#murphys law

[dramaqueer-commie]

you said it op

this is how you know the author is (1) on tumblr and (2) writing this 45 seconds before deadline in the middle of the night

I genuinely don't think I'm ever gonna get over how perfect these descriptions of the Intrepid Heroes from the Rolling Stones article are

[vintage-tigre]

[petpostpitstop]

It's only been two days but I am stupidly attached to Firstborn

Please be a girl please be a girl please be a girl

[blondebrainpowered]

Muppet Vision 3D

A Salute to All Nations, But Mostly America

[leathr-blr]

i want to start a fight in the dwampyverse community. so i am going to make a purposely divisive poll for the sake of starting arguments . make sure you get really violent about it too

your hot takes must be at least 3 paragraphs in length and very confrontational (if you want to actually write or make something you can tag it with #dwampy deathmatch, i doubt we’ll get another bap miracle but if you’re all entertained enough by this you can give it a try)

you have a week to decide. discuss

[thechillseekr]

Im going to fucking explode

[crystal-clear-contemplations]

I relate to Milo Murphy from Milo Murphy's Law on a deep spiritual level that very few could understand

[helloree1]

its his world and we're all livin in it!

[hiraethxxii]

They hate when you serve “I don’t want anyone to talk to me so I’m going to look intimidating and lowkey creepy” at the gala 😞

[xabiramone]

Man, what a fucking day that was.... 1989.

[quantum-lover]

Beneath the Weight of the Rain

The rain fell like a steady drumbeat, filling the night with its soft rhythm. It wasn’t heavy, but it was relentless, soaking the city streets and the soul that wandered them. He stood there, under the flickering glow of a lamppost, his hood pulled low to shield him from the storm. The pavement shimmered in the faint light, each droplet rippling through the puddles below.

The world around him felt surreal, like a watercolor painting blurred at the edges. Yet inside, he was razor-sharp, his thoughts cutting deep into the worn fabric of his spirit.

“They say you attract what you fear,” he muttered, his voice barely audible against the rain. He didn’t know who he was speaking to—the city, the storm, or maybe just himself. The words hung in the air like a challenge to the universe.

Murphy’s Law: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. It felt like a cruel joke, the universe’s way of making him the punchline. He had spent countless nights trapped in this loop, spiraling through worst-case scenarios. Every imagined rejection, every painful possibility, took root in his mind and bloomed into reality.

Had he willed it to happen? Was his obsession with losing her the very thing that ensured he did?

She had been his light, not in the glaring, blinding way that burns, but in the soft, steady way that makes everything feel warmer. Her laughter had been his favorite melody, her presence a sanctuary in a chaotic world. He thought he could matter to her, but she never saw him like that. He was a background note in her symphony—a friend, nothing more.

And every time he let that thought consume him, it grew louder. His fears had painted his reality, a self-fulfilling prophecy whispered into existence.

Murphy’s Law wasn’t just about bad luck; it was about the power of thought. The mind, he realized, was a cruel magician, capable of conjuring exactly what it feared most. Was it the universe conspiring against him, or was it his own refusal to believe in anything good?

The rain poured harder, but he didn’t move. “Why do we root for the underdog?” he whispered, his words dissolving into the storm. “Is it because, if they win, it means we can too? That maybe the impossible isn’t so impossible after all?”

But he wasn’t the underdog. He was the self-saboteur. Every step forward, every glimmer of hope, he smothered with his own doubts. And now, here he stood, soaked and defeated, caught in the relentless cycle of thinking the worst and watching it unfold.

He tilted his head back, letting the rain hit his face. What if love was like this storm? The harder you tried to find shelter, the more drenched you became. What if, by fearing rejection, he had ensured it?

It wasn’t her fault. Love wasn’t a choice. It was a wild, untamed force that chose you, not the other way around. She had chosen someone else. And him? He had chosen to believe he was never enough.

The night felt heavier than before, the rain colder, the city quieter. Somewhere, in another reality, things could have been different. Somewhere, he didn’t let his fears shape his fate. Somewhere, Murphy’s Law wasn’t the rule of his existence.

But not here.

The rain soaked him to the bone as he whispered one final thought: “Do we create our own storms just to convince ourselves we can’t survive them?”

[bevanne46]

Murphys Law of Quilting

[thesorcererpoet]

Dark blight surrounding, crushed black,

coal sidelines and diesel-stained brick-

work in an elongated tube; a burrow

through a hillside.

Long the road-shattered feet crunch

debris on the dirty ground. These tracks

would tie a blind footstep, toe to catch

the rickety walkway; crack a man’s ankle.

A light! Salvation speaks to the quest for

an end. Nothing souls spoke to the mud,

begging for four rounded triangular leaves

amidst a field of threes.

Dark place: not illuminated green.

A light promised these dirty shoes a finale.

Horns are green. Not the sound of luck

or yellow like a bell. A dark fog like chlorine

rising from the trenches.

Coal-black beggars prayed for an end.

The light sounded off its warning,

moved along the rail.

[themetalmassacrevault]

[hauntedthoughtz]

Interstellar will forever and always be my favourite film. Whenever I need a reality check I watch this film. Love is the answer and it’s what connects us all. And ofc the scoring/music by Hans Zimmer makes me feel alive. ✨

[possible-streetwear]