goose or swan, who knows?

cho chang. twenty two. idle hands. they told me all of my cages were mental so i got wasted like all my potential. and my words shoot to kill when i'm mad, i have a lot of regrets about that. i was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere.

[agoosesong]

spareheir​:

Confloosion - Regulus & @agoosesong 17 August 2002, Cho’s Flat

Several coughs escaped once Regulus stepped out of the fireplace, nose wrinkling since the scent of ash was present in his nostrils. He raised an arm up to wipe his nose then looked around confusedly. Having clearly said ‘Malfoy Manor’ as his destination should have brought him to Narcissa’s. Being certain he hadn’t stammered when he said it caused him to give the room a second look.

It certainly wasn’t the Malfoy’s. Worse yet, it couldn’t have belonged to Andromeda or Draco. There was laundry strewn about the couch and what appeared to be wine stains on the carpet - both something he had not witnessed at any of his relatives’ homes. He managed to refrain from scoffing out loud and turned back toward the fireplace, promptly noting the lack of floo powder near it.

“Great,” He muttered under his breath then gave the room another once over, not liking the next step that would prove necessary in returning to the Malfoy’s. Regulus didn’t like the idea of needing to request help. He was still getting used to being okay with asking Narcissa for things. The thought of asking whoever’s home(?) he couldn’t quite be sure past focusing on not looking like he disliked the place he was in he was in for assistance was not a fun thought.

Regulus took a few steps down the nearest hallway and was relieved to spot someone else. He grit his teeth then ran his hand through his hair, clearing his throat to get the woman’s attention. “Er,” He exhaled and brought his arm back to his side, tongue pressing against his cheek a moment before he continued. “I said Malfoy Manor and this- This isn’t…” He gave an exasperated sigh and looked down at his feet. “I’m out of floo powder.”

Cho has never been more grateful to her father for his ward spell than today, at this moment, when the designated lamp for the spell flickers to a light blue hue and she hears the telltale signs of another person inside her house. The shuffling of foot and the audible coughs coming from her living room. Quick to take a dull knife from her kitchen counter, she leaves her half-drunk tea and bitten sandwich on the table. Forgetting her wand there too in the process. Her Muggle instinct, nurtured by her Muggle mother, taking over. Any sane wix would have armed themself with their wand but not Cho.

She steps into her living room cautiously. Knife slightly raised. Eyes scanning the perimeter for the intruder. When she spots him, standing in front of her fireplace and looking utterly out of place among her sea of unique interior design choices, Cho relaxes slightly. The knife hand lowering at the familiar figure of Regulus Black, newly released Returned.

“No, I’m afraid this is a bit too... humble for a manor,” she nods, fingers still clenched around her knife as she grasps the situation. She hasn’t used the Floo network in a while. Her friends prefer to apparate to her flat. Her neighbours are mostly Muggle so they knock on the door. Her parents barely ever visit. She’s surprised that her fireplace is even still connected to the Floo network. “I don’t have any Floo powder.” Cho admits.

“Let me owl the ministry about this,” she sighs, finally placing the knife onto the nearest counter, “How did you even get here? What happened exactly? Did you fumble any pronunciations?” She starts to question, rapid fire in her delivery. Almost as if she’s asking patients at Mungo’s about their symptoms and past activities. Cho moves to the couch and scoops up her unfolded laundry. “Would you like to sit?” she asks before dropping the clothes into a basket and reaching for the pen and paper near the TV. 

[lageekymuse]

Cho Chang

ref: 周依然

my new favorite thing on procreate: gouache brush to paint, sketch pencil for details

[echogroove]

UNDERWATER (2020):   EMILY HAVERSHAM

“ has anyone ever walked out there before? longer than to fix a pipe, i mean. ”

[agoosesong]

ofwhatsleft​:

30th of July, 2002

Dear Cho,

Receiving a Howler every day might have the opposite effect you’re searching for, as I’m afraid they would be something I would start to look forward to. And, I’m sure you understand, putting on my ointment would only make the lovely letters stop and that is opposite of what I want. Everyone likes to receive mail, just look at how quickly you are responding to these.

