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neighborhood-newtina-reblogger · 4 years

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I’d love to know how they end up living in Dorset, Tina seems such a city girl 💙 PS. omg you couldn’t write anything bad, there’s only less awesome and even then it’s brilliant lol xxx

So first off, thank you so much, that is so sweet of you. Trust me there’s a lot of sweat and tears before things end up published, and I lot of hating things I’ve written, but I think that’s just part of the process.

This has actually challenged me to consider my own thoughts on Tina and cities.

So first, my soon-to-be-irrelevant headcanons on how the living situation unfolds.

I think they get married relatively soon. Maybe Tina goes back to New York for a brief time, or maybe not, but I suspect they’ll be engaged and married by the early to mid 1930s. Unless something happens that we’re not expecting, which is obviously possible, it just doesn’t track for me that it would take them longer. This is the kind of relationship where, once they’re in it, they just know it’s it for them, and what you do in that situation in the 1930s (and probably what these characters would do in the 2020s too) is get married.

I’m imagining a small, tasteful wedding without too much planning time, and I think at first they move into a slightly modified/improved version of Newt’s flat. Seems like a lot of work to build a menagerie somewhere else, y’know, and I think they’d both feel the need to be in London given global circumstances. So the early years of their marriage, I do imagine taking place in a city. I can’t really imagine a world in which they’d end up in America instead, because it just tracks better for me that everything Tina loves (and everything she needs to fight) is in Europe, and I’m imagining she’ll have found not only a romantic relationship but also friendships and a workplace and a culture where she thrives.

My little headcanon, which I could take or leave but kind of like, is that Newt’s family already owns the property in Dorset and uses it as a holiday spot or just a second little cottage on the coast. Not sure that gallavanting around Europe on their honeymoon would be a) within their inclinations as people b) a good idea given the Grindelwald situation and the fact that they’ve identified themselves quite strongly as his opponents c) a good idea as a Jew d) reasonable-sounding given that we expect them to be in an Order of the Phoenix v 0.1 sort of situation. So I sort of love the idea that Newt remembers the cottage and offers it up as a little getaway.

This is where my view of Tina’s relationship to place comes in a little more. She loves being thrown into her work, but I also think she could really take or leave the exact setting of it. It doesn’t seem to me that the city energizes her in a particular way. It’s more that New York was just…home because it was home. And I also think she has a habit of working herself to the point of being unable to relax. I like the idea of her going to Dorset for a few days sometimes (I’ve written this) and gradually realizing that she sleeps better there, and while she always enjoys spending time with Newt, has an easier time really focusing on it, and eventually as they grow and become settled, Newt says to her ‘well we could just live here all of the time?’. There are obvious benefits in terms of less nosy neighbors about the creatures, and the space and ocean, and the pace of everything being a touch less frantic, so that they can carve out a space to be a family even though they’re living through some very turbulent times. Things will be turbulent for a long time—in this scenario I’m imagining, probably at least the first decade of their marriage—and so it would track for me that they’d want just a little bit of space to enjoy some moments within that.

Maybe 100% of this will be wrong, but that’s how I reason it out for now.

Also, as I’ve said, I can see Tina being wary of having children in such a time because she wouldn’t want to put a child in danger or leave her own son or daughter alone as she was (I see Newt as a bit more of an optimist and respectful of her stance but ready to try for a kid the moment she is. Also side note—not sure if they’re being suuuuper careful because I think Tina wants children with Newt, she’s just a little scared of how she’d protect them.) But I kind of love the idea that the first pregnancy is an accident, and then of course they’re terrified and thrilled and in love with the idea from the start.

#This is a sugary sweet take

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neighborhood-newtina-reblogger · 4 years

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Chapter Nine, a whole lot later than I had expected (I was trying to get it out last Sunday), but it’s done. I really need to push the plot through, so things can actually start happening for a change. A bit of Newtina in here, but we’ll get back to Grindeldore in a couple of days.

It was drizzling cold rain in Vienna, and Newt Scamander had seldom felt half so miserable as he did now, since today was obviously not his finest hour. Drops of water slid down the opening of his coat-front, splattering grey spots all over the rough fabric and dampening the linen of his shirt, so that he was half numbed by cold, even in early summer. His mousy bangs were plastered close to his forehead, and the handles of his case felt slippery, as though they had somehow turned into a pair of eels bent on slipping from his grasp. He had been stepping quite gingerly around the numerous puddles, but the leather of his shoes were sopping wet, and he had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do next.

Yes. Not his finest hour in the least bit.

An automobile splashed into a puddle the size of a garden pond situated not three feet from him, and he cursed under his breath as a wave of wetness doused his ankle-length boots anew, though he admittedly could not see how they may get any more soaked than they already were. Ahead of him, the tall, solid figure of Theseus Scamander strode along the sidewalk, his steps determined and full of that strange and disconcerting sense of purpose that had never left him since Leta’s death, so very long ago. The sight of his brother comforted him slightly, and Newt wondered if he could get away with whipping out his wand for a quick and surreptitious Cleaning Charm — or anything to get the mud off his trousers, really. He was about to attempt it when a large, rotund Muggle (whose clothing seemed to indicate that the state of his finances had not been affected much by prolonged warfare) bumped into his shoulder, threw him a disgruntled look, and hurried off without further ado, muttering imprecations in garbled German under his breath.

