#bansy

[projectmugenfiles]

Happy Spring Festival 2024 Artwork

[123asima]

Bansy is so cute and fluffy!

[the-paintrist]

Barbara Bansi - Jeune mendiant près de la Seine - 1800

Anna Barbara Bansi (26 February 1777 – 27 May 1863) was a Swiss-born French painter. She is usually referred to as "Barbara" or "Babette".

[animalvidoes]

“अद्भुत एक ऐसा मंदिर जो पूरे साल बस एक ही दिन खुलता है

“अद्भुत एक ऐसा मंदिर जो पूरे साल बस एक ही दिन खुलता है”…. रक्षाबंधन के मौके पर खुलेगा मंदिर।। वंशीनारायण तो आइए आज हम आपको पहाड़ी ट्रैवलर की इस पोस्ट के माध्यम से आपको एक ऐसे मंदिर के बारे में बताते हैं जो पूरे साल में बस एक ही दिन खुलता है।। AI Uttarakhand (@aaochalepahad) on Xश्री बदरीनाथ धाम उत्तराखण्ड प्रदेश के सीमान्त जनपद चमोली के उत्तरी भाग में हिमाच्छादित पर्वत श्रृंखलाओं के मध्य…

[diadessau]

Bansi Rava Upma Easy Breakfast Ideas

[inertialily]

Bansi Rava Upma Easy Breakfast Ideas

[diebarbiemusikkollektiv]

Bansi Rava Upma Easy Breakfast Ideas

[jypsyvloggin]

How to Get the Bansie filter on Snapchat?

How to Get the Bansie filter on Snapchat? #bansiefilter

Snapchat filter Bansie Check out below to find out the Bansie filter on Snapchat. There are two ways you can unlock this lens for your Snapchat account. Open Snapchat on your phone and use the Snapchat camera to view the snapcode image above, and hold your finger on the camera screen to unlock the Snapchat lens on your device. If you are visiting this page on your mobile device, you can click…

[indiabizlive]

Himalaya Wellness Corporation has started the new campaign “Ab Stress Nahi, De-stress Kijiye“. In response to growing stress levels, to increase awareness about the consequences of unresolved stress while emphasising natural solutions to deal with different stresses in life.

[projectmugenfiles]

Character Introduction Artwork from Official Twitter

[janaknandini-singh999]

tysm for tagging me <3

tags: @morally-gayy @wtfisliffe @swayamev @anuushuu @cityandmoonlights @azure-cherie @desifemininewoman @kaal-naagin @o-haseena-zulfonwali @oyeevibha @amrut-aa @ramayantika @sakhiiii

+ anyone who wants to join

How i see myself *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

trend idea:@poemsfor-her 🎀

Celebrity Place Food

Thing Animal Hobby

Style Song Character

[srbachchan]

DAY 6004

Jalsa, Mumbai July 26, 2024 Fri 10:46 pm

🪔 ,

July 27 .. birthday greetings to Ef Renu Soni from New Delhi .. Ef Nimit Kapoor from Ghaziabad .. and .. Ef Bansi Karia from Gujarat .. 🙏🏻🚩❤️

.. a hugely busy day for work from 6:30 am till now and there is still some work to be done .. and then get some rest for the next morning another early call ..

until you push it does not happen .. so you push the body and the audience at KBC does the rest .. their roars of reception and cheer are immeasurable .. once in their vicinity its divine .. and then when the contestants come up with their stories of their lives and living it is heart rendering .. and one cannot but wish them the very best there is on offer ..

I shall rush now and hopely tomorrow , another day , shall make an effort to make up ..

Love ❤️

Amitabh Bachchan

[the-paintrist]

Anna Barbara Bansi (26 February 1777 – 27 May 1863) was a Swiss-born French painter. She is usually referred to as "Barbara" or "Babette".

