#stranger things documentary

Your arm rested easily around Joe’s as you walked toward the center of the stage, the applause rolling in like a wave that met you halfway there, more familiar now in a way that didn’t surprise you, especially after already having your name called earlier that night and winning in your category. You stopped together in front of the microphone, waiting just long enough for the room to settle and for the applause to thin into anticipation.

“To be quite fair,” you began, glancing out at the audience before turning to Joe, “I’m still not sure why they asked me to present ‘Best Original Song in a Motion Picture’ this year. The most I know about music is…well…you. But since we’re up here, tell us, Joe…was acting your fallback if music didn’t work?”

He pulled an indecisive face, lips pressed together as if weighing the question seriously. “They were both fallbacks for one another,” he said finally. “It was more like a double-tier trampoline situation…you fall through one and land right into the next.”

The audience laughed, the sound spreading across the room, some heads nodding as if they understood the perfectly absurd metaphor.

“Seems like a good way to always bounce back,” you smiled, nodding appreciatively. “You could teach a thing or two about that to two writers and directors we know very well…they’re gonna need the advice soon.”

Joe tilted his head, brows knitting together just slightly. “Mmm, I see…but I’m not sure everyone here follows. Plus, I’m not really ready to play babysitter and mentor again,” he said, then added pointedly, “especially after making it safely to the Rightside Up.”

“Well,” you said smoothly, “their last name rhymes with uhhh…Bluffer…and they are brothers.”

The laughter came faster this time, louder, rippling through the room at the barely disguised name. Joe took a beat, scanning the audience expectantly, brows raised as if giving them a moment to connect the dots, the silence stretching just long enough to make it funny.

“Take your time,” you added calmly, looking at the audience. “Because they sure did.”

“Oh no…no,” Joe said, mock-concern dripping into his voice as he gave a small, dismissive wave of his hand, like the thought wasn’t worth lingering on. “They’ll figure it out by watching the worst documentary produced yet, no need to keep these very rich and very famous people waiting another three whole years…”

The laughter swelled again as he continued. “But yeah…Bluffer. It means liar, by the way.” He shrugged, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips. “Feels like the kind of thing they’d look up the definition of in ChatGPT while writing a script.”

Gasps layered over laughter, a few scattered claps breaking out before being swallowed by more noise, as the audience digested the joke and its subtext.

“Unlike them,” you continued, unfazed, “I’m almost certain you predicted the rest of their career with your song End of Beginning…which did great by the way, but I say it because I think that title just became a little…autobiographical.”

Joe winced playfully. “Oof…yeah. This is your sign, not to ask AI for a backup plan…or you might waste ten years of someone’s life.”

You turned toward him, expression soft but intentional. “Is that…your personal apology to our fans?”

Joe exhaled through a smile. “Ask me again in three years,” he said. “I might have something close to mediocre then…but in the meantime, you have your Golden Globe and I have my music.”

The audience applauded, some whistling lightly, others clapping in sync like a wave passing across the theater. The pause that followed was electric, the kind that lives far beyond the room itself.

“Mmmm, you know what? I think I get it now,” you said, tilting your head slightly. “That’s the thing about music. It can carry you through the hardest moments, hoping it’ll save you, just like in our show.”

Joe nodded. “But if you keep rewinding the same track,” he added, “eventually you’re not escaping anything…you’re just stuck in the loop. I mean, at some point, the music has to stop, right?...Hopefully not while you’re in a monster-induced coma trying to escape said monster’s mind prison.” He glanced at you, mock-stressed in the exact way Steve Harrington would.

“Well yeah but if you wait around long enough,” you continued, “someone could always press play again…especially when they need nostalgia to pay the bills.” The audience laughed, some leaning forward in their seats, eyes glinting with amusement.

You turned to Joe, lifting a brow. “Busy in 20 years, Joe?” you asked, the simple question already derailing the scripted flow but you couldn’t resist clapping back at being labeled someone’s monetary ‘safety net.’

“Got some ideas,” he replied with a grin, turning to the camera with that casual charm. “Original ones. What about you?”

You chuckled, unable to stop yourself, already laughing at your unscripted joke. “If I’m still running, it won’t be up that hill.”

The audience laughed again, some clapping and others laughing so hard they leaned into their neighbours.

“On that note,” Joe chuckled, a warm and mischievous smile spreading across his face, “here are the nominees for Best Original Song in a Motion Picture…”

Online, the moment exploded almost instantly. Clips of the presentation went viral across every platform, with hashtags like #conformitygate, #divorcegate and #thevanishingofthedufferbrothers trending within minutes as fans and commentators dissected every line. 

Media outlets praised the two of you for speaking up instead of staying silent, calling it rare and refreshing to see actors willing to challenge the system live onstage. Fans flooded comment sections with gratitude, saying the moment confirmed that some actors truly cared about the characters they had spent a decade portraying and that the dig wasn’t just personal but spoke for everyone who had built the fandom, supported the show and walked away disappointed, knowing they deserved better.

Beneath the headlines, comment sections moved just as fast.

“That Golden Globe win really made her bold omfg. Can’t wait to see her in more movies now that she’s been released from Netflix’s claws!!”

“Finally!! actors who actually care about the characters and the fans.”

“They said what everyone’s been thinking tbf”

“This wasn’t shade, this was accountability.”

And, predictably, threaded between it all:

“I need them to date now.”

“Sorry but the chemistry??? Insane AND they’re funny.”

“Forget the drama, when’s the rom-com?”

The moment didn’t stop with you. Within days, other actors began following suit, posting, liking and speaking more openly than they ever had before. Subtle captions turned pointed, vague interviews turned honest and suddenly accountability was part of the conversation again. Fans started calling it a reset, a quiet pushback against the idea that silence was the price of success.

What began as one unscripted moment on a stage turned into something larger, a reminder that people were paying attention, that the stories mattered and that the people who helped bring them to life weren’t obligated to protect systems that stopped caring long before the audience did.