

Sally looked at her with wide, drunken eyes, obviously trying to gauge what Gretta wanted out of the round. Gretta knocked her knee into Sally’s: just go.

Hers almost made it into the middle, but awkwardly bounced off. It was better than Gretta was expecting her to be, honestly, and she got points for scoring first, anyway. Gretta plucked her golf ball from her cup, meeting Beverly’s eyes.

“You first,” said Gretta sweetly.

With that, the game turned rhythmic. Beverly missed. Gretta didn’t. When Gretta held out her hand, Sally handed her her last tequila shooter, which Gretta threw back with practiced ease. Ball in, ball out, ball in, ball out — Gretta could barely remember why she had been in such a sullen mood at the start of the party. There was such an easiness to everything she did and felt. She never wanted it to end.

When Gretta’s turn came again, she looked over to Sally. She returned her gaze with big, brown eyes, so sick and desperate for approval. She leaned into Gretta, hot hands grazing her sides. “When do you want to get out of here?”

It took Gretta a few seconds to process what she said. She stared at Sally Mueller, her friend of eight years, who would do anything and everything to please her, who meant something to her — but not enough. She smiled.

“Let’s finish the game,” she said.

She retrieved the pong ball and readied her aim. Mikey was whispering something into Beverly’s ear as his hand rubbed at the small of her back, probably trying to bestow some ancient high-school BP strategies onto her, and Gretta felt something hot splinter in her.

Pop. The golf ball went smack-dab into Beverly Marsh’s perfectly blushing cheek.

Beverly stumbled back, and Mikey, off his ass on Busch, took a few seconds to register before gingerly placing his hand on her shoulder. “Are you—”

“What the fuck, Gretta?” asked Beverly. Her voice got higher when she drank. 

“Oh, poor thing,” cooed Gretta, all faux-sympathy. She felt a drunken surge of power, and with that came giddiness, like there was a light filling and warming all the dark, gutty crevices inside her body. “God, I’m so sorry.” 

“Shit, that’s Jeremy’s fault,” muttered Mikey. “Nobody could find the ping-pong balls. Probably had them wedged up his ass from how much of a control-freak he’s been about getting the party on the calendar—”

Before Mikey could finish his ramble in a semi-coherent way, Beverly had darted out of the room, her worn Dr. Martens click-clacking on the stairs. Gretta held back a laugh, while Sally had put her hand to her mouth, eyes crinkled in amusement.

“Ah, fuck,” said Mikey, rubbing a hand over his face. He stumbled halfway over to Gretta and Sally. “Dina’s gonna be pissed.”

“Why’s that?” asked Sally. She, too, was drunk off her fucking ass, putting her entire body weight onto the table and looking at Mikey as if he was the second coming of Jesus.

“Girl’s had a rough go of things lately,” Mikey mumbled, voice teetering on a whine. Ew, thought Gretta, feeling her empty stomach churn with disgust. “We were trying to make it better, get her away from all the shit.”

Well, I’m right, as always, thought Gretta. “Let me fix it.” 

Mikey looked at her from his right eye. His hand was still covering half of his face, and he seemed to be drunk enough to not realize that. “Really?”

“Yeah,” smiled Gretta. “No problem. It’s my bad, really. Sally, if you can stay?”

Sally appeared to almost cartoonishly crumple into herself — you don’t want me to help? —  and it made Gretta laugh, a light, airy one. She felt better than she’d ever felt in her life.

“I’ll be right back,” Gretta whispered into Sally’s ear before flittering away, like a bird flying for the first and final time. Everything felt perfect, until flashes came in her vision that made her suddenly furious and nearly aflame with her rage, but then she just had to see the faces of everyone at Jeremy Bent’s Witcham St. party to feel grounded again. She didn’t really know where she was going as the music wavered around her—Girl, I Must Warn You! I Sense Something Strange In My Mind—until she was outside the bathroom closest to the door.

