#out of order | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leftduck9986 · 4 days

Text

Foreshadowing, out of order?

In storytelling, is there a single word that means "the opposite of foreshadowing"?

WARNING: in trying to wrap my head around this, there will be wittering!!!

Wikipedia tells me that a flashback is a method of foreshadowing.

The Bullet Catch in the NZF minisode, being a flashback as well as told before the "present day" [speculated] event it sets up a clue for, well, that's what I've understood foreshadowing to mean until now, because isn't foreshadowing always presented before the event it foreshadows comes to pass?

The flashback/memory minisode, A Companion To Owls, is told after the "present day" event it foreshadows. Does that still count as foreshadowing, or is it instead considered "the big reveal" because it is told after?

And is this all that is meant by various things in Good Omens 2 being "out of order"?

The Hiding Miracle and the Memory That Both Foreshadows and Reveals It?

Indeed, it was a tiny miracle - as titled in the soundtrack - that worked as planned and "barely moved the dials" (but still a miracle in which "Noone will have noticed A Thing" however tiny it was, and that "Nobody notices he's here (...) Nobody can spot him, (...) especially if they're looking for him").

I believe it was the first of three events that happened that night, which, became the main focus of this "quiet, gentle, romantic" season, but paling in comparison to the other two events. Moving on!

Returning to how A Companion to Owls isn't told until after The Hiding Miracle and clues us in as to what was actually going on: this tiny miracle was made to appear far more powerful than it actually was, with the use of showmanship:

The ceremonious setup of being positioned on the circle in the middle of the room hidden under the carpet, between Aziraphale and Crowley; he could have been standing, but instead, "Jim... Sit in this chair." And it's a beautiful chair, like a throne, but Jim being taller wouldn't have worked for the image of the 'W' (similar to the 'W' shape made with Shadwell standing between Aziraphale and Crowley at the airbase, in the book Good Omens.)

ta-da!-look-at-this-very-complicated-and-powerful-miracle-that-we-are-doing

Why perform at all then, for an audience of none?

Ah, they're not alone, oooOoOoOOOoOoOooo, spooky. Go and see for yourself: check out the bottom left area of the screen when Crowley returns to the bookshop and says, "I'm BACK" (this is to do with the "framing opportunities" secret mentioned in the Gavin Finney BTS article https://britishcinematographer.co.uk/gavin-finney-bsc-good-omens-2/) Aziraphale calmly replies, "Yes, I can see that" and later gasps, reacting to something happening off-screen at 40m41s.

So this performance, not yet knowing who their audience might be, could be as a precaution, just in case.

Gabriel instinctively crosses his hands and is confused when Aziraphale and Crowley uncross them - or likely because Aziraphale was even standing there at all - because he remembers, or rather, in his mind's eye, sees the shape left behind by a missing piece of furniture.

The ceremonious setup of being positioned in the centre, between Sitis and Job, this time in the background to have Bildad appear a little shorter in height for the stylized 'W', then crossing his hands. The pot containing Sitis and Job's children being the circle, hidden by the circle of carpet (robes) made as Sitis and Job embrace.

ta-da!-look-at-this-very-complicated-and-powerful-miracle-that-we-are-doing

Had we seen Jim's and Crowley's conversation about memory before The Hiding Miracle instead of much later in episode 5, then it would have been foreshadowing, yes?

*temper rising* A "reveal," or "out-of-order foreshadowing"? (VBUAXNAUSX*keyboard smash*NYVIFGNOMAI) grrrrrr!

...

After the Job story is told, (save for the final scene) and Aziraphale calls for Crowley, my head-cannon used to be that Aziraphale wanted to talk about hair -

Aziraphale: Crowley, I gave you lovely long locks in my retelling of this story, how about you? Crowley: Nah, "shoulder-length bouncy 'bob'" is what I put - a "Lob" I think is what they're calling it these days.

But now I think that, to book-end Crowley's beginning with, "Your boss said that to Job, do you remember?" (imo they are so good at blending in, they can act human better than any human can act human! So, while feigning the memory span&loss&retention of a human, of course they can remember most everything. Angel stock: constitution of an Ox, memory of an Elephant.) Aziraphale may have wanted to remark on Jim's crossed hands from the night before and how similar it was to Crowley's doing so; that it was evidence of Gabriel still somehow being able to connect with images from his memory. "Crowley? You also did that thing... does Gabriel remember?"

