#rustiques

[weirdlookindog]

Maurice Sand - Les Lupins

illustration from "Lubins ou Lupins" a chapter in "Légendes rustiques" by George Sand.

"... lubins aren’t quite werewolves. “Sorrowful, dreamy and stupid spirits,” she writes, “they spend their lives chatting in an unknown language along the walls of cemeteries. In some places they are accused of breaking into the field of rest and gnawing on bones. In the latter case, they belong to the race of lycanthropes and werewolves, and must be called lupins. But in the case of lubins, manners soften with the name. They do no harm and escape at the slightest sound.” (source)

[jazzically]

i think alex and jonny and everyone else at RQ who kickstarted tma in the beginning and who have worked so hard so ceaselessly will always be huge inspirations to me. like. they started in a fricken apartment hallway with sleeping bags and duvets stapled to the walls. alex's entire starting investment went toward bertha, his mixing desk. they initially relied solely on word of mouth and reviews to gain traction. before they could pay voice actors, they worked with old friends and colleagues and peers. and look at them now like holy frickafrack!!!!! mad skills!!!!

the behind-the-scenes bonus content and stuff is incredibly interesting to me so i'm glad we got some of that as part of the season breaks and hiatuses and things

[ravensvalley]

#BarnSwallow

Barn Swallow over water. Mountainous Parts of the Northern Hemisphere.

[paperandsong]

Légendes rustiques by George Sand, completed English translation

Original French at Project Gutenberg

Les Légendes rustiques is a collection of twelve creepy French folk legends gathered up and written down by George Sand and illustrated by her son, Maurice Sand, published in 1858. These stories were collected in the Berry region, but there are connections made to legends from Brittany and Normandy as well.

I came across a mention of the Rustic Legends a few years ago and realized there was no official English translation available, despite that George Sand is a very famous author. It turns out, Sand was such a prolific writer that much of her work has never been translated into English. I ordered a "translation" from Amazon and was disappointed to find that someone had just run the text through translation software without any editing or providing any cultural context. It was unreadable and I threw it in the trash.

I asked some fandom friends if they would be interested in trying to translate all twelve legends into English on our own. It has been a few years and each story has had several revisions and rounds of editing. This was a challenging translation project - there are many words in archaic French or not in French at all. Thanks to everyone who helped - I am really proud of the results here.

The purpose of this project is simply to make these twelve legends accesible to an English-reading audience. They have been available in the original French at Project Gutenberg for a long time. Use this post as a table of contents - each line will take you to a new story published on Tumblr. Sometimes they are creepy, they are often funny, and Sand's rambling style is cozy, making you feel like she is sitting right across a candle from you, telling you a story she once heard from someone else, a long time ago. Enjoy!

Introduction

1. Les Pierres-Sottes

2. Les Demoiselles

3. Les Laveuses de nuit

4. La Grand’Bête

5. Les Trois Hommes de Pierre

6. Le Follet d’Ep-Nell

7. Le Casseu’ de Bois

8. Le Meneu’ de Loups

9. Le Lupeux   

10. Le Moine des Étangs-Brisses

11. Les Flambettes

12. Lubins et Lupins

[clangenrising]

Before anyone starts bashing Mystique I just want to say that I’m sure she did care about the kits she had before and the ones she’s having now—she just trusts that her Folk took care of her previous litter and she probably assumes they’d take care of this one better than she could too

I am disappointed at the end of Rustique though—kind of thought those crazy kids would make it. But maybe they can split on good terms/okay terms and she can come and visit when the war is over

Honestly, she doesn't care about them, not in the way a mother should. She cares about them as much as you would any kid, like she would protect them and try and keep them happy but she doesn't really love them. She doesn't want to have a relationship with them specifically because she doesn't want to be a mother. And I don't think that's a character flaw, it's just an opinion. She's a young mom who gives her kids up for adoption basically and that's a totally valid choice, especially in a world where birth control isn't really available to her.

And I'm sorry to all the Rustique girlies haha I was watching you guys get hyped for them and I was like "well you're not wrong but it isn't going to last". They really just aren't a good match for each other. Maybe in another world they could have worked but sadly things are what they are.

