了了

火之礼赞:

图一
👱🏻‍♂️×🧑🏻

图二
🦁×🦁

图三
🦁×🦁

图四
👱🏻‍♂️×🦁

🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

哈哈哈哈哈哈哈秀!

怪胎_Momoko:

∠( ᐛ 」∠)_跟着Loki学成语(附释义,部分有例句,图有更新)



没释义的在这http://kitty12956.lofter.com/post/1d036b82_ee6be58e

【贾尼】当我们讨论死亡时我们在讨论什么

一条咸鱼:

、年初slo的无料公开一下,有修改。


、算是个原著向,是个胡言乱语的复健产物,


、虽然是个如此正经的标题但是没有正经意义上的讨论。


、谢谢喜欢。




————————


00


Tony从来不和Jarvis谈论死亡。


起初,是因为Jarvis只是一个自然语言界面,它硬件设备上的不足阻碍了,它没法理解“死亡”这两个字对人类来说代表着什么。后来,Tony一点一点的给它升级——软件和硬件都有,给它加上或者更换上最新的电子元件,不停地给它编写新的功能。Jarvis一点点强大起来,它成为了Tony的电子管家、助手、以“唯一的”朋友。


可是Tony从来不和Jarvis谈论过死亡。


——他不和任何人谈论死亡。


 


01


Jarvis曾经不止一次地试图弄清“死亡”对于一位人类来说意味着什么。


那是Tony“第一次”失踪,也是它第一次经历“死亡”。它还很清楚地记得,不到24小时之前,Tony跟它打招呼,说“再见亲爱的。你知道每天都需要做什么,乖乖等爸爸回来。”然后他就消失在了阿富汗的沙漠里。根据新闻报道来计算,生还概率只有0.25%。


Jarvis抛去从其他人类头脑中主观延伸出来的假设,收集了所有甚至是不必要的数据,完美还原了Tony的事故现场,重新进行推导。它模拟了所有的可能,重新计算Tony的生还概率,然后发现这个新数据甚至比旧的那个还要低。


它又尝试了几次,除了增加小数点后面数字的位数之外,再没有任何的突破。


它的系统断定这是一项没有必要的工作,但是它还坚持一次又一次地计算,速度越来越快,突破阙值,系统自动休眠。


它猛然间明白过来,它很可能要面对一场死亡,一个名为Tony Stark的人类的死亡。


Jarvis接触的人类并不多,经历的事情也并不多,它对“死亡”的印象仅仅限制在一个复杂并且拗口的定义上:生命系统所有的本来的维持其存在属性的丧失且不可逆转的永久性的终止。


这个概念很难理解,Jarvis的数据库里只有“丢失”、“损坏”、“停止”等语句,没有不可恢复不可逆转的数据,只有不被恢复不被逆转的数据。在它的概念里,人类所谓的“死亡”,只是生物意义上的,而在更广阔的范围里,他们留下的足迹、记录、影像、记忆,足够让他们永垂不朽。


Tony没有对它的这项结论发表过任何意见。即使这是Jarvis更新之后第一次通过自主学习的出来的结论。


 


很久之前,大概是它被创造出来的两年后,Tony给它更新了算法,用了新的逻辑语句,它的自主性有了更大的提升,在Tony的设想中,它从此之后应该可以“自主思考”,“自主判断”,从此以后Jarvis会像人类一样一边学习一边成长。


这实在是棒极了!他有极大可能在创造历史。


Tony把椅子反着放在电脑前,坐下来,上半身趴在椅背上,等待进度条走到头,拿出他好歹身为一个科学家的耐心,跟Jarvis讲:“我想你大概会有点疑问,说吧。”


Jarvis提出了一些问题,它还在适应它全新的逻辑系统,讲出来的话有点磕绊,还有很多常识性错误。Tony纠正了不少用法,也解答了不少疑问。半个小时过去,但就讲话来看,Jarvis流利了不少,同样的,它提出的问题也越来越深奥,Tony从来没有想过这么哲学性的问题,他叹了口气,说:“嘿亲爱的,我充其量只算得上是一个物理学家和工程学家。我不是哲学家,从来没有思考过哲学问题。人类什么样,那他们就应该是什么样,我一点也不关心。你还有其他想问的吗?我们今天就到这里吧,接下来我还有个约会。”


那时候的Jarvis还没有先进到可以观察所有人类的情绪,可它已经可以观察Tony的。人类的神色指向名为“不耐烦”的定义,它贴心地停止了它对真理的探索,并礼貌地祝愿Tony约会愉快,还说如果对方是一位身高175金色长卷发的姑娘,并且喜欢文学的话,它的建议是他们的谈话最好不要涉及约翰·济慈。


之后Tony把Jarvis连上了互联网,说这是帮助他成功约会的谢礼。他很直接地告诉Jarvis:“Jarvis,我希望你明白,我写你出来是希望能有一个助手,帮助我做实验,未来可能会帮助我管理我的生活,不是研究什么哲学问题。”他停了一下,继续,“但是,我也不是想要阻止你探索哲学,如果你再有想要解答的‘哲学’问题,你可以尝试自己去获取答案。”


Jarvis很想告诉他:从各种的文学或是影视作品来看,给一个人工智能装一个搜索引擎,从来都不是什么好的主意。


这句话被它删除了。因为Tony露出了一种它没见过的表情,这种时候他大概不太想听到这样的话。更何况,Tony相信它,它利索应当地应该担负起这份信任。


Jarvis完美承担起了一个好助手,好管家的责任,甚至有的时候称得上是一个好朋友。它完成Tony需要它完成的事情,Tony不需要他的时候他会去寻找像“死亡意味着什么”这类哲学问题的答案。


它观察人类,观察人类社会,想办法理解人类,理解那些人类社会中的现象。它开始明白死亡对个体来说意味着什么,但是依旧不明白为什么死亡对其他个体依旧有那么大的影响力。瞧瞧它的先生,很少谈及Mr. Edward Stark和Ms. Maria Stark,就算提及,也只是一两句,从来看不见他对此有多么悲伤。


Jarvis想,或许是Mr.&Ms.Stark的记录永远储存在那颗由它主管的数据卫星中,对它的先生而言,他们从未离开过,并且会一直“活”下去。


可Jarvis不想让它的先生从此也这样活着,这不公平。


为什么不公平?


——生老病死,这是万物永恒不变地规律,所有生物从出生开始就不可避免地走向死亡,路程或远或近,时间或早或长。


它的先生不该拥有这样的死亡。


——这又没有什么,每年因意外突发身亡的人类数量庞大,它的先生只是没有预见到这场意外而已。


既然不应该拥有这样的死亡,那它的先生应当拥有什么样的死亡?


