Scripted to Stay

[canweplaydndrightnow]

Me watching this shit. This piece of shit insults everyone’s intelligence, and now the homophobes are about to start celebrating.

This is the worst queerbaiting in history, hands down. The Stranger Things and the Duffers will be nailed to the pillar of shame forever. I’m already getting ready to write an ending of our own, from now this is our campaign.

[canweplaydndrightnow]

Why Will Had to Come Out Publicly , and What Mike Is Actually Thinking

I never expected my previous analysis to receive so much love, and I’m truly honored. Over the past few days, I’ve watched the discourse spiral out of control. People are losing their minds, deeply disappointed in the show—especially because the coming-out storyline made them feel offended. And poor Will even referred to the boy he’s loved for years as a former “crush.” 

What makes it even worse is that after Will falls into a trance, Mike suddenly stops touching him. He becomes distant, strange—off. Many people have taken this shift as a signal that the Byler storyline is officially over.

Guys, you are completely wrong.

The more furious and frantic everyone becomes, the deeper you fall into the Duffer brothers’ trap.

When I finished Vol. 2 for the first time, I also experienced a brief moment of mental blankness—thinking, this is absolutely not the narrative I was expecting. But it only took one night. Once I calmed down and looked at all these “abnormal” signals from the perspective of a creator, I got literal goosebumps. The Duffers are extraordinary storytellers.

In the following analysis, I will continue in the same style as my previous piece, using fundamental theories of dramatic and textual construction to uncover the hidden narratives embedded in the Duffers’ script. These hidden narratives are deeply tied to Mike’s character. Once you recognize them, you will have unshakable faith in Byler.

I will also explain why the Duffers ultimately chose to have Will come out publicly, rather than in a private moment, and why we were deliberately denied a one-on-one, heart-to-heart scene.

So let’s stop being consumed by frustration and anger. Let’s calm down and prepare ourselves for the ending that’s coming. I can say this with absolute certainty: we are going to get what we want.

First, let’s talk about the line that ignited so much audience outrage “I had a crush.”

This，has been interpreted as official confirmation that Will has accepted Mike as not his true love. But please, guys—remember this: the narrative perspective of this monologue has always been Will’s. What we are hearing is what this boy believes, not what constitutes objective truth.

Think about mystery or detective films. The first character presented as a prime suspect is never the real culprit. The characters within the story may believe he’s guilty, but we as the audience know better. This is a classic narrative device—limited character perspective.

Now, imagine you are Will.

You fall in love with your best friend, while he’s kissing a girl. Your friends and family all know they’re together, and that girl becomes like a sister to you. When they break up, he’s devastated. You comfort him. You hear him say “I love you” to her. Your heart nearly shatters, yet you’re still happy for them.

Deep down, you know he will never love you back.

You long for his love, but you’re also ashamed of the uncontrollable, secret feelings buried inside you. Sometimes you can’t help but wonder—his tenderness, his care, your moments of intimacy—could they mean that he feels something too?

You cautiously reach out to test the waters.

Emotion hits like a soda can dropped to the ground—the carbonation violently exploding—but you desperately try to suppress it.

So you convince yourself that all those tiny fragments of affection you feel are simply because he sees you as a close friend. Because you know he will never love you back.

He is just your Tammy.

And you will never have him.

So Will tries to let this boy go. He genuinely convinces himself that he and Mike are fundamentally different people—that Mike could never become his boyfriend.

When you truly look at the world through Will’s eyes, you begin to understand that when he says “he was my Tammy,”even though it breaks our hearts, it is completely loyal to character POV. It is not an objective definition of reality.

I even think that later on, they might have Robin teasing Will with something like,

“Well, looks like he’s actually your Vickie,”

as a direct callback to the line “he was my Tammy.” Because the story has already told us: Will is wrong about this.

I also want to point out something from the very beginning of Episode 5. After Will and Mike hug, and Will blames himself because the kids have all been taken by Vecna, he says:

“It’s too late. I failed.”

This line is almost identical to what Adora says to Catra (if you’ve read my previous post).

I believe this is a very, very explicit parallel, deliberately signaling both a mirrored character relationship and the direction the final battle will take.

After the coming-out moment, Will rejoins the group. He believes that by making his secret public, fear will no longer have power over him.

But this, too, is a narrative misdirection.

Because in that confession, Will tells his second lie about Mike.

Even after coming out, he still hides the truth—that he is deeply, painfully in love with Mike. He does not want Mike to know.

The Duffers have mentioned that Mike may have “clocked” that he could be Will’s crush in that moment. And honestly, Mike’s reaction alone already tells us enough. You can see his mind racing. He is processing fast. He is beginning to understand that Will has feelings for him.

But Will’s lie interferes with that understanding.

So what Mike experiences in that moment isn’t clarity—it’s confusion.

At the same time, he is finally starting to feel what Will have felt all along: watching him kiss El, standing beside him, supporting their relationship, swallowing every ounce of his own pain.

