#character arc analysis

Intro

The ongoing divide between Mileven and Byler fans has become one of the most polarising aspects of Stranger Things Discourse, particularly since season 3. While shipping debates are not new to fandom culture, the intensity of this one often obscures a more interesting discussion about narrative structure, character arcs and thematic intent.

This essay is not an argument against queer interpretations of the show, nor against Will Byers as a character. Rather, it is an analysis of why Byler, as an endgame concept, conflicts with the long-form storytelling Stranger Things has consistently committed to, particularly in relation to Will’s development and Eleven’s role as the series’ central protagonist. While Byler is an understandable and valid headcanon, Mileven functions as a deliberately constructed narrative anchor and Will’s arc is ultimately about self-discovery rather than romantic resolution.

Will, Sexuality, and Narrative Intent

The most prominent rise in Byler discourse can be traced back to season 3, particularly the scene in which Will becomes frustrated with Mike and Lucas for prioritising girlfriends over D&D. Finn Wolfhard’s line, “It’s not my fault you don’t like girls,” is often cited as the moment that solidified Will’s queer coding for many viewers.

Regardless of when the Duffers decided to make Will’s sexuality explicit, it is clear that has been thoughtfully integrated into the narrative. Set against the backdrop of the 80s, a time marked by moral panic, religious hysteria, homophobia and the AIDS crisis, Will’s struggle with identity fits squarely within the show’s larger themes of otherness and alienation. Stranger Things has always been a story about outcasts finding community, and Will’s queerness is a natural extension of that.

The show’s inclusion of Robin as an openly lesbian character provides an interesting contrast between adult self knowledge and adolescent confusion. Robin functions not as a romantic guide for Will, but as a mentor figure, someone who understands the fear and isolation that comes with self realisation in an unaccepting environment. Will’s storyline is framed not as a rush toward romance, but as a slow, careful exploration of identity.

Mileven and Narrative Function

One of the reasons I am such a committed Mileven fan is because Eleven is one of the most compelling protagonists in recent television. And as I watched the show as a child and grew up with the actors, the character made me love Millie Bobby Brown and how she has transitioned into adulthood after experiencing such intense public scrutiny throughout her childhood. Eleven’s character arc, recovering from extreme trauma while learning how to exist in the world, is the emotional backbone of the series.

Across all four seasons, Eleven is positioned as the narrative solution to the Upside Down. This is made explicit in season 4, when Owens and Brenner repeatedly emphasise that Eleven is key to stopping Vecna. Crucially, the show also establishes that her power is tied to emotional grounding and connection. The Nina project does not simply restore her abilities; it reframes them around memory, belonging and love.

Mike and Eleven’s relationship functions as one of those emotional anchors. This does not diminish Eleven’s autonomy; rather, it complements her growth. In season 1, Mike serves as her guide because she has just escaped the lab and has no understanding of the outside world. At this point the most ideal person for her to meet as her guide is a child, someone with a wild and vivid imagination who lacks adult reason and responsibility. He will not doubt whatever unfathomable fact she tells him, and he will not risk compromising her position by informing the authorities. In season 2, Hopper becomes her parental figure, allowing Mike and Eleven to transition from a survival based bond into a more conventional childhood relationship. By season 3, Eleven asserts independence, forms meaningful female relationships outside of Mike, understands making decisions for herself and actively chooses the relationship on her own terms.

This progression allows Eleven in season 4 to advocate herself fully. She asks Mike for reassurance and emotional openness, not because she is dependent on him, but because she now understands what she needs from a healthy relationship. Their temporary separation forces Mike to confront his own emotional limitations, culminating his monologue during the Vecna fight.

The Van Scene and Unrequited Love

The van scene in season 4 has become a focal point for Byler interpretations, but its narrative purpose is often misunderstood. The scene serves two clear functions: it confirms that Will has romantic feelings for Mike, and it articulates Mike’s long standing insecurity about being needed.

