【ao3授权翻译】Ash and bone

Arlington:

灰与骨


作者:sumirufus


翻译:Axa( @Axa_ );Alco(我)


后附英文原文和授权,cp:骨鲶/鲶骨(并不明显),乙女向,全文为骨喰的第二人称视角


(翻译水平有限有些原文里的感觉没有表达到位请见谅,欢迎大家指错。以及原文真的很美推荐大家阅读。)


穿透燃烧的钢铁与烟雾,你听到了呼唤。


在两人之中,你是最先听到呼唤的那一个。托起你的那双手,比周围更加寒冷,但却又异常地温暖。


这双手把你带出黑暗。


终于,你睁开双眼。


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


一个人站在眼前,她的衣服被汗濡湿,脸颊泛红、还蹭着焦黑的颜色。她向你露出微笑。也许是你从未见过的温柔笑容。


…真是,不可思议,


这个人又一次地把你从烈火中拉出,(在内心里,你很感谢她。


因为她的缘故,从此以后,再也没有烈焰与燃火了。)


但是你内心的感觉告诉你,站在眼前的她,这位小小的神,是你的新主人。


轻轻地鞠了一个躬,你简短地报上名字,她向你微笑,这时你觉得你得到了整个世界。


或许,这就是一切的起始,你这样想。


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


很快,你的生活走上正轨,或许正是因为你的性格,他人鲜少接近你。老实说,你内心里却着实喜欢着这样的生活方式。一个人的生活很平静,而审神者所给予的书籍正好可以用于打发无聊时光。


有时你会被书里的汉字难住,而你也从不记得以前是否读过这些。(火焰,永远不会从你的记忆中褪去,甚至于这些字看上去也像是在熊熊燃烧着一般,吞噬手中的书页。)


尽管如此,阅读还是令人享受的。


 


审神者有时还会询问你对于这些书的看法。“很好。”“真不错”你总是用这样的话来回答。


这样的话,主人也会因此而高兴。


她带着一如既往的微笑,一如既往的温柔言语回应道:“我很高兴哦,希望你也能喜欢下一部。”


“在这种时候,你的刀刃和忠诚心是不是变了质?被她像傻瓜一样玩弄于鼓掌之间?”


你为此而感到困惑。


但是她的笑容挥之不去,魂牵梦萦。


坐在浴室里,抬头仰望天空。


就算是夜空中美丽的满月,比起她的唇边的笑容也相形见绌,显得无比苍白。


会这么想可能是因为读了太多爱情小说的缘故,以后要仔细地挑选书的类型再看。


归根究底,你是一把刀,不是个诗人。


你是一件武器,而并非人类。


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


在你认出他之前,鲶尾就已经认出了你。于是当你们重聚的时候,彼此都冲过去紧紧地抱住对方。他的力道很大,像是要杀人一样。


刚才的“袭击者”就是你的兄弟,意识到这点时,你有一种安心的感觉(这种感觉当然不可能公开承认)。


但鲶尾非常了解你,他眨了眨眼睛表示理解。


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


他的存在相对于你破碎的记忆是个稳固的根基。


你什么都不记得,而他有着比你稍多一些的回忆。这种存在于两人之间的微小联系是一种慰藉。鲶尾或许不理解他给你所带来的那种安心感,但这无关紧要。


毕竟你从不会对他承认这一点。


但你们是双子,你知道他有时会和你有相同的感觉。


(互相靠着彼此的后背,身上沾着血液而身体筋疲力尽,衣服变得破破烂烂。


最后一次重振精神,你举起刀。


痛苦的感觉沉重地冲击着沉默,像是鼓一样击打着,催促着,让你继续前行。)


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


审神者坚持亲手修理每一把刀剑,每个人都曾经躺在她的身旁单独接受治疗。


衣服都放在一旁整齐地叠好,而她治疗你的伤口时,如同对待着一件精细的玻璃艺术品一般小心翼翼。


为了不伤害你已经伤痕累累的躯体,每一次碰触都满怀爱意。她用轻柔的动作快速的处理你的伤口。一想到这,胸口就像是揪紧了一般,而脸颊像是在燃烧。这件事第一次发生的时候,你瞬间就回想起了那些燃尽你记忆的火焰,你因此而感到恐惧。


而这时她就会凝视着你。


她的眼神具有穿透力,这感觉比在她眼前衣不蔽体还要糟糕。


几乎无法承受这种眼神。


但最终还是妥协了,勉强地从喉咙挤出一句“我很好”。


接着治疗继续(审神者还是那样地专注于你的伤口。也许对你来说,这是一种折磨。)


她为你缠上绷带,身体已布满她手指碰触的痕迹。


 伤口被仔细地清理与包扎,就连普通的擦伤也不例外。你的身体即使有轻微的颤抖,审神者那充满关切的道歉便如雨水向你席卷而来。她的声音满怀痛苦与慈爱,让你难以做出回应。话语哽噎于胸中,如双肋间蝴蝶扇动着翅膀,想要破坏你的喉咙,甚至阻止你发出一个简单的音节。