And god—if you really sit with it—I’m willing to bet Mike hates his past self right now. The version of himself who once said, “It’s not my fault if you don’t like girls.” That internalized homophobia. That fear.

He isn’t Mike the Brave. He’s just a terrified boy who has never allowed himself to face the truth.

And his head—his heart—is about to explode.

We can clearly see that the directors deliberately constructed a large amount of physical contact between Mike and Will—right up until their hug at the beginning of Episode 5.

After that moment, Will falls into a trance. And just as deliberately, Mike stops touching him.

This contrast is not accidental.

It is a carefully designed visual break, meant to serve a future narrative turn.

When I first came to this conclusion, people on social media were still reacting emotionally—insisting that Mike was simply standing there doing nothing, and that this was a failure of writing and character direction.

But I’m relieved to say that as I’m writing this analysis, I’ve already seen people begin to calm down and recognize that Mike’s behavior carries intention and meaning.

Some analyses have pointed out that in the conversation between Max and Holly, right before each of them runs toward their own exit, Max’s dialogue subtly rewrites an established rule of the show. It suggests that music isn’t the only thing capable of pulling someone out of a trance—touch (presence), companionship, and things in real life that deeply matter to you, things that form genuine emotional connections, can do the same.

I believe we can now be fairly certain that both the disappearance of Mike’s physical contact and the introduction of this expanded “awakening” rule are tied to a specific moment in the story’s climax.

But what I want to focus on here is the narrative logic behind Mike’s behavior.

Some people say that Mike simply stops caring—that he just stands there, detached—and this angers many viewers precisely because the episode opens with such a tender hug between him and Will.

But if you watch carefully, you’ll notice something else.

After Will loses consciousness, Mike falls into deep distress. It’s just not immediately visible—because Mike is someone who has learned to hide his vulnerability and his true emotions.

The only times Mike has ever fully shown his vulnerability are both connected to Will:

when Will’s fake body is discovered in Season 1 and Karen hugs him,

and at the end of Season 3, when Mike looks back at Will’s house before leaving,  When he got home, he was so sad comforted by Karen.

Mike’s vulnerability has always been tied to Will.

After Will collapses, He doesn’t know what to do. And beneath that confusion is overwhelming guilt.

When Will managed to kill three Demodogs, Mike was so proud of him—so exhilarated—that when they tried to use Will’s abilities again, he forgot that doing so would put Will in danger.

Joyce later blames herself, telling Hopper that it was her idea.

And it’s clear that Mike is thinking the same thing.

He encouraged Will to be the sorcerer.

And now, internally, he’s blaming himself.

Will told him that he is the heart of the team.

But when Will is truly in danger, Mike can do nothing. He has no powers. He can only rely on El.

So what kind of “heart” is he, really?

When I rewatched Episode 6, a line suddenly stood out to me. Holly is crying to Max and says that Mike encouraged her—but that she isn’t a hero. She just stood there and did nothing.

That line hit me hard, because I realized it functions as a parallel line—a projection of Mike’s own inner state.

Even after Will wakes up, you can see this conflict continue.

When Mike enters the room while Will is talking with Joyce, his gaze is hesitant, uncertain. His voice is gentle, restrained—careful.

And once again, he uses Will voice.

If you understand this character emotionally, you understand why he acts the way he does.

Finn is a good actor, but many people struggle to read his performance. Because of that, he’s received a lot of criticism—and Mike’s character has become controversial as well.

That genuinely makes me sad.

Mike carries an enormous emotional weight. His inner world is dense, conflicted, and restrained.

And I truly believe that after the final episode, many people will finally see him.

Finally, I want to talk about the coming-out scene.

Like many people, I never expected Will’s coming out to happen this way. In my imagination, it would have been a very private conversation—perhaps with his mother, or his brother, or maybe his closest friends. But definitely not with half of Hawkins sitting in front of him, including people he barely even knows. Honestly, that scenario is painfully awkward.

We now know that the original version of the script was an intimate conversation between Will and Joyce. After filming it, however, the creators felt unsatisfied, revised the script a week later, and returned to reshoot the episode. I find this incredibly interesting.

Noah Schnapp and Winona Ryder are both highly professional actors. I have no doubt that if that original scene were shown on its own, it would have been beautiful—private, tender, and emotionally efficient in terms of audience resonance. In fact, it would probably have been the best possible choice purely from an emotional standpoint.

But the Duffer Brothers didn’t choose it.

And that’s because this coming-out storyline is deeply, structurally connected to the final main plot.

In my previous analysis, I described how I believe Episode 8 might unfold (if you haven’t read it yet). This coming-out scene is actually an emotional shift of perspective—it transfers Will’s emotional narrative onto Mike. In the final climax, Mike’s character high point will be an emotional avalanche, and Will’s confession is one of the crucial snowflakes that triggers it.