Attach any photographs you want in your next letter, I need some art for my walls anyway. They’re looking rather bare. I’ll cherish any gift from my dear friend Cho. Please know I would put the ointment on but this is far more enjoyable.

It seems like maybe there is a lot you wish to tell me that can’t be disclosed in a letter. Perhaps if you just came over for breakfast and tea (after the bath, so you can even sleep in), you can tell me the ins and outs of your new job and maybe, just maybe, I’ll remember where I put my ointment.

Seems like you might be free tomorrow morning if you can be bothered to wake up, so I’ll pencil you in for 8.30 at my flat. See you then!

Delighted As Always,

George Weasley, Your Early Riser of a Cherished Friend First, Annoying Patient Second (lest you forget)

30th July 2020

Dear George,

Are you that lonely to be this stubborn over putting on ointment? I should stop responding to your letters but as a Healer, I have a personal stake in making sure that none of my past patients die from their stupid choices. I am responding to this quickly because I would so love it if my constant nagging reminders would, for one, make you actually put on the ointment. This is so frustrating.

I have decided against the photographs. I’m sure you could make your own interior design choices, however absurd they may be. I’d say you should get some plants instead of photographs, but then again the poor plants would suffer from your negligence.

Once again, I must decline the invitation! Unless, of course, you promise me to really put on the ointment! But you won’t so I don’t have to wake up early tomorrow. But then again, I also don’t understand your insistence in me coming over. Only then will I also pencil in 8.30 in my journal.

Fuck Off George And Just Put On The Ointment,

Cho Chang Who Has Good Memory And Is Simply A Highly Concerned Friend First And Even More Highly Concerned Healer Second

[padfoot-prongs-and-polaroids]

The Ravenclaw Quidditch Team

[saintpomelo]

the glass essay, anne carson / little weirds, jenny slate

[practicefortheheart]

BUFF CHO! BUFF CHO! 

[agoosesong]

💭

Good company. Likes wreaking havoc.

Definitely more troublesome than George. Also definitely my favourite Returned so far but don’t tell him that.

[priorireverte]

It’s HUMP DAY!

Half way through the week and time for a little fun, guys. 🐫 Reblogging the meme means you are both accepting asks from it and sending out asks to others.

Send 💭 and I’ll share the first five words that come to my character’s mind when they think of yours. 

[amisdala-archive-deactivated202]

@hogwartsonline quidditch → cho chang

she’s a fourth year, and she’s good…

[agoosesong]

fabianprewctt​:

“Gid’s always had expensive tastes,” he replied absently, reaching for the coffee to blow carefully on the surface before taking a sip, black and bitter as it came, and hissing beneath his breath as it scalded his tongue regardless. “He went through a phase of bringing home mugs from everywhere he went. The amount of glassware we ended up with from The Three Broomsticks.” 

He smiled absently, distractedly, scratching at the back of his neck, until Cho’s question brought him back to the present and he blinked abruptly, time snatched away in an instant as he replied, “Oh — maybe Molls might have kept them. Or my Da.”

Was it strange, that he hadn’t even thought of what had happened to his possessions? To the records and clothes and his prohibitively expensive charmed typewriter and the sea of stolen glassware and all the little bits and pieces that had made up his life. What had they done with it all? Did he have anything left to his name? His will had asked that his vault be divvied up between Molly’s kids but what of everything else? No - that was not the path to be taking today. 

“Clearly you haven’t been keeping the right company,” he replied distractedly, shaking off the gloom of whether or not his will had been carried out, in favour of taking a solid bite out of his scone and sighing, happily at the taste. Flavour was something that those in charge of their care didn’t seem to be prioritising. 

“Not to lessen your achievement,” he offered, chewing happily on his scone as he willed his coffee to cool off with the sheer force of his stare, “But you don’t exactly have a lot of competition down there for the running of favourite minder. Your colleagues don’t seem quite so keen on winning our good will, the Aurors,” he glanced over his shoulder at the ring surrounding them and lowered his voice to a less obvious volume, “Seem to wish they were anywhere but near us or this assignment and the Unspeakables,” his nose wrinkled faintly, “Shifty buggars the lot of them. Never trusted any of them as far as I could kick them. Who knows what they’re up to.”

