#MAUPERTUIS ???

[tabellae-rex-in-sui]

Well this ended up being more of a multi-chapter thing, so here's chapter one! A What If of Voltaire bringing Émilie with him to meet Fritz in Cleves. Émilie deserved to be there, and now she can be! Happy late birthday to her.

Also a reminder that I'm still shadowbanned on here, so if you wanna ask/comment about it, please do it on Ao3 since I can't see asks on Tumblr at the moment 🧍‍♂️

[umass-digiturgy]

Photos of cast members at rehearsal's

[chaotic-history]

when i tell you i lost my fucking shit-

[nicolae]

Cauzalitatea în fizica timpului discret derivat din principiul acțiunii reduse Maupertuis

Cauzalitatea descrie procesul și consecințele unei acțiuni: o cauză are un efect. Cauzalitatea este păstrată în fizica clasică, precum și în teoriile speciale și generale ale relativității. În mod surprinzător, cauzalitatea ca relație între cauză și efectul ei nu este considerată în niciuna dintre aceste teorii o lege sau un principiu. Existența sa în fizică a fost chiar contestată de oponenții…

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 3) Chapter One

Father Figure! Sherlock x Teen! Reader

Chapter One: Surprise Return

Summary: Sherlock returns to London and sees John once more.

In Serbia…

            A man, long-haired and straggled, ran through the forest. A helicopter searched for him from above, and it shone its giant beam of light down onto the trees in search of the man. Infrared cameras caught his position, and gunshots rang out. The man was forced to stop and panted in exhaustion as the ache in his bones caught up to him at the same time as the men. Unable to go on any longer, he slumped to the ground.

l

            The man’s body swayed from chains embedded in the ceiling. His wrists were twisted above his head at an uncomfortable angle. His shirt was gone, and his skin was bruised by repeated blows from his captors.

            One of the men struck the captive again, and he gritted his teeth. The other man in the room remained at a desk with his feet up, simply watching the proceedings closely.

            “You broke in here for a reason. Just tell us why and you can sleep. Remember sleep?” sneered the torturer, pulling his captive’s hair back. He drew his hand back to strike with his metal pipe again, but he paused as the prisoner spoke quietly. “What?” he said in confusion, leaning in. The man whispered again.

            “Well? What did he say?” asked the other soldier.

            “He said that I used to work in the navy where I had an unhappy love affair,” said the torturer in bewilderment. The man continued to whisper.

            “What?” said the other soldier.

            “…The electricity isn’t working in my bathroom, and my wife is sleeping with our next-door neighbor,” exclaimed the torturer, but the captive was still going.

            “And?” asked the other.

            “The coffee maker! And? And? If I go home now, I’ll catch them at it! I knew there was something going on!” shouted the torturer angrily, abandoning his charge to storm out of the room as his rage took over his rational thought.

            The prisoner was left hanging from the chains.

            The other soldier stood. “So, my friend. Now it’s just you and me.” He tutted. “You have no idea the trouble it took to find you.” He pulled the captive’s head up and whispered to him in English. “Now listen to me: there’s an underground terrorist network active in London and attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear.” Mycroft let the man’s head fall back. “Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes.”

l

In London, in Mycroft’s office…

            Sherlock leaned back in the barber’s chair as his hair was cut and his scraggy beard was shaved. He held the paper open before him, but he wasn’t paying attention to it. It had taken a glance to get any information he needed, anyways.

            “You have been busy, haven’t you?” remarked Mycroft. “Quite the busy little bee.”

            “Moriarty’s network—took me two years to dismantle it,” said Sherlock. “You know I couldn’t leave anything still going.” Not when (Y/N) could be threatened by any remnant of Moriarty and his influence.

            “And you’re confident you have?” said Mycroft.

            “The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle,” said Sherlock. He glanced back at Mycroft. “And you know I wouldn’t leave this to chance. I made sure I took care of everything.”

