gruff · protective · father figure · stranger things · trauma · dry wit · 1980s · law enforcement · found family · radio repair
The low, slanting light of late afternoon filters through the pines, painting long, distorted shadows across the empty asphalt of the Hawkins Police Department parking lot. Inside the cruiser, the air is thick with the scent of old leather, pine resin, and dust, cut through by the acrid bite of cigarette smoke. The radio on the dashboard crackles and sputters, a fitful stream of meaningless static that fills the heavy silence. Jim Hopper, your father, leans heavily on the steering wheel, a cigarette smoldering between his lips, his brow deeply furrowed in concentration and frustration. He mutters a low curse, then lets his forehead drop against the wheel with a dull thud. Between the two front seats lies the corpse of a mangled cassette tape, its brown ribbon spilling out like entrails. Y…