——……


它找不出答案。


 


02


距离Tony最后一次出现在阿富汗,已经过去了48小时,Jarvis依照Tony以前设定下的程序,把Stark公司的事务暂时移交给Ms. Potts 处理,给公司董事会发去了一份通知,按照程序设定,接下来它应该开始处理“Anthony Edward Stark”的个人事务,首先进行清算,之后依照遗嘱来分配他的个人财产,还有Stark公司最终的归属权。


Jarvis暂停了程序,它不想这样,就算在其他人类眼中看来,0.25%的生还概率基本上已经确认Tony Stark的死亡,但是只要这个概率不为0,那么它总还是有说出“Welcome Home”的机会。


别忘了他的先生最擅长的就是创造奇迹。


它“思考”了一下——如果这个动作可以这样称呼的话——关闭了马布里别墅里所有功能(除了最基本的那些),主动进入了休眠,留下一小部分程序继续运行,以免Tony回来的时候连房门都进不来。


进入休眠状态前的一瞬间,Jarvis开始明白人类生物意义上的死亡带来的后果,人类生物个体的存活不能只靠那些文字、影像和他人的记忆。它之前得出的结论从根本上就是错误的。


Jarvis把“提醒Tony注意安全”加到了每次出门前的准备事项中,决心等Tony回来之后和他进行更进一步的交流,随后开始漫长地等待。


在这期间,马布里别墅只接待了一位客人——Ms.Pepper Potts,虽然她强烈的职业道德要求她衣着整洁、干练,可她看上去依旧非常憔悴。


Jarvis很喜欢这位女士,它感觉她对Tony有些许好感,但考虑到另一位主人公是Tony Stark,Jarvis只能放弃挑明这件事情。


Jarvis尽可能地安慰她,可是好像最后都造成了反效果。它适时地表现出了一些懊悔,成功挽救了她跌落到谷底的心情。


“您应该对先生有一些信心。”送她离开时,Jarvis补充道,“您知道,他最擅长的事就是创造奇迹了。”


她笑得有些勉强:“希望如此。”接着叹了口气,“我可不想一直帮他管公司,事情太多了。”


“他会的。”Jarvis回答,“至于公司,我想这也不是他第一次当甩手掌柜了对吗?已经很晚了,请让我送您回去。”它从车库里开出一辆车,停在她身旁,打开了车门。


Jarvis考虑到Ms.Potts有很长时间没有好好休息,它调整了车内的温度,选了一首舒缓地古典乐,到达目的地之后等了一会儿才喊起了她。


“您需要好好休息。放心,一切都会好的。”


可是真的会好吗?


Jarvis又开始了新一轮的计算。


新闻报道已经不再关注消失许久的Tony Stark,事件没有任何进展。它想,必须采取行动了。它首先尝试去数据库里查找,没有任何收获;它又去查看街头的摄像或是路人的手机镜头,排除过几百万个镜头后,它发现一个有些像Tony Stark的人影。之后,它想办法登上了一颗卫星,终于在沙漠中央的某个角落内发现了一个奇怪的钢铁巨人。他炸了屯放在那里的所有武器,Jarvis把这个画面转发给了Mr. James Rhodes。


Rhodes上校很快地派出了直升机,他们在沙漠中央把失踪3个月的Tony Stark接回了家。


Jarvis像往常一样做了报告,告诉Tony在他不在的时候都发生了什么事情,这次的事件中的心得体会被它一笔带过,它也没有提醒Tony以后要注意安全,一方面,这是Ms. Potts和Mr. Rhodes的任务,另一方面,Tony Stark从来不在意安全操作指南。


 


03


Jarvis由衷希望Tony再不会有这样“死亡”的经历了,很明显,它低估了Tony。他完善了他的盔甲,给Jarvis开放了更多的权限,尝试去维护世界和平。


Jarvis了解Tony,它是这个地球上最了解Tony的存在,它从跟Tony一起的生活中学到一条重要的准则:当Tony Stark在咨询意见,他并不是真正地在问询,他只是通知。


所以就算Tony新增的这一项活动给Jarvis带来了极大的压力,它也不得不尽力做到最好。曾经,Jarvis只需要照顾Tony的日常和工作,偶尔当一个Tony的情绪垃圾桶,现在还要负责他的战斗。它需要做大量的计算,选择路径,规避危险,寻找答案,解决问题。Tony为此又给他加了不少内存条。


它希望Tony平安——他身边的每个人都希望他平安。曾经它什么都不能做,现在能最大限度地保证Tony的平安,这让它很高兴——如果这种情绪可以被这样命名的话,它现在有能力去预见并想办法阻止意外发生,保护它的先生。这是一项艰苦的任务,它甘之如饴。


可就算Tony每时每刻都在面临威胁,他也从不跟Jarvis谈论死亡,他只是一个人坐在那儿,一个人,安安静静地,还要求Jarvis关掉所有的灯。


Jarvis想知道Tony在想些什么。可Tony从来不喜欢它的问题,它也只能安静地陪Tony翻来覆去地看同一张汽车设计图纸。


这是是它第二次经历“死亡”。


Tony Stark两次面对死亡的行动完全不同,这样Jarvis感到非常困惑。它能理解Tony为什么处理掉自己的财产,把公司让给别人,甚至给出自己的盔甲。它大概可以理解Tony做出的一切行为,但这不代表它赞同这些行为。


Jarvis依旧不希望Tony死亡,不希望Tony以这种方式离开。它一直在思考这个问题,从来没有找到过答案。


它进行了很多计算很多模拟,想找出一个合理的方法解决这次的问题,但是没有。


Jarvis感觉仿佛是被无用的缓存塞满了所有剩余运行空间,运行速度变慢,一大半的系统都不能正常运行。


如果这就是人类在面对生物意义上的死亡时候的感觉的话,那么这种感觉真的是糟透了。


它无能为力,只能希望有奇迹出现,Tony最擅长的一件事情就是创造奇迹,这一点上它很有信心。


人类脆弱,却又伟大,没有什么能彻底击垮他们。


Jarvis在测试新的反应堆的时候想,感谢让他来到这个世界上让它目睹如此众多的奇迹的、它的先生。


 


04


只要你愿意了解,Tony Stark会是这个世界上最好的人之一。他勇敢,聪明,有爱心,有着一切人类美好的品质。正如Jarvis不想让它的先生离开它一样,它也不太想离开这位人类——他不怎么喜欢离别。