Born in Fläsch, Bansi was the daughter of a reformed minister, Heinrich Bansi; her father had little money, and at the age of six she was adopted by Zürich philanthropist Johann Caspar Schweizer, with whom she came to Paris in 1786. He left for the United States in 1794, while she remained behind at school. She studied painting in Paris, exhibiting for the first time in 1798, at the "Salon de Musée". She moved to Italy in 1802 to complete her education, serving also for a while as the companion to Letizia Ramolino and converting to Roman Catholicism while there. During this time Bansi was the subject of a drawing by Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres that is today in the Louvre; they had met twice, first in the studio of Jacques-Louis David and some years later in Rome. Furthermore, her only known pastel, which may instead be a drawing in black chalk, is of the violinist Pierre Baillot, also drawn by Ingres.

It has been claimed that Bansi had an affair with Joseph-Benoît Suvée, of whom she was a pupil. In 1808 she married Lorenzo Nannoni, a physician; he died in 1812, and two years later she returned to Paris, exhibiting an oil painting of the Virgin at that year's salon. Her name in the catalogue entry was given as Mme Nannoni, née Bansi, with an address at rue du Doyenné, no. 3. Later in her career Bansi was appointed maîtresse de dessin at the schools of Saint-Denis and Sainte-Clotilde. She donated two pastels by Adélaïde Labille-Guiard, portraits of Jean-Jacques Bachelier and the painter Vincent, to the Louvre in 1832. Several works by Bansi, including a 1793 self-portrait, are known, and a fragmentary diary from the same year survives as well.

Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres (29 August 1780 – 14 January 1867) was a French Neoclassical painter. Ingres was profoundly influenced by past artistic traditions and aspired to become the guardian of academic orthodoxy against the ascendant Romantic style. Although he considered himself a painter of history in the tradition of Nicolas Poussin and Jacques-Louis David, it is his portraits, both painted and drawn, that are recognized as his greatest legacy. His expressive distortions of form and space made him an important precursor of modern art, influencing Picasso, Matisse and other modernists.

Portrait of miss Barbara Bansi sitting in an Italian landscape, Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres

[meowcatsposts]

Hey there I have an idea for an avatar the way of water fic its slightly angsty but hear me out pls!

So y/n sully, has been missing for most of the day and no one seemed to notice, until they show up at ronals hut cover in bruises, cuts from weapons, even the hair on there que has been choped off and there que has cuts on it. All of this was caused by the teens of the village, who brought them outside of the reef and attacked them, leaving them for dead. Y/n is a tired, bloody mess chooses to run to there bansie/ikran with the plan to leave. And well they do and no one noticed they left, not even there family. Only ao'nung noticed and it shook him with grief, he loved y/n.

Whether or not y/n comes back, is up to you! You don't haft to write the part where y/n gets the crap beat out of them if u don't want! Thank u!

Alone [Ao'nung]

✎⁾⁾⁾ notes:

angsty at first!

reader is metkayina & characters are probably OOC

I really needed some inspiration, so tysm for your idea anon! I'm also really sorry it took me so long to write this, I hope you'll forgive me 🙏

I changed some things from the req to fit my previous story, I hope you're alright with it!

Overview: You get beaten up by some assholes who happen to not like the Sullys, so you run away. Heartbroken, Ao'nung sets out to find you.

Ronal stifled a horrified gasp. Gashes, everywhere. Deep purple bruises, all over your skin.

“Who did this to you?” she whispered madly. “Come.”

Every touch, no matter how light, stung sharply. Why me? you thought bitterly. Hot tears welled in your eyes but you furiously blinked them back, refusing to give in to the hurt. Time blurred by and you vaguely recalled Ronal asking you a few questions, but couldn’t remember what. Was it about your queue? The blood? Everything seemed to fade away, and you couldn’t care less.

You were gliding across the water with your ilu now. At least those pricks didn’t dare to touch your ride; they were smart enough for that, it seemed. Its hide was smooth, no blemishes in sight, and a tiny smile threatened to ghost your lips. The salty sea, on the other hand, burned your skin raw, but you paid no heed to it. Your heart ached far worse. 

