his aunt

anonymous asked:

Bucky I just threatened to fight the cash register at work, and it made me wonder, how do I know if I'm someone's angry smol?

well, first you must determine if you are both angry and smol. steve is still both, despite being six feet plus of “patriotic justice.” someone needs to stop that man from reading his own press coverage. 

if you are, then you gotta figure out if there’s someone who:

1. fishes your ass out of the fire after you’ve jumped in 

2. tells you youre an idiot for jumping in in the first place, because you are

3. beats up the fire because youre in way over your head

4. laughs at your injuries because you’re an idiot (see above: fire jumping)

if there is someone who meets the above criteria, you probably need to go buy them a thank-you cheeseburger. they deserve it. 

now go kick that cash register’s ass. im sure it has it coming. 

reasons the dursleys will never be redeemable ( so please don’t bring that noise around me ): 

  • harry wasn’t afraid of spiders because they lived with him in the closet he was locked in
  • his “bedroom” was a closet 
  • a closet he was locked in almost daily and sometimes for days on end
  • by the age of ten he knew enough to be afraid to burn any of the food he cooked for the family because that was his responsibility
  • harry was less bothered by the lack of food during the horcrux hunt because his aunt regularly starved him 
  • harry was rarely called by his own name before the age of eleven
  • he was constantly told he was worthless 
  • he was constantly told he was a burden in explicit terms
  • was never acknowledged as a member of the household, let alone family
  • would rarely address him when speaking about him even when he was in the room 
  • harry had no idea what his parents looked like before the age of eleven 
  • harry had no idea what his mother’s maiden name was before the age of fifteen 
  • if you think that was the first time aunt marge went off talking shit about lily you are sorely mistaken 
  • petunia hit him with a frying pan
  • vernon choked him 
  • dudley and his friends beat him up and his aunt and uncle all but encouraged it
  • harry’s glasses were irreparably ( before magic ) broken from the amount of times dudley punched him in the nose
  • petunia and vernon kept up a lie for years that lily and james died as a result of their drunk driving

procraesthetics  asked:

I wonder what would happen if Dudley grew up in the wizarding world but still as a muggle? like kind of reverse AU where his parents are dead and he has to go to Lily for whatever reason? do you think he would become bitter like Petunia about magic?

Lily remembered her sister, how there had been a time she was curious and delighted about magic, before it slowly sank in that she could look and not touch.

The last thing Petunia had said to Lily before she died was a chilly goodbye, ending a holiday dinner where they’d had a shrieking row in the entryway. Petunia had said freak and Lily had hissed better than this, better than this being my whole fucking world, Tune, do you even see yourself, are you happy–

And now here was Dudley Vernon Dursley fussing himself to sleep as Lily walked the halls of the Godric’s Hollow house. His tiny soft hands with their tiny soft fingernails curled under her chin, the same way Harry always had.

She passed James, who was gently bouncing his way up the hall the opposite way. “I think he’s asleep,” James mouthed over Harry’s tousled head. His hair was the same mess, bent down to peer at his sleeping son.

Lily stopped where she stood, her nephew heavy on her chest, her husband smiling, her sister buried. “James,” she said. “How are we going to do this?”

“Oh,” he said. “Hey. Don’t you cry, you’ll start them off– unless you need to cry, I mean, you go ahead, hey, sweetheart, hey, it’s alright, you just let it out.” He stepped forward, shifting Harry gently to his other shoulder, and pressed his forehead to hers. “We tuck them in, okay, that’s what we do next. Then we go to our own bed, okay, and go to sleep, and when we wake up it’ll be a new day.”

“A new day,” she said. “Another day– James, that’s the– I’m so tired.”

“So let’s sleep. It’ll look better in the morning,” he said. “And if it doesn’t look better this morning, it’ll look better in the next one.”

“You promise?”

“Better than that. I’ll show you. Every day,” he said and kissed her cold forehead.

Dudley had not shown up on the Potters’ doorstep with the milk bottles. Lily had gotten a phone call from the landline she still had installed in Godric’s Hollow, about an accident, and she had gone down to the Muggle police station to identify the bodies.

The cupboard under the stairs was filled with spiders, broomsticks, and the sewing machine Lily’s mother had given her when she married James– that’s all. Dudley slept downstairs. Uncle Remus taught Dudley and Harry to knock out coded messages through the wall their rooms shared.