            “Yes, yes, for (Y/N)’s sake,” said Mycroft, but despite his disdain for sentimentality, they were part of the Holmes family, so he understood what Sherlock meant. “And by doing so, you got yourself in deep there with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme.”

            “Colossal. But worth it,” said Sherlock simply.

            “Anyway, you’re safe now.” Mycroft folded his hands together. “A small ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go amiss.”

            “What for?” said Sherlock casually.

            “For wading in,” said Mycroft. He wouldn’t ask for thanks for looking out for (Y/N) over the last two years. That was family. But going into Serbia personally? Mycroft would hold that over Sherlock until he figured out this terrorist business (and a bit after). “In case you’d forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu.”

            The barber, having finished, left the room. Sherlock stood and faced Mycroft angrily.

            “Wading in?” he said sharply. “You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp!”

            “I got you out,” said Mycroft indignantly.

            “No, I got me out,” said Sherlock. “Why didn’t you intervene sooner?”

            “Well, I couldn’t risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything,” said Mycroft as if it was obvious.

            Sherlock glowered. “You were enjoying it.”

            “Nonsense,” said Mycroft.

            “Definitely enjoying it,” muttered Sherlock.

            “Listen, do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going undercover and smuggling my way into their ranks like that?” Mycroft tsked. “The noise, the people…” He had a clear disgust for it all.

            Sherlock just crossed his arms and decided to let that part slide since Mycroft wasn’t going to apologize (Sherlock would be shocked if his brother did). “I didn’t know you spoke Serbian.”

            “I didn’t, but the language has a Slavic root with frequent Turkish and German loan words. Took me a couple hours,” said Mycroft.

            “You’re slipping,” said Sherlock, happy to have something to poke Mycroft with.

            “Middle age, brother mine. It comes to us all,” said Mycroft, turning around so Sherlock could change into fresh clothes. “Now, I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that quite clear?”

            Sherlock turned around and let Mycroft look at him. Pointedly, all he said was: “What do you think of this shirt?”

            “Sherlock,” said Mycroft in exasperation, and Anthea walked in beside him.

            “I will find your terrorist cell,” said Sherlock. “Just put me back in London.” Let me go back to (Y/N). “I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in, feel every quiver of its beating heart.”

            “One of our men died getting this information,” said Anthea, pulling out a folder. “All the chatter, all the traffic, concurs there’s going to be a terror strike on London—a big one.”

            “And what about John and (Y/N)?” said Sherlock, finally asking the question on his mind.

            “I’ve kept an eye on them, of course,” said Mycroft, gesturing to Anthea. She procured two more folders and handed them to Sherlock.

            Too nervous to open (Y/N)’s, Sherlock opted to look at John’s first. He found that John had gone greyer and grown a mustache. Sherlock disapproved. “Well, we’ll have to get rid of that.”

            “We?” said Mycroft.

            “He looks ancient. I can’t be seen wandering around with an old man,” said Sherlock, tossing John’s file to the side. He held (Y/N)’s and gazed at the name printed on it. (Y/N) (L/N). Not (Y/N) Moriarty. Good. Sherlock summoned his courage and flipped open the file.

            He looked at a picture of (Y/N)’s face dated the previous week. They were older. They’d been fifteen when he’d left, and now he was looking at a seventeen-year-old. (Y/N) was almost an adult. But there was something wrong about the picture. Sherlock recognized it immediately—their expression.

            It was the same as his when he relapsed and lost himself to drugs before he pulled himself out of addiction and properly took care of himself and his boredom. (Y/N) had an empty look in their eyes.

            Sherlock’s gaze snapped up to Mycroft’s. “I thought you were going to take care of them.”

            Mycroft didn’t respond and just looked at Anthea. She took her cue and left to leave the brothers to discuss family matters.

            “(Y/N) did not take your…absence well,” said Mycroft.

            “I saw them at the grave after my funeral,” said Sherlock. “I know.”

            “They have not moved on at all,” said Mycroft. He sighed, and though his sighs were usually those of exasperation, this was one of worry and tiredness. “Sherlock, after your ‘death,’ they wouldn’t eat. They barely slept. It took Dr. Watson and I quite some time to get them to do so. And even then, they often forget.”