这是一场折磨。


一场切实的身与心的折磨。所以你感到困惑,为什么在萌生重新接受主人怜悯的想法时,你的心脏在如此剧烈的跳动着。


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


你们是两个极其相似的存在,了解到对方所想从未被视作一件难事。朝夕间,晦朔间,他与你感受着同样的痛苦。


但鲶尾又与你不同。他从未隐瞒过内心的感受。他以你从未想象的方式依靠着审神者,宛如一只乖巧的黑猫,蜷伏在她的怀里,毫不避讳地表达着自己的喜爱之情。诸如此类的场景并未令你感到过震惊,本质上也从未令你妒忌。因为鲶尾是你一部分的映射,而你亦然。


但正因为你那不成文的原因,此刻审神者的笑容深深地伤害了你。


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


她对每一把刀剑都保持着同样的微笑,从未给予你,不,对你们中的任意一个特殊待遇。她的笑容,她的爱,对本丸中的每一把刀都是均等的。


那对你们而言正是最深刻的伤害。假如审神者对于谁有着超乎常态的执着,那一切也许都会令人更好受。但她的爱是普遍的,广博的,亦是纯粹的。即使你们已成为超乎刀剑的存在,于她而言,你们与她也只会是同伴,而非家人。


审神者不会体会到到她为你们所带来的痛苦。你无法忍受她带着与抚摸你时相同的心情抚摸其他的刀剑。


审神者在离开之前敲击鲶尾额头时,他的心境实在是太容易想象;当鲶尾露出那种严肃而认真的表情时,他的感受实在是太便于解读。你是如此的笃定,鲶尾藤四郎如镜子般,是你骨喰藤四郎的完美呈现。


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


看向我,请看着我,请只看着我,请更多的注视我,正如我注视你那般。爱我吧,不要将你的爱如此轻易的向别处播撒。


要怎样做,你才能看向我?


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


你无法解释变成这种局面的原因,亦不知是从谁开始。因为它太过突然,你甚至不能将其归咎于某一方的建议。此刻你只知道你的同胞兄弟鲶尾跨坐在你身上,而你乐意接受着他带来的压迫感,与他十指紧扣,纠缠在细雨般密集的吻中。一种痛苦的灼烧感从心底缓缓升起,它灼烧着你的身体,正如你生命尽头吞噬一切的那场大火,燃烧着你的身心,燃烧着你的五感。彼时映入耳中的,那孤独而绝望的呼吸声,此时却被轻声的喘息取而代之。那交融着你与他呼吸的声音,如同诉说着温柔祷告与美好的期冀。


你们内心深处的呼喊是为同一个人,却并不是对方。


当鲶尾滑坐在他的你房间的蒲团上时,他始终紧紧抓着你的手。指甲深深嵌入你的皮肤,像是要捏碎你手中所握的一切于你而言珍贵的事物,甚至连审神者也是。你感到痛苦而想要落泪。他握住你那手掌的温度与力道此刻显得如此的不合时宜,与你的期待相背而驰。鲶尾的手不像审神者那般温和,他只是孤注一掷的,急切的想要控制你。而这正是你们皆所拥有的。


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


审神者说你和鲶尾最近走的非常近,他笑了笑,打趣着说这是基于深厚的兄弟情谊。


在你身后,他的指甲深深嵌入你的手。


原文


ash and bone(粗体字为作者原文中的斜体字部分)


sumirufus


Summary:


behind your backs hisnails sink into the skin of your hand. -- honebami/saniwa/namazuo,honebami/namazuo


 


You are the first to be called betweenthe two of you, the first to hear the call through burning iron and and smoke.Hands hold you (they are soft, gentle, cooler than your surroundings but warm,so warm), pull you through darkness, and gradually you begin to open your eyes.


It is hard to imagine the person infront of you, sweating, ruddy, sooty, but smiling at you with a warmth you've (probably) never seen before, was the one who drew you from theflames again (and privately, you are thankful; no more fire, no more burning)but the feeling in your heart tells you that the person before you is. Thelittle sage before you is your new Master.


It is with a short bow, barely amovement, and curt words you give your name. The way Master smiles at you,you'd think you'd given the world.Perhaps, you think, that is when it began.


 


You settle into the ranks quiteeasily, despite your personality, or perhaps because of it; the othersgenerally stay out of your way and quite frankly that is how you prefer it. Itis peaceful alone, with the books Master showed you for company. You cannotremember if you read them before, sometimes a kanji catches you out (honoo will never fade from memory though, even the characterseems to burn and consume the pages you hold within your hands) but they areenjoyable, nonetheless.


