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Ok I was bored so this is how I imagine each Stranger Things kid would build in minecraft

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Mouthwashing

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idk it’s hard to tell if Will likes him back….😣😣😣

guys i have something controversial to say.......i think mike wheeler might be queer.......and in love with will byers even.........i know i sound crazy but hear me out

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This was sitting in my drafts maybe two months so I just added a background that I’m. Fine with. I like drawing blood

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So... byler huh?

Oh I also have this one that I don't think I posted on here

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I had to

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byler is endgame because what fucking psycho gives the gay kid the line: “i’m not gonna fall in love.” just for him to ACTUALLY NOT fall in love.

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Mike Wheeler core

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The way that Byler kiss is actually really important.

A. They need to kiss actually. No ambiguous endings.

B. Their kiss has to be an actual proper kiss. Not some half assed kiss for the straights. It’s gotta be PASSIONATE. Honestly I need it to make ppl uncomfortable with queerness extra uncomfortable. #bylerkisswithtongue2025

C. It’s gotta sell Byler. It’s gotta show that these too have YEARNED for each other. That both of them WANT each other. Especially Mike. Mike’s gotta innitate to further prove that point. (Also Will would never be the first kisser lol.)

D. I need it to be cinematic. Beautiful. Make me cry Duffers.

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Byler fights

Will: Your being a bad friend mike

Mike: IM NOT A BOYKISSER

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The way that Byler kiss is actually really important.

A. They need to kiss actually. No ambiguous endings.

B. Their kiss has to be an actual proper kiss. Not some half assed kiss for the straights. It’s gotta be PASSIONATE. Honestly I need it to make ppl uncomfortable with queerness extra uncomfortable. #bylerkisswithtongue2025

C. It’s gotta sell Byler. It’s gotta show that these too have YEARNED for each other. That both of them WANT each other. Especially Mike. Mike’s gotta innitate to further prove that point. (Also Will would never be the first kisser lol.)

D. I need it to be cinematic. Beautiful. Make me cry Duffers.

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You ask, you receive

BYLER LETTER GATE SCENE

The storm outside thrashes against the walls. The Wheeler house groans.

Mike flips on a lamp — weak, orange light.

Mike:

“Still smells like dust and… whatever that old candle was Mom used to light in here.”

Will lingers in the doorway. Doesn’t sit. Just watches Mike fidget with a drawer.

Will:

“Lilac and linen.”

(beat)

“Holly hated it. Said it smelled like ‘dead Barbie clothes.’”

Mike snorts a soft laugh. It catches in his throat.

Mike:

“She drew this thing earlier. Dustin said it looked like the Mind Flayer, but… I think it was supposed to be me.”

He turns toward Will. “It had my hair.”

Will finally steps inside. Eyes flicking around the room like it’s a crime scene.

Will:

“She drew me with my mouth sewn shut once.”

Mike pauses. Grimaces.

Mike:

“She’s not wrong.”

That makes Will smile. Barely.

Thunder cracks. A deep, guttural sound. The whole room shivers with it.

Mike pulls open another drawer, crouching near the floor. Muttering to himself, rifling through old junk — tangled cords, torn notebook paper, a cracked cassette case.

Mike:

“God, what was I even looking for again?”

Will:

“Comfort?”

Mike chuckles. And then stops. Blinks at something under the bed.

Mike doesn’t move fast enough.

Will steps forward — drawn in by something just visible beneath the bed.

A folded piece of paper. Edges worn. As if touched too many times.

He reaches down. Pulls it out.

Turns it over.

His name.

Scrawled in Mike’s handwriting. Sharp. Hesitant.

Will.

Mike straightens sharply. Blood draining from his face.

Mike:

(voice breaking)

“Don’t—”

But Will’s already opening it.

His eyes scan the words. Once. Then again. Slower.

Each line like a blow to the chest.

He exhales — a sharp, pained sound.

And drops it.

The paper flutters to the ground between them.

Quiet. Final.

Will doesn’t look at Mike. Doesn’t say a word.

He turns. Walks out of the room like he’s trying not to run.

But he is.

He’s running.

————————————

To Will,

I don’t know what I’m doing.

I shouldn’t be writing this.

You’re not supposed to know.

But I miss you. And it’s worse when I see you. It’s like everything I’ve tried to forget just gets louder.

I thought it would go away. It hasn’t.

I don’t even know what this is. I just needed to say something, even if it’s only here.

Sorry.

—M

_____________________

Mike doesn’t follow.

Not right away.

He just stands there, frozen. The air feels too thick. His lungs don’t work right. The letter lies where it fell—open, exposed, like a wound.

