#edge analyzes

[edgelordmcmuffn]

Stranger Things didn’t mishandle Will Byers’ coming out scene because they don’t know how to write queer stories. They mishandled it because they chose spectacle over intimacy, despite already proving with Robin Buckley that they know better. When you put the two scenes side by side, the difference in tone, intention, and care is glaring. And it really highlights how much the writing has downgraded over the seasons.

Robin’s coming out feels natural and character driven. Yeah, she’s under the influence of Russian truth serum, but that arguably makes the moment even more believable because it gives her a reason to say something she might not otherwise feel ready to voice. But beyond that, the conversation itself is grounded and human. There’s no speech about her needing to prove she’s “just like everyone else.” There’s no audience, or grand declarations, or manufactured drama.

Even though she doesn’t explicitly say the word “lesbian,” it works for her because it’s in character. Robin gets frustrated with Steve’s obliviousness, and when he finally understands, his reaction is a simple, immediate, “oh.” And then he accepts her. Instantly. No performative reassurance, no checklist of ally statements, no emotional spectacle. Just quiet, genuine understanding. It’s intimate, restrained, and incredibly comforting because it reflects a reality a lot of queer people recognize → you don’t need to convince the people who love you to stay. The right ones just do.

That intimacy is exactly what Will’s scene lacks.

Will doesn’t get a moment of safety. He doesn’t get to choose when or how he comes out. He’s coerced by Vecna, pushed into vulnerability through fear and trauma, and we don’t even get to see it happen. Instead of a moment rooted in trust and connection, his coming out becomes a stage. A spectacle. Something done to him, not with him.

Compare that to Robin, who comes out to one person, Steve, during a moment where they both are already sharing fear and vulnerability together. That scene deepens their bond and strengthens their relationship. Will, meanwhile, is isolated. He’s scared, alone, and unprepared, forced into a public revelation in front of people he doesn’t even know well. There’s no grounding presence, no hand to hold, no reassurance.

And that’s what makes it feel so wrong.

A far more resonant choice would have been letting Will come out privately to Joyce and Mike first. Those are the people he loves most, the people whose acceptance genuinely matters to him (Jonathan, too, though season 4 already made it clear he would always be there for Will). That alone could have been enough. Being loved and accepted by them could have given Will the confidence and safety he’s been searching for since season 1. And wouldn't have let Vecna have complete control over him and his coming out.

And if the show really needed him to come out publicly, then at least let him do it with support. Let him do it standing beside people who already had his back, instead of panicking alone in front of a crowd. As it is, the scene feels unrealistic, especially considering the time period, even with Vecna’s influence. It doesn’t feel like growth, it feels like obligation.

And it reads as another instance of the story inflicting pain on a character who's already been defined by loss, fear, isolation, and endless suffering.

That’s why it comes off as performative, rather than empowering or sincere. Like the show needed to “check the box” rather than tell a story about Will learning to trust that he's lovable exactly as he is.

And that’s what makes it so frustrating. Because Robin’s coming out had a place in the story. It was sensitive, character driven, and emotionally honest. Knowing the writers were capable of that, and then watching Will be denied the same care, makes the difference impossible to ignore.

They didn’t fail because they don’t know how to write a sincere and compelling coming out scene.

They failed because they chose not to give Will one.

[edgelordmcmuffn]

im actually really disappointed they didnt animate that scene of izuku and kacchan bickering while doing hero work, especially with the reveal that they jumped to ranks 4 and 5. like… this is the final episode. if there was ever a time to include it, it was here 🥀🥀

because its not just a throwaway scene!! its kacchan at his peak where hes actively doing hero work, competing, pushing forward, and being recognized as one of the top 5 heroes. we spent the entire series watching him fight to become the best, and that scene is such a clear payoff of that drive!

and him bickering with izuku alongside it really brings the anime to a close. it starts with them and it ends with them. thats the full circle ive been hoping for. because its the fact that theyre not fighting like they used to when they were kids, the fact that theyre pros who are fighting side by side, still pushing each other, still competing, but now as equals matters so much.