Which was part of the problem, he supposed. He wanted to know what they were up to — because apparently getting your own brother murdered wasn’t quite reason enough to learn your lesson on sticking your nose where it wasn’t wanted.

His breath caught for a moment, eyes stuck on the perfect marbling of jam and cream atop the scone he’d been chewing, as his thoughts caught up to him and Cho, in the manner of anyone qualifying that they hoped something wouldn’t be intrusive or upsetting, barrelled cheerfully ahead into intrusive and upsetting territory. He supposed if anyone had the right of asking such a question, it was probably the woman whose job he’d just thrown on the railroad tracks in the hope of a few minutes respite from the holding room.

Touché. 

“Gideon?” Even his name sounded strained, not quite so casual as he’d intended while he stalled in order to shoo away the dark clouds of the storm threatening on the horizon. “He’s the best person I know.” Present tense, presented so matter of factly as he took another stalling bite of his scone and chewed, that he might have even believed himself that the answer didn’t hurt him. “Annoyingly smart. Don’t tell him I said that—”

Fabian reached hastily for his coffee, like it might just wash the taste of desperate denial off his tongue and settled instead for the bitterness it left behind. “He’s my best friend. I’m not sure—”

Not sure, exactly, who he was without Gideon as a reference point.

“Did you know,” he started abruptly, changing the subject so blatantly that it could hardly go unnoticed, “These scones might be better than Molly’s. Is that why you took the job here then? For the scones and our sparkling company?”

“Did he steal cups from every restaurant he went to?” Cho raises her eyebrow, slightly concerned but also intrigued over the prospect of taking a few good teacups off of Fabian. Mentally, she takes note of all her favourite Puddifoot’s and The Three Broomsticks glasses and cups, marking down the ones she’d always fancied having inside her own cupboard at her flat.

There’s a cup at Puddifoot’s that has a shifting constellation of stars inside it. Fifth year Cho Chang drank from that cup almost every Hogsmeade visit. The first time she saw that cup again in her sixth year, she asked for a different one. Now she wishes she had it at home, in between the expensive sets Marietta always buys her for Christmas (”A tradition, Cho! A new one!” she’d told Cho the first time she bought her a set of teacups years ago) and the ones she bought for cheap at the nearest Muggle grocery store.

Cho places her half-eaten scone back onto her plate, reaching for her coffee once again. “To be fair to them,” she glances at the Aurors, “they simply do not know how to navigate the situation.” She pauses. Even she herself wasn’t sure of how to treat the Returned at first. Everyone was wary, afraid that the Returned were just figments of imagination or a sick prank someone was playing on them. Afraid that they’d vanish into thin air the next morning, that everyone who had returned would go back to being dead in a week. It was unprecedented for the dead to come back. Everyone was simply trying to shield themselves from hoping too much and hurting again.

“It was baffling, you know,” she laughs, slightly humourlessly, thinking back to the urgent Floo call she received when her coworker informed her of the ordeal. She couldn’t go back to sleep that night, finding herself flipping through books and copies of Magical documents late into the night, trying to fit puzzle pieces and come up with a possible explanation for the impossible that her friend had just told her was possible. “The war ended five years ago and I guess we didn’t want to hope.” 

She shakes her head, bringing the mug to her lips. “And they probably put distance between you and them due to Ministry protocols,” she sips her coffee, “I imagine the Aurors would rather chase after danger than sit inside a room with nothing to do but keep watch. The Unspeakables have always been...pretty mysterious.” The Unspeakables can be shifty. Working with them has not been easy to get used to. But they aren’t bad people. Like her, they’re not used to being clueless. Not used to not knowing. “I’ll say that they’re trying to do their best. Even if their best can be seen as abysmal.”

