#buhdda

[dirt-str1der]

Funniest saiki k bits were the halloween pumpkins and and saiki back tension one

[bsnotoneaskedfor]

Tired MK

Before you judge, hear me out.

MK goes through SO much shit because of his "Monkey Kid" status. Like, a ton. As someone who is a teen and struggles with mental health it is so obvious that MK has been spiraling since day one. The poor dude is going to die of anxiety and depression before the Lady Bone Bitch tries to order a smackdown with a side of trauma. MK is also a people pleaser. He legit is always trying to live up to people's standards and be "just like Monkey King".

Here's the thing: I also suffer from trying to please everyone and let me tell you that shit is exhausting. Fuck magic, the thing that really makes this show fiction is that MK hasn't had a massive mental breakdown. He's had baby ones, that are still valid, but he's pushed them aside because "he has to be the hero". He never really shows signs of emotional distress besides the show poking fun at it or using it for plot. For those in the comments, please don't try to psychoanalyze the show to prove me wrong. This is just what I have seen. So, with this being said, there is something I really would love to see and have adopted it as my personal headcannon.

MK being done with everyone's shit.

Not, "MK's tired", or "MK's sassy ;D", or even Mk going through an emo phase.

I want absolutely 100% done MK.

I want to see him surviving on coffee or energy drinks because the weight of everyone's expectations keeps him up at night. I want him mad when people start blaming him/looking to him for answers because "he's the Monkey Kid". I want him done with Wukong's bullshit. I want my realistic representation of burnout and mental illness. I want to see him trying to get better and no longer caring about calling people out for being toxic.

I don't know if I'm 100% explaining this right because words are really hard so here are some examples of what I see my MK head cannon as.

(This one's based off that one TikTok audio where the guy yells at the cats to get off the couch)

MK: *Sitting peacefully, attempting to do homework or some other quiet activity*

Macaque and Wukong : *fighting like feral cats*

MK: (almost roars it) STOP IT!

Macaque and Wukong : *is startled and a little afraid*

MK : LEARN TO FUCKING GET ALONG OR SO HELP ME I'LL TEST THE LIMITS OF YOUR IMMORTALITY

Macaque and Wukong : *obeying, nearly about to piss themselves out of fear*

MK: *Deep Breath. Goes back to what he was doing*

Every Demon Within 50 miles : wtf was that?

--- -------------------------------------------------------------------------

MK: *chugging a coffee or energy drink*

Some Demon: *starts destroying the city*

MK : Dammit *Chugs faster. *

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wukong: Hey bud! When's the last time that you've slept?

MK: *completely deadpan* It is finals week.

Wukong : That doesn't answer-

MK:*getting angrier* I have to defend the city every damn day. I have to deal with your messes, including you. I train every day for at least 4 hours even when we don't meet up. I WORK FULL TIME AT THE GODDAMN NOODLE SHOP AND THEN I HAVE TO FUCKING STUDY FOR COLLEGE. WHEN IN THE NAME OF BUHDDA WOULD I BE ABLE TO SLEEP?!?!

Wukong : *sweats* So I see that you're stressed-

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Team Monkey : Why didn't you use [ insert power] to start with?!

MK: *sarcastic* I'm sorry. I thought we all deserved a nice bonding trip where we spent the entire time bickering and getting the shit beaten out of us. Was that supposed to be next week?!?

Team Monkey : . . .

MK: How about you guys make a list of everything I can do. That way, next time, we can just all look at it together and none of you blame me.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Red Son : * trying to pick a fight and just being a dick in general*

MK: *Not having it* Do not make me duct tape you down so I can embroider your worst nightmares onto your skin, you pompous little fuck!

Red Son : . . .wtf

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Red Son : *Is pretty*

MK: *deep sigh of disappointment* I need therapy . . .

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mei : * Gets the Samhadi Fire*

MK: *remembering all the shit and expectations he went through once he got his powers*

Mei: *About to have a breakdown*

MK: *laughs* Have fun

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Red Son: *breaks in at the middle of the night in an attempt to capture MK*

MK: *is awake because insomnia* So, do you , like, want some tea . . .?

May do a Pt 2

[darkhorse-javert]

Fuff-tober Day 4 'Cinderella Moment'

The near-finale scenes of a Victorian Era Foyle's War/ A Little Princess crossover I haven't written yet. (oops) Going on the idea 'the "ugly duckling" gets their moment to shine'- for our beloved Sam's a bit of an Ugly Duckling at Lyminster.

A/N the dashes '-th Regiment' for example, are intended, ala Jane Austen.

Ram Das and Carrisford are particularly drawn from the excellent 1987 BBC version. (Can be found on YouTube)

Sam had settled herself on a discreet chair in the small drawing room of Lyminster House hands folded neatly and demurely on her lap, and for want of anything better to do, observed the new occupier of the moment.