it feels like such an important development for kacchan (and izukus relationship with him) to leave out, especially in the last episode ever 💔

[edgelordmcmuffn]

what really gets me is the difference in how each characters conclusions are handled. we got a full episode centered on ochako with her grief over toga, how deeply it affected her, and how shes slowly learning to move forward. and dont get me wrong, i love that for her. it was emotional, complex, and actually gave her space to process everything that happened in the war.

but then you look at izuku and kacchan… and they just dont get that same care.

izukus story especially feels unfinished. hes dealing with the same kind of grief ochako is, if not heavier, with shigarki plus the loss of ofa, but we never actually see him work through it. instead, he just keeps pushing everything down and dissociating through the final episodes. and even now, the “lesson” hes being taught by kacchan feels like something that shouldve had its own dedicated episode where we could actually see him unpack things, learn to put himself first, and figure out who he is after sacrificing everything.

that kind of emotional payoff couldve been part of the one shot if theyd just included it in the main ending instead of splitting it off as if it were its own separate entity and not a vital conclusion for the storys characters.

and kacchan isnt any better off. his conclusion in ‘more’ feels weirdly empty. we dont see him reach his dream, we dont see him become the number one hero (or even compete to be), we dont get to see him happy. we just see him falling through the rankings at 15 and getting shut down by the one person who used to share that dream with him. thats not a real conclusion. thats just unresolved writing disguised as a hollow hope.

it just feels like ochako was given the space to properly process and move forward, while izuku and kacchan were left in this unresolved limbo. and for characters whove carried the story from the beginning, thats frustrating!! they both deserved actual, onscreen emotional closure and actual happy endings 🥀

[edgelordmcmuffn]

tbh i dont really care about the one shot being turned into an animated short, i still hate that it wasnt in the final episode. because you know its not going to get the same attention. ‘more’ was meant to be a proper sendoff with a huge reach, so they shouldve included the actual conclusion there instead of saving it for a random ova most of the general audience wont even watch. i mean we'll see how they market it, but i doubt itll hit the same level. it really shouldve been part of the episode and not treated like extra content 💔

[edgelordmcmuffn]

My biggest issue with Byler not being canon isn’t disappointment, but rather betrayal.

For years, the show actively trained us to read it as intentional. Stranger Things has always been meticulous about storytelling through set design, lighting, costuming, and music. The people responsible for those choices have openly talked about how deliberate they are. They’ve referenced queer history. They’ve emphasized symbolism. And they still chose to surround Mike with repeated queer imagery and framing across multiple seasons.

This wasn’t accidental. And it wasn’t just fans “reading too much into it.” It was intentional subtext over the course of years.

It's the fact that they used to handle their queer characters with extensive care and intention. It's the fact that Robin’s coming out arc was handled with compassion and woven organically into the story. It's the fact that Byler was never treated dismissively within the text. It's the fact that the show teased it; official accounts teased it. It's the fact that they never shut it down and, instead, they nurtured it quietly and consistently. That kind of gentle, intricate buildup is exactly what made people trust that the writers were being thoughtful and responsible with their queer characters.

Which is why the finale hurts the way it does.

What’s painful isn’t even that Byler didn’t happen, it’s that we’re now watching the creators completely switch up after the show has ended. The Duffer brothers are suddenly talking down to Byler fans, dismissing years of analysis as “noise,” and acting as though none of this was intentional. That alone is telling.

What's also telling is the creators’ refusal to never meaningfully address the homophobia and harassment directed at Will and the queer community. Jokes about Will’s trauma, memes trivializing sexual violence, and blatant homophobic commentary were allowed to flourish unchecked. When that silence and refusal to protect its queer audience is paired with years of intentional queer signaling followed by outright dismissal, it sends a clear message about who the creators are actually willing to cater to. And that's the audience that mocked us.

