#nerded out

[bigpaul2605]

Hello World I have decided to write an essay for why I think GREG HEFFLEY IS AN OBVIOUS SOCIOPATH. When I say hello world I mean this post is just for my own enjoyment !

Greg lacks empathy One of the hallmark traits of being a sociopath is lacking empathy. Greg regularly manipulates his 'best friend' Rowley without ever feeling an ounce of guilt. When things don't go his way, he always immediately throws him under the bus. FOR EXAMPLE in the first book, Greg chases kindergarteners with a WORM ON A STICK and it gets mistaken as Rowley. Greg doesn't do ANYTHING about it and lets Rowley take the fall. After this incident, Rowley gets suspended from safety patrol

Image over integrity Greg is overly obsessed with how everyone else views him. Another sign of sociopathy. Greg is HYPER-AWARE with his reputation all the time. He always worries about popularity without caring about the expense of others. During the first book, Rowley made a ZOO-WEE-MAMA comic and Greg IMMEDIATELY tries to ride on his success. Greg does not give one shit about being right or wrong. He just cares about looking good.

Manipulation Greg's WHOLE narrative is just being a manipulator. He is constantly trying to get Rowley to do something dumb or trys to get out of trouble by shifting blame. He RARELY takes responsibility for his actions. And it's not JUST Rowley. He manipulates family and teachers too.

Doesn't learn from his mistakes During the whole series, he has not grown ONCE. He rarely shows remorse or even MAKES an effort to change. He has never self reflected. Even when his actions usually lead to pain (Rowley </3) he sees himself as the victim in EVERY SINGLE SITUATION.

OKAY so yeah its pretty obvious n stuff oki bye #anotherbigpaulclassic

[aurelie-stclair]

We Are Gold | Autumn & Aurélie.

It was late. Perhaps early, depending on how one looked at it.

The view from her apartment had always been something she’d admired; beautiful and expansive. The whole island could be seen from such a vantage point, and she could curb her curiosity at any moment she pleased. Yet, as of late, something had changed. It was a feeling, as opposed to a physical difference. No doubt a ridiculous thought to anyone else. Nobody could see her all the way up there. As she peered at the haze of lights beyond the thick panes of glass, however, she came to the conclusion that now they only served to expose her.

“You should probably try to sleep, Ms. St. Clair,” murmured a male figure from across the room.

There was nothing remotely hostile about his voice. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Purposely so on his part, although she didn’t realize it at the time. Still, she had ended up so startled by the interruption that she almost lost her grip on the wine glass in her hands. The smallest things caught her off guard, and it was only getting worse.

“Do I pay you to give me advice?” She countered almost immediately, her eyebrows raised rather standoffishly.

It wasn’t like her to be this way. It wasn’t like her to be sat in her kitchen at some ungodly hour; polishing off a bottle of wine that should have been savoured, not used as a means of escape. None of this was like her at all.

“No,” he responded rather simply, his eyes not lifting from the weapon he had been cleaning for the entire time she had been present in the room with him. The small smile suggested that he had not taken her tone personally.

Silence descended once more. The blonde’s glare softened, and she was once again transfixed by her alcohol.

Almost in that next moment she was preparing to apologize for her reaction. It was unfair of her to take this weakened way of thinking out on those around her. Before she could think of the words she needed to convey, however, a knock at the door took priority. What on Earth could anyone have possibly wanted at this kind of hour? Who on Earth would it have been, for that matter? Maybe this was it. Maybe this was going to be the one who was coming to finish the job that a part of her wished had been completed the first time around. What if they were knocking, trying to draw her out? Trying to catch her off guard, instead of just barging on in and beating her to a pathetic pulp? What if her present company didn’t pull out his gun fast enough?

A mere knock at the door, and it was as if she were expecting the reaper himself.

As if the reaction were innate, the bodyguard had already reassembled his weapon, and slipped it into its holster. Out of view, yes; but certainly within reach should he need it. Slowly, he made his way over to the door, preparing to deal with whoever might have been waiting on the other side. He pulled the door open.