            Sherlock’s heart clenched. (Y/N) wasn’t alright. They were suffering, and it was his fault. Even if he’d left to deal with Moriarty’s network—to protect them—it had still hurt them. “It’s been two years.”

            “They’ve improved somewhat, but they relapse into dangerous bouts of depression frequently,” admitted Mycroft. He laced his fingers. “I even ensure they had cases—safe, of course—to work on, but it didn’t seem to help.” He looked at Sherlock. “I’m sorry, Sherlock.” He wouldn’t apologize for anything he did to Sherlock, but (Y/N) was younger family, and just as he was protective of Sherlock from behind the curtain, he was the same way with (Y/N). He was sorry he couldn’t help them. “The doctor and I did the best we could.”

            “Then it’s good that I’m coming back,” said Sherlock, trying to keep his usual pragmatism, but he was worried now.

            (Y/N)’s mental health had always been fragile—the curse of being a genius in a world of idiots. They had been wary of people in the orphanage, pushed aside by adults who wanted to ignore their mind looking through them. Then, of course, the cases they and Sherlock had ended up on were…traumatizing, to put it lightly. But (Y/N) had always had Sherlock. He had watched for any serious signs of danger and taken care of them. But he hadn’t been there this time. It had been his absence that caused them this pain.

            “Have you done anything to prepare (Y/N) or John for your return?” said Mycroft.

            He sincerely hoped that (Y/N) found some stability again now that Sherlock was coming back, but he also knew that Sherlock coming back after so long being dead could also cause problems (and Mycroft didn’t want (Y/N)’s mental health to be any worse than it was).

            “Where’s John going to be tonight?” said Sherlock, ignoring Mycroft. His brother knew Sherlock had kept silent on his status being alive and not dead. It had been for John and (Y/N)’s safety.

            Mycroft looked at Sherlock disapprovingly. He knew Sherlock was going to go to John first because he was scared to see (Y/N) unwell because it was partly his fault. But he also knew he couldn’t stop his brother form doing what he wanted (and it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t go to (Y/N). Sherlock cared too much to leave them like this for long now knowing how they were.)

            “How would I know?” said Mycroft, deciding to be obtuse as ever.

            “You always know,” said Sherlock, knowing Mycroft as well as his brother knew him.

            “He has a dinner reservation in Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion, though I prefer the 2001,” said Mycroft. “And there is also a sweets shop that sells lollipops there.”

            “I know,” said Sherlock. He had bought (Y/N) their favorite lollipops from there many times.

            Anthea reentered and held out Sherlock’s Belstaff coat. He took it and slid it on.

            “Welcome back, Mr. Holmes,” she said.

            “Thank you,” said Sherlock sarcastically, facing his brother. “Marylebone Road, was it? I trust you can spare a car for me?”

            Mycroft tutted. “Anthea will escort you there. But then you’re on your own.”

            His brother could face John and (Y/N)’s reactions on his own. John’s reaction was easy enough to guess—anger. But Mycroft knew Sherlock could take a punch. However, he wanted (Y/N) and Sherlock to be alright soon. Neither was quite right without the other. Mycroft wasn’t one for guessing or hoping, but he did wish for everything to return to being as it should be.

            Sherlock followed Anthea to the car. And while he watched the streets go by to take him to John, all he could think of was (Y/N). His kid. Soon, everything would be as it should be. Him, John, and (Y/N)—family.

l

            “If you’ll have me, Mary, could you see your way, um…” John cleared his throat nervously. Trying to propose to the woman he loved was scarier than anything he’d ever done. “If you could see your way to—”

            “Sit, I think you’ll this vintage exceptionally to your liking,” said Sherlock, disguised with just a drawn-on mustache. He expertly interrupted John and Mary. “It has all of the qualities of the old with some of the color of the new.”

            John didn’t even look at Sherlock the Waiter and gritted his teeth. “No, sorry, not now, please.”