When Mike finally has the courage to admit his love, the old narrative order—the version of Mike constructed through years of misdirection and limited perspective—will completely collapse.

So how will Mike’s avalanche happen? What will we see next?

When writing a protagonist, we usually don’t portray them in isolation. Instead, we use surrounding characters as emotional mirrors to connect the audience to the protagonist. If the camera focuses only on the protagonist, the storytelling risks becoming self-indulgent emotionality.

I believe Mike’s emotional avalanche will be witnessed by many people.

Imagine this: If Will’s coming out had been a private moment with his mother, then at the story’s climax, the other characters would have no context for Mike’s breakdown. They would only see him suddenly screaming “I love you—I’ve always loved you” at a fallen boy, in utter despair, with no narrative justification. The surrounding characters would be unable to emotionally process that moment, because it would violate narrative legitimacy.

Based on this logic, the staging of Will’s coming-out scene shifts from serving emotional naturalism to serving structural optimization. The choice to move from private knowledge to collective knowledge isn’t arbitrary—it exists to guarantee the emotional impact of the climax.

From a screenwriting perspective, this choice is reasonable—and arguably the best one.

Moreover, from a psychological standpoint, Will choosing to face the thing he fears most, rather than allowing Vecna to control him and hurt his friends, is an act of immense courage.

The audience’s discomfort comes from behavioral empathy: we project ourselves into the coming-out scenario and recognize that revealing such a personal secret in front of unfamiliar people feels deeply unsafe. That discomfort is real.

At the same time, the show doesn’t visualize Vecna’s illusion here, so while we engage in behavioral empathy, we fail to fully achieve character empathy.

The scene feels insufficiently private and lacking intimacy because Will’s emotional density is diluted.

If Will were milk poured into his mother’s coffee, it would become a smooth latte.

But pour that same milk into a cup the size of half of Hawkins, and it barely changes anything at all.

Now Will has confessed his secret to everyone. And when the avalanche finally happens, everyone will understand: This kind, lovely boy has always been deeply in love with his friend. To protect everyone, he selflessly chose to make his secret public, burying his love in silence.

And in that moment, they will also realize something else—that smalltown boy he loved all along had been quietly loving him too, just as deeply. His love overcame fear and evil.

Is there anything more moving than that?

I believe that in the final episode, we as the audience will be emotionally synchronized with these supporting characters’ perspectives—especially considering that Byler’s emotional foreshadowing has existed across five entire seasons, yet so many people have still failed to see it.

What the Duffer Brothers are attempting is incredibly difficult—and extraordinary.

As we get closer and closer to the final episode, my belief that Byler endgame has only grown stronger.

I’m beyond excited. It’s really going to happen.

Just thinking about it makes me overwhelmingly emotional. 

Please look forward to the finale.

Thank you to everyone who commented on and shared my first post—it truly meant a lot to me. I’m sorry I couldn’t reply to everyone.

And if, like me, you firmly believe that Byler will endgame—please share this so more people can see it.

[canweplaydndrightnow]

Why I Still Believe in Byler After Vol. 2, and Why Vol. 2 Had to Break Us First

First of all, I want to say that after waiting an entire month and finally finishing Vol. 2, my feelings were pretty much the same as most people’s: deep frustration. These three episodes felt painfully mediocre—nowhere near worthy of our expectations. Whether it’s the fact that Byler didn’t develop in the way we had hoped, or the overall narrative pacing that left people genuinely confused, it was hard not to feel disappointed.

I’ve seen countless discussions about these issues across sns. What I want to bring up here, though, are some points that are rarely talked about—though a few people have mentioned them—and which I believe are extremely, extremely important.

With only one episode left in the entire series, the most devastating thing for Byler fans is that so many of the clues and setups we noticed in the past haven’t been called back at all. It’s reached the point where we’re starting to doubt ourselves. We were once so sure—like Joyce noticing the Christmas lights flicker. But please don’t ignore the details. It was precisely by re-examining those details that I managed to calm myself down and reassess these three episodes. And now, I genuinely believe these choices make sense.

Let’s talk about character-driven storytelling and narrative function in screenwriting.

People have noticed that in these three Vol. 2 episodes, the screen time for Mike, Will, and El is almost nonexistent. Fans are angry because Will’s coming-out scene felt unbearably awkward, and because it seems like the creative team intended to use that scene to close Will’s entire character arc. At this point, Byler feel completely boned, and many are convinced this is outright queerbaiting.

Here’s the theory I want to propose first: Will’s emotional arc and character narrative are not over. What I mean is—they’ve clearly put all the important material into the final episode. The storylines involving Will, Mike, and El belong to the main narrative. For protagonists, their “highlight moments” directly push the core plot forward.

From a structuralist narratology perspective, a character’s high point is equivalent to a qualitative shift in the subject–object relationship. If you trigger that kind of narrative transformation before the final episode, you are essentially ending the story ahead of time. So from the very beginning, the writers had to make sure that the season finale would be the most powerful episode—and carefully decide how that power should unfold.