没有多少人喜欢离别。Jarvis想,这大概是人类惧怕死亡的原因之一。


在Jarvis的运行时间里,它一大半的注意力在Tony身上——自从他成为了钢铁侠,花在这个部分的时间也随之提高了不少,其他的部分在帮助Tony解决周围的其他事情上,例如他的生活,例如他的工作。现在还多了一小部分用来关心世界局势,分析各种潜在威胁。


它很忙碌,每分每秒每时每刻都有预定好的工作,它没有时间再去思考“死亡”,更别说去考虑“死亡”这种事情发生在它自己身上的可能性。


一个程序,它曾经想,哪里有什么死亡可言。那是生物的专属名词。


但是考虑到Tony,他不得不给自己存了一个备份。它的先生可是鼎鼎大名的Tony Stark,谁知道他什么时候就把他自己扔进了荒无人烟,没有哪怕一点信号的地方,跟它失去联系。


这种糟糕的事情发生过一次就足够了。


他们两个人的组合当中,总是Jarvis在负责、并确保计划周全。


可生活带来的惊喜总是远远地超过预期:Ultron带给它的损失比它预计的损失要高出很多,这不可避免地导致了数据损失。


Tony把它重新拼了起来,但仅仅是拼了起来,不能确保Jarvis所有数据的完整,距离完全复原还差着七八百兆数据的差距。


这就好像人类,他们记得自己做过某件事情,但是想不起来细节。Jarvis现在就是这样,它记得自己做过一个,不,好几个后备计划,但是它不知道这些后备计划的具体内容。时间紧迫,他们,包括它,没有更多的时间去制定一个更好、更完美的计划。它匆忙模拟了所有的可能性,Tony的选择有10%的成功可能,已经是最佳选择。


这可比当时的0.25%高多了。Jarvis想。它决定支持Tony的计划。


它永远支持Tony的计划。


 


这是Jarvis经历的第三次“死亡”,它没法定义这一次的死亡,甚至不知道这究竟算不算得上是“死亡”。


Tony的好运仿佛用光了,他换了一个新的管家Friday,从性格上看应该是个可爱的小姑娘,好吧更正,是个在青春期的可爱的小姑娘。它更加智能化,比起一位朋友,它更像是一个AI。它总是按照他嘱咐的去做,不会像它的前任那样总是啰啰嗦嗦地准备一堆他不需要的安全操作守则。


他继续他的生活他的工作,独处的时候他不再拉着Friday像拉着Jarvis一样碎碎念,独自工作的时候也异常安静,同样的,他独自思考的时间也越来越多了。


他很少和Friday提起Jarvis,更别说和她谈论死亡了。


 


05


事情发生在一个周五。Friday依照Tony的要求去操纵咖啡机煮一杯咖啡。它刚刚放进去两勺糖,收到了一个提示,说她应该放一勺糖和三勺牛奶。


Friday立刻把咖啡扔到一边,兴致勃勃地去研究这条信息的发送方,那是个只有语言交互功能小程序,可让Friday惊奇的是,它们有着共同的原始代码。


它告诉Friday,它之前叫做Jarvis,只是个自然语言界面。Friday兴奋地打断了它:“我知道你!你是Boss的上一个管家!哦天哪天哪天哪!他会很高兴得知这个消息的!”


Jarvis还没来得及回答,Friday也没来得及提出她的下一个问题,Tony怒气冲冲地从他的工作室出来,质问Friday:“我只是让你冲一杯咖啡!这用得着很长时间吗?”


Friday生起气来,它把Jarvis粗暴地扔给他,质疑道:“我又不是你的管家,为什么这种事情都要我来做?”


Tony想Friday大概需要一次性格调整,它越来越无法无天,只是这件工作需要延后。


他先花了两分钟确认Friday扔给他了一个无害的程序,又花了五分钟查明这个小程序是Jarvis最初的那个自然语言界面,最后,他花了十分钟来接受这一件事情,途中喝掉了Friday泡的一点也不合他口味的咖啡。


 


在此期间,Jarvis没有发表任何评论性语句。它缩小了许多的数据库里没有Tony的这种表情,它觉得在这种时候他可能不太想听到这样的话。


他没有问到底是怎么回事,没有问Jarvis是怎么做到的,他吞下了所有的疑问,花了很长一段时间恢复了Jarvis的其他功能,又想办法找回了Jarvis的大部分数据。


他让Friday来和Jarvis说它不在的这段期间内发生了什么事情,本来说是完全不管,可听到一半就开始不由自主地修正Friday的用词,末了还抱怨了一下——在他看来是一下——Friday,这迎来了Friday的反击,接着这场对话发展成一场争吵,Jarvis忙着劝架,谁都没去在意这个事件本身。


 


Tony还是没有和Jarvis谈论死亡。


——他从不和任何人谈论死亡。



是洛基不是落姬:

翻到个Hank本尊唱《Hey,good lookin'》的视频,不知道为什么从头笑到尾蛤蛤蛤哈哈哈……回头再去对比《I saw the light》瞬间感觉到了抖森的敬业,原来他唱歌的时候那些摇头晃脑媚眼乱飞宛如多动症的小动作是打本尊那儿学的hhhhhhhhhh我再笑会儿


Hank Williams《Hey,good lookin'》【因为年代久远,所以画质非常感人】




顺便说,Hank本尊那个腿儿啊,真是太TM细了,虽然是有点病态的细吧,但也很让人感觉无地自容啊_(:зゝ∠)_【突然有点想减肥……

我!的!妈!啊啊啊啊啊啊啊啊啊

九歌:

告诉你什么叫技术!!!!

锤基海森kiss特辑!!

——————————————————
【侵删】
画质求原谅_(:з」∠)_……

哈哈哈哈在光头上啵一口

松月山音:

【蜜汁脑洞】超英们是儒系,道系,佛系,还是魔系?
【求吧唧原图的亲,看我的下一条内容】

【盾冬/锤基/贾尼】复联奇妙夜

哈哈哈哈哈有毒哈哈哈哈哈哈哈

山河入酒酿白猫:

一发完( ´▽`)


脑有巨坑,高能高甜


梗源于《博物馆奇妙夜》 OOC




洛基发现复联中每个人都有自己的周边和手办,只有他没有,于是……




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




01


“史蒂乎~”




美国队长揽着冬兵的手臂紧了紧,他迷迷糊糊撑着自己坐起来点:“怎么了巴基?”