[vespasien]

NOUVEAU DICTIONNAIRE AVEC TOUS LES MOTS QUE JE CONNAIS EN "R"

rature relié rapide rustique rallonge rotule rire rapide rustique romantique raclette réorientation reliure risotto rhooo raton-laveur rat rouleau roulote rameur rôti remue-ménage riz

[r0semultiverse]

Why does this person talking about Instagram filters & making their face look longer make me think of Helen Distortion or the doll person entity? 👀

New entity for fear of humiliation dropping?? Or is this more The Eye’a territory? Fascinating. Influencers are a curse. Lmao

Fear of being filmed without consent is so real. That tattoo is absolutely cursed!! Similar to the snake tattoo on the artist. 👀

ITS THE IMPERFECT FLESH GUY’S ENTITY!! THE GYM BRO ONE (I’m bad at names)!!

Wonder if they’re gonna acknowledge “mewing” at some point. This is a wack ass tattoo.

Outsourcing is suspect irl & here 😂

Why is she warning him so seriously? “I’ve seen people go weird from it” WHAT DOES THAT MEAN???

[oldfarmhouse]

https://www.instagram.com

[apprendre-a-decorer-autrement]

Ambiance déco bohème à Chiloe

🌎On continue le tour du monde de la #déco!🌍 Inspiration déco à #Chiloé au #Chili: mes #astuces pour #décorer dans un #style #bohème, #boho, #rustique et #récup

✅Je vous partage mes carnets de #voyage sous la forme de #moodboard autour du monde 😁

[philoursmars]

Je reviens à mon projet de présenter la plupart de mes 55000 photos (nouveau compte approximatif. On se rapproche du présent !).

2016. Je passe quelques jours à Pau chez Christine “hors-saison” !

Ici, une virée en Bigorre, à Lourdes : le château-musée.

[audreyfoodies]

Tarte Rustique Poulet/Champignons sans gluten

Une recette de saison tellement réconfortante ! Vous allez adorer cette recette de Tarte Rustique Poulet/Champignons sans gluten ! une pâte délicieuse et croustillante avec sa généreuse garniture bien gourmande composée de béchamel, de poulet et de champignons Une recette hyper facile à faire, pour gagner du temps, vous pouvez même préparer la pâte la veille Vous avez des soucis…

[fflavio]

winter story 2 rustique july 2024 2 2

'Winter Story' by M Drożdowicz, played live at the Summer Garden Recital at Rustique, Tufnell Park 25 -07-24

[paperandsong]

Le Moine des Étangs-Brisses

From Légendes rustiques, illustrated by Maurice Sand, written by George Sand, 1858

Original French at Project Gutenberg

English translation:

Passers-by who walk along the marshes under the sun’s last rays, beware that gigantic monk who suddenly rises up from amidst the reeds. Flee, and don't listen to his damnable talk!

- Maurice Sand

Jeanne and Pierre lingered one Sunday along the Étangs-Brisses (Broken Ponds). This is not a cheerful place, much less so at night. Once past the woods, one arrives on a large, barren plateau, where there are only rushes and sand and large puddles of water which run together in the rainy season to form a sort of lake, whose bed appears all black.

In times gone by, a wicked, wine-drunk monk drowned there along with his donkey, having tried to follow a very narrow little roadway covered over with water. The donkey had never done anything wrong, and was never even heard braying; but this libertine monk was doomed to feel the pangs of death and the agonies of his final hour for as long as there remained a single drop of water in the Étangs-Brisses. Now, although civilization encroaches on the edges of these little lakes, further with every passing year, they do not show any sign of drying up; therefore the monk’s torment continues on, and will last for God knows how much longer! 

Jeanne was well aware of the bad reputation of these ponds, but Pierre did not want to believe the stories, nor did he care about them. He prevented her from thinking about them, telling her all manner of things, lovely and agreeable to Jeanne’s ears. They were engaged to be married and were just returning from the city, where they had picked out their wedding livery, which is to say, new clothes, ribbons, and lace for their big day. They were out walking together, holding each other by the little finger as is customary for the betrothed, when their feet stepped into mud on the roadway. The day before, a large thunderstorm had swollen the pond, overflowing its banks a bit.

“You’ve gotten me lost,” Jeanne said to her lover. “I don’t think this is the right path.”

