R/T: Ink, by Pirate Perian

Title: Ink

Pairing: Remus/Tonks

Rating: PG thorugh to R (it's in parts, see)

Author: Pirate Perian

URL:
1: http://www.livejournal.com/community/wolfandlady/36353.html#cutid1
2: http://www.livejournal.com/community/wolfandlady/36744.html#cutid1
3: http://www.livejournal.com/community/wolfandlady/36953.html#cutid1
4: http://www.livejournal.com/community/wolfandlady/37167.html#cutid1
5: http://www.livejournal.com/community/wolfandlady/37385.html#cutid1
6: http://www.livejournal.com/community/wolfandlady/37954.html#cutid1
7: http://www.livejournal.com/community/wolfandlady/38444.html#cutid1
8: http://www.livejournal.com/community/wolfandlady/39368.html#cutid1
9: http://www.livejournal.com/community/wolfandlady/40852.html#cutid1

Why everyone should read this: This story revolves around what I think is a unique premise: letters. There is very little of the 'and then he/she noticed that...' which has come to characterise so many stories of this ship- probably because most of it takes place in the form of notes that Tonks and Remus leave for one another.

Tonks and Remus correspond to one another through these notes because they barely see each other. The first note is a simple request, asking about a Christmas present for Sirius... but of course, these things never stay on their intended courses! The relationship develops on paper, with each note growing more bold as each party- especially Tonks- asks more and more of the other. When it comes to real-life meetings, though... oh dear! There is definitely a difference, and it is these constrasting complexities that Pirate Perian examines which really make the fic enjoyable.

The voice of Remus on paper is absolutely perfect, still retaining some of its innate 'professor-ness' while explaining topics that might otherwise seem rather awkward coming from him. As Tonks once thinks, Who in the world had ever written so eloquently about putting his hand up a girl’s shirt? Tonks, on the other hand, reacts to these notes in a manner that moves the reader from laughter to frustration, her thoughts swinging from an absolute certainty to abashed cluelessness. She is curious, yes, and at times almost painfully shy, all too aware that she might be asking questions that are too intimate. And yet, Remus replies to her in a surprising manner- with a frank honesty she should expect, but somehow never does, given the nature of the letters themselves.



Excerpt:

Seven notes later, he finally asked what she’d been hoping he wouldn’t.

No: that was a complete lie.

The proper part of her had been hoping he wouldn’t ask it, out of gentlemanly respect or some such nonsense, and every other part of her had been hoping he would be interested enough in her to disregard respect and just ask anyway.

And since she had already resolved, for some reason that she couldn’t quite name, to be completely honest about these matters, her reply to him was, “No.”

She hesitated for a long time before leaving the note for him, and when she did she had to race out of the house before she could think twice and rewrite it yet again. All day at work she was distracted by it. Wondering if he’d read it yet, wondering if she should go back and reword things. Wondering whether he’d be turned off by her reply.

But of course he wouldn’t be, she tried to tell herself. He must have at least suspected that her answer would be no, or else he wouldn’t have bothered asking… right?

Besides, he’d already asserted his opinion that she wasn’t a prude – and their letters following this assertion had proved him right. Prudes didn’t think like she thought, or do the things that she did in the privacy of their rooms at night, or write in increasing detail about their private lives to men they rarely saw in person. The fact that she’d never done Those Things with other people was not a product of prudishness at all. She just hadn’t found the right person yet.

And besides, it didn’t matter if he thought she was a prude. She was an independent woman, her life was her own, and it did not matter what he thought.

She remained utterly convinced of that fact for about four seconds, before finally giving up and admitting that she was nervous as hell about what he’d say. So she settled for spending the rest of the afternoon trying to dissuade herself from worrying, and by six o’clock she was absolutely certain he would understand her position.

But by the time his reply was in her hands, she wasn’t so certain anymore.

She worried the unopened envelope with her fingers for at least five minutes, perhaps ten, until she finally convinced herself again that she was being silly and probably worrying over absolutely nothing. She opened the envelope.

Sweetheart, it began. She felt something clench in her chest, and she read the rest with a mixture of relief and – well, something else. Something that she couldn’t quite name, but something that made her eyes go misty and her hands a bit shaky. Words like beautiful and phrases like smarter than most popped out at her, and she found herself wondering why she’d even bothered to doubt that he’d approve.

She frowned at the word “approve” as it floated through her mind, and wondered why it was there. She did not need approval.

Or, who knew? Perhaps she did.

You’ll find the right one, was the second to last sentence. The last was, I promise. He didn’t sign the letter.