'A gentleman', her father had disclosed before he brought her in company, 'well travelled, but who had been very ill, and who had rented the house for it's good air and quiet location to aid his recuperation.' He looked unwell still, the bones standing out on his face and hands, a sallow pale colour on his skin, in spite of the fire and the blanket tucked around his shoulders by the Sikh servant-man.

Sick at heart or soul too, it appeared, the haunted echo in his eyes. She listened as Catholic-esque, he softly unburdened his troubles onto her fathers listening ears. "- my old school friend, he gave me the money, more than he should have," he gave a rueful cough of black laughter "and I ruined him, with those diamonds. Ruined and killed the best kindest man I ever knew, they should have locked me up for it."

"Were a man locked up for every little mistake, condemned for every sin, there would be only innocent babes left in the world." Her father soothes "And you did not kill your friend..."

"The shock brought on the illness which killed him, which is much the same thing." The man looks away from her father, face twisting, in pain or bitterness. "And after all that, the mines come good, more than I could ever have dreamed for. But what good is it?"

Her father opens his mouth, but the man cuts him off with a wave of his hand, "Don't talk of charity, I'd give my half of the fortune just to find Crewe's daughter. Looked all over Europe, all the way to Russia in schools, but I can't find her." His eyes are bleaker still, "Poor little Sarah."

He says the last more to himself than to them, but her ears catch it.

Diamonds, Crewe, Daughter, Sarah, well, Sara. "How do you spell Crewe, Sir? C-R-E-W?" Sam asks, pressing her folded hands into each other. Do not get his hopes up, do not get mine up either

Her father turns to look reprovingly at her, shaking his head ever so slightly.

But Mr Carmichael only lifts his head slightly from where he has slumped in his chair, "C-R-E-W-E." He emphasises the last letter "Captain Ralph Crewe. -th Regiment." It all has the monotone of words said over and over, or in a dream or a fever. His chest heaves

The right spelling, the same story.

"I know where she is!" She barely holds herself sitting in the chair, and fails.

"Samantha!" Her father barks, "it is not decourous to interrupt. Is that what they taught you at the Seminary?"

But she had eyes only for Mr. Carrisford as she goes towards him, he's pushing himself violently upright in his chair, eyes lighting up, "You know where she is? You're sure?"

"She's at Miss Minchin's Seminary for Young Ladies on - Square in London. She came there when she was seven and I was eleven. She grew up in India, she speaks Hindustani," "Sam stared about the room, what else can I tell him "She told me about Shiva, and Ganesh, and Buhdda.." She whirls abot, pointing to each of the statues in turn. "Her mother was French, but died before she knew her, Sara speaks it as well as a Frenchwoman herself." She runs out of breath, gasps inelegently for more

"Yes," Carrisford says, a bright, near wild flush on his face "I remember Crewe married a French lady- Isabelle, her name was." He looks only at Sam "She's at this Seminary, you say?"

"Yes." Now the hard bit, Sam draws closer to the man "When her -Sara's- father - that is, Captain Crewe - died, Miss Minchin kept her on as a servant, to 'cover the debts' she said." Carrisford's face plunges in agony and she hears even her unshockable father gasp.

"A Servant Crewe's little Sara?" Then Carrisford is shouting towards a door "Ram Das... Ram Das! Ram Das!" He reaches forwards and grabs at Sam's hands, his grip surprisingly strong for the frailness of her hands. Ram Das rushes in, a flash of gold in the corner of her vision.

She drops to her knees in front of Mr Carrisford, putting them on the same level, and sees tears brimming in the man's eyes. "Thank You." He wheezes, "Thank you." Now words fly out from him in a rushing torrent, one arm reaching to push off the covering blanket, "Ram Das, we go to London, order the carriage ready to the station. Jaladi, Jaladi!" But the torrent ends in a gasp and a fit of coughing, shaking the man through.

Sam glances at Ram Das as the Sikh steps closer, pulls the blanket back around, a hand on his master's shoulder to keep him down "No Sahib, no London for you. See, you are not yet well enough."

"You don't understand," Carrisford half snaps, half pleads, staring at the other man, "Sara's there - Miss Crewe."

Sam watches as Ram Das nods, "I understand this, Sahib. But I also know you will put youself back in bed, being like this. You will not go to London. Doctor Sahib said Rest."

Sam bites her lip, it is far too true that Carrisford is in no fit state to travel to London. And even he seems to accept this, stopping his efforts to move from the chair. Instead he looks to where their hands are still folded together, to her, and then over her shoulder to where her father must be. His eyes are burning bright.

"Reverend, would you go? You and your daughter? Go and bring her back? I'll give you a letter for the Mistress of the Seminary, giving you authority to do so- I've seen Crewe's papers, I'm Sara's guardian-in-law. If she won't take that, my lawyer Carmichael lives nearby, go to him"

Sam twists, heedless of any damage to her dress, hating the stiff bodice, to look at her father. His face is a little stunned, but he slowly nods. "If you have the proof of this Mr Carrisford, and you, Samantha," His eyes come to rest on her "can identify the girl..."