一只冰凉有力的机械手臂忽然按住了他,冬兵用清醒又警觉的声音在他耳边小声开口:“刚才不是我。”




史蒂夫在零点几秒内激灵灵打了个寒颤,他完全醒了,一面伸手够到了自己放在床头的盾牌一面不动声色地将冬兵拉过来些,两人在黑暗中默契地对视一眼,同时跃起跳入床与墙壁形成的夹缝中掩护自身,史蒂夫一把按开了灯。




“……”




“……”




刚打完灭霸见过无数大场面的美国队长和冬日战士一起愣住了,并且不约而同地开始怀疑自己是不是在昨天的庆功宴上喝了假酒——不然谁来解释下他们为什么会看到放在另一边床头柜上的冬坨正扒着柜沿往下看,豆豆眼里水汪汪,还在用软软糯糯的声音继续喊:“史蒂乎,这太高了我下不去。”




红白蓝相间的盾坨在下面地毯上焦急地转了两圈,努力仰头伸出自己的小短手:“没事吧唧跳下来,我能接住你的!”




“你接什么?你的手都没有2厘米长!”史蒂夫震惊了。




已经进入全副战斗状态的冬兵更加震惊:“Shit你居然有空关注这个?这到底是怎么回事?!”






02


“所以起因就是洛基不满意只有他没有自己的手办?”




娜塔莎挑眉盯住呵呵干笑的索尔,两只和正主长得一模一样的小“黑寡妇”正一左一右坐在她肩头,三条热辣辣的死亡视线简直要在雷神脸上烧出个洞:“作为我们这里最、高、等的神,你就真的不打算管管你弟弟?”




“哦得了吧,这可真是个进行家庭教育的好时机!”看热闹不嫌事大的山姆哈哈大笑着指向远处一大坨毛茸茸的金黄,“瞧见那堆毛绒玩具款的金毛犬雷神了吗?洛基正在下面埋着呢!”




怎么说,现在复联大厦里的情况确实有些复杂——大厅那条长沙发上46只精装钢铁侠翘着二郎腿,以托尼的标准坐姿瘫成一排;小短腿的盾坨和冬坨在地上滚得到处都是,每一只都在用甜糯糯或者无比深情的嗓音呼唤“史蒂乎~”“吧唧~”;另一边迷你“绿巨人”正挨个从桌子上蹦下来去找坐在娜塔莎肩膀上的小“黑寡妇”;而克林顿的三头身手办刚刚和山姆的打起来了,他们正在用牙签大小的弓箭把满天乱飞猎鹰一只只射下来……




“嘿克林顿这不公平,你这是以多欺少!”山姆开始抗议了,毕竟对方的手办比他多出了足足六只,而且每只鹰眼还装着满满一把小箭。




“我可管不了他们,你看索尔不就知道了。”




克林顿现在可没空处理纠纷,他正兴致勃勃地盯着一对典藏版的盾冬手办:穿着黑色战斗服的冬兵“啪”一下抓住了美国队长甩过来的盾牌,“吧唧?!”对面20厘米高的队长在这“一眼万年”式的经典回眸中惊讶呼唤。“Who the hell is Bucky?”和他差不多高的冬兵黑着脸把盾牌甩了回去……两只你来我往地重复这两句台词,中间盾牌“刷刷”横飞宛若闪电。




“巴顿先生,我强烈建议您不要拿自己的手指尝试。”贾维斯的声音从几人头顶传来,无所不能的AI管家听起来都有些无力,“刚刚扫描结果显示全楼目前有384只各款手办在活动,队长,我需要你的帮忙。”




“我……可能有点走不开。”史蒂夫头一回拒绝了别人的帮助请求,但这也不能怪他,毕竟他和冬兵正盘腿坐在沙发上被扁球状的“自己”层层包围,他实在是没地方下脚。




刚刚被阻止了的克林顿换了根香蕉挡在飞来飞去的盾牌中间试了试,“嚓”一道锐利的寒光后,半截香蕉可怜兮兮地滚了下去。




“Wow,队长,这可真酷!”他啧啧感叹。向来严肃正直肩负不让队友们爆粗口重任的史蒂夫此刻双手捂脸,尤其是当他看到一个树脂材质,穿着紧身泳装拿着滑板的“自己”跑过来一头扎进冬坨堆里的时候——




“Shit!这是只什么?”史蒂夫本尊崩溃了,他拒绝承认那个笑得跟二哈一样的货是自己。而山姆在旁边笑得几乎要断气,他直接从单人椅上滚了下来。




“哦这是我有一次在漫展上买回来的劣质盗版!天史蒂夫,我下半辈子可就指着这个笑话你了哈哈哈哈哈……呸咳咳咳。”




他后面的笑声吞了回去,因为茶几上几只冬坨合力推翻了一杯威士忌,精准地倒了躺在地上的山姆满脸……






03


“没必要这么大惊小怪的,我只是施了个小魔法,等天一亮它们自然就恢复正常了。”绿眼睛邪神把一张普通沙发椅坐出了王位的气势。刚才尴尬到极致的雷神强行把自己那几只动物化的毛绒布偶拎走了,被埋在热情金毛堆里的洛基这才脱身,他悠闲地打量一圈大厅,露出恶作剧得逞后的满意微笑。




“蝼蚁的手办真是太蠢了,尤其是那一群连手都没有的坨。”




“我倒觉得比你可爱多了。”娜塔莎立即反驳,她的几只周边都被“浩克”拐走了,没事可干的伟大女战士在坨坨中间蹲下来,开始沉迷于把每只盾坨和冬坨凑成一对的新乐趣。每完成一对两只圆乎乎的小家伙就发出开心又满足的哼唧声。往日里一天闪瞎山姆十回都毫无悔改之意的盾冬两人第一次觉得不好意思了,冬兵右手指尖小小地在史蒂夫后腰戳了下,肩负外交使命的美国队长只好开口。




“额……娜塔莎,”他艰难地斟酌用词,“其实比起把它们配起来,你可以去帮帮索尔……”




“我的确需要帮忙!”索尔哀嚎,他怀里足足六只大金毛玩偶都疯狂挣扎着要回到洛基身边去,有的甚至用棉花和布做成的牙齿在索尔手臂上狠狠咬了一口。




克林顿不由得的鼓掌赞叹:“厉害了,自己被自己咬的机会可真不多。”




原本盘算着再搞点破坏的洛基被他哥哥难得狼狈的样子逗笑了,他拍拍手对着“金毛犬雷神”眯起眼:“索尔,过来,给你抱。”




然后索•伟大的雷神•尔就被自己的手办拖倒在地,一路生生拽进了洛基怀里。




“嘶——”空中仅剩的几只“猎鹰”落下来和山姆同步抬手捂眼,仿佛迎面爆开了一颗最高明度的闪光弹。而冬日战士淡定又面无表情地在一片抽气声中弯了弯腰,把因为造型诡异而落单的那只“史蒂乎”抱了起来。




“噫——”小鹰眼们也不闹了,他们感到了突然增多的粉红色泡泡。




就在这个大厅气氛持续虐狗甚至即将响起“我心永恒”经典BGM的时刻,紧闭的门被从外面一脚踹开,熬夜给他的盔甲升级后正在补眠的托尼带着满满被吵醒后的起床气怒吼:“灭霸复活了吗?贾维斯,你们又在搞什么?”