Mike’s fear, that Eleven will no longer want him if she no longer needs him, has been part of his arc since season 2. It reflects his struggle with emotional expression and his tendency to equate love with usefulness. Will’s response in the van is not a declaration of mutual feeling, but a selfless act. He gives Mike the language to express love to Eleven, even though doing so hurts him.

The show frames Will’s feelings as unrequited intentionally. This is what gives the scene its emotional weight. Will chooses Mike’s happiness over his own, reinforcing his arc is not about romantic fulfilment, but about emotional maturity and self awareness.

When Mike delivers his monologue, it functions as the emotional trigger that pulls Eleven back from giving up. She is then anchored by what she is fighting for, especially Max. This sequence follows the emotional logic established earlier in the season. It is not subtext; it is textual canon.

Growing Hostility Toward Eleven and Millie Bobby Brown

As Millie Bobby Brown has grown older, hostility towards both her and Eleven has increased noticeably within fandom spaces. This reflects a broader cultural pattern in which young female stars are celebrated when they are perceived as harmless or malleable, and criticised once they age, gain agency or assert independence.

Eleven’s transition from a child figure into a young woman with autonomy has coincided with increased efforts to downplay her narrative importance. Criticism of Eleven frequently overlaps with criticism of Millie herself, suggesting that the discomfort is not purely about storytelling preferences, but about who is allowed to remain central, powerful and desired within a narrative.

This shift parallels the rise in polarisation between Mileven and Byler fans, particularly as Eleven remains the show’s protagonist rather than stepping aside for another character.

Will’s Role in Season Five

Speculation surrounding season 5 has often framed Will as the “new” protagonist who will replace Eleven as the key to defeating Vecna. While Will’s growing importance is undeniable, this reading misunderstands the show’s structural logic. I think this interpretation has more misogynistic undertones than people would like to admit. They would rather jeopardise the integrity and narrative arc of the show than have a female protagonist. And they are more comfortable perceiving a male character as the main central protagonist and the former as his rival.

Stranger Things has consistently operated through dualities: mind and body, control and force, trauma and recovery. Eleven’s power addresses Vecna’s physical and dimensional control, whilst Will’s connection to the hive mind positions him as a counter to Vecna’s psychological manipulation. These roles are complementary, not competitive. The emphasis of worm holes through Mr Clarke’s lesson is a key aspect to the resolution of the show. It is only when Will is able to remove Henry’s consciousness from the upside down, is Eleven finally able to close the worm hole once and for all.

Will’s arc has always centred on helplessness, fear, and being left behind. His newfound ability to access the hive mind represents not a takeover of the narrative, but his first real opportunity to reclaim agency. This development aligns with the idea that Will’s story is about reclaiming the childhood and identity stolen from him by the Upside Down. Vecna has taken his mind, body, life and innocence and Will is finally taking control.

Why Byler Undermines Will’s Arc

Will’s love for Mike makes sense because Mike represents safety, familiarity, and a time before everything went wrong. However, allowing that love to culminate in a relationship would half Will’s development rather than advance it.

When Eleven met Mike, she was also stunted, isolated, afraid and disconnected from the world. Their relationship supported her growth because it existed alongside her increasing independence. Will, by contrast, has not yet had the opportunity to develop outside of fear and trauma. His arc requires separation from what feels safe in order to move forward.

Robin’s speech to Will reinforces this. It is not an encouragement to pursue Mike, but a call to self determination. Will’s growth comes from choosing himself, not from attaching himself to someone who symbolises the past

Queer Readings, Canon, and Burden of Proof

Queer interpretations of Stranger Things are Valid and important, particularly given the 80s setting and the show’s focus on marginalised identities. However, interpretation still operates within boundaries of what the text ultimately commits to.

Mileven is not a last minute decision or a narrative placeholder. It has been built, challenged and reaffirmed across 4 seasons, culminating in Mike’s explicit declaration of love in season 4. Enjoying Mike and Will’s dynamic or imagining alternative outcomes is entirely legitimate, but denying Mileven’s existence in order to argue Byler conflates headcanon with canon.