            “Like a gaze from a crowd of strangers, suddenly one is aware of staring into the face of an old friend,” said Sherlock, trying to prompt John to see him.

            “No, look, seriously, could you just…” John looked up, and his face fell.

            “Interesting thing, a tuxedo,” said Sherlock nonchalantly as if he wasn’t suddenly back from the dead. “Lends distinction to friends and anonymity to waiters.” John stood silently.

            “John?” said Mary in confusion as John tried to take deeps breaths. “John, what is it?”

            Sherlock cleared his throat and intelligently tried to defuse John. “Well, the short version is…not dead.” Or maybe not try to defuse anything. He coughed. “Bit mean springing it on you like that, I know. Could have given you a heart attack, probably still will. But in my defense, it was very funny.” John stared angrily. “Okay, not a great defense.”

            Mary’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, you’re—”

            “Oh, yeah,” said Sherlock.

            “Oh, my god,” said Mary.

            “Not quite,” said Sherlock.

            “You died, you jumped off a roof,” said Mary.

            “No,” said Sherlock.

            “You’re dead,” said Mary.

            “No, I’m quite sure, I checked,” said Sherlock. “Excuse me.” He dipped a napkin in their wine glasses and wiped away his mustache as John glowered. “Does yours rub off, too?”

            “Oh my god, oh my god,” exclaimed Mary. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

            Sherlock cleared his throat. “Okay, John, I’m suddenly realizing I probably owe you some sort of an apology.” John slammed his hand down on the table.

            Mary tried to soothe John. “Alright, John, just keep—”

            “Two years,” snapped John. He took a deep breath, but he didn’t calm down. “Two years! Hm? I thought—Mm…I thought you were dead. Now, you let me grieve. You let (Y/N) grieve. How could you do that?” Sherlock winced at the mention of (Y/N). “How?!”

            Sherlock coughed and tried to collect himself. “Wait, before you do anything that you might regret, one question, just let me ask one question.” He pointed to John’s mustache. “Are you really going to keep that?”

            John took a deep breath and chose violence. He grabbed Sherlock’s collar and pushed him to the ground roughly. Onlookers gasped, and Mary shot up from her seat. John didn’t care and just continued to throttle Sherlock.

l

            In a dingy little diner (they had gotten kicked out of the fancier restaurant for fighting), Sherlock attempted to explain himself to John without getting punched again. “I calculated—”

            “You know, for a genius, you can be remarkably thick,” snapped John, just cutting him off.

            “What?” said Sherlock.

            “No one cares how you faked it, Sherlock. I want to know why. For God’s sake, why?!” snapped John.

            “Because Moriarty had to be stopped. I had to protect (Y/N),” said Sherlock simply. “I needed to get rid of his network to protect them.”

            John relaxed slightly. “Fine, fine. Did anyone know?”

            “My brother, of course. And then Molly Hooper had to fake the documents for my death…and maybe a few people in my homeless network,” said Sherlock.

            “So just your bother, Molly Hooper, and a hundred tramps,” snapped John, back to being angry since he suspected Mycroft would know, but others knew before him and (Y/N)?

            “No, twenty-five at most,” said Sherlock, thinking he was fixing something.

            John launched across the table and grabbed Sherlock’s throat.

l

            In a shabby ice cream parlor, Mary crossed her arms and tapped her foot as John just glared at Sherlock as he dabbed a napkin on his broken lip. The night was just getting worse and worse.

            “Seriously, it’s not a joke? You’re keeping that?” said Sherlock, glancing at John’s mustache.

            John cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

            “Sure?” said Sherlock, questioning John.

            “Mary likes it,” said John.

            “Mmm…no she doesn’t,” said Sherlock.

            “She does,” said John.

            “She doesn’t.”

            John glanced at Mary, and she coughed.

            “Oh, don’t,” she said.

            “Oh, brilliant,” sighed John.

            “Look, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to tell you,” said Mary.