Tenderly, you ran your aching fingers over the piece of fine jewelry on your neck, thinking of how badly you wished for Ao’nung to be here with you. You reminisced about the day he gifted it to you. How red his cheeks burned, and how red yours were, too. Another sad smile ghosted your lips. What would he think of you now? Gone and grieving, probably. You loved him, so so much and you choked up with tears. Maybe you could leave Awa’atlu and find another island. Find different, kinder people. But to leave Ao’nung behind…

You gazed down at your ilu, and it whistled somberly.

Ao’nung wondered where you were. He hadn’t seen you all day, and it was driving him mad. Did he say something to upset you, to hurt you? Heart pounding, he combed through your conversations in his head. To his relief, nothing. Then…surely you were curled up in your marui, feeding the tiny fish, right? He had to be right. 

But he was utterly, terribly wrong. 

There was no sign of you no matter how hard he looked, and his stomach began to churn. His heart raced. His breath ran short. Where were you? Maybe you were lounging at the seawall terraces, where the both of you would share stories together. Not there. By the shore, playing with Tuk and the ilu? Not there, either. In the Sully family’s marui? No. Heck, he even asked Neteyam and Lo’ak about your whereabouts, but the boys just pursed their lips and shook their heads. Ao’nung searched everywhere like a rabid dog, his eyes blown wide, ears keen to any sound of you. He needed to know where you were. He was utterly empty without you.

Finally having enough he stormed into his family marui, tail thrashing and ears flattened. A pungent aroma attacked his senses, but he couldn’t care less–at least for now. In his sight appeared his mother, sitting on the woven floor and grinding furiously.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” he pressed. Sure, he knew to keep his temper in check–especially around his parents–but this was about you. He had to know.

“I don’t know.” Ronal’s eyes were as somber as his, as she huffed, “I asked questions, but no answer.” Her eyes flickered back to the mortar in front of her. In it was the source of the odor–a paste, still gritty. 

“What’s the salve for?” Ao’nung pressed. His heart sunk, just a little lower; deep inside, he knew what it was for. He just knew.

Ronal pursed her lips, knowing her son would hate her answer. 

“(Y/N) came in with wounds. So many of them…” She sighed, pressing and swirling the pestle. Her face was torn with anguish, and so was her son’s. “I don’t know who did it, and I tried to ask, but nothing.”

Ao’nung paced around madly. The only assholes who’d even think of hurting you was that dishonorable, abhorrent lot. Sure, maybe he’d been one of them, but not enough to hurt. Never enough to hurt. Ronal gazed at her son worriedly, for it was a first of him to be this uptight. She could feel the bitterness boiling over him.

“Ao’nung–” she started. The last thing she wanted was her son missing, too.

“I’m going to find (Y/N).” 

And with that, Ao’nung flew out of the marui.

“Ao’nung!” Ronal rushed out after him, but it was too late. He was gone.

It was nightfall now. The waters turned black, and dim candescence webbed its cool surface. You sighed, tears pricking at your eyes. You were tired, hungry, and hurting, and your ilu was, too. It didn’t help that murky thoughts clouded your mind, either. Your ilu chirped forlornly so you stroked its neck, littered with luminous marks, in hopes of soothing it. Guilt overcame you. Perhaps it was better to return, you thought. The poor creature was suffering as much as you, after all. Biting your lip, you rubbed your glittering necklace between your fingers. What would Ao’nung be doing now? you wondered. Is he wondering where you went? Did his heart ache as much as yours did? Was he even looking for you? More tears burned your eyes as they threatened to spill over and you suppressed a shudder as another wave of anguish crashed into you and then–

“(Y/N)!” 

Ao’nung.

“(Y/N)!” 

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. How could you not? The sweet voice that calms your nerves. The rough voice that you roll your eyes at. It was so long–too long–since you’ve heard him, and your heart leapt with joy? Fear? You couldn’t tell, but one thing was certain: it was him. Him whose gaze turned soft when looking at you. Him who could listen to you talk forever. Him, who was home. But what were you going to tell him? Would he listen this time? You steadied your breath and gripped the handle between your ilu’s queues tighter, eyes flitting to find him.