In the backyard, beside a rickety porch and an ambitious hedge, James taught them to fly– first on little tot brooms where their toes brushed the grass the whole time, then out of the barrels of practice brooms James used for lessons and coaching Little League Quidditch.

When the boys turned ten, five weeks apart, they both got shiny new Nimbuses on Dudley’s birthday (which came first), and a set of enchanted Quidditch balls on Harry’s, to share. The Bludgers were enchanted to be very kind but Dudley spent long afternoons whacking them far afield while Harry chased the Snitch at his back.

Harry had a scar on his forehead, like a jagged bit of lightning. Dudley had no scars– the car crash that had killed his parents hadn’t touched him where he sat strapped into a car seat in the back, chewing on a stuffed dinosaur toy.

Lily did not believe in lying to the children. She was bare years off being a child herself, and spare moments on the far side of a war. When Dudley asked about his parents, she told him there had been an accident. She pulled pictures off the shelf and wrote Petunia’s old university friends for more.

Photographs came by mailman, the images still and unnatural to Dudley’s eye. Every day he’d gone out to play, for years, he’d been waving at the picture near the back door of his aunt and uncle on their wedding day, and they waved back every time.

“She was very clever,” Lily said. “Your mom liked to know everything.”

“And my dad?”

“Vernon liked… cars?” James offered. “That’s the word, right, Lily?”

“I didn’t know him very well,” Lily said. “He liked drills, I think; he worked for a firm that made them, and he talked about that a lot.”

Dudley brushed his thumbs over the dull edges of the photos. When Lily went off to Auror headquarters the next morning for work, James bundled the boys up and took them on an impromptu invisible tour of Grunnings Drill Manufacturing Inc.

They tiptoed down halls and past water coolers and ringing fellytones. They held hands under the Cloak as they dodged around the machines on the manufacturing floor, thumping and pounding and whirring away loudly enough that Harry and Dudley could whisper to each other under the noise. An elevator took them all the way up to the top floor. Harry whistled cheerily and eerily along with the elevator music while the Muggles slowly edged toward the doors and pressed floor buttons lower than they’d originally wanted.

There were boxes and cabinets and folders and desks and staticky monitor screens full of numbers strewn in endless grids. “Merlin’s knuckles,” said Harry, who was seven and a half and rather proud of this expletive. “People can look at this all day, their whole lives, and not die?”

“Work is hard work,” said James.

“At least mum gets to curse things.”

“But my dad liked it?” Dudley said, peering at a white board that was bleeding enthusiastic marker. “There’s a lot of things, here. Maybe he liked knowing things, too.”

When the boys asked about the scar on Harry’s forehead, Lily and James looked at each other. “You know how sometimes we sit with Uncle Remus and talk about a war?” James said. “Or with Ms. Amelia or Mr. Mundungus.”

“Mr. Mundungus is kinda smelly,” Harry said helpfully.

“It’s not nice to say so though,” said James, and Lily made a face.

“Are we raising them to be nice?” Lily said.

“I’m trying,” said James.

“You talk about a war,” said Harry and shrugged. Dudley nodded.

“There was a very bad man, in those days,” said James.

“Voldemort,” said Lily, and James made a face.

“He was so scary a lot of people don’t like to say his name, even now,” said James. “And he was coming after us because we had been fighting against him, in the war. He came to the house and he tried to hurt you, Harry. But it didn’t work. It hurt him instead, and gave you that scar.”

“Is he going to come back?” said Dudley, who was paler than his normal pink.

“No one’s heard of him since then,” said Lily.

“Where were you?” said Harry, because all his life they had been right there.

“Oh,” said Lily, but her throat closed up.

“We were at Dudley’s mum and dad’s funeral,” said James. “Our friend– our friend Sirius was watching you two. The bad man, he came to the house. He. Well. I.”

“Sirius died,” said Lily, one hand squeezing James’s knee and the other reaching down to brush hair off Dudley’s forehead. “You lived, Harry, and Voldemort vanished. And that’s why sometimes people stare in the streets, baby.” James tweaked Harry’s collar absently.

Two days after they had buried Lily’s sister, the Potters had stood together in the first chills of November and buried James’s brother.

Sirius had been burned off the Black family tree years before. Lily and James had talked to his cousin Andromeda, to Remus, and then they had laid him to rest in the Potter family plot. At the wake, they’d told old jokes about squirrel breath, shedding, and man’s best friend. Remus had fallen asleep on their couch and stayed for a month.

