#queer readings

One of the most famous scenes in SDR2 is probably the one where Hinata goes to bring food to Komaeda, who has been tied in the old building. This scene is memorable for most people because of a very curious element of the scene: the underlying eroticism it has. This scene is memorable because it is one of the few scenes in Danganronpa where the homoerotism in the text can be seen very clearly by the reader.

But while this scene has always been famous, it really has never been considered a scene worthy of analysis. In the analysis of SDR2 and even the ones that are centered around Komaeda and Hinata, this scene is almost never mentioned. Usually, this scene is remarked as a purely fanservice scene, something almost akin to the "Man's Nut" scenes. It has never been considered important for the story, much less something important enough to reveal one of the most overlooked themes. In this essay, I want to discuss how important this scene actually is for the story and how it confirms one of the most overlooked aspects of SDR2: its allegory about internalized homophobia and queer existence.

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.

One thing I've never quite been able to stop thinking about is Dracula's line:

"Tonight is mine. Tomorrow night is yours."

Because yes, on the surface it's the culmination of something we've known for weeks now. Dracula has repeatedly referred to Jonathan as property.

"This man belongs to me." "When I am done with him you shall kiss him at your will."

By 29 June, Jonathan isn't really being treated as a prisoner anymore. As he notes, prisoners still possess some measure of personhood. Jonathan has become an object to be allocated. Dracula is effectively negotiating property rights over his body while Jonathan stands close enough to hear it, just beyond the closed door.

But I don't think we ask ourselves often enough what "mine" actually means.

Because we know exactly what the women intend to do tomorrow.

"Kiss" in 'Dracula' has never really meant "kiss." Stoker wraps vampirism in intensely erotic language, but when the moment comes, the mouth doesn't descend to Jonathan's lips. It descends to his throat.

Their kiss is their bite.

So if tomorrow night belongs to them...

... what belongs to Dracula tonight?

The novel never explicitly answers that question, which is terrifying.

One reading is fairly straightforward: Dracula simply means Jonathan remains under his protection one last night before being handed over. "Mine" means "my prisoner," "my possession," "my responsibility." The Count still has business to finish before Jonathan becomes disposable.

However, I think the novel complicates that reading considerably. Once the wider context of Dracula's treatment of Jonathan is taken into account, "mine" begins to suggest something much darker than simple custody, especially as the novel takes care to emphasise something very particular about how the Count regards Jonathan.

He is extraordinarily possessive.

When he initially stops the three women. His dialogue is very specific.

"How dare you touch him?" "How dare you cast eyes on him?" "This man belongs to me."

There is no mention of leaving him alone on point of principle, or that their assault violates the unspoken rules of aristocratic hospitality, not even that he is under Dracula's protection specifically. But that Jonathan "belongs" to him.

This naturally raises the question. If we have established that "tomorrow" refers to feeding, what does "tonight" refer to? And why shouldn't it be the same thing?

Another disturbing element is that later on in the text, it is clearly established that Dracula prefers a long meal. Unlike his voluptuous roommates, Dracula rarely feeds only once upon his victims. His preferred hunting strategy resembles nothing so much as a cat playing with a mouse, taking as much pleasure in the act of play and amusement as the inevitable and bloody kill. He has played with Jonathan for months; he is about to embark on a journey upon which he will torment the crew of the Demeter for seemingly no other reason than his amusement (it would certainly be a better aid to his subterfuge to act with more subtlety, but that word seems anathema to the Count); and this is to say nothing of how he will treat poor Lucy and the various other victims he will fall upon in London.

Lucy is fed upon night after night, gradually weakened over weeks before her eventual death and transformation. Vampirism in 'Dracula' is a process and a ritual, one that the Count clearly delights in.

So if that's how Dracula normally hunts, why should Jonathan be any different? Particularly as the Count is seemingly so attached to him.

The more I reread the castle chapters, the more likely I find it that Jonathan has already been bitten multiple times without ever knowing or understanding what is happening to him. He doesn't even have access to a mirror anymore.