He hadn’t meant for this. Not like this.

He moves on instinct. Out the door. Down the hall.

And stops.

Will is there. In the doorway.

Backlit by the storm outside. Rain streaking the windows. His chest rises and falls in shallow bursts—like breathing hurts.

Their eyes meet.

And everything shifts.

Mike’s voice is low. Rough. Like it scrapes its way out of him.

Mike:

“You… You weren’t supposed to—”

He doesn’t finish.

Silence crashes in around them.

Tighter than before.

Louder, somehow.

They’re staring at each other like strangers. Or like they’ve only just now started seeing clearly.

Will:

(quietly)

“When?”

His voice is barely a thread. But Mike hears it.

Mike:

(voice catching)

“When you left. For… for California.”

Will looks down. Not at Mike. At the letter. Still lying there like a secret finally pulled into the light.

Will:

(soft, stunned)

“Lenora.”

It lands between them. Not a question. Just a name. A memory.

Mike takes one step forward. Hesitant.

His voice breaks again.

Mike:

“You weren’t supposed to see it.”

Will doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak. His eyes stay locked on the letter.

Mike:

“I was gonna get rid of it. I swear. I—I couldn’t…”

Will:

(finishing, barely above a whisper)

“But you couldn’t.”

That’s when he looks up.

And their eyes meet again—this time searching, scanning. Not for answers. For each other. For truth.

Mike’s gaze is desperate. Like he’s waiting for a verdict. Like he’s already preparing to lose.

Will’s is unreadable.

But wide. Open.

Mike steps forward hesitantly.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters—barely louder than the storm still pounding against the windows. “I tried to kill it. I did. But when I saw you in California… it killed me first.”

His voice splinters there, like it costs something just to admit it.

Will doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. His breathing is sharp, shallow. But he’s still standing there. Still listening.

And Mike—Mike is wrecked.

His hair is damp and curling, pressed against his forehead in messy, soaked strands. There’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and his clothes hang heavy from the rain. He looks like he’s been dragged through the end of the world and didn’t stop running. But still—he’s beautiful. Not in some perfect, polished way. But in the realness of him. Raw and aching and alive.

“I hated what it made me,” Mike says, quieter now. “Wanting you. Needing you. I thought if I ignored it long enough, it would just stop.”

Will’s lip twitches—but it’s not quite a smile. It’s something bitterer. Sharper. His gaze drops to the floor. The letter still lies there between them like a crack in the foundation.

“And it didn’t,” Will says flatly.

Mike swallows. “No. It didn’t.”

The silence stretches again. But this one is different. Not cold. Just… full. Charged.

Like a wire pulled taut.

Mike shifts, just barely closer. And now he’s within arm’s reach, and Will’s shoulders are tense like a bowstring.

The air is hot with something unspoken—frustration, fear, desire all tangled together like a thread they can’t stop pulling.

Mike looks at him, really looks. At the tight set of his jaw. The way his hands keep clenching and unclenching at his sides. The way his throat works when he swallows.

He takes another breath, chest trembling.

“I didn’t want to ruin what we had,” he whispers. “But I think I ruined it anyway.”

Will looks up at that.

And Mike sees it—everything in his face. The hurt. The longing. The rage. The hope. All at once.

“You didn’t,” Will breathes, and something catches in Mike’s chest.

Their eyes lock. And suddenly the room is too small for whatever is burning between them.

Mike shifts forward again. Slower now. A tremor in his hand as he reaches up, tentative.

He’s staring at Will like he’s afraid to blink.

His fingertips graze Will’s jaw, feather-light.

And then, softer than breath:

“Can I?”

Will doesn’t answer with words.

He just leans in.

And then Mike surges forward—and it’s everything.

It’s teeth and heat and years of silence finally breaking. It’s Mike grabbing Will’s face like he can’t bear to lose it again, like he’s afraid this isn’t real. Will’s hands bunch in the front of Mike’s soaked shirt, dragging him impossibly closer.

The kiss is desperate. Messy. Earned.

Mike backs him up—step by step—until Will’s back hits the wall with a soft thud, and still, still, they can’t stop.

Will’s breath hitches as Mike kisses down once, barely a break, their foreheads knocking together between gasps.

They hold each other like they’re trying to make up for lost time. Like the world is ending outside this room and they don’t care.

For now—this is it. This is everything.

And neither of them lets go.

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

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average mike thought

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oh, how i love byler pinterest

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I love how the Byler lawyer is our own personal celebrity. Every once in awhile I'll see "BYLER LAWYER NOTICED ME" and go 'valid asf, love that guy'. Byler's love the Byler Lawyer.