“Ao’nung…? Wh–”

The ocean engulfed you, cold water rushing all over your skin. When you broke the surface Ao’nung was there, right in front of you. 

“I missed you,” he cried, taking you into his arms. “I missed you so much.” 

He held you tight and stroked your hair with shaky hands. He almost lost you, after all. 

“It took me so long to find you…I didn’t know where you were,” he blubbered. “I looked everywhere, you know, and I still couldn’t find you! I was about to give up, but–” Ao’nung cleared his throat, remembering he needed to be strong for you. After taking a few shaky breaths he murmured beside your ear, “But now you’re here. With me.” 

Tears poured down your cheeks. Your heart pounded against your ribcage. Just for a little moment, just for a little, you forgot about the pain. You hugged Ao’nung just as tight–even tighter, perhaps–feeling his warmth against your cold fingers. The tears wouldn’t stop as they ran in streams down your face, onto Ao’nung’s shoulder. He couldn’t care one bit; you were in his arms, alive, and that’s what mattered. His hands tenderly ghosted over your back, your nape and arms, and they rested on your waist as he pulled slowly back to look at you. To his dismay you shrunk away, trying hard to hide your battered body. 

“Look at me.” Ao’nung sighed as he wiped the tears beading at the corners of your eyes.

Open wounds littered your skin. They screamed at Ao’nung, and his blood boiled. Who dare touch you like that? He bit his lip to suppress the slew of curses bubbling in his throat. Not in front of you. Not now. That’d be saved for later, he decided. 

You shifted under Ao’nung’s intense scrutiny. Thinking it’d help him calm down, you cupped his face and whispered, “Look, the necklace you gave me.”

Ao’nung’s gaze drifted to your neck, and a smile ghosted his lips. You still had his gift on–a sign you were his, and his only. It was tarnished, sure, but it was there, resting beautifully on your skin. He slid his fingers through yours and squeezed tightly. 

“Let’s go back,” he said, tilting his head toward the ilu. “Together.”

blue line dividers by @/firefly-graphics

[talonabraxas]

Krishna's flute

Music is integral to faith; it works its powers over even inanimate things. Our major divinities are usually depicted with musical instruments, such as Lord Shiva with the damaru and Goddess Saraswati with the veena. With Lord Krishna, however, the flute is more than a mere musical instrument. Can anyone imagine Krishna without His bansuri?

In the Bhagwata Purana there is a whole chapter about Krishna playing His transcendental bansuri in Vrindavan. People of every age, animals and the trees and shrubs too would stand still to savour the divine vibration and it seemed they would melt and swoon listening to the melodious note of his flute. It was like casting a magical spell on whosoever it touched.

A popular legend says that Sri Krishna used to communicate with his dearmost beloved Sri Radha through His flute which only She understood perfectly.

The gopis were always jealous of Krishna’s bansuri. It seemed to them as if it was dearer to Him than they were. Many a time they would hide his flute so that He may have time to cast a glimpse at them otherwise it would always stuck to His lips or play in His hands.

There are many tales of Krishna’s flute being stolen and how He begged the Gopis to return it. He asked each one-Lalita, Vishakha, Chitra but all denied any knowledge of His bansuri. Lalita said “I don’t know. And why should I tell you where it is even if I do know?’

Krishna began to search for Radha for He knew none but She can dare hide his bansuri. When He confronted her, She said teasingly, ‘Was it for this you wasted all your energy hunting me out? Poor Krishna! Go! I have seen your love for me’ Krishna smiled, ‘Radhe, do you not know that you are the life of my life? My flute only vibrates your sweet name.”

Krishna then elaborated, “I do everything through my bansuri. I pour transcendental joy into the hearts of the rasika bhaktas like Gopis through my flute-song and I assemble the dull bhaktas with the music of my flute. Thus I do my universal supervision only through my Bansuri.”