The sad, loser bathroom, where the sad losers went to cry, sad losers like Beverly Marsh. Gretta leaned against the door, the cool of the wood against her flushed face feeling nearly orgasmic, and closed her eyes.

It wasn’t until Salt-n-Pepa started leaking around the corner that Gretta remembered. She knocked on the door. 

“Almost done.”

That flat, neutral tone of Beverly’s — gutless in its lack of conviction, in anything. Gretta inhaled deeply, a flash of hatred streaking through her body, and knocked again with both of her hands, beating on the door like the knuckles of a madwoman.

“Jesus, what the fuck do you want?” snapped Beverly, opening the door. The eye makeup she’d bothered to do had been cried off, a pink welt forming on her right cheek. It was round and pink like a cripps apple, and Gretta was overwhelmed with the sudden urge to bite it.

“Oh, fuck no,” said Beverly, about to shut the door, until Gretta manhandled her way in. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m really sorry about all this,” said Gretta, locking the door. She turned to Beverly, her vision swimming slightly, giving her a nasty smile. “That looks like it hurts.” 

Beverly watched her warily. They’d never been left alone together in such a small space, and she looked like a cornered animal, yet Gretta could tell she was still calculating, still trying to calmly and indifferently get herself out of the situation, and it pissed her off. “I wonder why.”

“That cheek gonna stop you from rubbing up on every walking dick you see?”

“Jesus, is that your problem?” scoffed Beverly. Her head bobbed a bit, like she was trying to physically shake the alcohol off without looking too drunk. “Michael’s all yours, believe me.”

Gretta cocked her head. Stared. Felt a rush of tenderness for Beverly, feeling a sick sort of satisfaction for having a mark on her body that came from hers.

“Enjoy your shitty—” 

She did it without thinking, closing the space between them, mashing her lips on Beverly’s. It hurt, and that was what made it feel good, the mashing of Beverly’s teeth on hers as the redhead backed into the wall, nearly falling over the toilet. Gretta hadn’t ever kissed anyone standing up, and there was something that felt very purposeful and intentful about it, something that made her want to pin Beverly to the wall and make her regret ever talking to Mikey or getting on her knobby knees for any guy who treated her nicely. Without thinking, her hand found Beverly’s lower thigh— 

Gretta saw herself collide with the back of the door before feeling it. 

“Holy shit, what the fuck is wrong with you?” gasped Beverly. Her lipstick was smeared. She looked hurt, and she looked very good that way, a speck of blood beading at the corner of her lip. Gretta could taste it on her own.

She exhaled a ragged breath, staring at her, Beverly staring back, the animalistic feeling of everything turning into an exhaustion that made her want to throw up everything in her body. Beverly had never looked at her like that before. She’d been awful to her, had bruised Beverly, but hadn’t really done anything like this. Probably hadn’t ever seemed like the type of girl to do that sort of thing to other girls, to want it from other girls.

In Gretta’s inaction, Beverly darted past her and slammed the door shut. She didn’t hear any yelling, anything to indicate that Beverly was going to tattle. Nobody would believe her, anyway. Beverly was the whore who always insisted she wasn’t one, even though she obviously was, and she was so slutty that nobody would be surprised if she made a pass on Gretta — there was a reason she hung around Trashmouth, anyway. She couldn’t beat herself up for it later, either. If it was what Beverly was good for, nobody could fault Gretta for wanting a taste.

She stared at herself in the mirror, smudged from a bad cleaning job. The song felt like it was going on forever, making her stomach churn. Yeah, You! Come Here, Gimme A Kiss, Better Make It Fast Or Else I'm Gonna Get Pissed— 

It didn’t take long for Gretta to start puking bile into the sink.

[bowerspowers]

Gretta Keene absolutely ruining a friendship over Connor Bowers— a guy she’s super into who only visits Derry during the summer.

Gretta Keene over a year later not even having feelings for Connor anymore but still holding a grudge because of course she does.

Gretta Keene queen of The Audacity for getting mad at her now EX friend having a crush on Connor; did either of them even end up with Connor?