And it only gets worse when you look behind the scenes.

There are interviews of Noah Schnapp, an openly gay actor, talking about being afraid to ask for Will’s story to have closure. Of him begging for scraps of resolution. Of him feeling like he was asking for too much. There are reports of him being threatened with being written out. Of the Duffers asking what more he could possibly want for Will.

That doesn’t read as neutral. It reads as targeted.

And when you combine that with how incoherent and under cared for Will’s arc ultimately was, it becomes clear that whatever care once existed, for Byler, for Robin and Vickie, for the queer imagery threaded throughout the show, was conditional. Performative. Useful only as long as the show was still airing and goodwill still mattered.

The speed with which they’ve rejected queer fans after the finale makes it impossible to see this as anything other than hostile. Not accidental. Not misunderstood. But an explicit distancing from the very community the show once claimed to represent.

And that’s what hurts the most.

Because Stranger Things positioned itself as a story for outsiders, for freaks, for misfits, for kids who never quite fit in. And in the end, it made it painfully clear that queer viewers were never meant to belong there at all, and has made us feel more alienated than ever.

So no, this isn't about fans reading too much into nothing. This is about a story that invited queer audiences in with intention, symbolism, deliberate signaling, and sustained ambiguity, to then reject them outright once the show was over. This isn't a misunderstanding. This is queerbaiting.

[edgelordmcmuffn]

One thing I love about Stranger Things season one is that moment where Mike talks to El in the school about “after all this is over.” He imagines a future where she’s not a secret anymore, where she lives in his basement, and where they're kind of a family. He even mentions how his Mom's a great cook so she can eat real food and how Nancy would kinda be like her older sister.

To which El asks if that would make Mike her older brother, and he immediately goes, “ew, no.” Which, on the surface, reads as a joke, but it’s also pretty clear that even back then, Mike didn’t conceptualize closeness in the basement as something purely sibling-coded. At that point, his feelings for El were already romantic, not familial.

What’s important, though, is what the basement represents.

From the very beginning, Mike’s basement is set up as his emotional center. It’s not just a physical space, it’s where he brings people when they’re scared, or hurting, or in need of protection. It’s where the Party exists as a unit. It’s where Mike feels safe. So Mike envisions the future, after all the trauma of season one is over, as one where El can find a safe place in his home.

Except, that exact future never happens.

But you know what does happen? Will ends up living in Mike’s basement by season five. It feels like foreshadowing even way back then.

You can even trace it back to season two! After the group goes trick or treating and Will collapses, Mike says he’ll take him home, and the next shot cuts directly to Mike's basement. That visual choice feels intentional. The basement is framed as refuge, as safety, and as the place Mike instinctively brings Will when something's wrong.

So when you look back at that season one conversation, it feels less like a dropped concept and more like a redirected one.

Mike imagines a future where someone he loves lives in his basement, not as a secret, not as something hidden, but as part of his life. Mike explicitly rejects the idea of El being his “sister” there, and years later, the person who actually inhabits that space is Will. Not in a brotherly way. But in a way that recontextualizes what the basement was always being set up to mean.

Whether it was deliberate foreshadowing or a long formed thematic payoff, it really feels like the show knew exactly what it was doing. And I kind of love that

[edgelordmcmuffn]

On Reconsidering Will’s Coming Out Scene and Why It Still Fails Narratively

After watching interviews with Noah Schnapp and hearing how meaningful Will’s coming out scene was to him personally, I genuinely tried to revisit the scene with a more open mind. Knowing how much emotional labor Noah put into it, and how deeply he wanted it to resonate with queer viewers, does soften my criticism on a human level.

And I want to be clear about this upfront: if this scene helped someone come out, or feel seen, or feel less alone, I am genuinely happy for you. This critique is not meant to invalidate anyone else’s experience. It’s about my own disappointment with how the scene functions within the story.

Because after watching the finale, it’s now clear that there was no narrative purpose for Will’s coming out to be structured the way it was.