If each minisode contains something that foreshadows or reveals what magic tricks occurred during this season's present day events, I feel that the only thing left is from "The Resurrectionists" minisode, where Crowley Goes Large (woah, woah, woah, another case for The Song Is The Clue?!?) ... or makes himself, something or someone else tiny.

"Size and shape are simply options" after all, so I do wonder about Hell's Usher, where the only time we've seen him is when he is small enough to fit in a bathtub and yet he is HUGE in the opening title sequence of season one. Behind him, Noah's Ark stranded between two damaged buildings (or one damaged building and maybe the Pleasure Cruiser Morbillo?)

Something else that may be revealing of stories yet to be told of the past, while also foreshadowing a near-future event:

Based on what Crowley said, this is not the first time Crowley and Aziraphale have performed a half-miracle together! Whatever biiiig miracle they're about to do (speculated event #2) could still be completely balanced and undetected, but then a plume of miraculous activity emerging from the circle gateway (privately speculated event #3) is what poor Aziraphale will appear to take the blame for.

Things being out of order may have started with the question, are season two's present day events being told out of order? There are other things appearing out of order as well, for example a change in the order of colours in the Rainbow (for "present day" episode two only I think, beginning Violet then Red, etc.) Or, in this case, narrative devices being so intertwined, one flashback-event can contain images and phrases that both foreshadow something yet to happen as well as to reveal what happened in a part of the story already told.

As always, please no asking or tagging Mr Gaiman as this blog post contains theory and speculation, thank you.

98 notes · View notes

drarrily-we-row-along · 2 years

Text

Day 182: Delicate

The lovely prompter specifically requested "Delicate" by Taylor Swift as the prompt. I feel like @phoebe-delia is really the person I would entrust to crush prompts for her songs, but I will endeavor to do my best. This is rated M for implied sexual content.

Draco lit up a cigarette while he waited outside of the dingy muggle bar. It was a filthy habit, but one he couldn't seem to shake when he was going out to drink and to dance.

Or when his nerves were spiking (not that he'd ever confess to that). He didn't know why he always showed up early, it only ever served to make him more anxious, but some old habits died hard. Others, he thought as he glanced down at his muggle jeans and wide neck white tshirt, had died very easily indeed.

"Hey."

He looked up to see Harry approaching and he stole Draco's breath the way he always did. He had changed too. A lot. He'd grown into himself in the two years following the war, he was a few inches taller than Draco was now, his shoulders had broadened and filled in, and his hair was long enough to get swept up into a loose bun on top of his head. He wasn't sure how much of that was normal teenage growth and how much was a result of Harry getting bitten by a werewolf and turned.

Perhaps most importantly, though, he'd covered himself in tattoos. Flowers covered his arms (they all represented something, he'd confessed one night about four months into this thing between them, whatever it was), he had sets of footprints with little scrolls containing names that covered his biceps and his shoulders, a snitch tattooed behind one ear, a deathly hallows symbol on his ankle. There was a full moon with a wolfsbane flower on his rib cage, a black dog curled just below. Across his collarbones he had antlers woven through with lilies.

Seeing only a few peaking out at Draco from under his shirt was enough to make him itch with the desire to get Harry naked. Again.

"Hi," he replied, after taking a long drag of his cigarette to keep from seeming too over eager.

Harry took the cigarette from between Draco's fingers and wrapped his lips around it. And Draco was probably a little unhinged for finding it as incredibly hot as he did.

"How was your day?" he inquired lightly; it was always best to be polite, right?

Harry groaned and shook his head, "No rest for the weary."

"I believe the idiom is 'no rest for the wicked'."

"Is it, now?" Harry asked, grinning sharply as he dropped the cigarette to the sidewalk and ground it out with his boot before turning and pressing Draco back against the wall. "I suppose I could try to fit that description instead."

He laughed, tucking a loose curl behind Harry's ear and grabbing his band t-shirt with the other hand to draw him closer and kiss him once, "I really don't think you can."

Harry nipped at his jaw, teeth stinging before he soothed it with his tongue.