At the same time, this show excels at ensemble storytelling. We love every character, and every relationship between them—and that requires significant screen time devoted to supporting characters. But when supporting characters get their own highlight moments during the story’s climax, those moments must ultimately serve the protagonists. The narrative needs to follow the principle of perspective anchoring.

That means the writers have to “wrap up” each strong supporting-character storyline before the final episode, giving them their own moments to shine. Now you can see why the main characters almost disappear in these three episodes: their highlight moments must be saved for the final climax. And because the climax’s screen time belongs to the protagonists, the writers had an enormous amount of groundwork to handle in Vol. 2.

So please—stop blaming our creator for a moment, and look with me at what they actually did in these three episodes.

They gave Dustin and Steve a genuine relationship high point. Starting from Dustin’s trauma, moving through his conflict with Steve, then facing danger together—and finally, after the crisis, Dustin truly opening himself up and confronting that trauma head-on. All the odd behaviors Dustin displayed throughout the season are fully explained through this arc. And through conflict and reconciliation with Steve, their relationship is elevated to a deeper emotional level.

Another Byler pair: Nancy and Jonathan.

This couple starts running into problems as early as Season 4. They can’t be honest with each other, because their love was born out of shared trauma—and that pain never truly went away.

Most people have always believed this pair to be the most stable, unquestionable canon in the entire series. Because of that, many viewers didn’t even realize—until finishing all of Vol. 2—that what they were actually watching was a breakup. Of course, I still have some reservations about this particular narrative choice. People love Jancy too much; no one ever expected them to break up. But I think this is yet another example of the Duffer brothers’ fascinatingly chaotic brains. I won’t go deeper into that here.

Lumax! I have to say, out of all the characters in these three episodes, Max shines the brightest. She embarks on her own adventure with Holly inside Henry’s mental prison, while Lucas and Rovickie fight their own battle in the hospital. These two wars unfolding in parallel had me clenching my fists in anxiety for this couple.

And when Max slowly wakes up in Lucas’s arms, we finally see them reclaim each other. This heartbreaking pair—after enduring such a long stretch of trauma—at last reaches a moment of happiness.

These three sets of characters all receive their own highlight moments across these three episodes. The writers deliberately bring their storylines to a full emotional resolution, because the screen time that follows must serve the protagonists. So please, stop complaining that Mike seems hidden in the shadows, or that even Max’s wheelchair had more presence than he did.

I keep hearing people say Vol. 2 was boring, messy, or downright incomprehensible. But once you understand that the writers are carefully preserving the narrative rhythm to serve the final episode, you might start seeing these choices very differently.

That said, I still can’t convince myself to accept that much children content. I genuinely can’t figure out why those children were given so much screen time. Unless their presence is meant to serve Henry’s character arc, the amount of focus they receive feels excessive. And I still don’t understand the narrative purpose of these scenes.

In solid storytelling, supporting characters are supposed to function as contrast, echoes, or mirrors for the protagonist—in this case, the protagonist’s perspective is Henry’s. If they fail to do that, then it violates some very basic principles of narrative theory. So we’d better discover the true function of these kids in the final episode—otherwise, I’ll consider this the biggest misstep of the entire series. The same logic applies to Kali as a character.

From this point on, most of the remaining characters will likely appear as service characters for the unfolding main plot. Their personal highlight moments are already over. And I don’t believe El will truly face death. I don’t think any writer would openly telegraph the death of their core character in advance.

So in the final episode, what we’re likely to see is this: the main group finally enters the ultimate main quest and steps onto the battlefield. This central storyline is anchored by Henry’s narrative thread. The first wave of character highlights will likely focus on El (maybe with Kali?). As Holly’s storyline is wrapped up, we’ll be led into a false climax.

And then—the spotlight shifts from El to Will.

Because we all know things are never resolved so easily. Will’s trauma will be fully uncovered and exposed, triggering the true final climax of the entire series. Oh—and are we forgetting someone?

Yes. That damn guy whose emotions we never get to see clearly: Mike.

We are finally about to get Mike’s POV.

These two narratives—Mike and Will—will unfold simultaneously. And at the absolute peak of the final episode, we’ll see their shared character highlight moment. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for all season—the most emotionally explosive payoff of all.

Will Byler still happen? Yes. I still believe Byler will be endgame—and not quietly, but in an emotionally catastrophic, full-on eruption kind of way.

We will experience Mike’s avalanche moment through his POV.

How?

Here’s where I want to bring up Catradora.

I haven’t actually watched the show myself, but I’ve seen countless people on Twitter explain how this ship became canon. If, like me, you hadn’t heard of them before but are curious, I highly recommend looking it up. This is a lesbian ship that the Stranger Things writers are known to love.

Throughout the entire series, they were never officially acknowledged as canon—right up until the final episode.