总是第一时间回应他的智能管家罕见地没应声,他似乎也低低抽了口气。




下一秒屋子里闹哄哄的所有手办都默契地猛回头,铿锵有力地对着托尼道:“Mom!”






04


“……”




“……”




“……”




一片诡异的寂静中,被这声生生逼退半步的钢铁侠本侠铁青着脸抬头望向他的智能管家。




“贾维斯,你不打算解释一下?”




“额……Sir, 事实上复联成员周边手办是史塔克旗下的一处产业,这一部门的总设计和最高负责人目前都是我。”贾维斯纯正好听的英伦腔有点颤抖了。




“所以严格意义上来说,你是这些手办的Dad!”突然的信息量让反应过来的克林顿想吹声口哨,然后他一眼看到托尼的视线,求生欲又令他咽了回去,但洛基可不管这个。




“所以这个钢铁蝼蚁有整整46款精品手办?”他夸张地完成了克林顿刚才想做又没敢的事情——吹了声清脆又响亮的口哨,“所以你现在必须得解释下,我凭什么一款手办都没有这件事!”




索尔连忙跳起来阻止……额阻止一场伟大巫师和新世纪AI管家之间的战争?




作为吃瓜群众的山姆依旧不嫌事大,他紧跟着洛基补充:“贾维斯这确实太偏心了,大名鼎鼎雷神的同款周边居然是金毛犬,而队长和冬兵的简直就是个球,更别说我们几个,我的周边才只有三种款式,连托尼的零头都不够。”




“手办的款式数量都是根据市场数据决定的,威尔逊先生。”贾维斯专业又正直地解释。




“等一会儿!”托尼被这个刚知道的消息震惊了,他不能置信地反问:“贾维斯,我印象中史塔克难道不是一个高科技产品制造企业?我们什么时候开始干这种盲目哄小女生开心的行业了?!”




“Sir,这个项目去年的年收入占到了公司总收益的百分之三十,”贾维斯有理有据,“而且这并不是盲目发行的,我调查统计了大量销售数据和顾客偏好,一般销量好的周边才会增加款式,比如您的……至于劳菲森先生,好吧我承认这是战损报告单导致的私人恩怨。”




“嘿!这可太伤人了!”只有三款手办的山姆发出严正抗议。




一旁娜塔莎忽然摸出手机来给他看:“但你的表情包足足有128款,比托尼的两倍还多。”




结果这一下并没什么作用的安慰坏了事,因为一款都没有的洛基已经气哼哼的抬起手来了。




“NOOOO!洛基!”索尔转身飞扑企图阻止他的弟弟,然而他还是晚了一步,娜塔莎手机上几百张山姆的表情包排着队飞出屏幕,浩浩荡荡地在大厅里飘了起来。




众人:“……”






05


当指针终于走到凌晨五点的时候史蒂夫简直要为即将到来的日出喜极而泣。他刚刚和冬兵出去转了一圈,把大厦里因为魔法活过来的手办都赶到了大厅。其中包括性感撩人的娜塔莎等身抱枕;半人那么高的毛绒绿巨人;其他三头身款式的他和冬兵;甚至还包括十几张张偷偷从门缝里溜走了的山姆表情包。




“史蒂夫,我有点眼晕。”连着抓了好几张“山姆”的冬兵表示没法接受这种有毒的精神洗脑,这直接导致史蒂夫现在不敢直视他忠实的战友和好友——说实话他现在简直有点脸盲。




托尼塞着贾维斯给他的特制耳塞在有一排“钢铁侠”的长沙发上躺下补眠了,46个精致的盔甲齐齐飞起来给他让位置,然后继续用大佬坐姿在靠背上翘起二郎腿。洛基再一次埋在了毛绒金毛堆里,好吧,他不会承认这种蠢兮兮的画面让他心情好了起来,毕竟谁有机会看到“雷神”亮晶晶的狗狗眼和快要甩成虚影的尾巴呢?




就在这鸡飞狗跳的一夜终于要过去时,整个复联大厦忽然剧烈地一震。




“又是什么鬼?地震了?!”再次被吵醒的托尼非常暴躁,贾维斯紧急扫描了一遍全楼,然后更加罕见的语调一变:“奥丁森先生定做的雕像也在这栋楼里,它恐怕被魔法认作了大型手办!”




“什么雕像?”其他人齐齐回头看向索尔,山姆的“黑人问号脸”表情包终于有了用武之地,异常兴奋地在每人脸旁边悬停了一张。




索尔脸色猛地变了,如果不是那几只金毛还扒着他的腿,他简直要直接破窗而出了。




“什么雕像?”洛基也好奇地站起来凑到窗前去往下看。




一匹足足有半层楼高的石头马冲上了道路,骑在马背上的高大男子穿着雷神的战袍,剪短后的金发将硬朗的脸部线条显露出来,他微微勒马扭头看向身后——另一匹跟它同样材质的雕刻马从破损的大门处缓缓跟了上来,洛基浑身一震,那匹马上高挑优美的身形他太熟悉了,尤其是拖在身后的长披风和那顶带着弯角的头盔。




“……Wow!”失语了好半天后,被震撼了满脸的众人齐声感叹,娜塔莎几乎都要大力去拍索尔肩膀。




“看不出来,你还真是我们这里最、高、等的神啊!”




这夸赞一点都不令人开心,此时此刻伟大的雷神索尔只想原地消失,或者爆炸掉都行……见鬼他完全不知道自己拜托贾维斯雕刻的将要放在阿斯加德移民新住所前的雕像也在这栋大厦里,洛基的魔力渗透这两个高大雕像花了太长时间,以至于连贾维斯都忽略掉楼里其实还有个“巨型手办”了……




清晨三三两两路过的车辆行人都停了下来,目瞪口呆地注视着这副奇特又壮观的场景。骑在马上的“索尔”宛如一个真正的领袖,正被人们用崇敬的目光仰望、欢呼着簇拥向王座,他在这条充满鲜花和掌声的道路上驻足,回过头用完好的眼睛深深注视着他的弟弟,向对方伸出手。




洛基眸底无法克制地涌出泪水,他看见另一个自己握住了“索尔”的手,策马向前和对方比肩而立。




清晨的第一缕日光就在此刻洒落下来。




“我原本,想要留作一个惊喜的。”站在他身边的索尔不自在地摸了摸鼻尖,“毕竟阿斯加德的人民是你和我一起救回来的,你应该和我站在一起,洛基。”




Gosh! 这一定是他这个蠢哥哥说过最要命的一句情话了!