Of course not.

(Btw when I say Connor Bowers I say it as an identifier bc tbh I doubt that’s his last name lmao)

[reddie-ao3feed]

Inhalers and Glasses

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/irsuCjY by edsspaghedsloser It's Autumn 1992, Richie and Eddie both are on the verge of complete breakdowns - and decide to deal with it together (totally as super awesome best friends, in Eddie's opinion) Bill and Bev are having relationship problems, much to Ben's happiness. Stanley wants a girlfriend and decides to just go for it. Mike is dealing with everyone's shit. Words: 4131, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M, M/M Characters: Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough, Stanley Uris, Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Mike Hanlon, Patrick Hockstetter, Reginald "Belch" Huggins, Victor Criss, Myra Kaspbrak, Greta Bowie | Gretta Keene, Patricia Blum Uris, Sally Mueller, Audra Phillips, Georgie Denbrough, Richie Tozier's Parents, Maggie Tozier, Wentworth Tozier, Sonia Kaspbrak, Don Hagarty, Adrian Mellon, mentioned minor characters Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eventual Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh - Relationship, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris Additional Tags: Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Richie Tozier is a Good Friend, Gay Richie Tozier, Richie tozier discovers he's gay, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Eddie kaspbrak is sassy, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Little Shit, Bill Denbrough is a Good Friend, Ben Hanscom Loves Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh Knows Everything, Beverly Marsh is a Good Friend, Mike Hanlon Needs a Hug, 1990s, pennywise does not exist, references to 80s and 90s pop culture, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/irsuCjY

[venuscheered]

[ fenix residence ]

marilyn's house , located along west broadway near gretta keene , sally mueller , and next door neighbors with sawyer thomas.

her house is fenced in with a white wooden fence , providing privacy for the family and their yard . next to marilyn's bedroom ( seen : top left window ) there is a balcony which attaches to a small patio below . marilyn uses this in order to sneak out at night - but also serves well for people to climb up and in .

her bedroom is clean - organized decently well . an attached bathroom as well as a walk in closet are typical of houses in this neighborhood . across the hallways is her brother's bedroom , although he is rarely home as he's deployed in the military .

her bedroom consists of mostly white , beige , and browns - it's feminine without being too in your face about it .

her back yard is fenced in , her parents spending much money on landscaping which includes an in ground swimming pool and a small gazebo . making marilyn's house great for hosting parties whenever family is away

[hearthouses]

🌹

The random word generator god has given us selkie!Eddie Kaspbrak AU, I've given up giving just sentences.

After, Eddie throws the fake medication at his mother’s feet, the pill bottle breaking open and the pills scattering across the floor. Placebos, Gretta Keene had said, it means bullshit. But Eddie knew it couldn’t be all fake, remembering days curled up in bed, clutching his stomach, the pain getting worse before it finally subsided, his mother giving him the right medication instead of her strange smelling tea, her bland food tasting of nothing that left his body shaking through the sweats and cramping something fierce. His illnesses seem to strike him down in calculated moves, suspecting now his delicate condition was another placebo. Mummy is a liar. After IT had gone back to sleep, after the blood oath, after after after it all feels like a collection of puzzle pieces he’s unable to make fit together and give him the whole picture. The chest in his mother’s room comes to mind, unbidden, alongside his father’s worn cardboard box, still tucked safely under his bed, reverberating through him the way he feels when he jumps into the water. If I’m not human, then what am I?

[444names]

Names generated from American, French, German and Dutch forenames, excluding the letter "I"

Aachry Aafan Aaldradran Aaltorg Aance Aanda Aarcorsus Aarlexanny Aarma Aberrya Abretje Aderry Adewaron Adjean Adjes Adradelord Agandy Agnel Agneth Albeanel Alberl Alberth Aldance Almatter Alphana Alvalrann Alynda Ameloth Andor Andsa Angobby Angotte Anoît Anpatsy Anyane Areth Argert Arnatte Arnda Aärollyne...