And then, in that last episode, when Adora is in danger and on the verge of disappearing, it’s Catra who reaches her. But Adora has already given up on surviving. She says: “It’s too late. I failed.”

Catra screams in despair: “No! No! I will not let you go! Don’t you get it? I love you! I always have!! So please—just this once—stay!!!”

It’s Catra’s love that saves Adora. And Adora, in turn, uses love as a shield to protect Catra. With tears streaming down her face, Adora looks at Catra in disbelief and asks: “You love me?”

Catra pulls her lover tightly into her arms, crying and smiling at the same time: “You’re such an idiot.”

Adora looks at her, softly says: “I love you too.”

They gaze at each other—and then Catra cups Adora’s face and kisses her deeply.

Tell me that doesn’t sound like the most romantic Byler endgame imaginable.

And yet, I’m willing to bet that right now, very few Byler shippers actually believe something like this could really happen.

There are only five days left until the final episode. But I’m saying this with absolute certainty: Byler’s ending will parallel Catradora.

When Mike looks at Will, standing on the edge of death, all the love he’s hidden—deep, buried, and unspoken—will explode like an avalanche, impossible to ignore any longer. He’s about to lose the person he loves, and he screams:

“I do love you! I always do!”

This moment directly parallels the Season 4 pizza shop scene where he tells El “I love you.”

Oh God. Everything will flip—from the worst shit imaginable to pure electricity shooting straight through your bloodstream. Whether you believe it or not.

Guys. Believe me. That’s exactly what the Duffers want.

I’m willing to bet on it.

Everything—everything—has been part of their plan. Including the interviews we’ve seen, and all the hints they’ve dropped. That word Mike has been unable to say for so long—that “that thing” or “blank blank”—has become the biggest Chekhov’s gun of the entire series.

If this wasn’t all set up for one final, massive climax, then everything Mike has gone through—this awful “bad boyfriend” arc—would make absolutely no sense.

Finally, I have one more bold idea—this time about how El might enter Will’s memory world.

What I find interesting is this: whenever El enters someone else’s memories, the camera usually takes us through a lotof visual information. We’re shown things. But when El finds Will, we don’t actually see those things we would normally expect to see.

So can we speculate that El may have already seen some memories—and that what we’re seeing now is intentionally withheld? Or perhaps El will re-enter Will’s memory world later, and everything is being saved for the final episode’s climax?

The van scene. Will’s feels stupid at sunset. The coming-out scene.

Will explicitly says Vecna showed him something terrifying, but we still haven’t seen what that future was. Think about that for a second—Derrick’s visions were shown to us in full. Yet for Will, we’re expected to accept that awkward and painful coming-out scene without ever seeing what Vecna actually showed him.

And now we know something else: all of these scenes only last a few minutes onscreen, but every single one of them took an unusually long time to film.

So here’s the question: were these scenes shot with multiple cameras, deliberately designed to be re-presented later in a different form?

We already know what these scenes have in common: they are all Will’s trauma.

This leads me to my theory: in the final episode, El will enter Will’s memories and witness these traumas—not alone—but with Mike.

You might say, damn, Mike doesn’t have superpowers. But please pay attention to something extremely suspicious that happens in Episode 7.

At that point in the story, they suddenly introduce a brand-new concept we’ve never seen before.

Think back to the moment when Kali and El are sitting back-to-back on the grass. El shares her vision with Kali. Kali is literally standing inside El’s mind and asks: “Have you ever done this before? Shared your mind like this?” El shakes her head.

They even added visual effects for this scene.

Now ask yourself: if this concept wasn’t going to matter later, why introduce it at all? Why write this dialogue? Why spend extra money on effects for something supposedly meaningless?

There is only one reason this concept exists: El will share her mind with Mike.

Together, they will experience Will’s trauma.

They will see the truth behind the painting lie. They will see Will’s tears. They will see the moment Mike didn’t clock Will‘s flirting—and Will’s crushed, disappointed expression afterward. And they will finally see the terrifying vision Vecna showed Will: everyone—especially Mike—pulling away from him, fearing him, and not loving him.

In that moment, Mike will finally understand everything. He’ll understand Will completely. He’ll understand that Will’s feelings were never just a “crush”—they were love.

I swear, if the final episode unfolds the way I’m describing, Episode 7 will go from being the most disappointing episode to the greatest episode of the season—second only to the finale itself.

Of course, anything could happen. Maybe the Duffer Brothers really are just two assholes. If that’s the case, I hope they somehow see this post early enough to rush back to set and reshoot everything to save their careers.

Just kidding. LMAO. You and I both know that’s not happening.

But after calming myself down and asking how I’m still able to ship Byler after watching Vol. 2, I realized something important: destroying this ship would also destroy one of the most meaningful pieces of artistic creation and media analysis in recent years.

We’ve been so happy witnessing these two boys’ friendship—and the love growing inside it.