Sam nods quickly, Please, please.

Her father dips his chin "Then I would be happy to help."

"Excellent." Carrisford beams, years of pain falling away from his face

[royjshkocreal]

What’s your favorite ghost story?

!! My favorite ghost story? well theres many stories i love but my favourite of them all has to be Akarinashi Soba,

Also called Kiezu no Andon (lantern that does not turns off), was one of the seven mysteries in Honjo at Tokyo. The first (most common) name means Soba shack without light and it appears principally during the deep and dark nights in the cold and brutal winters.

A long time ago, during a very frigid night with strong wind, a man had heard somebody praying to Amida Buhdda from a distance, but after getting on the road he could only find a big lantern that had '28 SOBA-HAND MADE-UDON'. It wan an unusually large lantern for a small shack of that size, they served soba in there like the name suggested.

"How lucky" thought the man, thinking that the word udon had an extra N by mistake, "I really wanted to eat a warm plate of soba..." He went inside,but saw that no one was at the counter, he thought to wait, but nobody came. Thinking it was some sort of prank, he took revenge by turning off the lantern that attracted him there... and from that moment unusual things started happening to whoever lived or walked near that shack.

Who knows... could it be a ghost? the works of a Yurei or of a Yokai?

Long ago, when travellers and merchants where hungry and tired, they often saw a light in the distance and always tried approaching it thinking food would be in their grasps there and a place to rest from the labour done in the day.

but the closer they got, more the light seemed to be far away. Some accounts said to have seen a house in the fields covered in snow, but could never reach it for the same reason.

Some say that Akarinashi Soba is one of those hallucinations you get when your brain is exhausted, wich makes the mind create images of things they desire.

During the Second World War, for example, there has been many children and even adults saying that because of most of the food going to the now losing solders, they where left with barely any rice for almost a year, so they dreamt of a nice warm and cozy place serving udon and other food they craved for. Some of them even had those dreams when wide awake.

Is it true? maybe

oc notes!! her whole charachter is based of this legend.

[wazywin]

Yes I have buhdda bell

[answeredrabbit7]

"When you like a flower, you just pluck it. But when you love a flower, you water it daily. One who understands this, understands life." -Buddhist Parable

[i-nataraja]

[neurotiddies]

[stevekelly11]

#buhdda #Hipstamatic #JillFrost #Maple1880 (at Benton, Newcastle upon Tyne) https://www.instagram.com/p/CY32UMQoc0V/?utm_medium=tumblr

[heartofadixierose]

I refuse to buy a house without a reading nook and a meditation room.

[smilingtheprophet]

Buddha🔮🙌🏽

[dancingwithpaint]

Painting update #meditate #christconsciousness #wip #buhdda #heartchakra #chakrapainting #chakras #artichokes https://www.instagram.com/p/CC47SrxBJCS/?igshid=14fl337bqgz5v

[error-unkown-blog1]

[adam-a-j-binash-blog]

An Evening With Armchair Buddha

Jeopardy is humming and armchair Buddha is moribund making predictions about afterlife stamina. From underneath the pocket (of who?) of his, underneath the belly, a gaunt waistline, cavernous Like the American beauty throwing quarters into the fountain at the Mall, I witness crust wincing And scrubbed hard by fingernails, rusted from years of unkempt due diligence. Here’s how the scene Unfolds…armchair Buddha levels horizontal on their Lazy-Boy and smacks a few flies from the air, Cupping them with a tight grip that I hear POP! POP! POP! While he strangles the life from their short Experiences. I pull out a shelf decorated with knick knacks, hold them up and display them one by one to Armchair Buddha awaiting his approval, or disgust. With a thumb up or down he signifies the resolutions. Paper Doll: thumbs down. Paper Crane: thumbs up. Lover Letter: two thumbs down. A Porcelain Plate with a Floral Design: thumbs up.

And so the routine continues until the shelf is naked and we’re left staring at each other, partial to death and partial to why we’re here in the first place. We begin discussing what we’re waiting on. I tell him it all must do with smoking cigarettes in the rain and keeping the cherry dry despite the circumstances. He Decrees balderdash at my statement, excitement raises his body and he’s vertical with the door jamb, blocking the entryway to our bare wall living room. He saunters to my side and pets my hair with soft strokes that remind me of a mutt’s obedience, I slap his hand away, raise off the chair and stand shoulder to shoulder with armchair Buddha glaring at plaster sealed walls. We remain like this, forever like this, concealed by our own determination to be right and excuse the wrong, ignoring the possibility That this meant something to me and nothing to him.

[woodencorpse]

2005 with ink and markers

[joseph-bailey]