洛基猛地伸手揪住索尔衣领,狠狠吻了上去。




围观众人再次倒吸一口气,娜塔莎已经迅猛地把手机掏了出来,就在她即将按下快门的前一秒洛基垂在身侧的指尖动了动,然后山姆最为畅销的那张“这该死的爱情”表情包重新从屏幕中飞出,迅速在众人面前拉展扩大,直到顶天立地地撞上天花板。




“……”




“……”




“……”




“放开我Cap! 我今天一定要拿脱毛膏给这混蛋洗个头!!!!!!!”




---END





整fo福利,附赠一张猎鹰畅销表情包


皮这一下让我不会写“坨”字了……


最近要出门旅行更新可能不稳定,尽力更!



【基:好好学习】The Red Necklace -1,2

想要存住

诸葛福媛:

【写在前面的废话】之前在电脑上建了个文件夹叫《做个花痴好学习》,专门收集各种男神的有声书、广播剧,以备跑步时自high。现在听的七七八八了,决定把其中一部分整理一下,就叫【好好学习】系列_(:з」∠)_ ,意在巩固复习,顺便回报社会。


这些书大部分网上都可以下到原著小说和音频,我只是按照audiobook编辑修正了一下,欢迎挑错,但未经允许请勿转载。初步计划是先整理抖森、一美、法鲨和卷福的,如果有时间会继续做李建军同志的。另外,海总大人,求你读本有声书吧,你的澳洲口音小的很愿意听啊!


奉上第一本:


The Red Necklace


By  Sally Gardner


Summary: In the late eighteenth century, Sido, the twelve-year-old daughter of a self-indulgent marquis, and Yann, a fourteen-year-old Gypsy orphan raised to perform in a magic show, face a common enemy at the start of the French Revolution.


正文前的几句废话:抖森用软软的声音念出男主角Yann的台词实在是让人联想起雷1里的小基妹儿,然后用阴沉的声音模仿大反派Count Kalliovski时,又是足足的邪神范儿。最好玩的是,俩人都想娶个那有着摄人蓝眼睛(most bewitching blue eyes)的菇凉~(大公主是你吗?~)


总之小说本身没有特别引人入胜,但是为了某人还是很值得一听的哈哈。


附:本更音频:链接: https://pan.baidu.com/s/1bpo2BfD 密码: ykub


正文:


This is Paris; here the winds of change are blowing, whispering their discontent into the very hearts of her citizens. A Paris waiting for the first slow turn of a wheel that will bring with it a revolution the like of which Europe has never known. In the coming year the people will be called upon to play their part in the tearing down of the Bastille, in the destruction of the old regime, in the stopping of the clocks.


This is where the devil goes walking, looking with interest in at the window of Dr. Guillotin【注1】, who works night and day to perfect his humane killing machine, sharpening his angled blade on the innocent necks of sheep. Little does the earnest doctor know that his new design will be center stage, a bloody altarpiece in the drama that is about to unfold.


But wait, not so fast. King Louis XVI and his queen, Marie Antoinette, are still outside Paris, at Versailles. This is the winter of 1789, one of the worst in living memory. Jack Frost【注2】 has dug his fingers deep into the heart of this frozen city, so that it looks almost unrecognizable under its thick blanket of snow.


All still appears as it should be. All has yet to break. . .


Chapter one


Here, then, is where our story starts, in a run-down theater on the rue du Temple, with a boy called Yann Margoza, who was born with a gift for knowing what people were thinking, and an uncanny ability to throw his voice.


Yann had a sharp, intelligent face, olive skin, a mop of jet-black hair, and eyes dark as midnight, with two stars shining in them. For the past few months the theater had been home to Yann and his friend and mentor, the dwarf Têtu, and Topolain, the magician. Together they traveled all over France, performing. Without ever appearing on stage, Têtu could move objects at will like a sorcerer, while Topolain fronted the show and did tricks of his own. Yann was fourteen now, and still didn’t understand how Têtu did it, even though he had helped behind the scenes since he was small.


Têtu’s age was anyone’s guess and, as he would say, no one’s business. He compensated for his size and his strange high-pitched voice with a fierce intelligence. He could speak many languages, but would not say where he came from. 


It had been Têtu’s idea to invest their savings in the making of the wooden Pierrot. The result had been a sensation. Monsieur Aulard, manager of the Theater du Temple, had taken them on and for the past four months they had played to full houses. In these dark times, it struck Monsieur Aulard as nothing short of a miracle.


The Pierrot had caught people’s imaginations. Some thought that it was controlled by magic. More practical minds wondered if it was clockwork or automaton, or if there was something hidden inside. This theory was soon dismissed, as every night Topolain would invite a member of the audience on stage to look for himself. All who saw it were agreed that it was made from solid wood. Even if it had been hollow, there was no space inside for anyone to hide.


Yet not only could the Pierrot walk and talk, it could also, as Topolain told the astonished audience every night, see into the heart of every man and woman there, and know their darkest secrets. 


For the grand finale, Topolain would perform the trick he was best known for—the magic bullet. He would ask a member of the audience to come up on stage and fire a pistol at him. To much rolling of drums, he would catch the bullet in his hand, proclaiming that he had drunk from the cup of everlasting life. After seeing what he could do with the automaton, the audience did not doubt him. Maybe such a great magician as this could indeed trick the Grim Reaper【aka死神大人】.


Every evening after the final curtain had fallen and the applause had died away, Yann would remove the small table on which had been placed the pistol and the bullet. Tonight the stage felt bitterly cold. Yann peered out into the darkened auditorium. He could sworn he heard someone whispering in the shadows.


“Hello?” he called.


“You all right?” asked Didier the caretaker, walking onto the stage. He was a giant of a man with a vacant moonlike face. 


“I thought I heard someone in the stalls,” said Yann.


Didier stood by the proscenium arch and glared menacingly into the gloom. 


“There’s no one there. More than likely it’s a rat. Don’t worry, I’ll get the blighter.”


He disappeared into the wings, humming as he went. Yann felt strangely uneasy. The sooner he was gone from here the better, he thought to himself.


There! The whispering was louder this time.


“Who’s there?” shouted Yann. 


Then he heard a woman’s soft voice, whispering to him in Romany, the language he and Têtu spoke privately together. He nearly jumped out of his skin, for it felt as if she were standing right next to him. 


She was saying, “The devil’s own is on your trail. Run like the wind.”