Beandordt Beandy Beanna Belva Bermared Bermarvé Berne Betch Betjenra Bette Betteffer Beugla Blancy Bober Bobyne Bodne Bonney Borgreter Bradrene Brannonne Brathann Brenn Brené Calber Calen Calfreen Carace Cared Carle Carloderes Carndren Carnekke Carry Casta Catsy Channem Chantone Charnekke Chary Chele Chery Chlora Clacon Claurégo Cléme Colger Colly Colte Coltje Conel Coredua Coresebet Corethaël Corgud Corna Corne Curaquel Cédrah Daalmune Daand Daary Dagdam Dagnès Dagtjean Dalevenjas Dance Dancecco Danevey Danger Danne Darnez Deannola Debashawna Debesty Delent Delma Delsa Derno Deterle Dolaume Dolernouk Duart Eandy Eanmarnes Eanne Ebert Edwallyn Elhane Ellanny Elotterre Emeloreda Erhald Esevalfra Ettyrolk Everenez Faber Fanean Fanes Fanna Faymo Fernda Ferta Floudua Fonna Frace Fracout Frada Freenjach Frelyne Frence Frentjet Fretterne Genny Geona Geonrya Geore Gerada Geran Geraurosel Gerce Gerry Gharkolyd Glaud Godoren Goeleeley Goren Gorostald Gotharl Gotheredem Gotthanto Gredd Green Grena Grenn Grenne Gretta Grettesl Guely Gunda Gunekkee Guste Gwenn Günth Haemaula Harachal Hareghaël Hellexanne Heody Hernouke Herreste Herryleen Hersha Holeonarry Holke Honne Honyaane Hopath Hugerme Hugorgen Hunda Hundy Hérès Jaandrenda Jaane Jaarma Jaccal Jacech Jacey Jacha Jachowanda Jacquelle Janatrane Jancenrany Jancent Jandy Jealen Jeandt Jeane Jeank Jeanlettha Jeart Jeathera Jefael Jentope Jerbas Jerren Jeryssam Jesmutz Jesta Joana Joanfra Joanoue Jodellmar Joelse Johanne Joharle Johartopha Johawn Johawrenja Jonne Jorace Joren Joret Jorobby Jorys Josan Josetchan Josetterna Josham Joshel Jossa Jostacha Joycey Juady Juanda Juang Juanna Julanor Jularady Jérane Jérola Jérèse Karace Karlee Karley Karlys Karmarmas Karryle Katha Kathemmy Kaymotte Keene Keharrya Kelle Kendy Kenrad Kento Keret Kryne Laneke Lareda Lascard Lauston Leesusto Lenry Leorna Lethannale Lorah Loredge Lorel Loren Lorgel Lorgeo Loscath Lotherno Loudy Louthendy Ludebke Luppe Luttace Lutto Lynnes Maggy Magje Magnèse Malken Manclah Marald Maranne Maraus Marayl Marebasto Mared Margarsus Marger Marla Marlessa Marley Marne Marnonny Marnoît Maroley Marom Marranneal Marryanne Marte Marton Maryl Mathes Matondse Mattera Maxen Maxene Medel Melauk Melleon Mesleen Monal Mored Morew Nadrenth Nonnya Ocheltony Olaurt Olker Olley Orader Ostéph Otheatra Otthéo Pamue Patheane Patrane Paura Pedert Penzo Pertanlore Pharce Phazel Poldel Polenethan Racquel Radle Rafje Rance Rannelf Ranton Redar Redus Remman Rencele Renthy Reste Rette Rocham Roeloen Rolaus Romadrene Ronne Rosett Rosetta Rothela Rotte Royce Rudol Rudon Rémen Sabrus Sadal Sannet Sanny Saymonsgar Scatton Shanna Shanne Shany Sharce Shelon Sheloyced Shlenney Sjaafjea Sopaud Stertando Suely Susta Sévenz Séver Sévertan Tabepha Talder Talenkel Tallee Tamarette Tellencely Tellyn Telyne Tendonne Tevernda Torryne Trana Tyrack Udets Urenjan Urette Uwenzo Valeert Valentz Valmand Valmanne Vetchella Vérès Waldelle Waytooke Werek Xandy Xeldele Yanue Yvolger Zablaurt Zabra Éloyann Élène Élèney Érèse