If you’ve read this far, you’ve probably noticed that English isn’t my first language. Still, I chose to spend a huge amount of time trying to express how I feel right now. I believe language is never a true barrier to emotional communication. I used AI and translation tools, so some phrasing may not be perfect—but my belief remains firm:

Will’s story does not end here. He will not become a sacrifice to queerbaiting.

One thing I genuinely respect about the Duffer Brothers is that they don’t try to please everyone. They create what theywant to create. They didn’t try to cater to Byler shippers with shallow, fan-service-y gay soap opera scenes. They know their foreshadowing and symbolism have been understood by some—and that many others won’t like Byler at all.

And honestly? That’s cool.

I’m a creator too. I make things I love in my native language in my spare time, and I wouldn’t change my creative intent just to match what an audience expects to see.

I truly love this show.

So let’s wait together and see whether the first day of the new year brings us something truly great—or completely destroys the rest of our year.

Anyway,Happy New Year. 🎆

[regulusblackslefteyebrow]

i am really scared of how this post is giving me hope because i theorised the exact same thing a couple weeks ago about a byler reveal being a catradora reveal

warning for giant wall of text and maybe slightly incoherent ramble but tl;dr will’s powers are essentially a supernatural manifestation of love, the duffers wouldn’t make it very explicit that will’s powers are rooted in and fueled by memories of love for no reason at all

when you also think back to s2 when will was possessed WHO were the ones that pulled him out: mike, jonathan, and joyce, reminding him WHO he really is. when will gains powers in sorcerer, who does he think of? mike, jonathan, and joyce reminding him who he really is. honestly that parallel is just too powerful for me to ignore and in the chance they do make byler canon i know it will come with caveats because of how messily it was accomplished in volume 2. but yeah feel free to read and comment!

[canweplaydndrightnow]

Woww you’re absolutely right about all that parallel— your analysis makes so much sense and is almost exactly what I was thinking. I honestly can’t believe there’s a better ending than this, unless the brothers actually want to end their careers ：）

[canweplaydndrightnow]

Why I Still Believe in Byler After Vol. 2, and Why Vol. 2 Had to Break Us First

First of all, I want to say that after waiting an entire month and finally finishing Vol. 2, my feelings were pretty much the same as most people’s: deep frustration. These three episodes felt painfully mediocre—nowhere near worthy of our expectations. Whether it’s the fact that Byler didn’t develop in the way we had hoped, or the overall narrative pacing that left people genuinely confused, it was hard not to feel disappointed.

I’ve seen countless discussions about these issues across sns. What I want to bring up here, though, are some points that are rarely talked about—though a few people have mentioned them—and which I believe are extremely, extremely important.

With only one episode left in the entire series, the most devastating thing for Byler fans is that so many of the clues and setups we noticed in the past haven’t been called back at all. It’s reached the point where we’re starting to doubt ourselves. We were once so sure—like Joyce noticing the Christmas lights flicker. But please don’t ignore the details. It was precisely by re-examining those details that I managed to calm myself down and reassess these three episodes. And now, I genuinely believe these choices make sense.

Let’s talk about character-driven storytelling and narrative function in screenwriting.

People have noticed that in these three Vol. 2 episodes, the screen time for Mike, Will, and El is almost nonexistent. Fans are angry because Will’s coming-out scene felt unbearably awkward, and because it seems like the creative team intended to use that scene to close Will’s entire character arc. At this point, Byler feel completely boned, and many are convinced this is outright queerbaiting.

Here’s the theory I want to propose first: Will’s emotional arc and character narrative are not over. What I mean is—they’ve clearly put all the important material into the final episode. The storylines involving Will, Mike, and El belong to the main narrative. For protagonists, their “highlight moments” directly push the core plot forward.

From a structuralist narratology perspective, a character’s high point is equivalent to a qualitative shift in the subject–object relationship. If you trigger that kind of narrative transformation before the final episode, you are essentially ending the story ahead of time. So from the very beginning, the writers had to make sure that the season finale would be the most powerful episode—and carefully decide how that power should unfold.

At the same time, this show excels at ensemble storytelling. We love every character, and every relationship between them—and that requires significant screen time devoted to supporting characters. But when supporting characters get their own highlight moments during the story’s climax, those moments must ultimately serve the protagonists. The narrative needs to follow the principle of perspective anchoring.

That means the writers have to “wrap up” each strong supporting-character storyline before the final episode, giving them their own moments to shine. Now you can see why the main characters almost disappear in these three episodes: their highlight moments must be saved for the final climax. And because the climax’s screen time belongs to the protagonists, the writers had an enormous amount of groundwork to handle in Vol. 2.

So please—stop blaming our creator for a moment, and look with me at what they actually did in these three episodes.