"See?" he said, "Can't even bite me properly."

"Draco," he growled in warning.

"Teasing," he said quickly, even though they probably both knew it wasn't entirely true. He'd tried to provoke Harry into turning him a few weeks after they'd gotten reacquainted. Harry had called him out on trying to piss off his dad. He hadn't been entirely wrong but he hadn't been entirely right either. There was something hot about the idea of turning with Harry, of spending full moons together, running through forests.

He hadn't said that, of course, because Harry would think he'd lost the plot completely.

"Let's go inside," he murmured, teeth scraping over Draco's jaw and neck, making Draco shudder and press his body against him. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Yeah."

"Long Island?"

He nodded, chasing Harry's lips for just a moment, Harry hummed and kissed him back, lips moving against Draco's, tongue brushing over Draco's lips as he sought entrance. And Draco didn't think he'd ever get over kissing Harry. Especially where other people could see them. It made his blood sing every time. His reputation was absolutely appalling and Harry kissing him in public always made him have the wild hope that Harry actually liked him.

When Draco pulled back a bit to catch his breath, Harry hummed, following him and kissing at his chin and jaw. “Find us a table to have our drinks at while I fetch them?”

“Fetch them,” he repeated with a laugh. “Just an overgrown dog.”

Harry shook his head but he was grinning like he couldn’t quite help himself. “You’re trouble.”

“You like it,” he teased, pressing his body against Harry’s even harder.

“Merlin help me, I do,” he groaned before pulling away and dragging Draco off the wall.

Once inside, Draco looked around and spotted an empty table off to the right and made his way over to it, casting a discreet (wandless) cleaning charm as he sat down. A few seconds later a thoroughly average looking bloke slid in across from him and gave him a grin, "'ello, luv," he said.

Draco gazed at him coolly, "I'm not interested."

"Aw, give us a try, first," he said, walking his fingers across the table toward Draco's hand.

He resisted the impulse to pull away and watched his progress. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

At that, he covered Draco's hand with his own, "Why's that?"

"I'm not interested," he repeated.

"Come on-"

"I think he politely asked you not to fucking touch him," a voice growled behind them.

A chill stole up his spine at the possessive tone of Harry's voice, Draco smirked as the man spun to see Harry standing behind him with their drinks in hand. The man paled as he took in Harry's form and the barely concealed rage.

Harry set the drinks down on the table, "Get out of here," he said, voice low and dangerous as he leaned toward the other man, his body imposing. "Do not come back. Do not inflict your presence on people who do not desire it."

"I was only-"

"Do not lie," he said, nostrils flaring and lip curling in a snarl. "You reek of ill intentions."

He didn't seem to want to stick around to hear more about what Harry had to say, so he turned and fled the table, moving toward the door.

Harry stood unnaturally still as he watched him, waiting until the door closed before he slid into the chair the man had vacated.

"My hero," Draco tittered, fluttering his eyelashes.

Harry huffed a laugh, shaking his head at Draco, "fuck off."

He grinned and sipped his drink, and they drank in companionable silence for a few minutes, Harry's foot slowly tracing its way up and down Draco's shin.

When he finished his drink, he held out a hand and Harry threw back his second double of whiskey (his tolerance had gotten significantly higher once he'd been turned) before taking it and allowing Draco to pull him out onto the dance floor. Draco turned in his arms and kissed him as Harry wrapped his arms around him and pulled him in closer still, hips grinding slowly against Draco's.

He lost himself to the sway of Harry's hips, to the caress of his hands, the press of their bodies together. For his part, Harry seemed equally lost to the world, focused solely on Draco and their bodies. "Godric," he hummed, mouthing over the column of Draco's neck, "You're so-"

"Harry," he said, groaned really, as he tilted his head back and let the other man kiss and suck at his neck.

"-fucking gorgeous," Harry finished. "Want to get out of here?"

He nodded and Harry grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the door, he slammed Draco against the wall in the alleyway and kissed him until all of the muggles had disappeared.

"Hold on," Harry murmured against Draco's lips, grinning sharply before disapparating them back to Harry's flat. And Draco lost himself in Harry a little more until the two of them were too tired to stay awake any longer.