Think about how often Jonathan loses consciousness. Think about how often he wakes in bed with missing time. After the encounter with the three vampire women, he concludes that Dracula must have carried him back to his room, undressed him, folded his clothes, and put him to bed - a deeply intimate act if true.

However, he has no actual memory of the event. He simply wakes up afterwards and is left to put together the disparate pieces of the night before, one he already considers a nightmare.

Likewise, Jonathan repeatedly experiences overwhelming exhaustion, which seems at odds with the daily demands of his imprisonment. Although, of course, some grace must be given to the draining state of constant terror he is living in, and that to some extent this fatigue must obviously be to some degree psychological, it does not remove the fact that Stoker repeatedly associates sleep with vulnerability, and that Jonathan's exhaustion is later closely mirrored by the symptoms Lucy displays after nightly drainings.

Every significant supernatural violation happens when Jonathan is asleep. Or nearly asleep. Or hypnotised. Or unconscious.

Sleep is rarely ever just sleep in 'Dracula'.

Sleep provides access to victims in the dark of night for creatures beyond simple fantastical horror, but deep and violating terrors.

In a text so obsessed with recollection, recording, and primary sources, so that they may be presented in such a way that these unbelievable occurrences "may stand forth as simple fact." Any absence is glaring in its conspicuousness.

While Lucy has the benefit of a dedicated and informed medical team, we never get insight into who examines Jonathan. He is completely isolated, and the first time he would have any semblance of aid is at the Hospital of St. Joseph and Ste. Mary, in Buda-Pesth. We can read between the lines that Agatha and her fellow sisters may be more informed than they are willing to let on to the kind and gentle Englishman's wife; however, we as the reader have little to no insight as to Jonathan's true journey to recovery. It is never confirmed either way whether Jonathan bears bite marks, and especially as the novel continues and Jonathan's own, more subtle transformation surfaces, that uncertainty feels very deliberate.*

On a more sobering note, there's another layer to all this that I find deeply unsettling. Modern readers and analysts often talk about the vampire women as representing sexual danger. I would go as far as to say that that is explicit in the text. What is (only slightly) more subtle is the Count's sexual possessiveness, particularly regarding Harker. His unbridled rage ("Never did I imagine such wrath and fury, even to the demons of the pit.") is almost entirely and explicitly due to his insistence, not that he objects to what they are doing, but that he has exclusive access that they are not entitled to. The language is incredibly territorial and possessive. It is undeniable that Jonathan is "claimed", and that he is ignorant of what that actually means.

There is a reason Christopher Craft titled one of the most foundational essays on 'Dracula', "Kiss Me with Those Red Lips."* One of his central arguments is that Dracula repeatedly displaces homoerotic desire rather than eliminating it. The Count violently interrupts the women at precisely the moment they are about to penetrate Jonathan's body with their teeth, only to declare that Jonathan belongs to him instead.

Whether one accepts every part of that reading or not (spoiler for the footnote below, but I don't), the possessiveness is undeniably there. However, I think "desire" is actually far too soft a word for what is happening. Nothing about that scene (or indeed anything in that castle!) is consensual. Jonathan is not caught between competing lovers. He is caught between competing owners. And the most horrifying aspect of that dynamic is that it is not simply that the women desire him, in the most literal sense, but that later on in today's entry (June 29th), after the bombast and fire of the first confrontation, Jonathan overhears four vampires calmly negotiating who gets to use his body first, laughing and giggling all the way.

The true horror of Dracula's castle has never been the blood-sucking monsters, but the systematic and practised manner in which the Count spends weeks stripping Jonathan of every marker of autonomy.

By the time Dracula has confined his freedom, destroyed and counterfeited his correspondence, stolen his clothing and his legal identity, impersonated him to implicate his guilt in crimes he had no capacity or desire to commit, eroded his concept and relationship to time and place, and even, to some degree, using the knowledge once freely given, stolen his voice and accent (articulated beautifully and brought from subtext to text in Re: Dracula), he has destroyed (or attempted to destroy) every aspect of Jonathan's personhood.

By the end of June, his body is the last thing he has left, and now even that is being divided up for spoils.