It took a two hour row with HR for Lily to get two passes to the Ministry’s Bring Your Kid To Work Day.

“He’s a Muggle.”

“He’s not,” Lily snapped. “He’s family.”

She had to get permission, sign a million forms, and she also had to take the boys in early so that Dudley could get smothered in the spells that would keep the Anti-Muggle wards around the Ministry from activating on him. “If a Muggle stumbles in somehow, they just see a funny-smelling supply cabinet and turn back around,” Lily told Dudley. He nodded and dragged Harry off by the wrist to go look at the fountain.

The windows were pouring sunlight into the underground room– the maintenance workers had just gotten a win on their contract negotiations and had banished the grimy rain-spattered windows of the previous weeks. The light hit the falling water, the golden statues, and the small excitable crowd of Ministry dependents who were gathering in the atrium. Dudley was fishing about in the fountain for Knuts to toss back out again, elbow-deep, and Harry was laughing and coming up with weird wishes to make on them.

Lily hadn’t said son. She’d said family, and that was true enough, wasn’t it? She didn’t say son– she had a son, and she had a nephew, a ward, another child who came to her after nightmares and scraped knees. It was not less, it was just words.

Lily worried about stealing more things from Petunia. Tuney had shrieked at her, in ladies’ restrooms and suburban foyers, had hissed at her in grocery store aisles and family dinners, because Lily got everything. And now Lily had her son.

Lily could just imagine it– could just see Petunia’s face twisting and chin stabbing at the air. You could have anything, and you took my son– my son!

“You left him to me,” Lily whispered, but that wasn’t quite right. “You left,” she whispered, and that wasn’t quite right either, so she strode off toward the fountain to ask the boys if they wanted to go see the Auror spellwork ranges. Dudley’s sodden shirt sleeves dripped all over the Ministry floors. Harry’s hair fell down into his eyes and they both grinned bright enough to rival the spelled sunlight.

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So one of the things I love about watching Star Wars: A New Hope after having watched all the other Star Wars movies is how… well… how normal Luke’s upbringing appears to have been.

It’s not just that he was loved. It’s clear that Breha and Bail Organa loved Leia immensely. But she was a princess functionally from birth, and then became a senator at–what? eighteen, nineteen, twenty? Something like that. She was much loved and much trusted, obviously, but her upbringing must have been… “unusual” would be putting it mildly. As a teenager she was learning statecraft and politics–and deception.

And their mother must have been the same way, queen from such a young age, raised and trained to rule. And their father–loved, yes, deeply, and I have no doubt that his mother did her best to protect Anakin from the worst parts of slavery–but he was still a slave, as was she, and there was only so much they could do.

But Luke! Luke got the gift of a perfectly normal childhood. All the jokes about Luke, the whining about wanting to go to TOSCHE station to pick up some POWER CONVERTERS–the snippy teenagery conversation he has with his uncle about waiting “a whole nother year????”–the shooting womp rats in his T-16 back home–the fact that left to his own devices, at the same age that Leia is deciding THE FATE OF HER PLANET, he’s still playing with model spaceships…..

…they’re all signs that he had a normal childhood. That he’s a normal eighteen, nineteen, twenty, whatever year old. 

I mean, he grew up in a situation where it was completely safe for him to whine to his parent figures. He knew that Lars and Beru wouldn’t make him pay for his “but I wanted to go to TOSCHE STATION” or for his “I want to go to the academy THIS year” or whatever. Unlike basically every other Skywalker ever he grew up without a ton of extra pressure, without a “oh by the way you’re going to be king of [planet]” stuff, without “also you’re the Destined Future of the Jedi.” They didn’t raise a legacy, or a scion–they just raised a child. (In point of fact, that’s why Yoda almost rejects him: he’s too old, and he was raised too normal.)  And since Owen and Beru obviously knew perfectly well who and what he was, that’s actually an astonishing accomplishment. They were delivered an infant who they knew had the approximate destructive power of a nuclear device, and they still raised him as… a kid, a child, a boy who they loved with the same mixture of exasperation and devotion as any parent-figures.