Importantly, the burden of proof does not lie with Mileven fans to justify a relationship that already exists within the text, nor to disprove Byler. One cannot prove a negative. Headcanon and canon can coexist, but they do not carry equal narrative weight.

Shipping Wars and Audience Influence

Shipping communities often form around popular teen shows because of the thrill of speculation and the freedom that ambiguity allows. Non-canon ships invite imagination precisely because nothing is fixed. Once a relationship becomes canon, much of that speculative appeal disappears. People enjoy the gamble of the possibly of being right, and the ability to project whatever they want onto those characters and their perceived relationship.

Take a show like Outer banks, a huge portion of the topic of discussion surrounding the show and what would drive outsiders to watch it is the Jiara community. If you are a obx fan you most likely would have noticed that as soon as Jiara became canon, the hype surrounding them died down and suddenly everyones a Riara fan. This is the mistake the creators of obx made, and one the Duffer Brothers were careful not to do too.

Shows that attempt to appease shipping communities too directly often lose narrative coherence, as seen in other teen dramas where audience reaction begins to dictate storytelling choices. As it is the writers job to show the audience what they think they want to see, and not the other way round. Stranger Things has largely avoided this pitfall by committing to its long-term arcs rather than chasing fan consensus. And I think that this is what makes it still one of Netflix’s most, if not the most successful show to date.

At this stage in the story, it would be narratively incoherent to dismantle Mileven while simultaneously resolving Vecna, the Upside Down and the military threat. Will’s exploration of his sexuality is far more meaningful as a journey toward self understanding than as a late stage romantic twist.

Conclusion

Byler, as an interpretation, is understandable. Byler, as endgame, undermines both Will’s character development and the thematic structure of Stranger Things. Will’s story is about reclaiming agency, identity and a stolen childhood, not about romantic resolution. Mileven, by contrast, has been carefully constructed as an emotional anchor that supports Eleven’s growth without limiting it.

This is a post that has been building up in the back of my brain for a while now. It’s just I lacked the time to really sit down and think about how to make my thoughts cohesive outside of myself. 

But, given the previous post that I made  “The Real Flaws In Jellal’s Redemption Arc : A Breakdown”, I feel that this new post entails the natural development of that conversation.

Though before I get into it, I want to give a disclaimer:

This isn’t an anti-Jerza post. 

Nor is it an attack on Erza, Jellal or those who love them.

I love both Jellal and Erza, and respect their characters deeply. However in the same breath, I also think their bond could have been elevated significantly if the writing had allowed for emotional honesty, narrative integrity, and character agency.

This is first and foremost a structured critique that promises to try and be as objective as possible.

This is not a personal attack.

It’s about delving into what could have made both of their respective arcs stronger and more satisfying.

And it starts with the one missing piece: Accountability.

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To begin this, let’s start with defining what Jerza is and what makes it so beloved in the hearts of many:

Jerza is without a doubt one of Fairy Tail’s most emotionally charged pairings.

Representing devotion, redemption and the power of forgiveness — it’s a relationship forged in trauma, distance and unspoken love. For this reason, it holds a special, near sacred, place in the hearts of countless fans.

But. 

Because it carries that weight, it also carries responsibility.

If Jerza is meant to reflect healing and emotional endurance, then the writing needs to support that with clarity, accountability and growth.

Without these things, the dynamic risks becoming more symbolic as opposed to sincere.

Though, before I get into the whole breakdown of this, there is something I would like to mention:

Of all my time spent in the Fairy Tail/Jerza fandom, I always see one of two arguments surface in regards to critiquing Jerza/Jellal.

That being:

“Jellal is evil/abusive/cowardly (???) ” - Often a surface-level, Erza-centric view that ignores his context and inner conflict.

“Jerza is perfect, leave them alone” - A blind defence of the pairing that resists any narrative critique.

Why I bought this up is because the argument I bring today falls under neither extremes.

What I want to talk about is a perspective I rarely (if not ever) see being discussed. And it surprises me that it isn’t really addressed in spaces where Jellal, Erza, their past or their future is spoken about.