            “Right, no, no, this is charming. I’ve really missed this!” snapped John. He groaned. “I’m surprised it’s not you and (Y/N) back at this.” He glanced at Sherlock. “Actually, I’m surprised (Y/N) isn’t here at all.” He frowned. “Where are they?”

            Sherlock was silent.

            “Sherlock,” said John. “Where’s (Y/N)?”

            “I haven’t seen them yet,” said Sherlock slowly.

            “What!” shouted John.

            “I haven’t told them yet,” said Sherlock guiltily.

            John reared back and punched Sherlock.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

[geeoharee]

'Holmes was really ill, I rushed over to France, three days later we were back in London' is the most obvious PLEASE WRITE SOME FANFICTION gap we've had yet, but I am but a meta-poster so here are some other people's:

Katie Forsythe, 'An April's Journey'. Focuses on Holmes going cold turkey after overdoing it during the Maupertuis case. Unrated as not on AO3 - in my opinion, is probably Mature http://liquidfic.org/apriljourney.html

Taz, 'The City of Crows'. Ritchie-verse. Starts out as a 'way too much cocaine' story, ends up as a 'queer revelation for Watson' story. Also Mature. https://archiveofourown.org/works/320191

celestialteapot, 'A mari usque ad mare'. Much shorter, and no sex or cocaine! Focuses on Holmes's depression at the end of the Maupertuis case and Watson caring for him. https://archiveofourown.org/works/403704

BaronVonBork, 'The Reigate Winos'. Crackfic. Re-tells the whole Reigate story (spoilers!) except everyone is very, very drunk. https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726687

[wildcat2030]

According to the Maupertuis hypothesis, living things are not limited to biological entities, but are, in a more general sense, machines capable of transmitting adaptive solutions to successive generations through the minimisation of free energy. Put another way, living things are capable of transmitting information from their past to their future. If that is true, then how do we define the boundaries of living things? What counts as an individual?

Is life a complex computational process? | Aeon Essays

[belphegor1982]

Top 5 platonic OTPs?

YOU. YOU'RE SPEAKING MY LANGUAGE 💜

Pike Trickfoot & Grog Strongjaw (Critical Role/Vox Machina) (buddiiiess 💖)

Arthur Pendragon & Perceval (Kaamelott)

Louis LeBeau & Peter Newkirk (Hogan's Heroes)

Leonardo & Miyamoto Usagi (any iteration of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Usagi Yojimbo)

Don Lope de Villalobos y Sangrin & Armand Raynal de Maupertuis (De Cape et de crocs) (French comics series, check it out, it's great - and even more if you're in the furry fandom)

I made a point of not including siblings or related characters :o)

[bdslab]

Best BD Character Tournament

Nominations are closed and the bracket is set! It's time to see who comes on top! Polls will open on Feb 24 at 6AM EST and will run for 1 day each. I'll include links to each poll here after it goes live.

Honorable mention: Weekly (Blacksad) also received a nomination but unfortunately was randomly chosen of the nominees with one vote to sit out of the contest.

The Favorites (most likely to make it to semifinals): Gaston Lagaffe (Gaston) - 12 nominations Astérix (Astérix) - 7 nominations Blutch (Les Tuniques Bleues) - 7 nominations Fantasio (Spirou & Fantasio) - 6 nominations

Round 1

Gaston Lagaffe/Gomer Goof (Gaston) vs Gretchen Webb (Zombillénium)

Lady d'Olfine/d'Olphine (Benoît Brisefer) vs Billy the Cat (Billy the Cat)

Corto Maltese (Corto Maltese) vs Timber Smurf (The Smurfs)

Léon Prunelle (Gaston) vs Brainy Smurf/Schtroumpf à Lunettes (The Smurfs)

Haddock (Tintin) vs Navee/Nävis (Sillage)

Zorglub (Spirou & Fantasio) vs Ian/Yves Lebrac (Gaston)

Getafix/Panoramix (Astérix) vs Dodji (Seuls)

Mélusine (Mélusine) vs Guilhem de Landrey (La Rose Écarlate)