“Just wait and I’ll get my bearings,” Pierre replied. “It’s true, the sun has gone down and the reeds are all black, they all look the same. Stay here a little while, and I'll go see how to find our way out.” 

Jeanne was tired; she sat down in the reeds and looked up at the red sky, all speckled, which is to say, it was marbled with yellow and brown, and her thoughts turned sad, although she could not say why. “If it were really nighttime,” she thought, “I wouldn't want to be alone in this awful place where that monk died so long ago. Oh, I hope Pierre won’t make a wrong turn in all this wild grass!” She followed him with her eyes for as long as she could, but then she could not see him anymore, and her poor body began to tremble.

All of a sudden she saw a large flock of wild ducks fly up from one side, making such noise; and then, rising up on tiptoe, she saw Pierre returning, amusing himself by throwing pebbles into the water to rouse the other flocks of birds that filled the ponds as night came descending from the sky.

When Pierre reached her side, he said to her, “We are on the right path, and we’ll be fine except for a little mud. Let me catch my breath a minute; I walked pretty fast, and besides, this isn’t such a bad place to rest.”

“It’s funny you think it’s nice here, Pierre; I don’t like it, and it feels like I’ve been here a long time already. Rest up quickly, because I want to get out of here before nightfall.”

Once Pierre seated himself alongside Jeanne in the reeds, he said to her, 

“My God, Jeanne, time must have dragged on for me, too, while I was out there walking, because it feels like I haven’t kissed you for two years.”

“Don’t say that!” she replied. “You kissed me not even two quarters of an hour ago.”

“Well, then! My darling, where is the harm in that?”

“I’m not saying there is any, since we are getting married!”

“And so let me have one more little kiss now, or seven.”

Jeanne let herself be kissed just once, and said that that was enough. She didn’t see any mischief in it, but she knew that even if country people are permitted to kiss their betrothed while out walking, in front of passers-by, it is neither proper nor honest se dire ses amitiés in secret from the world, and to stay for too long in places where no one goes.

Pierre was a proper young man, just as he should be, which is to say that he knew how to behave in the right way, and was content to let Jeanne keep him at a safe distance, and he didn’t play that game of overstepping his rights little by little only to have the pleasure of receiving a good slap from her from time to time, which is, as everyone knows, the greatest mark of trust and friendship.

And after they bickered in this friendly fashion for a little while, they began to talk about the future, which is still a very exciting topic between two people who are about to spend the rest of their lives together. And there they were, counting and recounting their meagre assets, building themselves a new house and planting a pretty little garden, if only in their minds; for these poor children didn’t have much, and they had to work hard just to keep hold of what they did have.

But now a voice which Pierre could not hear began to speak to Jeanne as though it were Pierre’s, while a voice began to speak to Pierre as though it were Jeanne’s, and yet it was not, and Jeanne did not hear that either. And so they thought they were saying things to each other that they were not, and found themselves on bad terms without really knowing why. Jeanne reproached Pierre for being lazy and for loving the cabaret; Pierre reproached Jeanne for being a coquette and over-valuing gallantry. And so they both started to tear up and pout, not wanting to talk anymore.

The astonishing thing was that when they stopped speaking, and couldn’t even see one another’s lips moving, they both still heard a very muffled voice which sounded like that of a frog or a wild duck when it spoke, and which said the most wicked words in the world.

“What are you doing, you children, sulking instead of taking advantage of the night and your solitude? Are you foolishly waiting for the end of the week in order to love one another freely? What a load of nonsense marriage is! Don’t you know that marriage is just pain, misery, quarrels, worrying about children, and days without bread? Come on, come on, you innocents! You’ll cry the very next day after your wedding, if you don’t fight instead! Can’t you see that when you wanted to talk about your future and your household just now, you couldn’t get along?

Life is foolish and miserable, make no mistake; you’d do well to forget your duties and seek pleasure without constraint. Love each other now, for if you do not take advantage of the moment that presents itself, you will never find it again, and no one will know anything about your partnership except by its blows and its insults, those flowers of youth that sting, and those wild oats!”

Jeanne and Pierre were very afraid. They held hands and clasped each other tight without daring to breathe. Jeanne understood nothing of what the wicked voice said to them. The words passed right through her ears like those of some Devil's Mass spoken in defiance of reason; but Pierre, who knew more, listened despite his fear and understood almost everything.