He further tells Her about the symbolism of bansuri, “If anyone wants to taste the nectarine sweetness of my lips, he should empty himself of his egoism like the bansuri empties itself quickly so that I may fill it with my music and keep it always near my lips.”

The sound of the flute stirs the anahat chakra or the ‘unstruck sound’ in our causal bodies. That sound made the gopis mad for Lord Krishna.

And what is the flute singing? The name of Radharani. No other sound is coming out from the flute, only, "Radhe, Radhe, Radhe, Radhe, Radhe!" Only this sound emanates — in a variety of ways - from the flute of Krishna. The sound manifestation of its divine influence spreads over the entire transcendental and mundane worlds.

This understanding we get from the description of Rasa Lila in Srimad Bhagavatam. Krishna calls all the Gopis to assemble for Rasa by playing his flute. It is the clarion call.

The bamboo flute, made of a single length of bamboo, with six or seven holes and with no mechanical parts, is the oldest musical instrument known to man. Its sound vibration is believed to be the closest representation of the mystic syllable “Om�� permeating all of creation and transcending it.

Gopala-topani Upanishad also establishes the understanding of Omas non-different from the Supreme Entities Sri Sri Radha-Krishna.

The enlightened sages declare that the Swarupa-shakti of Bhagavan, Srimati Radharani is non-different from Om. Gopala, Sri Krishna who is the Creator, Maintainer and Destroyer of the universes is also non-different from Om.

Srila Jiva Goswami in his description of the alphabetical constituents of the mantra Om gives the following description:

"Om is a combination of letters, A, U, M. The letter 'A' refers to Krishna. The Letter 'U' refers to Radha, and the letter 'M' refers to the individual soul."

Once, while in Vrindavan, Baba was asked the question, “who does the bansi represent?” He replied that there was a gopi who used to speak and sing very sweetly. Krishna loved her dearly. Once he was dallying with her in a grove of reeds. Radharani found them together and cursed the gopi to turn into a shrub of reed herself. Actually, She did this to bless her.

Krishna comforted the gopi and said that he would make a flute out of the reed and ever keep her at His lips. In this way, she would continue to produce sweet sound which would charm the entire universe.

Hare Krishna!

[pparacxosm]

Hi!! I was wondering if it would be ok to ask your age (or age range if you're jot comfortable sharing!!) so I know if it's ok to follow you or not :)

the haters want you to think i have no lore but they’re wrong so here’s some of the kaz meta:

i am very legal !!! worry not lol

i house two decades in my worldweary bones (pushing twenty one, either dreadfully sorry or totally delighted to inform you all that i am in fact a scorpio)

i had a cat named sophie as a child and i have no idea what happened to her but she abides everlasting in the song of my soul

born in, raised in, and currently tormenting the population of south africa

i am a middle child daughter with only brothers so obviously i’m on tumblr

i am pretty decent on a piano and middling at best with a guitar and i have a feeling i could tear it up on a harmonica if given the chance

voracious consumer of short story/poetry anthologies, plays, and the letter collections of classic writers (if my heart were to speak and my pyramid were to be populated, i’m looking at the likes of Raymond Carver’s What We Talk About When We Talk About Love ((would you believe it)), Chimamanda Adichie’s The Thing Around Your Neck, so so much Ocean Vuong, Warsan Shire, Mary Oliver, Pablo Neruda, Richard Siken, Bukowski, always always Maya Angelou, i love the play Sizwe Bansi is Dead, The Last Days of Judas Iscariot, Raisin in the Sun, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, all of the Kafka, all of the letters, i’m talking Milena, Vera, Felice, you get it, Toni Morrison pumps from my veins in lieu of blood and fuck it i don’t mind that Murakami fella)

a showtune hates to see me coming

my girlhood was defined by barbie movies

to this day i cannot swallow pills because i was very iffy about food as a child which may have resulted in me being force fed and now feel like disembowelling myself when i am not very very explicitly familiar and intentional with what i’m swallowing at any given moment

i write a couple poems sometimes

savoury breakfast enthusiast

etc.