Master asks you, sometimes, what youthink of them. Short responses of "it's okay" or "it's notbad" satisfy Master to an almost ridiculous degree. Always that smile,always those gentle words of "I'm glad, I hope you enjoy the next onestoo".


It's baffling, and on these occasionsyou wonder if your blade and loyalty has been placed into the hands of somefool.


But that smile haunts you. With the roomyou share bathed in silver, you look up at the full, beauteous moon and wonderhow it could possibly pale in comparison to the smile on your Master's lips.


Perhaps you have been reading too manyfanciful romances. You decide then to pay better attention to what sort of bookyou are picking up before reading it; you are, after all, a blade, not a poet.


You are a weapon, not a human.


Namazuo spots you before you spot himand that is precisely why your reunion starts with a tackle strong enough tokill a man and ends with yourself and your twin lying in the dirt. There is asense of peace you feel (one you will obviously never admit outwardly) when yourealise your assailant is your other half, but Namazuo knows you well and cantell from nothing but the way your eyebrow quirks.


His presence is like an anchor to youwith your fractured memories; though you remember next to nothing, and he slightlymore, there is a bond that connects you both, and it is balm. Namazuo might notunderstand the comfort he brings you, and that is fine with you; it is notsomething you would ever admit aloud. 


But you are twins, of a sort, and youimagine he feels the same. 


(Back to back, bloody and beaten, clothes torn to shreds, you lift yourblades as one and rally for one last time, the dull thud of pain the silentdrum you march to.)


Master insists on repairing all swordsby hand. There is not a single one of you who has not been sat down alone withMaster, had your clothes gently pushed to the side, and been treated as thoughyou were but a work of glass.


There is love in all of Master'stouches, light and fleeting so as not to hurt your already battered body, andthat notion alone makes your chest clench and face burn. The first time ithappens you flinch, thinking immediately back to the flames that consume yourmemories, and Master is there, concerned eyes gazing into yours. It's almost asbad as being unclothed in front of Master, the way that gaze pierces yours.It's almost unbearable. But you manage to squeeze out an unsteady "I'mfine", and the treatment (torture, perhaps, with how intently Masterconcentrates on your body, on your wounds) continues, peppered by soft clothand softer fingers.


Cuts are cleaned and banded, bruisestreated with equal care. If your body so much as twitches the apologies comelike rain, and Master's voice is so full of pain, concern, affection, none ofwhich you can answer, the words caught in your chest, fluttering likebutterflies between your ribs, too afraid to even breach your throat lest youlet them all spill out.


It's torture.


It's torture, so you wonder why yourheart pounds so at the thought of going back to the mercy of Master'shands. 


You are a twin, and it is not hard foryou to realise your other half, ebony to ivory, night to day, feels the samewrenching feelings you do.


Unlike you, however, your twin has neverheld anything back, and you see it in the way Namazuo almost clings to Master,snuggling and expressing affection openly in a way you will never be able tobring yourself to. It does not surprise you, seeing these displays. It does notmake you jealous per se, becauseNamazuo is almost a part of you as you are a part of him, but Master's smile atthese moments hurts you for both your sakes.


Master smiles the same way at everyone,not specially for you (either of you) -- Master's smile, and Master's love, isfor everyone.


That is what hurts you (both) most; if Masterwere to favour one above all, perhaps it would be easier, but Master's love isuniversal, all-encompassing, pure. Even if you are all seen as more thanswords, you will never been seen as more than comrades, as family. Master willnever experience this painful feeling for your brother (or you) as youexperience for Master. 


Master touches you lovingly the wayMaster touches all the other swords, and that is what you cannot bear.


It is all too easy to imagine the thingsNamazuo feels when Master strokes his head before leaving, all too easy to readthe serious look on Namazuo's face, because you do not have a single doubt thatNamazuo Toushirou mirrors Honebami Toushirou's heart nearly completely.


Look at me. Pleaselook at me, only at me, please see me as more than what I am to you. Look atme, please love me the most. Don't give your love so freely to everyone else.


What can I do to makeyou look at me?


You don't know which one of youstarted it (you don't say "suggested" because it all happened so suddenly),but you do know Namazuo was on top of you and you welcomed the pressure,fingers tangling together, lips meeting and parting over and over, and a slow,painful burning feeling in your body and in your heart. Burning, burning, likethe end of your previous life, except instead of your own dying breaths in yourears, it is soft pants like prayers and wishes, your voice and his melding intoone.


Both of you call out for the sameperson, not each other.


It's so painful you want to cry whenNamazuo slips into your futon and grabs your hand in his, gripping, not holding; his nails bite into your skin withstrength that would crush someone like Master. Everything about his grip is notwhat you want, from size to warmth to strength; Namazuo's hand is not thegentle hand of your Master, but his desperate grasp is all either of you have.


Master comments that you and Namazuoseem particularly close lately. Your other half smiles back, laughing it offwith the excuse of brotherhood, but behind your backs his nails sink into theskin of your hand.


授权



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