“This voice is ugly, I agree,” he said. “But its words are not wrong, and if you trust me, Jeanne, you might listen to it too.”

“Whether its words are beastly or beautiful, I don't care,” she replied. “They scare me, although I don't understand them at all; someone is laughing at us because we are all alone, trapped in an unpleasant place. Let's go quickly, my Pierre. This person here, living or dead, wants to do us nothing but harm.”

“No, Jeanne, they wish us well, because they pity the fate that awaits us, and if you’d just understand what they are saying . . .”

And then Pierre, feeling himself possessed by the Devil, wanted to restrain Jeanne, as she wanted to leave, and that evil spirit believed itself for a moment to be the stronger of them.

But the spawn of evil isn’t able to do good Christians as much harm as it wishes. The libertine monk, seeing that Pierre’s conscience had stumbled, was in too much of a hurry to claim his soul. He sang out in his marshy voice, “Come, come, my dear children, there’s no need for candles nor witnesses here. If you need someone to declare you two wed, I can speak the right words. Get down on your knees before me, and you’ll have the blessing of Beelzebub!”

Saying this, the monk appeared, broaching the water with his huge head under its muddy cowl.

“Oh, help!” cried Jeanne. “There’s a big otter, and it’s coming to attack us!”

“No, it won’t,” said Pierre. “I’ll turn it back with my walking-stick.”

But as he leaned over the water to look, he saw the monk's fiery eyes, and then he saw his beard all stuffed full of leeches and frogs, and then his rotting body with its withered legs and its two long arms all dripping with moss and slime, which he was spreading out wide like two wings over the heads of the two lovers in order to consecrate them unto Satan.

But Pierre, although he wasn’t a great coward, was so shocked to see this monk arise and grow ever and ever upwards, as though he wanted to reach the very clouds, that he simply fled screeching like a rusty axle and running like a hare, pulling that poor Jeanne behind him, she who was now more dead than alive, and yet who did not need to be told to leap across those roadways with her feet wet and her hair blowing in the wind.

In fact, they ran so well that they reached their parents’ homes without once turning their heads, and without once taking the time to exchange a single word. They married in all sanctity eight days later, without having listened to the advice of that wicked monk who was, it is said, so embarrassed at having missed his catch that he stayed dormant for a long time before daring to reappear and attempt fishing for Christian souls once more.

The belief in some gruff monk who goes about both threatening and plaintive, knocking on the doors of houses at night and withdrawing at daybreak only with horrible howls, was once only proverbial.

This has long been maintained in almost every province of France. There are many legends of debauched monks, and of priests who broke their vows. There are few presbyteries never haunted by any tormented souls such as these, and, as of the last twenty years, there are few country churches where the spirit of some dead priest has never appeared at dawn to attempt to deliver a great expiatory Mass that he is never able to complete unless he can find a living person of good will who has the courage to answer him with an amen.

George SAND

[clangenrising]

I noticed that in the rant there's a couple spelling errors! "and I thats" and "out" instead of our. Mystique also mentions that she's had humans take her kits before twice but he only reacts the second time, is that intentional? Either way, it's interesting seeing Mister Deputy freak out while Miss Kittypet is used to doing whatever bc of her, frankly irresponsible, owners. The second she mentioned feeling sick I knew it was going to be morning sickness though haha

Thanks! I fixed those mistakes.

And yes, that was intentional. He doesn't really hear her the first time, being so overwhelmed.

And yeah, Mystique is a spoiled little brat haha. Her owners let her do whatever and, as long as she doesn't get in his way, so does Razor. She's not used to having to really worry about other people's feelings or not getting what she wants.

[thaibypow]

Galinhada

Le Sommaire Le Galinhada est un plat traditionnel brésilien, particulièrement populaire dans les régions du Minas Gerais et du Goiás. Ce plat rustique et copieux est un mélange de riz et de poulet, souvent préparé pour des rassemblements familiaux ou des fêtes communautaires. Voici quelques aspects clés de la Galinhada : Ingrédients Principaux Poulet : Généralement coupé en morceaux, parfois…

[dwyane-moggridge-1986]

18 pièces maîtresses de mariage rustique chic avec des souches d'arbres , #arbres #maitresses #mariage #pieces #rustique #souches