Cho listens as Fabian talks about Gideon, notices how he talks about him like he’s still here, like he’s just somewhere hiding around the corner. She simply nods. “He sounds like a good person,” she sets down her mug, reaching for her scone again, “I take it his escape plan would not have been to simply steal a Healer coat and walk out with it on?” Cho smiles (Merlin, she hopes Fabian the joke the wrong way. She’s not trying to twist the knife already stuck to his chest.)

Grateful for the change in topics--lest she says another joke that could be taken as mocking,--Cho bites her scone. The taste is heavenly and so much better than any of the food they serve at Mungo’s but they’re not the only reason why she took on this gig.

“It’s more of a coincidence. I was already going to tender in my Mungo’s resignation in a few months. The non-profit director thought I’d be perfect for the job,” she sweeps the scone crumbs with a piece of napkin, “And my Healing interest and specialization matched up.” Cho pauses for a second. Coincidence isn’t the whole story. She could have refused the offer but refusing would be turning her back on what she believes in. “You can say I have personal stake, reasons as to why I accepted the offer.” Patients she’d lost during the war. People she failed. Friends who didn’t survive the Battle. Acquaintances who disappeared forever. Names that still linger. She doesn’t want to fail them this time, wants to offer them what little comfort she can.

[anthonybridgertonn]

Jessica Henwick photographed by Marc Regas for Nylon Magazine April Issue 2017

[dailymarvelwoc]

jessica henwick at the defenders premiere (august 18th, 2017)

[agoosesong]

fabianprewctt​:

“Gideon got blacklisted from Puddifoots,” he replied in the face of that incredulous stare before the instant sting of his brother’s name spoken aloud could fully sink in and forged furiously ahead, “She had his mug, which just so happens to look exactly like mine, plastered up behind the counter so the staff would know he — we, I guess — weren’t welcome on the premises. He used to nick her teacups, was the problem. We had a whole stash of them in the flat — he never bloody told me what he did to get turfed out the last time, but she used to glare at us through the windows whenever we were in Hogsmeade, so I guess it wasn’t good.”

His nose wrinkled faintly as if trying to imagine whether or not he’d be welcomed back into Puddifoot’s with open arms and decided on, “I’d give it a shot. I always fancied that she might have regretted the ban in the end and she always had the best scones.”

The thought alone brought a smile to his lips, questions swirling in the back of his head like what had happened to Gideon’s mismatched collection of stolen China and how much he could have used his brother’s uncannily sticky fingers around about now. The paper cups were a price he was willing to pay for the satisfaction that scuffle had brought him, but it didn’t mean they weren’t inconvenient. The aurors seemed to be more interested in looking stern and intimidating than tea, but Cho’s determination had apparently won them over if they way one of them reluctantly moved to take the order from her was any indication. 

Catching the pack of cigarettes on pure reflex, he blinked down at them bemusedly before glancing back up at Cho with a brighter smile. “This,” he declared happily, tucking them into a pocket before any of the aurors could get it into their heads that they might want to confiscate them, “Is why you’re my favourite. Why you’re everyone’s favourite really.”

And perhaps he was feeling a little bit guilty about his propensity for getting others involved in his nonsense and the repercussions she might face for this particular outing, if the blatant sucking up was any indication, so he added a cheerful, “When they decide to release us from purgatory I’ll shout you at Puddifoot’s, yeah? See if she turfs me out on the spot or not.”

He sank back in his seat as two full mugs of coffee on saucers floated past to settle with a soft clunk upon the table before them, a faint splash of coffee flecking the tablecloth. Fabian leaned back to watch the assortment of silverware and plates that swiftly followed, clunking down into every spare inch of space on the little table in front of them and his expression brightened considerably as a little dish of jam and cream thunked loudly, pointedly, down into the middle as if offended that he’d even questioned their presence.

“Brilliant,” he declared again, pointing directly at Cho as if to assure her the compliment was as much for her as it was for the food spread out before him before hastily setting to work, reaching for a scone and a knife to split in half and setting right to slathering it in jam and piling cream atop each half. “This,” he sighed, as he seized one half and took a gigantic bite that immediately put a halt to his chatter. “Is brilliant.”