[fanthatracks]

Star Wars (2020) #34 A FRACTURED ALLIANCE In a desperate battle with the Killdroids, Luke and the rebel heroes managed to get the Path engine back to the ''Longbeam'', but Luke's hand and lightsaber were crushed by one of the monstrous droids in the process. With a little help from Lobot and the Kezarat Colony, the rebels were able to use the Path engine to get out of No-Space and offered to bring members of the colony along with them. Having made their way out of No-Space, Luke now faces the reality that he's going to need to face Darth Vader again in the future, and he's going to need a new lightsaber…. Writer: Charles Soule Artist: Madibek Musabekov Letterer: Clayton Cowles Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg Cover artist: Stephen Segovia Editor: Mark Paniccia Publication date: May 3, 2023 In much the same way that Doctor Aphra and Bounty Hunters have rolled out of their long-running storylines in the wake of Hidden Empire, so Star Wars shifts gear as we leave behind No-Space and follow Luke Skywalker as he searches for a solution to his broken lightsaber problem. Of course, with the events of Return of the Jedi on the near horizon we know he'll soon be getting his iconic green blade, but how we're yet to learn. We open with Luke and Artoo, Skywalker keen to figure out his problem and knowing he can no longer use Ilum as the source for his kyber crystal search. He's reading the ancient Jedi texts, presumably the ones we see decades later on Ahch-To in The Last Jedi, and understands that while there was no need for Yoda and Obi-Wan to teach him the ancient rites of passage for a Jedi to build their blade, he needs to figure it out. He's frustrated, and it becomes increasingly clear that this mission to find a solution is something he needs to do, despite Leia reminding him that his connection to the Force is somewhat flaky and his piloting talents are required for the upcoming assault. We then arrrive on a very familiar location; Christophsis, the world we first saw in The Clone Wars movie from 2008. While there's a limited Imperial presense on Christophsis, Luke is keen to avoid the city and parks his T-65 far away, walking with Artoo in the rain as he explains to way of the world on the planet, how kyber is occasionally found by prospectors and traded. He decides to tell Artoo to stay put and hold his lightsaber as he heads into town and finding a cantina he asks the bartender about looking for rare commodities, and as the barkeep utters the word 'kyber' he is blasted, and Luke turns to see all the denizens of the bar taken out in a hail of fire, and a green-haired woman standing in the doorway with a smoking gun. Luke is incenced, and as she drops her blaster and Artoo arrives, Luke takes his lightsaber and demands to know who she is and why she did it. [gallery link="file" size="large" columns="4" ids="144011,144010,144009,144012"] Her name is Gretta, and she explains that anyone who comes looking for kyber is taken hostage and handed over to the Empire. She also explains the reason why she did it. When her people on Jedha were murdered by the Empire, she swore revenge, so when Luke blew up the Death Star in her mind they were avenged. She wants to help, and despite still being angry at her actions he allows her to help and they take her speeder and head out to find a man called Cuata. He's a kyber expert, one who saw the writing on the wall as those who refused to assist the Empire were killed, and leaving that behind he hid out on Christophsis. Gretta helps Cuata survive with supplies and food, and roaring across the plains their speeder is suddenly hit by a huge creature erupting from the ground that promptly eats the speeder as Luke reaches for his lightsaber, which fails. They run, panicking at their imminent demise and Luke reaches out into the Force but nothing. As he waits for the inevitable the creature explodes and walking through the smoke in the final page we see Cuata, who asks Luke for his lightsaber....