They gave Dustin and Steve a genuine relationship high point. Starting from Dustin’s trauma, moving through his conflict with Steve, then facing danger together—and finally, after the crisis, Dustin truly opening himself up and confronting that trauma head-on. All the odd behaviors Dustin displayed throughout the season are fully explained through this arc. And through conflict and reconciliation with Steve, their relationship is elevated to a deeper emotional level.

Another Byler pair: Nancy and Jonathan.

This couple starts running into problems as early as Season 4. They can’t be honest with each other, because their love was born out of shared trauma—and that pain never truly went away.

Most people have always believed this pair to be the most stable, unquestionable canon in the entire series. Because of that, many viewers didn’t even realize—until finishing all of Vol. 2—that what they were actually watching was a breakup. Of course, I still have some reservations about this particular narrative choice. People love Jancy too much; no one ever expected them to break up. But I think this is yet another example of the Duffer brothers’ fascinatingly chaotic brains. I won’t go deeper into that here.

Lumax! I have to say, out of all the characters in these three episodes, Max shines the brightest. She embarks on her own adventure with Holly inside Henry’s mental prison, while Lucas and Rovickie fight their own battle in the hospital. These two wars unfolding in parallel had me clenching my fists in anxiety for this couple.

And when Max slowly wakes up in Lucas’s arms, we finally see them reclaim each other. This heartbreaking pair—after enduring such a long stretch of trauma—at last reaches a moment of happiness.

These three sets of characters all receive their own highlight moments across these three episodes. The writers deliberately bring their storylines to a full emotional resolution, because the screen time that follows must serve the protagonists. So please, stop complaining that Mike seems hidden in the shadows, or that even Max’s wheelchair had more presence than he did.

I keep hearing people say Vol. 2 was boring, messy, or downright incomprehensible. But once you understand that the writers are carefully preserving the narrative rhythm to serve the final episode, you might start seeing these choices very differently.

That said, I still can’t convince myself to accept that much children content. I genuinely can’t figure out why those children were given so much screen time. Unless their presence is meant to serve Henry’s character arc, the amount of focus they receive feels excessive. And I still don’t understand the narrative purpose of these scenes.

In solid storytelling, supporting characters are supposed to function as contrast, echoes, or mirrors for the protagonist—in this case, the protagonist’s perspective is Henry’s. If they fail to do that, then it violates some very basic principles of narrative theory. So we’d better discover the true function of these kids in the final episode—otherwise, I’ll consider this the biggest misstep of the entire series. The same logic applies to Kali as a character.

From this point on, most of the remaining characters will likely appear as service characters for the unfolding main plot. Their personal highlight moments are already over. And I don’t believe El will truly face death. I don’t think any writer would openly telegraph the death of their core character in advance.

So in the final episode, what we’re likely to see is this: the main group finally enters the ultimate main quest and steps onto the battlefield. This central storyline is anchored by Henry’s narrative thread. The first wave of character highlights will likely focus on El (maybe with Kali?). As Holly’s storyline is wrapped up, we’ll be led into a false climax.

And then—the spotlight shifts from El to Will.

Because we all know things are never resolved so easily. Will’s trauma will be fully uncovered and exposed, triggering the true final climax of the entire series. Oh—and are we forgetting someone?

Yes. That damn guy whose emotions we never get to see clearly: Mike.

We are finally about to get Mike’s POV.

These two narratives—Mike and Will—will unfold simultaneously. And at the absolute peak of the final episode, we’ll see their shared character highlight moment. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for all season—the most emotionally explosive payoff of all.

Will Byler still happen? Yes. I still believe Byler will be endgame—and not quietly, but in an emotionally catastrophic, full-on eruption kind of way.

We will experience Mike’s avalanche moment through his POV.

How?

Here’s where I want to bring up Catradora.

I haven’t actually watched the show myself, but I’ve seen countless people on Twitter explain how this ship became canon. If, like me, you hadn’t heard of them before but are curious, I highly recommend looking it up. This is a lesbian ship that the Stranger Things writers are known to love.

Throughout the entire series, they were never officially acknowledged as canon—right up until the final episode.

And then, in that last episode, when Adora is in danger and on the verge of disappearing, it’s Catra who reaches her. But Adora has already given up on surviving. She says: “It’s too late. I failed.”

Catra screams in despair: “No! No! I will not let you go! Don’t you get it? I love you! I always have!! So please—just this once—stay!!!”

It’s Catra’s love that saves Adora. And Adora, in turn, uses love as a shield to protect Catra. With tears streaming down her face, Adora looks at Catra in disbelief and asks: “You love me?”

Catra pulls her lover tightly into her arms, crying and smiling at the same time: “You’re such an idiot.”

Adora looks at her, softly says: “I love you too.”

They gaze at each other—and then Catra cups Adora’s face and kisses her deeply.

Tell me that doesn’t sound like the most romantic Byler endgame imaginable.

And yet, I’m willing to bet that right now, very few Byler shippers actually believe something like this could really happen.

There are only five days left until the final episode. But I’m saying this with absolute certainty: Byler’s ending will parallel Catradora.