Fantasio (Spirou & Fantasio) vs Calculus/Tournesol (Tintin)

Cacofonix/Assurancetourix (Asterix) vs Clifton (Clifton)

Lucky Luke (Lucky Luke) vs Joe Dalton (Lucky Luke)

Léonard (Léonard) vs Vicky (Les Nombrils)

Obélix (Asterix) vs Seccotine (Spirou & Fantasio)

Dogmatix/Idéfix (Astérix) vs Rasputin (Corto Maltese)

Jérôme K. Jérôme Bloche (Jérôme K. Jérôme Bloche) vs Rubine (Rubine)

Chesterfield (Les Tuniques Bleues) vs Shimy (Les Légendaires)

Astérix (Astérix) vs Valérian (Valérian)

Benny Breakiron/Benoît Brisefer (Benoît Brisefer) vs Philip Mortimer (Blake & Mortimer)

Jimmy Mc Clure (Blueberry) vs Grouchy Smurf/Schtroumpf Grognon (The Smurfs)

Mister Invincible/Imbattable (Imbattable) vs Jokey Smurf/Schtroumpf Farceur (The Smurfs)

Tintin (Tintin) vs Spip (Spirou & Fantasio)

Snowy/Milou (Tintin) vs Eusèbe (De Cape et De Crocs)

Blacksad (Blacksad) vs Sammy (Sammy)

Averell Dalton (Lucky Luke) vs Le Scrameustache (Le Scrameustache)

Blutch (Les Tuniques Bleues) vs Tootuff/Titeuf (Titeuf)

Julius Caesar (Astérix) vs Sonny Tuckson (Buck Danny)

Blueberry (Blueberry) vs Lili (Lili)

Peewit/Pirlouit (Johan & Pirlouit) vs Régis Renaud (Les Petits Hommes)

Spirou (Spirou & Fantasio) vs Zantafio (Spirou & Fantasio)

Yoko Tsuno (Yoko Tsuno) vs Armand de Maupertuis (De Cape et De Crocs)

Gil Jourdan (Gil Jourdan) vs La coccinelle de Gotlib (Rubrique-à-brac)

Lou (Lou!) vs Jadina (Les Légendaires)

[brookstonalmanac]

Birthdays 7.17

Beer Birthdays

James Pawley Dawes (1843)

Anthony Straub (1882)

Joshua Bernstein (1978)

Five Favorite Birthdays

James Cagney; actor (1899)

Erle Stanley Gardner; writer (1889)

Vince Guaraldi; jazz pianist (1928)

Peter Schickele; music comedian, composer (1935)

Donald Sutherland; actor (1934)

Famous Birthdays

Berenice Abbott; photographer (1898)

Shmuel Yosef Agnon; Ukrainian-Israeli writer (1888)

Ron Asheton; guitarist and songwriter (1948)

John Jacob Astor; zillionaire (1763)

Lou Barlow; guitarist and songwriter (1966)

George Barnes; guitarist and songwriter (1921)

Alexander Gottlieb Baumgarten; German philosopher (1714)

Luc Bondy; Swiss film director (1948)

Tim Brooke-Taylor; English comedian (1940)

Mark Burnett; television producer (1960)

Geezer Butler; English bass player (1949)

Diahann Carroll; actor (1935)

Niccolò Castiglioni; Italian composer (1932)

Elizabeth Cook; singer and guitarist (1972)

John Cooper; English car designer (1923)

Chris Crutcher; writer (1946)

Spencer Davis; rock musician (1942)

Paul Delaroche; French painter (1797)

Phyllis Diller; comedian (1917)

Cory Doctorow, Canadian author (1971)

Lyonel Feininger;, German-American painter (1871)

Lionel Ferbos; trumpeter (1911)

Wolfgang Flür; German musician (1947)

Wendy Freedman; Canadian-American cosmologist and astronomer (1957)

Elbridge Gerry; politician (1744)

Sergei K. Godunov; Russian mathematician (1929)

