#funny post

[bold-baddie]

[autodiagnosticada]

Absolutely no one prepares you for the moment adulthood hits and you realize you're surrounded by people who think a dog is just a furry accessory with anxiety as a feature. 🧠 Crise Validada 💬 Someone had to say it. And it was you. And you were right.

Ninguém te prepara pro momento em que a vida adulta chega e você percebe que está cercado de gente tratando cachorro como enfeite peludo com crise de ansiedade embutida. 🧠 Crise Validada 💬 Alguém precisava dizer. Foi você. E você estava certo.

Assinado: @autodiagnosticada

No one tells you that one day you will get older and look around and notice that 95% of ppl who own a dog should not own a dog

[troythecatfish]

Speculative Biology Classic

[allthatispeculiar]

[prettiestpear]

[autodiagnosticada]

🔮 Self-Diagnosis No. 772 – Workplace Soap Opera Syndrome™ 🩺 Diagnosis: You clocked in expecting boredom, maybe a spreadsheet. Instead, you got season 3 of “Colleagues Who Cry in the Break Room”.

📉 Common Symptoms: – Deep resentment of unnecessary drama, paired with popcorn-level interest – Oscillating between “I hate all of you” and “Please tell me more” – Judging everyone silently like it’s a full-time job (and honestly, it kind of is)

💊 Symbolic Prescription: – Emotionally detach like you’re the HR department in witness protection – Only engage if the tea is scalding and morally ambiguous – Practice the sacred art of the silent eyebrow raise

✅ Diagnosis Confirmed 💌 You've received one symbolic swivel chair and divine immunity from all team group chats.

Signed, @autodiagnosticada 🖇️🧠📎

🔮 Auto-Diagnóstico Nº 772 – Síndrome da Novela Corporativa™ 🩺 Diagnóstico: Você bateu o ponto esperando tédio, talvez uma planilha. No lugar, recebeu a 3ª temporada de “Colegas que Choram no Refeitório”.

📉 Sintomas Comuns: – Ressentimento profundo pelo drama desnecessário, misturado com interesse nível balde de pipoca – Oscilação entre “odeio todos vocês” e “me conta mais AGORA” – Julgamento silencioso como se fosse seu cargo oficial (e talvez seja mesmo)

💊 Prescrição Simbólica: – Se desligue emocionalmente como um RH em programa de proteção à testemunha – Só se envolva se o barraco for quente e eticamente questionável – Pratique a sagrada arte da sobrancelha arqueada

✅ Diagnóstico Confirmado 💌 Você recebeu uma cadeira giratória simbólica e imunidade divina de todos os grupos da firma.

Assinado, @autodiagnosticada 🖇️🧠📎

truly do not understand workplace drama. we're stuck here doing stupid bullshit for 8 hours and you want to make it worse? But on the other hand I love hearing about arguments that are not and never will be my problem

[bold-baddie]

[mouthtapedguy]

lions are very mean and like jellyfish

[allthatispeculiar]

[deadb1te]

I believe all of this.

Illustration by Sophie Lucido Johnson

[mj-says-hey]

[al-gorythym]

From our French vacation

[internetgreatesthits]

[multi-purpose-a]

I read this in a voice that progressively gets more indecipherable from all the sobbing.

once i figure out how to do anatomy and facial expressions and proportion and foreshortening and basic perspective and color theory and composition then youll all be sorry

[kaayyyys]

how daryl dixon would react to you calling him your "current boyfriend"

The Georgia sun beat down on your back as you helped Carol hang laundry. It was a mundane task, one of the many that filled your days in Alexandria, but you found a quiet satisfaction in it. A sense of normalcy in a world that had gone mad. Daryl was out on a run with Rick, a routine supply search that never failed to make you a little anxious until he walked back through those gates.

"He's good for you, you know," Carol said, her voice soft as she pinned a shirt to the line.

You knew exactly who she meant. A blush crept up your neck, and you busied yourself with a wet sheet, avoiding her knowing gaze. "He's… different," you admitted, the word feeling inadequate to describe the complex man that Daryl Dixon was.

"Different good," Carol clarified, a smile playing on her lips. "He looks at you like you hung the damn moon."

You laughed, a light, airy sound that was still somewhat foreign after everything that had happened. "Don't let him hear you say that. He'd probably skin us both alive."

Carol chuckled, then sobered slightly. "Just… don't take him for granted, (Y/N). He's a good man, a rare one. And he cares about you more than he lets on."