On second thoughts, using magic in broad daylight really isn’t the best idea, especially when you are out on a street full of obnoxious people looking for trouble.

But no. That is a rash judgement to make. Most of them are too frightened, too worn out, and too sick of warfare to think clearly. The desolation around them, even in a part of the city yet unspoiled by the ravages of war, was ample proof of the psychological dilemmas most of the inhabitants were now perpetually plagued with. Everyone seems to be in despair. Everyone seems to be dead.

He wondered what Theseus must think of this. Was he hiding all his horror, pity, and disgust under the thin veneer of a bland placidity cracking along its edges, or was he simply too familiar with it all to take notice? The first war had been bad enough in its own right, and now —

But even if Theseus Scamander, former Head Auror of the British Ministry of Magic, was in any way perturbed by the sight of so much devastation, he refused to show any sign of inner weakness. Gone was the smiling, bright-eyed young man of former days, and the hollowed-out automaton that had replaced him was but a mere shadow of the man it was trying to imitate. There was no more joy in his face now — only a cold determination that presented itself in a jarring manner, and the vague confusion that flitted across his features on rare occasions, as though he had somehow just awakened from a senseless dream he’d been plunged into, and was resurfacing for a second to grope weakly in the direction of the riverbank.

Then he would sink right back down again, and take a little bit of his brother with him.

Newt sighed, emitting from his nose a tiny puff of air that made a small curtain of filmy mist rise before him, and he watched listlessly as it vanished into non-being. Stop thinking of that, he chided himself, think of something cheerful. Think of Tina. Think of your creatures. Think of Hogwarts, if you will. Don’t think about your brother drowning in his grief, don’t think of that. He had done his best to comfort Theseus, they had all done their best — but sometimes your best simply isn’t good enough, and sometimes there are wounds that cannot heal, no matter how much time you give them.

Thus he refrained from setting meaningless words loose, and thus Theseus pretended to be fine on most days. It was a strange and delicate truce that they maintained, and when its balance had been finally broken, both of them were left helpless in the mud, acutely aware that their best and last prop had been whisked from beneath their feet, and nothing save the combination of their own meager strengths might serve to extricate them from their fatal woes. Newt had been almost giddy with hysteria that day, when he saw Dumbledore’s smooth black wand jerked from his grasp and sent sailing through the air, landing at last in Grindelwald’s outstretched hand. He had watched, numb and open-mouthed, as two of Grindelwald’s Acolytes emerged from the crowd of bystanders to lead his defenseless teacher away; one was that little ball of slime named Abernathy, and the other a tall, strapping fellow he did not know. They had each grasped his former teacher by the arm, and before he could do anything more than let out a few strangled sounds of protest, all three of them were gone, and Tina was shaking his shoulder very hard, whispering something urgently into his left ear. She was the same height as he was, and therefore did not have to stand on tiptoe to reach him, another detail he had always found quite fascinating about her. Strange, how I had never really taken notice of it before.

Then Theseus was gripping his other shoulder, fingers digging into the thick fabric of his dove-colored coat, and steering him forcefully away from the scene, away from the spot where his professor had just been defeated. The hands of his brother had been almost vicious, shouting to him without words that they had to leave, and his head felt light enough to start floating of its own accord as the three of them stumbled off into the dimming twilight with an equally confused Jacob in tow, and all the while he had no room for any other thought than to go back, because Dumbledore had just been defeated, and Merlin knows what Grindelwald might do to him next. A few inarticulate noises emerged from the depths of his throat, the beginnings of a confused protest, but nobody paid him any attention, and he had no memory of how they managed to get to their nearest safe-house, a small, flimsy affair located on the outskirts of that city, with a front room just large enough to accommodate the four of them and their coats.

“We have to go back.” That the first coherent sentence that he managed, as soon as they were all seated on various chairs, and the front door was bolted shut with as many security spells as they could safely cast without bringing down the roof. His words were met with incredulous stares.

“We have to go back,” he repeated, a little louder this time, fearful that his friends and sibling had somehow lost their ability to comprehend English, “we have to go back, you understand? He’s got Dumbledore —“

“And he’ll get us too, if you go charging off after him!” Theseus snapped, “Use your brains, Newt! Dumbledore just lost, and that Austrian blighter now has entire Ministries backing him up! We’ll be lucky if the four of us can make it back to London alive.”