The Problem Isn’t That Will Came Out → It’s How and Why

I went into the finale with an open mind. I was willing to believe that the discomfort of Will’s coming out scene, that its fear, its lack of intimacy, and its coercive framing, might be intentional groundwork for something later. That Vecna’s influence would return. That Will’s queerness would be used against him. That the story would do something with what it put him through.

But it didn’t.

Will’s coming out feels rushed, out of place, and haphazardly inserted because it is. It happens in the final minutes of episode 7, and episode 8, the finale, was clearly never designed to revisit or build on it in any meaningful way. Nothing about Will’s queerness is brought back into the narrative. There is no payoff. No confrontation. No reclamation of autonomy.

If the intention was that Vecna forced Will to come out through fear, through the threat of weaponizing his identity, then that thread needed to matter. But Vecna never uses Will’s queerness against him. It’s never referenced again. The fear that supposedly motivated the scene is not validated by the story that follows.

That means the scene wasn’t about Will’s acceptance of himself. It wasn’t about him choosing truth. It wasn’t about safety, trust, or growth.

It was about Vecna taking the last remnants of Will’s autonomy, and then the story doing absolutely nothing with that violation.

Autonomy, Not Acceptance, Is the Core Issue

This is what makes the scene so painful in retrospect.

Will was not ready to come out. He didn’t choose the moment. He wasn’t surrounded only by the people he trusts most. Instead, he was forced into a public declaration while panicking, pleading to be seen as “no different,” and begging for acceptance from people he never should have had to justify himself to.

That framing matters.

This wasn’t a coming out story about comfort or self recognition. It was about fear. About coercion. About an abuse survivor once again losing control over something deeply personal. And if the narrative had integrated that, if Will had later reclaimed that autonomy, this could have been devastating in a purposeful way.

But it didn’t.

There is no follow up scene where Will gets to come out on his own terms. There is no moment of quiet affirmation with his family. There is no narrative acknowledgment of what was taken from him.

The only callback is a roughly 20 second moment in the finale. A scene Noah Schnapp himself had to beg to be included.

That alone tells you everything about how much the story actually cared.

Intention Is Not the Same as Care

What makes this worse, not better, is knowing how much of the care came from Noah himself.

An openly gay actor was asked to dig into a deeply painful, vulnerable part of himself for twelve hours of filming, to make this moment resonate with his community. He did the work. He showed up. He tried to give the scene meaning.

And then the story abandoned it.

There's something deeply uncomfortable about watching a show extract that level of emotional labor from an actor, especially a queer actor, only to provide no narrative closure, no structural support, and no lasting impact. When the only care comes from the performer and not the writing, that isn’t thoughtful representation. It’s exploitation dressed up as sincerity.

Why This Ultimately Feels Hollow

By the end of the series, it becomes clear that Will’s coming out was never meant to go anywhere. It was never going to be revisited. It was never going to meaningfully affect the plot, his relationships, or his arc. Which raises the unavoidable question:

If there was no intention to explore Will’s queerness with depth, continuity, or compassion, why was his coming out written as traumatic at all?

Why taint it with Vecna’s influence? Why force it into a public spectacle? Why center panic and fear instead of safety and love?

A gentle, private coming out scene with Joyce, Jonathan, and Mike (or the Party) could have been more realistic and infinitely more compassionate. It could have resonated with queer youth without reinforcing fear or shame. Instead, the version we got hands homophobic audiences more ammunition while offering queer viewers no real narrative affirmation in return.

Final Thoughts

Will’s coming out scene didn’t fail because it was subtle, or uncomfortable, or painful.

It failed because it led nowhere.

And no amount of good intention can replace the absence of care, follow through, or meaning.

And his coming out wasn’t mishandled in isolation, either. It's part of a larger pattern where queerness is invited, exploited, and then abandoned. And that pattern has a name: queerbaiting. Which I talk more extensively about here.