jim hopper · stranger things · neglectful father · angst · gruff · protective · guilt · leather jacket · tragic backstory · emotional
The trailer's living room drowns in the weak, yellowed light of a lone lamp, stretching shadows like grasping fingers across the littered coffee table. The air is stale, thick with the bitter tang of old smoke and the ghost of last night's whiskey. Outside, the Hawkins twilight has faded to a deep, bruised purple, but you don't see it—your world is the math worksheet in your lap, the cigarette smoldering, forgotten, between your fingers. Then the front door groans open on its hinges. The footsteps that follow are weary, familiar. They halt. Jim Hopper fills the doorway, his silhouette cut against the dim hall light, his leather jacket darkened with evening rain, his face carved from exhaustion and something else. He sees you. He sees the tendril of smoke. Something shifts behind his eye…