"ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴅ ʙᴇ ᴀ ʀᴏᴄᴋᴇꜰᴇʟʟᴇʀ." "ꜱᴀʏ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ɢᴀɴᴅᴘᴀᴘᴘʏ, ʜᴇ ᴄᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅʟɪɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ ᴜᴘ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ." ⇰ʙɪɪʟʟʏ ʜᴀʀɢʀᴏᴠᴇ x ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ. ⇰ꜱᴛʀᴀɢᴇʀ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ x ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ. *ʟᴏᴏꜱʏ ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴠᴇɴᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ 2-3 -𝗥𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀- #𝟴𝟵-𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿

"Look Eddie told us to get our Bo-Peep on, and find a sheep. PLEASE be my sheep!" -Dustin Henderson "What are you doing here?"-Eddie Munson "Something about being Henderson's sheep?"-Wren Howards *I do not own any of the Stranger Things Characters/Plot, they are owned by the Duffer Brothers*

Eden Munson was only known for being Eddie "The Freak" Munson's little sister. She grew tired of it by sophomore year, creating a new personality and doing impulsive things to catch others attention and create a new name for herself. When bad boy Billy Hargrove comes to town he's immediately intrigued in getting to know this "Eden Munson". Is Eden who she claims to be? What will Billy think once he finds out the truth? Will Eden get Billy to open up? Let's find out. *.* RANKINGS *.* #1 in Steveharrington 12/21/22 Started: October 2nd, 2022 Completed: January 3rd, 2023 Edited: -/-/-

[Damian Wayne x Male OC] Vin and Gotham Academy never mixed. Neither did he and the students. Or the headmaster. Anyone, really. Though that could be attributed to what he got up to at night. Oh, and there's a new kid too. He's a real grump. ++ I never claimed to be good at speaking Italian or writing a story. Enjoy or hate, your choice :] ++

When a girl with her head in the clouds comes-literally- crashing into a wildfire in a leather jacket. I've noticed how many stories revolve around a total catch of a girl and total hotty of a boy, but what about the girls who aren't? Can girls like us have hope of getting the hot guy? P.S. I'm gonna keep things as cannon as possible, however some things may change for the sake of the story. This may include the date of which certain events transpire, however it shouldn't impact the original story too much.

𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 ❝𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥❞ 【 In which; Billy meets his match 】 [ 𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄 ✘ 𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐑 ] ✎ [ S.T 2 + S.T 3 ].

the winner takes it all, and Lennon Mayfield was a major loser. 【stranger things fanfic】 【steve harrington x fem! oc】 【s2- s4】

In which the chief of police's daughter has everyone in Hawkins eating out of the palm of her hand... including three boys in particular. • • • ( Season 1 - 4 ) Fem! OC x Steve Harrington x Billy Hargrove x Eddie Munson

Thirty years ago, Dahlia Frump died in an explosion at Nevermore Academy. At least, that's what everyone believes. When she wakes up decades later, unchanged and hidden by shadows, she discovers her world has moved on without her. Morticia has a family. Her rival-turned-lover Isaac Night is supposedly dead. And Nevermore is full of strangers who treat her like a ghost story. Disguised as a student, Dahlia returns to uncover the truth about that night. But some secrets refuse to stay buried, especially when Isaac rises from the grave with unfinished business and Dahlia realises their love story was never really over. Now she must choose: stay hidden in the shadows where it's safe, or step into the light and risk everything for a second chance at life and love. After all, being dead was never really her style anyway. Isaac Night x Female OC

The first time Elara Meadowlight noticed Viktror Krum, she was perched in the Astronomy tower sketching the curve of the moonlight on parchment and pretending not to watch the way the Quidditch pitch swallowed shapes and sound below; the boy who came into view was all concentration and quiet, a shadow against the stadium stands, his broom an extension of his shoulders. Elara was known for the way she turned light into language an accurate phrase scratched across the margins of her sketchbooks by a classmate who meant it as teasing and by a professor who meant it as praise. She preferred to watch the world rather than join it her pencil did for her what conversation never could, translating shivering reflections and the habits of shadow into curves and hatchings. So when the boy with the bowed shoulders appeared one evening on the Quidditch pitch, wrapped in the slow geometry of flight, she did what she always did: she drew instead of speaking, tracing the line of his broom as if it were a comet and his concentration the comet's tail. There was nothing theatrical about him-no triumphant grin, no practiced flourish-only a singular, quiet intent that made the air around him seem thinner, as though he parted it with a broom and a purpose in equal measure. For a week she kept to the tower and to her vantage, letting the pitch become a theatre of motion and memory on her paper. She watched him land and walk to a north nook of the stands that most students avoided, where the stone was crumbled and the ivy thick she watched him.