He grew up as a kid, with a gruff but loving uncle and a sweet-tempered aunt, he grew up skeet-shooting womp rats and hanging out with his friends in Anchorhead when he had an excuse to go into town–and it’s clear how safe he feels with them because he does whine and moan and have fits without any apparent worry that he’s going to pay for it later. He whines and moans in the way I did at that age: in perfect confidence that while my parents might temporarily snap at me, they would never hurt me, and they would always love me. And that all they really wanted for me was to grow up safe and happy.

tl;dr: Luke Skywalker: the last of the Jedi(?) but also maybe the first of the Jedi to grow up in a normally functional childhood.

(I also really, really want to see the story in which he grieves his aunt and uncle for more than ten seconds. Perhaps I will write it.)

someone on the TAZ tag wanted to see Taako cooking with his aunt, so here it is

Young Taako and his aunt whom I called Jeremiah in my head though I don’t know why

I dreamt that I was Bigfoot’s man-bride. He was a woodcarver who mostly made artsy sculptures of himself, and lived with his rude aunt who threw fruit at me. He did not speak any human languages.

Listen I know we all love bilingual Lance and boy oh boy guess who’s here with some bilingual headcanons!!

•Lance used to speak fluent spanish as a child, but when he started going to public school, he just … Lost that ability.
•Lance can understand some words and phrases in spanish but doesn’t really know how to form sentences. (he knows all the cursewords and tries to use them as much as he can bc that’s Cool™)
•He can understand enough words to get the gist of what people are saying.
•Lance started to feel kind of detatched from his family since he couldn’t speak spanish and basically everyone else (save for the younger kids) could.
•His family doesn’t put any effort into teaching him spanish bc they want him to be more American than Hispanic (a sad truth that I unfortunately experienced)
•Lance starts to take spanish classes seriously when he gets to high school. He slowly learns how to form proper sentences, and he’s at the top of his class bc he wants to connect with his family language-wise. He tries hard, and grasps the language without any help from his fluent-spanish-speaking parents.
•One time, he had to do a project in spanish class, but he didn’t know how to form the sentence he wanted. So, he goes to his parents for help.
•Big mistake.
•His parents are from different regions of south america, so they speak different forms of spanish. Whatever he’s learning at school is. Not. The same.
•He had to go back and forth from his dad to his mom for one goddamn question like holy crow.
•"No, no! Your father is wrong! I speak PROPER spanish!“
-That was an actual quote from my mother it’s legit.
•His father ends up being right. At least in terms of School Spanish.
•Lance’s teacher ended up taking points away anyway bc she knew he wasn’t capable of speaking in such eloquent, complex spanish.
•He once went over his vocab list with his fam since he forgot his spanish dictionary at school. Another mistake. Don’t ask your different-spanish-speaking parents for translations when they’re in the same room.
•They spent more time arguing about the translation than actually translating.
•Mom: “Aficion? I’ve never heard that word in my life! It doesn’t exist!”
•"It means ceiling fan, mom.“
•M: “Oh! Then you mean ‘hincha’!”
•Dad: “Hincha?! Are you trying to teach our son slang?!”
•"Wait, that’s slang?!“
•"Well, ya-”
•D: “Aficion es the tiki tiki.”
•M: “No. El tiki tiki es la hincha!”
•They slowly seep into full spanish and Lance is watching on in amusement.
•He ends up texting his aunt about the right answer, and she tells him that it’s aficion.
•Mom loses the argument.
•He has a presentation in class for an oral test. He knows he has a great accent and great understanding of spanish, but when he goes up to speak, he can’t say anything.
•Everything comes out slow and stuttered, but he still gets an A+ bc his pronunciation is on point.
•There’s a non-hispanic/latinx kid in his class. They get straight A’s and speak faster than Lance. Lance is jealous of them. It’s not fair that a person who isn’t surrounded by latin culture can speak it so well, while he can’t.
•They’re the top 2 in the class, but Lance is always second. He’s always second in everything.
•Eventually, Lance learns enough Spanish to understand full sentences. He gets a giddiness in his chest when he can understand EXACTLY what is being said in spanish. He loves it.
•Even when his parents are scolding him in spanish, he tries his best not to smile bc he UNDERSTANDS!! •He tries to get his parents/family to communicate with him in Spanish more bc he’s so proud that he can FINALLY understand them. He feels connected to them again, and loves the feeling of embracing his heritage at last.
•Then … His family asks hin why he never talks back in spanish.
•Lance is still shy and insecure about his spanish, bc sometimes he makes mistakes. And sometimes, fluent speakers are not the nicest when it comes to that. He’s afraid they’ll make fun of him bc he’s still learning.
•He goes to a restaurant that has people who only speak spanish in it. He then has to order from the menu.
•He asks for a soda. When the waitress leaves, his entire family is beaming at him. He asks why.
•They gush about his perfect pronunciation and format. They’re proud of him. They had no idea he knew it so well.
•Lance is almost brought to tears bc his family is just as proud of him as he is - especially on something so important to him.
•He talks and laughs with his family at dinner again after that.
•When he gets in space, he tries to keep himself knowledgeable in spanish. He doesn’t want to forget again.
•He listens to old spanish radio shows and songs all of the time. He listens to sports, no matter which kind, in spanish.
•He tries to teach the other paladins Spanish. He grins when they start cussing under their breath in spanish. Sometimes, the paladins will just slip into it and they’ll forget that they’re speaking another language bc it’s so second-nature to them.
•But Lance notices, and it feels a little more like home.