“Her teacups?” Cho’s eyes widen as she takes her mug of coffee, dumping a whole bunch of milk and sugar into them to douse their bitterness, “Those are nice teacups. They’re expensive.” She had tried to find a set exactly like the one at Puddifoot’s two years ago. Her search led her to a magical shop thirteen kilometers away from Hogsmeade. The price tag turned her off right away. Marietta ended up buying them for her as a Christmas present.

She wonders if someone still has those teacups Fabian’s brother stole. “Say, does anyone still keep those teacups for you both?” she asks, a contemplative look in her face. Cho Chang does not condone stealing but they’re perfectly good cups and she’d like to have a few more at home. And if they cost her very little to no money then the better! 

“The both of you are basically banned forever then. I’ve never seen Puddifoot glare at anyone.” she sips her coffee, scowling at the still bitter taste before pouring more milk into the concoction.

She looks over at Fabian, slightly amused at his enthusiasm over biscuits and coffee. It has never crossed her mind just how eager the Returned must be to have some semblance of normalcy regarding their existence, to just be able to do normal things and be out and about. She guesses she’s not as empathetic a person as she thought she was.

“Thank you for choosing me as your favourite,” Cho chuckles, taking another sip of her milk coffee and deeming it acceptable, “Though I doubt I’m everyone’s favourite. But, really, no need to shout me at Puddifoot’s,” a flash of panic crosses Cho’s face for a millisecond at the thought of meeting Fabian outside the holding’s four walls. Don’t get her wrong, Fabian’s a decent person. It’s just that meeting any of the Returned outside would certainly be surreal and weird and awkward. She wouldn’t know what to say to most of them. “An owl would be just as fine.”

She takes one of the biscuits from its plate, slathering some jam on it with a butter knife. The Aurors are still lining the wall but they look slightly grateful at the change of scenery the operation has given them. “Speaking of, I hope this isn’t an intrusive or upsetting question,” Cho bites her tongue, clear curiosity shown in her face as she weighs her options before deciding to ask her question anyway, “What’s your brother like?”

She doesn’t think she has heard much about Gideon Prewett over the years but based on Fabian’s account on his thievery, she can only guess that Fabian and Gideon were thick as thieves. Which is again why her question might be intrusive, and also upsetting. Especially since Gideon Prewett is so clearly not here. And people don’t always like to talk about the dead and mourning and grief and the possibility of someone simply being gone forever.

[agoosesong]

firebloomcd​:

The assurance Cho gave was very welcome. It wasn’t that Ginny doubted her own abilities, she knew she was a damn good Quidditch player, there was just something gratifying about having an outside observer have that same confidence. Especially when that outside observer wasn’t a member of her family.

Ginny laughed at the idea of her moving to the Tornadoes, shaking her head a little. She was going to be loyal to the Harpies until she died, she knew it. It had been her dream for years; whilst Ron had been worshipping the Cannons, it had always been the Harpies for her.

“Yeah, they’re all gone. There’s a lot of talk that Krum won’t still be playing by the time the next world cup comes, so everyone wants to see what might be his last international game.” Ginny shrugged a little at Cho’s comment about the Egyptian seeker, it was fair, but she was still confident that Bulgaria would win. It would certainly be a massive upset in the quidditch world if they lost. 

Ginny finished her drink just after Cho did, nodding her head in agreement to the plan. She stood up from their table, stretching and pulling her bag over her shoulder. “We better get going then, because if there are free drinks we’re going to be having a hell of a night.” 

“I’d be upset if he does retire,” toying around with her empty glass, Cho nods solemnly. While she has never been Krum’s biggest fan (preferring to fawn over Tutshill Tornadoes’s current seeker instead), his impact as a Quidditch player is undeniable. “he still has a good few years in him.” Arguably, Viktor Krum is still the world’s best active seeker. And it isn’t as if he’s battling career-ending injuries. It will truly be a loss to the Quidditch world if he retires so soon. “I haven’t even watched him live in the last three years. Maybe we both should get tickets to the World Cup.”