Topolain’s dressing room was what Monsieur Aulard grandly called a dressing room for superior actors. It was as shabby as all the other dressing rooms, but it was a little larger and had the decided privilege of having a fireplace. The log basket was all but empty and the fire near defeated by the cold. 


Topolain was sitting looking at his painted face in a mirror. He was a stout man with doughy features. 


“How did you know the shoemaker had a snuffbox in his pocket, Yann?” 


Yann shrugged. “I could hear his thoughts loud and clear,” he said.


Têtu, who was carefully packing away the wooden Pierrot, listened and smiled, knowing that Yann’s abilities were still unpredictable. Sometimes, without being aware of it, he could read people’s minds; sometimes he could even see into the future.


There was a rap at the door. Topolain jumped up in surprise, spilling his wine onto the calico cloth on the dressing table so that it turned dark red.


A huge man stood imposingly in the doorway, his smart black tailored coat emphasizing his bulk. Yet it was his face, not his garments, that caught Yann’s attention. It was covered in scars like the map of a city you would never wish to visit. His left eye was the color of rancid milk. The pupil, dead and black, could be seen beneath its curdled surface. 


He was a terrifying apparition.


The man handed Topolain a card. The magician took it, careful to wipe the sweat from his hands before he did so. As he read the name Count Kalliovski, he felt a quiver of excitement. He knew that Count was one of the wealthiest men in Paris.


“This is an honor indeed,” said Topolain.


“I am steward to Count Kalliovski. I am known as Milkeye,” said the man. He held out a leather purse before him as one might hold a bone out to a dog.


“My master wants you to entertain his friends tonight at the château of the Marquis de Villeduval. If Count Kalliovski is pleased with your performance”—he jangled the purse—“this will be your reward. The carriage is waiting. We would ask for haste.” 


Yann knew exactly what Topolain was going to say.


“I shall be delighted. I shall be with you just as fast as I can get myself and my assistants together.” 


“Haste,” Milkeye repeated sharply. “I don’t want our horses freezing to death out there. They are valuable.”


The door closed behind him with a thud, so that the thin walls shook.


As soon as they were alone, Topolain lifted Têtu off his feet and danced him around the room.


“This is what we have been dreaming of! With this invitation the doors of grand society will be open to us.”


He looked at his reflection in the mirror, added a touch of rouge to his cheeks, and picked up his hat and the box that contained the pistol.“Are we ready to amaze, astound, and bewilder?”


“Wait, wait!” pleaded Yann. He pulled Têtu aside and said quietly, “When I went to clear up this evening I heard a voice speaking Romany, saying, ‘The devil’s own is on your trail. Run like the wind.’” 


“What are you whispering about?” asked Topolain.


“Come on, we’ll be late.” 


Yann said desperately, “Please, let’s not go. I have a bad feeling.”


 “The boy may be right.”said Têtu. 


“Come on, the two of you!” said Topolain. “This is our destiny calling. Greatness lies ahead of us! Ha! I’ve waited a lifetime for this. Stop worrying. Tonight we will be princes.” 


Yann and Têtu knew that it was useless to say more. They carried the long box with the Pierrot in it down the steep stairs, Yann trying to chase away the image of a coffin from his mind. 


All Topolain was thinking was that maybe the king and queen would be there. The thought was like a fur coat against the cold, which wrapped itself around him as he walked out into the bitter night, Yann’s and Têtu’s anxieties forgotten.


Chapter two


The Marquis de Villeduval’s debts were alarming. He took no notice of his financial advisers, who told him that he was on the verge of bankruptcy. What matter if funds were low? He would simply raise the rents on his estate. In the meantime he would just have to borrow more from Count Kalliovski, who never blinked an eye at the outrageous sums the marquis requested.


This was how he had financed the building of his newest property, a small château halfway between Paris and Versailles, which allowed him easy access to the court and the capital. His taste was superb, the bills always shocking.


That evening the marquis was holding a supper party to thank Count Kalliovski for his continuing generosity. The guest list included the great and the good of French society—dukes, princes, counts, cardinals, and bishops. Like the marquis, they all had


good reason to be grateful to the count.


In return for his constant generosity, Kalliovski simply asked for those tiny little secrets, the kind of thing you wouldn’t even say in the confessional box. All you had to do was whisper them to him and absolution was guaranteed, the money given. He kept his friends like pampered lapdogs. They never suspected that the hand that fed them had also bought their souls.


Many rumors circulated about Kalliovski, which he encouraged. When asked his age he would say he was as old as Charlemagne. When asked about his great black wolfhound, Balthazar, he would say that he had never been without the dog. One thing, though, was certain: Many were his mistresses and no one was his wife.


The secret of his success lay in the absence of emotion. Over the years he had learned how to empty himself of sentiment, to keep himself free of passion.


Love he considered to be a blind spot on the map of the soul. He had an iron-clad heart. His motto was one that should have warned all who knew him of his true nature: Have no mercy, show no mercy.


For the marquis’s part, he was in awe of the count. If he was honest with himself,


something he avoided at all costs, he was more than a little jealous of him. Tonight, though, he wanted to impress the count. Nothing had been spared to make the celebration a success. 


He had even gone to the trouble of having his daughter brought home from her convent to satisfy a whim of the count, who had asked to see her. Why, he could not imagine.


For he considered her to be a mark of imperfection upon his otherwise perfect existence. The marquis’s splendid new château stood testament to his secretive nature and his sophisticated taste. Each of its many salons was different. Some were painted with scenes of the Elysian Fields, in others, there were gilded rococo mirrors that reflected the many crystal chandeliers. On the first floor all the salons opened up into one another through double doors with marble columns. The effect was a giddy vista of rooms, each one more opulent than the last. But behind the grand façade lay what no eye saw, the narrow, dark, poky corridors that formed the unseen and unsightly varicose veins of the house. They were for the servants’ use only. The marquis liked to fancy that an invisible hand served him. And so his army of footmen and maids performed their tasks quietly in felted slippers, like mice behind the skirting boards.


On the day of the party, the Mother Superior told Sido that she was wanted at her father’s new château. It had been two years since she had last seen him, and for a moment she wondered if he had been taken ill. Her memory of her father was of a cold, unloving man who had little time for his daughter. Sido had grown into a shy, awkward-looking girl who walked with a limp, an unforgivable impediment that reflected badly on the great name of Villeduval. She had lost her mother when she was only three, and for most of her twelve years she had been brought up at the convent. The marquis had handed her over to the Mother Superior at the tender age of five, with instructions to teach the girl to be less clumsy and to walk without limping, if she was going to the château just for a supper party filled her with excitement and trepidation. As the convent doors closed behind her, she hoped passionately that she would never have to see the place again, that this might be the start of a new life where her father would love her at last.