“And what will we do once we’re back in London?” Even to him, his voice sounded soft and boyish, and bore no resemblance to the voice of a man who might be capable of embarking on any sort of rescue mission. His mind was still fuzzy and shaken, as if he’d been gulping down Firewhiskey on an empty stomach, but his brain told him quite clearly that it was simply the effect of too much shock, and not blind intoxication. And I deserve to feel like this. I’m the one who pushed Dumbledore into fighting. He wasn’t ready, but we were all pushing him and he had to. So he lost.

His brother ran a jagged hand through his mess of dark brown hair. “I don’t know. Go back to the Ministry, find out whoever’s still on our side, and then leave, I suppose. I’ve still got my job, and Tina can go back to MACUSA, but you’ll have to leave. Get the hell out of Britain. You were close to Dumbledore, and you’re the one who caught him in New York, so he’ll be after you, Newt. You’ll have to leave the country.”

He could not believe what he had just heard. Had Theseus truly just ordered him to run? His brother, who always had a way of bringing down large problems and making them disappear? He looked helplessly to Tina, and was met with a pair of familiar, chocolaty eyes, the same eyes seemed to burn because they saw in him the intensity of his love. Those brown eyes were full of trepidation, and he suddenly realized that he could not drag her into... this. Whatever mess this is that he had first gotten himself into, back in 1926.

“All right,” he heard himself say, “I’ll go, and Tina can go back to the United States and take Jacob with her...”

“Now, wait jus’ a second —“ Jacob began indignantly, but Newt cut him off, somehow gathering enough of his senses to speak kindly but firmly.

“Theseus is right. Grindelwald will want revenge on me. I stole the blood pact from him in Paris and gave it to Dumbledore. I urged him to break it. I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath and plowed on, “But I’m not leaving to go into hiding. I have to find Dumbledore and get him out of whatever hellhole Grindelwald just stuck him into. Please don’t try to stop me.” The words felt strange and rough in his mouth, but saying them out loud gave him some semblance of a sense of purpose, and he no longer felt half so raw and vulnerable once they were said, though he knew that turning them into reality would prove to be a different matter altogether.

His speech was met with silence. He stared at the three people in front of him, his demeanor still his own, but somehow with the added effect of incurable mulishness. It was true, after all — without Dumbledore they had nothing, no idea of what to do now or where to go next. They were the remnants of a broken army littered across the surface of a ravaged chessboard, and though they did not question which way they were supposed to go, they had no idea of where to begin. It had always been Dumbledore who came up with the best ideas, gently suggesting a course of action in which they had the liberty of choosing how to follow their own free wills. Without him they were nothing, amounting only to a few scattered pieces left exposed on the lightning-struck battlefield after the storm, and Grindelwald would soon start picking them off one by one.

His eyes found Tina’s, and he could see now that her moment of frailty was over. They exchanged a quick nod, a painful acknowledgement of the separate ways they would soon have to go — she could not follow him, wherever he went, and though he wished desperately that it might prove otherwise, her eyes would follow him still, long after they lose sight of one another. She had a road of her own to travel and a sister to save besides, and thus could not traverse into the darkness that was his alone to brave. He suddenly wished that they were alone together, just the two of them, so that he could put into words the things too delicate to be uttered in front of their unwanted spectators, but he doubted if she would appreciate such a confession under these heinous circumstances.

And so it was settled. It turned out that Theseus had gone temporarily speechless at his suicidal declaration, but once he regained his voice, he was perfectly capable of suggesting to Newt (in no uncertain terms) that the latter must have taken leave of his senses, and if he wished to die alone then they may as well do it together. He understood that Theseus had his own reasons for wanting to come along — there were days when he himself ached for the bright sound of Leta’s joyous laugh, and hate was a fire that could sustain one even on the coldest of barren nights — and he had no objections, though it took a considerable amount of effort to convince Jacob that following them was perhaps not a viable course of action. Jacob was kind and brave, the most generous soul he’d ever met — but he was a Muggle, and Queenie would not be kindly disposed towards either he or his brother should the baker suddenly experience an inconvenient accident while in their company, perhaps due to the courtesy of one of Grindelwald’s thugs.

They had each taken their separate ways after that, and he and Theseus had been slowly making their way to Grindelwald’s base in Austria ever since, at least until they received news that Dumbledore was being kept in the German Ministry of Magic. They had looked at each other then, uncertainty written deep within their eyes, and finally reached an agreement not to listen to the poison that was hearsay. Newt had never pretended to know Grindelwald as well as Dumbledore did, but it seemed unlikely that the Dark Wizard would leave his most powerful enemy in the hands of those he normally considered incompetent.

Not that our decision to disregard this obvious bait would be of much help. Not when we still don’t know where exactly Grindelwald’s base is.

But they were close. Newt trusted his instincts, even if his brother didn’t, and once they find what they’re looking for, the rest should be easy enough — they would do what they had always done best, and improvise on the spot.

Or at least, that’s what he would try to do himself. For now, he had to brave the muddy streets of Vienna, and put up with the unnatural bouts of sullenness from his once-bright brother, with only memories of one Porpentina Goldstein to sustain him.

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