A thoughtful, action-packed issue, the story doesn't hang about from Luke making his decision to swing over to Christophsis to meeting Gretta and finding Cuata. There's a kinetic flow to the way Soule tells his stories and this issue highlights that, blending introspection with action and delivering another wrinkle to the run in to Jedi. A great read. [amazon box="B0C11N522Q"]

[fauxfinale-moved]

the hush of the barrens made even the faintest of steps audible , twigs snapping - stones shuffling ; it was comparable to a pin dropping in a vacant room .

hazel eyes flit up towards the tozier studying him , all the while her lips pressed together . it was scary , not in the way someone like henry bowers or gretta keene might stare ... but the uncertainty of knowing what one of derry high school's most popular students may be thinking ; was enough to churn a gut or two .

the cheerleader pushes her frame up , seated onto her knees - the quilted fabric underneath her bunched up as she shifted . her parasol , dainty ( and unnecessary ) continued to swirl .

' you look ... different than i remember . '

she looks perplexed , all signs pointed to marilyn mistaking him with his twin . good natured at heart , it wasn't likely that she even knew the tozier family had a set of twins . unfortunately for edgar , it would seem richie would absorb most of the spot light .

a lovely day to spend at the quarry - awfully lonesome , though . her friends on the cheer squad , nor jocks wanted to go .

she idly spins a parasol between her finger tips , excitement tends to finds it's way to her , unfortunately the wait is terribly mundane .

[kaspgaytozier]

It: Chapter One (Sep 5th, 2017) Dir. Andy Muschietti | #3rdYearAnniversary

[brynnterpretations]

And I'll Be The Biggest Scar On Your Back 

Their dads got along.

⌗ gretta keene x beverly marsh ⌗ implied/referenced eating disorders ⌗ implied/referenced child abuse ⌗ bullying ⌗ love/hate ⌗ title from "good sister bad sister" by hole

If every day you asked Gretta Keene why she started being nasty to Beverly Marsh, the answer would never stay the same.

Beverly just sparked that kind of reaction in her, she guessed. Sometimes, she thought of how Beverly placed her cherry-red lips on Bill Denbrough’s lips, the stupid stutterer that she found herself attracted to when she was eight, and remembered sticking Hubba Bubba in her hair and feeling a hot, exhilarating sense of pride when Beverly had turned around, deer-eyed and yet to realize she’d have to cut off a chunk of her pretty auburn hair. Other times, she thought of how she invoked the look from Gretta's father, yet never had to deal with the repercussions of it, always gliding away with nothing but a fine, easy bruise or two from her own dad. Mostly, in the comfort of Gretta's room, with no one and nothing but her and a dull ache in her groin, she would decide that she hated Beverly for putting up with her bullshit while still never putting down with it, somehow seeming so above her even in her hideous Salvation Army jewlery and her dresses that smelled of cat piss and tobacco, never telling anyone when she’d seen Gretta come out of the bathroom puffy-faced and bile-breathed, or when her denim jacket had slipped during an assembly to reveal a nasty bruise on her upper back. She never looked at her with sympathy, only walking away — not darting like anyone with a brain would, but slowly, patiently walking away, like Gretta was just any other person, like she wouldn’t bash her brains in.

And, at times like these, she’d say it was because their dads got along. Even though Alvin Marsh was a piece of white trash that would be better off dead, he and Norman shared the same proclivities, each hang-out ending with them exchanging envelopes or boxes or whatever-the-fuck and the lingering of. Before that, though, Beverly would always be dropped off into Gretta’s custody with him chumming it up with Plumber Alvin about how good these two get along, only interrupting when Gretta had been annoyed enough to consider beating the shit out of Beverly again, both of their fathers be damned.

“I never want to be here either, you know,” said Beverly. Her voice was always soft, dull, unworried, sounding too old for a sixteen-year-old’s. It felt inexplicably presumptuous to Gretta, and she hated it.

“Did I say you did?” Gretta said back, her tone irritated.