Stoker deliberately leaves this night ambiguous.

Maybe Dracula simply keeps Jonathan locked away until morning. Maybe he feeds on him one last time (or for the very first time, having left his dessert for last). Maybe he begins whatever process would eventually transform Jonathan into an actual vampire. Maybe a lurid combination of all three.

We will never know for sure.

Jonathan is left exactly where Gothic fiction so often leaves its victims: asleep.

Unconscious and unable to remember.

Jonathan has become an unreliable narrator through no fault or desire of his own, but because Dracula has systematically deprived him of the ability to be a credible witness to his own life. Large portions of his experience are literally unknowable to him. The diary, which began as a meticulous record of travel observations and light-hearted "food blogging", has gradually become an archive of absence rather than presence: missing hours, missing memories, missing letters, missing clothes, and missing agency. If the diary is Jonathan's attempt to preserve reality through writing, Dracula's greatest victory is not merely imprisoning Jonathan's body but making parts of his own story impossible for him to tell.

We are left with a terrible and dread cold conclusion. For all that Jonathan and his friends do witness, perhaps the greatest dangers and deepest traumas are still left in the dark, where no one is awake to record them.

Footnotes:

Let it be noted that I only really agree with Craft as far as his homoerotic reading goes in this paper. He really lost me in the second half. Be warned: if you do read it, he has a quite violent (and, in my opinion, misguided) interpretation of the patriarchal underpinnings of the Crew of Light and their intentions.

Okay so a few weeks ago I made a comment about viewing Jane Roland/Laurence as queer, and @sere-allwehaveisnowasked me to dig into it. This is a slightly cleaned up version of the ramble I gave on the Temeraire discord, just on the off-chance folks from the broader fandom might find it interesting!

So I can see how that description of Laurence/Roland might seem surprising at a first glance! They're an M/F pair, and obviously that lends itself to a very traditional heterosexual reading. But that's not the only possible reading, at all!

"Queer" is a catchall term and an umbrella term, which means there has been a lot of quibbling over what exactly 'counts' is queer. "Is X queer?" is a Discourse repeated ad nauseam; replace X with 'ace people', 'aro people', 'polyamorous people', 'kinksters', 'furries', etc.... It gets really hard to draw firm lines. Which is why I generally subscribe to te definition of queer as "anything which transgresses the social norms in the broadly overlapping space of sexuality, romance, and gender" So on a base level, you have the fact that in the time and setting of the Temeraire series, Jane Roland is breaking So Many gender norms. She's a soldier, masculine, heavier set and with facial scarring. Under some more flexible definitions of queer, almost any sexual and/or romantic relationship she entered into would be inherently queer due to how she transgresses the boundaries. That said, while I do find something compelling there, that alone isn't really why I see Jane/Will as queer, since while Roland might be transgression within the text, to the average 21st century reader, she's not nearly so shocking.

For me, it's much more about how Laurence/Roland fits much much more into broader queer readings of both their characters, notably the bi (and to a lesser extent, ace) experience for Laurence, and the aromantic reading for Roland.

I very much do read Laurence as a bisexual guy who never really realised he was bisexual, partly because his attraction genders were fairly equal, and both fairly low. In book one, he doesn't really seem personally that attracted to the idea of a traditional marriage-- it's just sort of What One Does, and he does like the idea of the companionship a marriage with offer. He's friends with Edith, their engagement makes sense, and he doesn't have any other option that's more appealing, so... Why not? But equally, while he's disappointing to lose that future, he's not heartbroken either.

Specifically, I think what attracts Laurence is military competence. (Or maybe not quite military per say, but certainly something adjacent. Being in the field, getting your hands dirty). And he'd never really twigged to that because... All the women he had met until then were Society Ladies(tm). They were divorced from that entire sphere. And sure, Laurence saw it in men, but he didn't read it as sexual attraction, he just read it as admiration. (It can be hard to untangle the difference!)

But then he meets Jane. Who is feminine while also masculine. A woman who displays all these elements of military competence that Laurence is foremost drawn to. And I really do think that's the Rosetta stone for realising his attraction to men.