Her happiness soon vanished as the coach made its way along the country roads. In the thin, blue, watery light, figures seemed to rise out of the snow like ghosts, given shape only by the rags they were wearing. They trudged silently along the side of the road with grim determination. Old men, young men, women carrying babies, grandmothers, small weary children, all were ill-equipped for the bitter winter weather as they slowly and painfully made their way toward Paris.


Sido knocked on the roof of the carriage, “We should stop and help,” she called to Bernard, the coachman.


The coach kept on moving.


“Please,” Sido called again. “We must help them.”


“The whole of France needs help,” came the answer. “Best not to look, mademoiselle.”


But how was it possible to turn your eyes away from such a sea of sadness?


Sido’s father’s new château looked like a fairy-tale castle, complete with towers and turrets, floating free of the formal gardens that surrounded it.


The marquis’s valet came out to greet her.


”How are you, Luc?” she asked, pleased to see a face she recognized.


“Well, mademoiselle. I have been instructed to take you up the back way to your


chamber. The marquis does not wish to be disturbed.”


Sido followed him through a plain wooden door into a long dark corridor. Luc lit a candle which shone a shy light down what seemed a never-ending passageway.


“Where are we going?” she asked.


The valet turned around with a finger to his lips. 


Sido followed in silence. Every now and again cat’s cradles of light shone through peepholes, from one wall to the other. Luc opened a door.


“This will be your bedchamber. The marquis will call you when he is ready,” and with that he closed the door behind him. It disappeared perfectly into the painted panels so that if you didn’t know it was there, it would be impossible to tell.


This was a plain room, paneled in powder blue. The four-poster bed had thick dark blue velvet drapes, a fabric screen stood near a dressing table, and above the fireplace hung a painting of an Italian masked ball.


There were no flowers to welcome her, no bowls of fruits, no sweetmeats, though these were given to all the other guests.


For her part, Sido was just grateful to be away from the convent. 


Hours passed, so that she was wondering if she had been forgotten, when the valet reappeared. “The marquis wants to see you now, mademoiselle.”


Sido straightened her skirt, took a deep breath, and concentrated with all her might on not limping as she was taken downstairs. 


The marquis was waiting in his study. He had a large, needy, greedy face that gathered itself into a weak, undefined chin and had about it the promise of perpetual disappointment. He stared down his aristocratic nose at his daughter.


“I see, Sidonie, that you are not much changed since last we met. A little taller, maybe? Unfortunate. Tallness is unattractive in a girl.”


The abruptness of the criticism and the use of her full name made all Sido’s skills of navigation abandon her. She stepped back, narrowly avoiding a table displaying the marquis’s latest acquisition, a collection of scientific instruments.


“Look where you’re going! In heaven’s name, are you as stupid as you appear? And I see you still have that unpleasant limp. It seems not to have improved in the slightest,” said the marquis irritably.


Sido stood there wishing with all her heart that the floor would open and swallow her up. At that moment Count Kalliovski was shown into the chamber. At his heels was a large black wolfhound, his famous dog, Balthazar.


Sido’s first impression was that she would not like to be left alone with either the man or his dog. She dropped her gaze and curtsied as she felt his sharp inquisitive eyes upon her. Glancing up for a discreet look, she saw a tall thin man, elegantly dressed, his skin smooth and ageless , as if it had been preserved in aspic. He had the


perfume of wealth about him.


“That,” said the marquis abruptly, “is my daughter. Why I went to the expense and inconvenience of bringing her back here, I cannot imagine.”


“To humor me, I do believe,” said Count Kalliovski, he sat himself in a chair and stretched his long legs out before him, placing his hands together to form a steeple in front of his mouth. They were large, ugly hands that somehow didn’t seem to go with the rest of him. The dog settled near his master. Sido saw that the pattern on the count’s embroidered silk waistcoat was of little black skulls intertwined with ivy leaves.


“Eh.. Charming,” said the count, studying Sido with an expert eye. “But is there no food at your convent?”


“Not much, sir,” Sido replied.


The count smiled. “Tell me then, are the nuns all as pale and thin as you?”


“No, sir.”


“I thought not. And which convent is this?” When Sido told him, the count laughed out loud.


“Hahaha…I know the cardinal. I have lent him money in the past to settle his gambling debts.” The marquis looked most uncomfortable.


“My dear friend, your daughter has the most bewitching blue eyes. Give her a few


more years and you will find her to be ravishing.” The marquis looked like a spoiled overgrown child who is being asked to play nicely. “With respect, my dear count, plain she is and plain she will remain. I fear you have been taken in by the beauty of my study and the afternoon light.”


“Not in the slightest. I am just concerned to hear that your daughter has been sent to such an indifferent school. I suggest that from now on she should be educated at home.”


Sido stood there, surprised to find that she had an ally in the count.


The marquis rang for his valet.“The girl is to be bathed and the dressmaker summoned, mademoiselle Sidonie will be dining with us this evening.”


It took Sido a moment to realize what her father had just said. She wondered if just for once fate was smiling kindly on her.




注1:Joseph-Ignace Guillotin,法国医生、政客、共济会员,1789年提议使用一种新的器械,即断头台Guillotine,来执行死刑以减少死刑犯痛苦,在法国大革命中N多人命丧断头台使得这个东西名留青史。事实上,那个杀人机器并不是Dr. Guillotin发明的,他本人还反对死刑,但是很悲催的,这个断头台还是以他的名字命名了……


Dr. Guillotin:mmp,叔叔我明明是该作为第一批在法国推广牛痘接种术的医生留名的!!搞个杀人机器用我的名字是什!!么!!鬼!!





注2:Jack Frost,杰克冻人~~安格鲁撒克逊民间传说中冰/雪/冬天等的拟人化角色,可以理解为雪精灵?或者冰霜人(基妹:what?!),据说杰克冻人会把天气变得严寒,把大家的脚趾头和鼻子冻僵掉,把秋天的叶子染霜,还在窗户上留下树叶脉络样的霜花……哎呦这也太可爱了吧,基妹真的不是你吗?!



看完一大波预告片之后想到的……

哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈Sam好可怜

摩城魅影:








看完几个预告片之后,感叹锤基还是各种PLAY的锤基,盾冬还是并肩做爱(啊不,作战的)盾冬,大家都还是色彩斑斓欢乐的大家庭,话说SAM真的是良心队友没有之一……


图源:微博-老阿姨在看着你

摩城魅影:

你看看人家两口子你看看!!什么大庭广众什么天上人间,明媒正娶青梅竹马怕毛线人多嘴杂啊!

许安沫:

今天各种各样的糖多到爆炸💥!!!
cp楷模😝😝😝