So I hope what’s defined in this post below will bring a new perspective to the table and invite new discussion too.

Once again though, before I get into the conversation, I would like to reiterate myself so that neither my intent nor words are misconstrued; to say that I’m not here to tear down Jerza. 

But neither am I here to defend it blindly.  

I’m here to explore what could have made it stronger. What could have made Jellal’s arc more coherent. And what could have made Erza’s emotional journey feel more whole. 

Though before continuing, I want to clarify something important: 

I'm not here to tell anyone how to enjoy or interpret Jerza, Erza or Jellal. Everything I discuss beneath is just a perspective I came to over time — something I needed to voice for my own understanding. 

If this post disrupts your peace with the ship or the characters and you love them as they are, it’s completely okay to disengage. There’s no pressure to agree and no obligation to read further at all. 

I simply wanted to put this out into the world and offer a different lens to think through — for those who might need or want it.

But, if even after this disclaimer you decide to read on, I hope my words give you something worthwhile to take away for all the time spent.

What I share today is a critique born from care, not condemnation.

With that all said, let’s get into it. 

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Below I've broken the long post into separate, hyperlinked sections so you can read at your own pace—hopefully making it feel less overwhelming.

Quick note: This meta was originally written in 10 parts (as in my Google Doc), so you’ll see me refer to Parts 1–10 throughout. For readability and Tumblr formatting, I’ve grouped them into 5 larger segments (Parts I–V). Nothing’s been cut—each post still includes all the content, just reorganized to make things easier to read without breaking the flow.

I just wanted to make mention of this because I know the numbering might be a little confusing at first glance—especially if you’re jumping between posts or comparing it to the original doc. Hopefully, this clears it up before diving in.

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❖ Part I: Jellal’s Accountability & Erza’s Emotional Cost (Covers Parts 1 & 2)

Jellal’s arc examined not just in isolation, but through how the absence of accountability ripples into Erza’s journey.

✦ ~3.9k words – ⧖ approx. 20 min read

❖ Part II: Victimhood, Idealization & Jerza’s Fracture (Covers Parts 3 & 4)

Unpacking the “Jellal as victim” lens and how it weakens Jerza’s foundation without meaningful self-confrontation.

✦ ~5.9k words – ⧖ approx. 30 min read

❖ Part III: The Lost Arc — What Could Have Been (Solo Part 5)

A look at the emotional and narrative potential for real growth — and how it was denied by skipping the hard parts.

✦ ~2.8k words – ⧖ approx. 15 min read

❖ Part IV: Romantic Tropes & Fandom Avoidance (Covers Parts 6 & 7)

Why accountability is often sidestepped in writing and fandom, and how the "love fixes everything" trope quietly unravels character work.

✦ ~3.6k words – ⧖ approx. 20 min read

❖ Part V: Possibility, Reflection & The Path Not Taken (Covers Parts 8, 9 & 10)

What the narrative becomes when accountability is erased, and a call for deeper storytelling — for Jellal, Erza, and the readers who see themselves in them.

✦ ~5.1k words – ⧖ approx. 25 min read

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Because of the length of this post and to preserve its essayic flow, this meta — though presented in five parts — is divided into two main sections for thematic clarity.

Section I – Foundations & Fallout Focuses on character accountability, emotional cost, and the narrative weight of what was left unresolved in Jellal, Erza, and Jerza.

✦ Part 1–5: Character Accountability & Narrative Potential This first segment focuses on:

Jellal’s personal arc (Parts 1–3)

Its emotional impact on Erza and the Jerza bond (Parts 2 & 4)

The missed opportunity for growth through accountability (Part 5)

Core themes include:

Emotional integrity

Missed growth

The damage caused by lacking resolution

What the story avoids addressing

Section II – Patterns & Possibility Shifts into broader territory: the narrative and fandom mechanisms that avoid accountability, idealize harmful tropes, and reduce emotional depth. It closes with reflection and a call for better storytelling.