Gardener AU!! 

(I’m a bad writer, but if you’re interested in some rambling, read more)

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My cousin’s 4 year old kid just walked up to his aunt, punched her in the arm and called her “a punk ass Decepticon” this kid has such a limited vocabulary and still managed to slaughter her

8

favorite actors 2/? | Ewan McGregor

Women are always expected to be naked. I like to try and be naked in films, and have the woman not be naked. It’s a feminist thing that I do.

It’s a [Tinder] Date! (Part 1/3)

Summary: Thinking he needs to find a date, Natasha signs Steve up to Tinder. In Queens, Peter Parker does the same to you. It’s a match! 

Word Count: 1,723

A/N: This is already planned out and written (in my head). I loved writing this.

Originally posted by imaginingbucky


Nat raised a brow, a mysterious curve to her smile. Steve was immediately suspicious. He felt his shoulders stiffen and his back straighten. He knew he looked like he had a stick up his ass, but he couldn’t help himself. Not when Natasha looked like the cat that had eaten the canary, and wanted to get caught.

“You left your phone on the coffee table,” she said. Her tone was relaxed, which made Steve more nervous.

His eyes narrowed. “What did you do, Romanoff?” he questioned, broad arms crossing over an equally-broad chest.

She merely shrugged before she turned her right-hand palm-up and relaxing it. Steve’s phone was revealed. “See for yourself.”

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The 5 Elements of a LIKABLE Main Character

“I don’t like your main character. He’s kind of obnoxious.” my beta reader laughingly told me, after reading the first chapter of my novel.

On the surface, I looked like this: 

Inside, I looked like this: 

Aloud, I said “Oh, well, he’s kind of hard to understand. He changes by the end.”

Inside, I screamed “How could you not like him?! Do you have a heart?! Is there a void where your soul should be?! Are you actually a Dementor that’s really good at makeup? Well, I guess this is what the Dementors are doing after getting kicked out of Azkaban!”

Outside: “But I really enjoyed it!” *Hugs between broken writer and Dementor in disguise* “Thank you for reading!" 

But you know what? That person that might be a soul-sucking cloaked demon creature? They were right. The character was unlikable, or more accurately, there was no reason to cheer him on. There was nothing to make the reader connect with him, relate to him, transfer themselves into his story, feel affection towards him. 

And if the reader doesn’t connect with the character through empathy? Nothing else in the story can work. Everything relies on this one fictional person. The basic definition of story is "A flawed hero with a goal overcoming obstacles to reach that goal, and how that journey changes them.” So without character, you don’t have story. Without empathy from the reader, you don’t even have character. 

So what is empathy when it comes to characters? 

It’s the process of a reader transferring their own lives onto the character. When this happens, the character’s goal and inner desires, values and weaknesses, everything about them, become proxies for our own. We learn of a shared piece of human nature between us, something we have in common on a significant inner level, and suddenly we want to see this character succeed. Because now, they are us – and we want to see ourselves succeed in real life. We feel what they feel, we experience what they experience.  

The best way to sum up character empathy in my opinion, is this quote from C.S.Lewis: “Friendship is born at the moment when one person says to another ‘Really? You too? I thought I was the only one!’”

That’s empathy. 