Beverly gave a peek at her surroundings. Usually, they just sat in silence in the extravagantly kitsch Keene dining room, but her dad had acted squirrelly about that and sent them to her room. Gretta had a nice room. The walls were painted purple. She had framed posters for Bananarama and The Bangles. She had a canopy bed. It was probably nicer than anything Beverly had ever seen, and that made Gretta feel good. 

“Probably don’t see anything like this in your shithole apartment, huh,” said Gretta. As much as she didn’t want Beverly in her room, there was no point in Gretta being uncomfortable, so she sat herself on her bed, watching her warily. According to the Muellers, Marsh had a penchant for stealing. 

“Joan Jett?” asked Beverly, unphased, nodding over to a small print of Joan Jett that she had on her desk, surrounded by Precious Moments figurines and empty shooter bottles. From the back, Gretta was able to think she was pretty, probably because she was able to pretend it wasn’t Beverly, it wasn’t the girl she bullied, it wasn’t the girl she hated, it wasn’t the girl she’d be fine with in any other circumstances. Pretty hair, long legs, long fingers. All patchouli and nicotine and garbage, so easily bruised by just a hand around her neck.

“Yeah,” Gretta said.

Beverly looked away and shrugged. “I didn’t know you liked her.”

“You don’t know a lot of things,” snapped Gretta, “proper etiquette, for starters.”

Beverly had taken a seat at her desk, and Gretta didn’t want to think of the secondhand smoke that would be embedding itself into the faux fur of her fuzzy desk chair or the warmth that she would leave behind.

She rested her skinny, pale arm on the desk, looking at Gretta with her wide, blue eyes, unamused. “May I sit?”

Maybe the most consistent answer to why Gretta hated Beverly so much was that she both loathed her and loved her, wanted to turn her teeth inwards with her fist and then kiss into her mashed mouth, how she wanted to go back to third grade and just choose someone else to pick on, how she wanted to break the hand Beverly always raised in class then be the one to nurse it back to health, with Beverly having no option but to grovel and say thank you—her old, poor fuck of a father certainly would never get it fixed for her. But the thoughts don’t really last if she tries hard enough. 

“Not like I can stop you,” said Gretta.

She turned on the radio. 

[bowerspowers]

Modern day Gretta Keene would have been a Slime Snob

[reddie-ao3feed]

I can't see what anyone can see in anyone else (but you)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/LyzQpo8 by edsspaghedsloser The year is 1991, Eddie is fifteen years old. His mother has allowed him to attend summer camp, after much persuasion from Sharon Denbrough. This awkward, hormonal teen was allowed to leave the house! WOOP! Words: 2854, Chapters: 3/?, Language: English Fandoms: IT - Stephen King Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough, Stanley Uris, Mike Hanlon, Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Henry Bowers, Reginald "Belch" Huggins, Patrick Hockstetter, Victor Criss, Greta Bowie | Gretta Keene, Sally Mueller, Myra Kaspbrak, Patricia Blum Uris, Georgie Denbrough, The Losers Club (IT), Adrian Mellon, Don Hagarty, Donald Uris, Sharon Denbrough, Henry Bowers's Gang (IT), The Losers - Character Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough/Beverly Marsh, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Connor Bowers & Richie Tozier Additional Tags: Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier Has ADHD, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Bisexual Eddie Kaspbrak, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Mentioned Sonia Kaspbrak, Stanley Uris Has OCD, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Bill Denbrough is a Good Friend, Ben Hanscom Loves Beverly Marsh, Mike Hanlon is a Good Friend, Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Pop Culture, 1980s, Scary Movies, Campfires read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/LyzQpo8

[venuscheered]

stacy , the best friend

obsessed with taking polaroids of her and her friends on the cheerleading squad . she has a bitter rivalry with local mean girl gretta keene over a boy .

currently stacy has a massive crush on hockstetter - although she has a tendency to be a bit boy crazy so it doesn't mean all too much .

[losersclubsappreciation]

Gretta keene red moodboard

[underratedcharactersandships]

Lynda van Der klok x gretta keene crossover ship edit