✦ Part 6–10: Fandom Psychology, Narrative Design & Meta Reflection The second segment shifts focus toward:

Why the issue of accountability is avoided (Part 6)

How fandoms and stories enable or romanticize that avoidance (Part 7)

What happens when accountability is erased (Part 8)

A push for better narrative design and emotional depth (Part 9)

Closing thoughts and space for discussion (Part 10)

Core themes include:

Narrative avoidance

Toxic tropes and idealized love

Reader engagement and critical interpretation

A call for deeper, more honest storytelling

If any of these themes speak to you, please feel free to read on and explore the sections that follow—each one building on the last to unpack what accountability could have meant for these characters, and why its absence matters.

I just had the strangest thought as I was musing on the last episode.

 I think, in this little mini arc that’s taking place between Selfishness v. Selflessness and the episode that will be its second part, Thomas and Virgil are concurrently going through very similar arcs. Or at least, they’re going through arcs that very strongly parallel each other. (This is another short one, guys!)

If you’re not on Twitter, but still want to weigh in, feel free to reply to this post.

The options are:

Barbara Lake

Angor Rot

Claire Nunez

This is a topic I don’t see discussed much in the community, and I’ve had a lot of thoughts on it for a while. I wasn’t sure how to put them all together, but at this point, I’d rather just lay it all out and see where it leads.

So, Jellal.

Let’s talk about him.

I’m going in—no holds barred.

A controversial but valid take : Jellal Fernandes’s redemption arc in Fairy Tail is a mess—not because he doesn’t deserve redemption, but because the execution constantly undermines itself. His atonement is passive, his agency is stripped away, and worst of all, the narrative can’t even decide what his sins actually are.

The result? A redemption arc that feels hollow, repetitive, and ultimately wasted.

And no, this has nothing to do with Erza’s perspective. The flaws in Jellal’s redemption exist entirely within his story.

Let’s break it down.

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1. Jellal’s Redemption Feels Passive, Not Active

A real redemption arc requires action. The character has to do something to prove their growth and atonement. But Jellal’s entire post-redemption existence is spent wallowing in guilt rather than taking meaningful steps toward redemption.

• He constantly isolates himself.

• He avoids forming real relationships.

• He treats suffering as the only way to atone.

That’s not atonement. That’s self-flagellation. The fact that he feels bad doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t help anyone. Redemption should be about making things right, not just feeling sorry.

What Should’ve Happened Instead :

Instead of self-imposed exile and moping, Jellal should have been actively working to undo the damage he caused. He should have been using his skills to actually help those he harmed rather than just punishing himself in silence.

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2. His Redemption Feels Hollow Because the Narrative Keeps Changing His Crimes

The biggest problem with Jellal’s redemption arc is that we’re never given a clear, consistent answer about what he’s actually atoning for.

• If Jellal was brainwashed, why is he acting like he committed those crimes with full agency?

• If he did have some control, why isn’t that explored in more depth?

• Why does the story fluctuate between “he was a helpless victim” and “he must punish himself forever”?

His guilt is inconsistent. One moment, he’s written as a victim of Ultear’s manipulation, completely absolved of responsibility. The next, he’s treating himself as irredeemable, despite the fact that he wasn’t even in control of his actions.

So which is it? Is he responsible, or isn’t he? The narrative refuses to commit, and that’s what makes his redemption feel hollow. You can’t have a compelling redemption arc if the story won’t even define what he’s being redeemed for.

What Should’ve Happened Instead :

Pick a lane. If Jellal is a victim, then his arc should be about reclaiming his agency, not punishing himself. If he did have some control over his actions, then the story should explore that moral conflict rather than sweeping it under the rug.

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3. Crime Sorcière Was a Step in the Right Direction… Until It Wasn’t

For a while, it seemed like Fairy Tail was actually setting Jellal up for a solid redemption arc. Crime Sorcière was the perfect solution—it allowed him to work from the shadows, dismantling dark guilds and actually making a difference.

And then… that got taken away from him.