Getting up from the table after Ginny, she takes her purse, making sure that its contents haven’t been misplaced before shouldering it. “Hell of a night,” she smiles, making her way out of the establishment, “I already have some songs in mind for the karaoke.”

She’d hung out with her Muggle cousin earlier in the week. The teenager had practically shoved her walkman’s earphones into Cho’s ears the moment they met, insisting she listen to “Muggle songs that are actually good and not outdated.”

“My cousin’s getting me a walkman so that I could actually listen to songs while at work,” Cho shakes her head, half amused at the idea of bringing a walkman to the Ministry, “Muggle inventions are honestly something else.” She looks over to Ginny. “Do you want one?”

[agoosesong]

ofwhatsleft​:

30th of July 2002

Dear Cho,

My mother’s Howlers were arguably more effective, but they lost their charm when they quickly became overused. There was something quite lovely about receiving a Howler from someone who is not my mother and being twenty-four years old that did not go unnoticed by me.

Cho, I feel you of all people know that carelessness is not a kind word to use about myself. I am nothing if not calculated and acutely aware of my surroundings and have never been careless at anything in my life. Which means yes, I am intentionally not taking care of my wound.

And besides, I do agree with you that my…purposeful neglect in regards to the pain in my head is nowhere near as interesting as the other gossip that might exist at either St. Mungo’s or your new work place. And speaking of the new job, how are you liking it? Any gossip you can share with your pal George? You can change names if it is helpful, but I like being kept up to speed.

My morning routine is much more precise than my nighttime routine. I don’t see how this is too difficult of a concept for someone as intelligent as you to grasp. I can push it back to 8:30 if you really can’t be bothered to wake up. But I do believe they say the earlier you wake up, the better day you will have. Who says this? Unclear. This has not yet proven to be true.

Sincerely and Slightly Irritatedly Yours,

George Weasley

PS: If you bring some, of course you can suggest it. See you there!

30 July 2002

Dear George Weasley,

Such a shame that your mother’s Howlers no longer hold their previous charm. Must I tell my fellow Healer to send you one every day then? Just as a lovely reminder for you to take care of your ear! I’d say before your morning tea but after your bath is the perfect time to actually apply the ointment?

George, if you are not careless then I should ask you to come up with a good enough lie excuse as to why you have neglected your ear so blatantly. By your words, it seems as though you are implying that your neglect is a calculated move. I am almost tempted to send you pictures of head infections which is what you’re going to get if you keep being obtuse and refusing to apply the ointment to give you an understanding of how serious your injury can end up being.

Regarding my new place of employment, the food here is slightly better than at Mungo’s and the coffee isn’t watery. Though the patients are somehow more troublesome than you. Is it a Prewett thing? Anyway, I cannot disclose much gossip other than the Aurors and Unspeakables seem to dislike each other now and I feel slightly complicit and guilty for their newfound hatred toward each other. I would feel less guilty and complicit however if you start using your ointment!

I should say I don’t believe in the belief that waking up early brings much good. 8.30 is still not a sensible time for me. Unless, of course, you promise to start incorporating the ointment into your morning or night routine. If you promise to do so, I’ll see you at your flat at 8.30!

Warm Regards,

Cho Chang, Your Healer Who Truly Means Well and Would Like to Not Have to Inspect More Magical Head Infections Than Necessary

P.S. Consider the kaya toast bought if you agree to use your ointment!

[agoosesong]

🐫

Do I know your muse(s): yes | no | a little | tell me about your muse

Pre-established relationships? yes! | no, let’s see where they go! | not yet; let’s plot!

Possible relationships: acquaintances | companions | former schoolmates | socialites | family, real or adopted | courting | married | crushing | unrequited love | lending a hand | teacher - student (maybe??) | rivals | allies | partner-in-crime | enemies | protecter - guarded | business partners | spy - infiltrated | manipulator - manipulated | star-crossed | first meeting | other

I’m in the mood for: fluff | angst | horror | romance | humor | crime | hurt / comfort | action | slice of life | crack | dark threads | light threads | any genre | multi-para | shorter para | one-line | any length | plotted threads | unplotted threads | other