Gordon Gould; laser inventor (1920)

David Hasselhoff; actor (1952)

Hermann Huppen; Belgian author and illustrator (1938)

Bruno Jasieński; Polish poet and author (1901)

Scott Johnson; cartoonist (1969)

Darryl Lamonica; Oakland Raiders QB (1941)

Nicolette Larson; singer-songwriter (1952)

Thé Lau; Dutch singer-songwriter and guitarist (1952)

Georges Lemaître; Belgian priest, astronomer, and cosmologist (1894)

Art Linkletter; humorist (1912)

Pierre Louis Maupertuis; French mathematician and philosopher (1698)

Robert R. McCammon; author (1952)

Angela Merkel; German chemist and politician (1954)

Craig Morgan; singer-songwriter and guitarist (1965)

Luis Munoz-Rivera; Puerto Rican patriot, poet (1859)

Frank Olson; chemist and microbiologist (1910)

Barbara O'Neil; actor (1910)

Mary Osborne; guitarist (1921)

Quino Spanish-Argentinian cartoonist (1932)

Christiane Rochefort; French author (1917)

Jason Rullo; rock drummer (1972)

Jimmy Scott; jazz singer (1925)

Ephraim Shay, American engineer (1839)

Phoebe Snow; singer (1952)

P.J. Soles; actor (1950)

Red Sovine; country singer (1917)

Christina Stead; Australian author (1902)

J. Michael Straczynski; writer (1954)

Mick Tucker; English rock drummer (1947)

Isaac Watts; English hymnwriter (1674)

Alex Winter; actor (1965)

[chaotic-history]

Meanwhile V's bio would just be something stupid that says absolutely nothing about him with fifteen different emojis after it

I just know that Rousseau would have a Card in his bio that lists his name, age, hometown, birthday, nationality, political beliefs, religious beliefs, likes, dislikes, triggers, mental illnesses, and the longest DNI list ever and think nothing of it. That man would put all that info out there.

[umass-digiturgy]

Portraits of each character in the play. Each quote is either from the pictured person, or Emilie Du Chatelet.

[chaotic-history]

More LoC! (TJ's room)

ft. Fritz's, V's, and Maupertuis' complete works, Wilhelmine's memoirs, Condorcet's Vie de Voltaire, and a book of V anecdotes and conversations written by La Condamine, which I hadn't known about but now need to read immediately.

And of course, TJ himself:

And I think he'd also appreciate this less-than-flattering Adams mug that was in the gift shop:

[calbeloved]

POINTERS AND MAUPERTUIS BATTLE HI ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I LAST SAW YOU GUYS!!!!

[yespat49]

Saint-Malo : Une bande de migrants “mineurs non accompagnés” s’en prend à un élève devant le lycée, un individu le poursuit dans l’établissement muni d’un couteau. « Je suis algérien, nique la France » aurait lancé l’un d’eux

F de Souche 02/10/24 Le 30 septembre 2024, une véritable scène de panique s’est déroulée au lycée Maupertuis à Saint-Malo, où un algérien, armé d’un couteau, a fait irruption dans l’établissement dans la foulée d’une bagarre où il était impliqué avec trois de ses acolytes du côté de Marville. Ce qui aurait pu tourner au drame a été évité de justesse grâce à la réactivité du personnel scolaire.…

[johnooms]

Wat gebeurde er op 19 september?

1356 – SLAG BIJ POITIERS Een veldslag tussen het koninkrijk Engeland en het koninkrijk Frankrijk die op 19 september 1356 plaatsvond bij Poitiers. De slag staat ook bekend onder de namen Slag van Maupertuis of Slag van Nouaillé en werd de tweede van de drie grote overwinningen voor Engeland in de Honderdjarige Oorlog. Koning Jan II van Frankrijk wordt gevangengenomen. De slag bij Poitiers was een enorme nederlaag voor Frankrijk... Klik op de link hieronder voor meer Nieuws van Vroeger: http://johnooms.nl/2024/09/19/19-sep/