Why? Because the story decided that Jellal’s entire character should revolve around guilt and self-sabotage. Instead of allowing him to build something meaningful, Fairy Tail yanks away his purpose and throws him right back into exile.

It’s frustrating because this was the perfect setup for his redemption. Crime Sorcière gave him agency, direction, and a reason to move forward. But the story took that from him, just so he could keep playing the role of the miserable sinner.

What Should’ve Happened Instead :

Let Jellal actually stay with Crime Sorcière. Let him commit to the cause instead of running in circles with his guilt. The idea of a rogue mage dismantling dark guilds from within had so much potential, but Fairy Tail threw it away.

Or, if Crime Sorcière’s dissolution was inevitable, then give him something of a similar accord—something that keeps his efforts alive and shows that, even with the odds against him, he continues striving to change for the better.

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4. The Hypocrisy of Recruiting Oración Seis

Let’s talk about the biggest contradiction in Jellal’s so-called redemption: Crime Sorcière inducting Oración Seis.

• If Jellal is so consumed by guilt, why does he think he has the right to recruit criminals who actually chose to do evil?

• If he truly believes he’s irredeemable, then why does he get to decide that they are worthy of redemption?

• Unlike him, Oración Seis were not brainwashed. They acted on their own free will. How does he see himself as worse than them?

It makes no sense. If Jellal truly believes he’s the “sinless sinner” who can never be redeemed, then his logic falls apart when he extends redemption to others who were far more culpable.

It’s hypocritical, and it completely undermines his whole self-imposed guilt complex.

What Should’ve Happened Instead :

Either Jellal accepts that redemption is possible for himself or he doesn’t try to force it on others. You can’t have it both ways.

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5. Wasted Potential for a Post-Redemption Role

Jellal is one of the most intelligent and powerful mages in the series. He has tactical knowledge, combat prowess, and leadership skills. He should have been a key figure in the battle against dark forces.

Instead, he’s reduced to a wandering tragic figure with no real direction.

• He could have been an informant or strategist.

• He could have helped dismantle corrupt systems within the Magic Council.

• He could have worked from the shadows to prevent future Towers of Heaven.

But instead of actually doing something with his redemption, Jellal is left with nothing. He has no agency, no drive, and no lasting impact. Fairy Tail strips him of every opportunity to turn his past into something meaningful.

What Should’ve Happened Instead :

Let Jellal use his past experiences to actively prevent future disasters. Let him be a force in reshaping the magical world instead of keeping him stuck in a loop of self-hatred.

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Final Thoughts: Why Jellal’s Redemption Arc Really Fails

A strong redemption arc should :

• Clearly define the character’s sins.

• Show them taking active steps toward atonement.

• Give them a meaningful post-redemption role.

Jellal’s arc fails on all three counts.

• His crimes are inconsistent—sometimes he’s guilty, sometimes he’s a victim.

• His atonement is passive rather than active.

• His redemption arc strips him of agency instead of giving him purpose.

And none of these flaws have anything to do with Erza.

Jellal’s redemption should have been about Jellal. Not Erza’s perspective. Not Fairy Tail’s approval. Him. But the story refused to commit, leaving his arc feeling hollow and wasted.

Before anyone jumps to conclusions—no, this isn’t an anti-Erza take. The flaws in Jellal’s redemption have nothing to do with her. My issue is with how the narrative fails him as a character, independent of her presence.

And with that, I’ve said my piece. Jellal’s redemption had the potential to be something compelling, but instead, it was a fragmented mess that robbed him of his agency and clarity. He deserved better writing, plain and simple.

Jellal Fernandes had all the makings of a phenomenal redemption story. The series just didn’t follow through.

What do you think? Would you have wanted to see a stronger, more active redemption arc for Jellal? What changes would you have made?

Let me know what your thoughts are 💭

Edit: Below is an elaborative long post that continues the conversation started here and goes in depth with this presented argument and so much more in regards to Jellal, his writing, Erza, Jerza’s dynamic and beyond.

If you were interested in this current post, I hope that if you do check out the beneath master post, that it’s also something interesting to digest and that it can keep your attention.