When Mike looks at Will, standing on the edge of death, all the love he’s hidden—deep, buried, and unspoken—will explode like an avalanche, impossible to ignore any longer. He’s about to lose the person he loves, and he screams:

“I do love you! I always do!”

This moment directly parallels the Season 4 pizza shop scene where he tells El “I love you.”

Oh God. Everything will flip—from the worst shit imaginable to pure electricity shooting straight through your bloodstream. Whether you believe it or not.

Guys. Believe me. That’s exactly what the Duffers want.

I’m willing to bet on it.

Everything—everything—has been part of their plan. Including the interviews we’ve seen, and all the hints they’ve dropped. That word Mike has been unable to say for so long—that “that thing” or “blank blank”—has become the biggest Chekhov’s gun of the entire series.

If this wasn’t all set up for one final, massive climax, then everything Mike has gone through—this awful “bad boyfriend” arc—would make absolutely no sense.

Finally, I have one more bold idea—this time about how El might enter Will’s memory world.

What I find interesting is this: whenever El enters someone else’s memories, the camera usually takes us through a lotof visual information. We’re shown things. But when El finds Will, we don’t actually see those things we would normally expect to see.

So can we speculate that El may have already seen some memories—and that what we’re seeing now is intentionally withheld? Or perhaps El will re-enter Will’s memory world later, and everything is being saved for the final episode’s climax?

The van scene. Will’s feels stupid at sunset. The coming-out scene.

Will explicitly says Vecna showed him something terrifying, but we still haven’t seen what that future was. Think about that for a second—Derrick’s visions were shown to us in full. Yet for Will, we’re expected to accept that awkward and painful coming-out scene without ever seeing what Vecna actually showed him.

And now we know something else: all of these scenes only last a few minutes onscreen, but every single one of them took an unusually long time to film.

So here’s the question: were these scenes shot with multiple cameras, deliberately designed to be re-presented later in a different form?

We already know what these scenes have in common: they are all Will’s trauma.

This leads me to my theory: in the final episode, El will enter Will’s memories and witness these traumas—not alone—but with Mike.

You might say, damn, Mike doesn’t have superpowers. But please pay attention to something extremely suspicious that happens in Episode 7.

At that point in the story, they suddenly introduce a brand-new concept we’ve never seen before.

Think back to the moment when Kali and El are sitting back-to-back on the grass. El shares her vision with Kali. Kali is literally standing inside El’s mind and asks: “Have you ever done this before? Shared your mind like this?” El shakes her head.

They even added visual effects for this scene.

Now ask yourself: if this concept wasn’t going to matter later, why introduce it at all? Why write this dialogue? Why spend extra money on effects for something supposedly meaningless?

There is only one reason this concept exists: El will share her mind with Mike.

Together, they will experience Will’s trauma.

They will see the truth behind the painting lie. They will see Will’s tears. They will see the moment Mike didn’t clock Will‘s flirting—and Will’s crushed, disappointed expression afterward. And they will finally see the terrifying vision Vecna showed Will: everyone—especially Mike—pulling away from him, fearing him, and not loving him.

In that moment, Mike will finally understand everything. He’ll understand Will completely. He’ll understand that Will’s feelings were never just a “crush”—they were love.

I swear, if the final episode unfolds the way I’m describing, Episode 7 will go from being the most disappointing episode to the greatest episode of the season—second only to the finale itself.

Of course, anything could happen. Maybe the Duffer Brothers really are just two assholes. If that’s the case, I hope they somehow see this post early enough to rush back to set and reshoot everything to save their careers.

Just kidding. LMAO. You and I both know that’s not happening.

But after calming myself down and asking how I’m still able to ship Byler after watching Vol. 2, I realized something important: destroying this ship would also destroy one of the most meaningful pieces of artistic creation and media analysis in recent years.

We’ve been so happy witnessing these two boys’ friendship—and the love growing inside it.

If you’ve read this far, you’ve probably noticed that English isn’t my first language. Still, I chose to spend a huge amount of time trying to express how I feel right now. I believe language is never a true barrier to emotional communication. I used AI and translation tools, so some phrasing may not be perfect—but my belief remains firm:

Will’s story does not end here. He will not become a sacrifice to queerbaiting.

One thing I genuinely respect about the Duffer Brothers is that they don’t try to please everyone. They create what theywant to create. They didn’t try to cater to Byler shippers with shallow, fan-service-y gay soap opera scenes. They know their foreshadowing and symbolism have been understood by some—and that many others won’t like Byler at all.

And honestly? That’s cool.

I’m a creator too. I make things I love in my native language in my spare time, and I wouldn’t change my creative intent just to match what an audience expects to see.

I truly love this show.

So let’s wait together and see whether the first day of the new year brings us something truly great—or completely destroys the rest of our year.

Anyway,Happy New Year. 🎆

#If you like this, please share it so more people can see it.💙💛

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