The conversation faded as you finished the laundry, but Carol's words lingered in your mind. Daryl was good, a force of nature wrapped in a gruff exterior. He wasn't one for grand gestures or flowery words, but his actions spoke volumes. The way he always made sure you had the best watch, the quiet comfort he offered after a nightmare, the possessive glint in his eyes when another man lingered too long in your presence. He was yours, and you were his, a bond forged in the fires of a brutal world.

Later that evening, a group of you were gathered on the porch of one of the houses, enjoying the relative peace of Alexandria. You, Carol, Rosita, and a few others were swapping stories and jokes, the easy camaraderie a balm to your weary souls. Daryl sat beside you, leaning back against the railing, his usual stoic expression in place. He was listening, but not participating, his presence a quiet reassurance at your side.

A new group approached, led by a man named Marcus, one of the newer residents of Alexandria. He was friendly enough, if a little overeager to impress. He stopped in front of your group, a wide smile on his face.

"Hey, everyone," he said, his gaze lingering on you for a beat too long. "Just wanted to see what everyone was up to tonight."

"Just chatting," Rosita replied, her tone polite but firm.

Marcus shifted his weight, then turned his attention to you. "(Y/N), right? I don't think we've officially met. I'm Marcus." He extended a hand.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, then took his hand and shook it. "Nice to meet you, Marcus."

"So, (Y/N)," Marcus continued, his voice dropping slightly. "Are you seeing anyone?"

A collective silence fell over the porch. You could feel Daryl tense beside you, his eyes narrowing. Before you could formulate a polite, yet firm, rejection, a mischievous idea sparked in your mind. A way to both deflect Marcus's advances and tease your possessive boyfriend.

"Oh, you know," you said, batting your eyelashes playfully. "I'm currently seeing someone. It's still pretty new, though."

Marcus's face fell slightly, but he recovered quickly. "Oh, really? Anyone I know?"

You leaned closer to Daryl, resting your hand casually on his thigh. He stiffened at the contact, his eyes fixed on Marcus, but he didn't pull away. "You might," you said, a sly smile playing on your lips. "His name is… Daryl."

The silence that followed was deafening. Marcus's jaw dropped, and he stared at Daryl with a mixture of disbelief and apprehension. Daryl, for his part, remained impassive, his gaze unwavering, but you could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Daryl?" Marcus stammered, turning back to you. "You're… you're dating Daryl Dixon?"

You squeezed Daryl's thigh reassuringly, your smile widening. "He's my current boyfriend, yes."

The look on Marcus's face was priceless. He sputtered for a moment, then mumbled something about needing to check on something and quickly retreated, his entourage trailing behind him.

As soon as he was out of earshot, the porch erupted in laughter. Carol was practically doubled over, tears streaming down her face. Rosita was shaking her head, a wide grin on her face. You turned to Daryl, your heart pounding with a mixture of amusement and anticipation.

He was still staring straight ahead, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

"Daryl?" you said softly, nudging him playfully. "You okay?"

He turned to you slowly, his eyes dark and intense. "Boyfriend?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

You bit back a nervous laugh. "Well, I had to say something, didn't I? He was being so persistent."

"Could've said you weren't interested," Daryl muttered, avoiding your gaze.

"Where's the fun in that?" you teased, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. "Besides, you didn't seem to mind too much."

He finally met your eyes, a flicker of something akin to amusement dancing within them. "Didn't say nothin'," he mumbled, his cheeks flushing slightly.

"No, you didn't," you agreed, leaning in closer. "You just sat there, looking all possessive and territorial."

He scoffed, but the corners of his lips twitched upward. "Wasn't doin' nothin'."

"Sure you weren't," you said, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "You're so cute when you're jealous."

He pulled back slightly, a genuine smile finally gracing his face. "Cute?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I ain't cute."

"Oh, but you are," you insisted, nuzzling your face into his neck. "My big, scary, cute boyfriend."

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. "You're gonna pay for that later," he murmured against your ear, his voice husky.

You shivered at his words, a thrill coursing through you. "I'm counting on it, boyfriend," you whispered back.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through your body. "Damn right, you are." He tightened his grip on you, his eyes scanning the porch, daring anyone to challenge his claim. You were his, and everyone in Alexandria, including you, was now firmly aware of that fact. And as the laughter subsided around you, and the Georgia night settled in, you knew you wouldn't have it any other way.