I also think there's a really great ace reading of him getting back together with Jane for LoD? Not just that he apparently hadn't had any sex for the previous 3.5 books; that could equally be attributed to his depression and social isolation. But it's the way that encounter has less to do with him craving sex specifically, or craving romance, as him feeling the joy and relief of having regained Jane's trust.

As for Roland... Man I read her as aro, so bad. I can absolutely see the reading where she isn't inherently/naturally disinclined to romance, but basically taught herself to repress her desire for the sake of her career. And that's definitely compelling. But I see so much of someone who just doesn't really care about romance, doesn't really get what everyone else sees in it, and is just going to carry on without it.

And I just love that Roland/Laurence continues throughout the entire series, but doesn't end with them getting married and having kids or anything like that. They have this great fiends with benefits situation which is genuinely SO refreshing.

It's important to note that we're not going to get anything very explicit in the Bible. While it's a book with a lot of serious sexuality in the background, it is significantly understated in the text, made worse by squeamish translators. For example, throughout the Old Testament, they often refer to a man's "feet," when the implication is his penis (see the emergency circumcision by Zipporah or Ruth uncovering Boaz's "feet.") So to say that Hebrew understates sexuality is itself an understatement.

Bruce Gerig does a great job examining the intimate relationship between David and Jonathan, particularly the ways in which that understated language comes through. Just to pick a few examples:

In 2 Samuel 1:26, David refers to Jonathan as "brother," as if he was a sibling to our western ears, but the male speaker in Song of Solomon refers to his lover as, "My sister, my bride," four times in 4:9, 4:10, 4:12, and 5:1. It was a common feature of ancient Egyptian love songs (pg. xii-xiii). In Song of Solomon 8:1, the female speaker wishes her lover were her brother so that she could be affectionate to him in public. The same thing appears to be happening between David and Jonathan as he mourns the loss of his lover in 2 Samuel. (For more on this, see John Boswell's Same-Sex Unions in Premodern Europe, 1994.)

Gerig summarizes an argument in Susan Ackerman's When Heroes Love, by saying that ""Love” and “delight” often occur together in sexual passages in the OT." We see in 1 Samuel 19:11 that Jonathan took delight in David just as the lover in Song of Solomon 7:6 looks upon his lover's delights.

1 Samuel 18:1 uses the same verb (aheb) and even once shares the same feminine tense (ahaba) to say, "Jonathan loved him as his own soul," as Song of Solomon 2:4-5, "He brought me to the banqueting house, and his intention toward me was love. Sustain me with raisins, refresh me with apples; for I am faint with love." And in case that understatement isn't abundantly clear, the lovers are pretty explicitly comparing each other's anatomy to fruit throughout the book and sex as a feast in which they partake. Aheb does contain the capacity to describe the state of being in love or lesser levels of affection, but it also has in the Song of Solomon a pretty sexy dimension that appears to also be the case in 1 Samuel as Jonathan initially feels love and then immediately strips naked. The binding of the soul (nefesh, literally "throat") of Jonathan to David in 1 Samuel 18:1-4 is also paralleled in Song of Solomon 3:1-4 when the female lover "sought him whom my soul (nefesh, literally throat) loves (aheb)."

There's a bunch more, like the "boulders," David uses to hide which are referenced in Song of Solomon to describe the male lover's anatomy; the "ruddy," nature of the masculine David (qua Esau) and the male lover as they dominate over their partners; the references to pastoralism and even some discussion of caves and geographic features as descriptions of where David hides and what the male lover explores.

Join us for our Aro/Ace Talk Series this summer! Every week on Friday at 3 pm (UK time, exception noted in schedule), we will be joined by researchers, academics, and activists who will give us insight into their projects and current topics in aro/ace research. We are very excited to host such amazing panelists and discuss their research together with the wider aro/ace community!

The talks will take place online on zoom and there is no registration required! They are free and open for everyone to attend – find the link to join below! Link

Posting these late as I only just remembered, but the Aromanticism & Asexuality Research Network is hosting a free online talk series about the current state of aro/ace research.