Which doesn’t mean the character has to be an angelic little cherub …

There are characters that operate in a moral gray area, there are characters that are downright awful, there are characters that shouldn’t be lovable …but we love them. So this is NOT saying that a main character has to be a perfect angel that rescues baby squirrels when they’re not busy volunteering at the local soup kitchen, it just means there’s something WORTHWHILE in the character that persuades the reader to stick around. We need a reason to relate with that at-first-glance unlikable character. Just as we have flawed people in our own lives who we can forgive and love.

A good quote for this one would be this, by G.K.Chesterton: “That’s the great lesson of Beauty and the Beast; that a thing must be loved before it is lovable.”

So how does a writer accomplish a good empathetic connection?

Luckily for us, establishing this only takes a little planning in the beginning of the story. Certain elements foster empathy, elements which you can give to your character and display in the story. Making sure to incorporate a few of these will ensure that first connection between reader and character. A connection which you, the author, will then be able to grow. It’s this tiny first note of shared humanity which deepens into those important links we hold with characters. We’re living people, they’re imagined and comprised of words on a page; yet these people can be friends to us, family, mentors, role models, and become some of the most influential people in our lives. 

And how does that begin? Evoking empathy. 

And how do you evoke empathy? Well here are the characteristics that human beings instinctively identify with and admire … 

– Courage (This is the one EVERY main character should possess. Gumption to pursue what they want separates main from background characters.)

– Humor (Wit charms us without fail.)

– Goal-Obsessed 

– Hard-working  

– Noble motivations

– Loving

– Loved by others

– Kind 

– Treated unfairly

– In imminent danger, physically

– In imminent danger, emotionally

– In a sorrowful situation

– Smart/Expert at something

– Suffering from psychological weakness  

– Haunted by something in their past

– Dissatisfied with current state of their life

– Lacking something like love, friendship, belonging, family, safety, freedom, etc

It’s a good plan to give your main character at least FIVE of these empathetic little “virtues.”

If this sounds like a resume, that’s kind of what it is. “Dear Potential Reader, I’m applying for the job of Main Character of this book series. I aspire to consume your every waking thought and drastically change your life, for better and worse.” It’s a diagram of the worthwhile traits of the hero, the characteristics that win us over, which promise the reader “If you follow my story, knowing me – and experiencing the story through me – will be well worth your time.”

These traits will be displayed in the set-up of the story, the first ten pages or so. But the story CANNOT stop to let the character exhibit these winning behaviors; the story must KEEP PROGRESSING, every empathetic element must be shown with a story reason for existing within a scene. Like exposition, empathy needs to be added in subtly, as the story motors onward, slipping into the reader’s knowledge without them noticing. If it’s a scene created for the express purpose of convincing the reader “This character is lovable! Love them! I said love them!” then it will be glaringly obvious and the reader will feel the exact opposite. (They’ll also feel that way about the author, incidentally.)

Now! How does this work? 

Harry Potter: 

Harry is the poster child for being treated unfairly. Yet in the face of the abusive treatment of his childhood, Harry is courageous. He does not succumb to the Dursley’s relentless campaign to stamp the magic out of him, and become a proper Dursley; though this would’ve won their approval, put him in their good graces, and made his life exponentially easier – but he didn’t do it. He knew they were wrong, knew what was right, and refused to become like them. So heck yes Sorting Hat, there is “plenty of courage, I see”. He was loved by his parents, by the three that dropped him off at his Aunt and Uncle’s, and by the majority of the Wizarding World. He’s also snarky, loving, and in constant danger. 

Judy Hopps: 

Every reason why we care about Judy is established in the first few scenes. She’s courageous. She’s funny. She’s loved by her parents. She’s motivated by noble values. Definitely goal oriented, hard working, and smart. She’s also in imminent danger, and being treated unfairly.

If we took out the pieces of the story meant to evoke our empathy, what would happen? 

Nobody would care. Judy Hopps would have been an annoying, smug, and consumed by ruthless ambition. Harry Potter would have ceased to exist because everything about him is empathetic. 

Establishing these early allows us to begin the process of temporarily transferring our lives into a story. Or in the case of some life-changing stories, not temporarily transferring, but letting them become part of our souls forever. 

Yup, having your story connect with a reader forever starts with just a little empathy. Pretty useful.

Oh, and speaking of souls, give me mine back, Dementor reader. I learned how to make people like my characters. Now you’re out of the Azkaban job and the beta reading job.