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

When Draco woke again, Harry wasn't in bed anymore and he must have been gone for a while, given that Draco was actually feeling kind of chilly. He stretched and let the last vestiges of his very hot dream about Harry fade away before climbing out of bed and pulling on one of Harry's flannel shirts.

He wandered toward the balcony and stepped through the door, Harry was staring out over the city, elbows leaning on the balcony railing.

"Hey," he said softly, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder.

Harry tensed for a minute before consciously relaxing, rubbing his thumb over Draco's forearm.

"I was having the best dream," he murmured into Harry's neck.

The other man huffed a soft chuckle, "Oh?"

"Mmhmm," he hummed. "Remember that night you took me to Paris?"

Harry laughed, "Oh, that must have been a good dream."

He tucked his smile against Harry's bare shoulder, "Yes. You really do have a skilled mouth."

"I'm glad you think so," he murmured, turning his head to press a kiss to the side of Draco's head where it rested over his shoulder. "My mouth quite enjoys you." Harry went quiet again, mind drifting until it felt like he was miles away.

Draco swallowed and, not for the first time, wished that he could take some of Harry's burdens. Usually, he just ended up apparating away and leaving Harry to his thoughts, too uncertain about his place in the other man's life. "Do you ever dream of me?" he whispered before he could stop himself.

His breath caught and he froze for a minute, but before Draco could panic, he said, "Often."

Draco swallowed, too afraid to ask for more.

"Sometimes, in my dreams, they come after you," he said hoarsely.

And Draco wanted to ask who came after him, who was Harry protecting him from, even in his dreams.

"If you're not here when I wake up from those, it's-" he blew out a breath, shaking his head, "really hard not to apparate to your apartment to make sure you're still there."

"Harry-"

"Sometimes," he continued over Draco, "Sometimes you're doing something ridiculously hot. And I wake up hard as a fucking rock."

He nodded, inordinately pleased. "Good."

Harry chuckled, "Sometimes," he added, "we just go out and do normal things. Go out for coffee, walk in the park, you know," he said with a shrug. "Once, you walked with me on a beach."

"A beach?" he asked, wanting Harry to paint the picture.

Nodding, Harry said, "The sun was just coming up over the water, it turned everything pink and orange. You were fucking radiant. Your hair a mess, big smile on your face, shirt buttoned crooked but you looked like a dream," he said with a laugh. "Like I just wanted to bottle you up, the way you were glowing and free." His hand squeezed Draco's arm, "Merlin, it took everything in me not to just take you away to some deserted island the next day."

Draco didn't know what to say, didn't know how to tell him that he would have let him. Didn't know how to say that he wanted that more than anything.

"Sometimes," Harry said slowly, like he was afraid of scaring Draco off, "you come to me in my dreams. You let me hold you and kiss you, let me make love to you. Slow and sweet." he murmured and Draco's heart felt like it had expanded until there wasn't any room left in his chest.

"You let me stare into your eyes until I'm lost in them," Harry continued, "until they're the only thing I can see. And all I can hear is the way you say my name. All I can feel is your body wrapped around me, drawing me in, holding me fast. All I can smell is your poncy cologne, and your aftershave, and your sweat. It makes me feel fucking feral," he said. "And I-" he dropped his head, suddenly breathing too hard.

Draco slipped a hand up his chest pressing it over his rib cage where he could feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest. "Hey," he whispered. "It's okay," he breathed, kissing the back of Harry's neck.

"The wolf takes over," Harry said then, voice devoid of all emotions. "And I bite you." He rested both hands on the railing again, leaning forward slightly like he was giving Draco permission to leave.

Draco pressed a kiss to his shoulder and wrapped his arms a little tighter around him, silently promising, I'm not going anywhere. "Then what?" he prompted lightly.

"Then what?" Harry parroted mockingly under his breath like it was inconceivable. "I fucking like it, alright?" he managed, like it tore him up. "Biting you, right in that tender spot where your neck meets your shoulder; the spot that drives you absolutely fucking wild when I suck at it."

There was a rather large bruise there at the present moment to prove that, actually, Draco couldn't help but think. He did love that and he loved it even more when Harry scraped his teeth over that spot when they were nearing the end. It invariably sent him over the edge.

"I love it," he said, like a confession. "Feeling the way you writhe under me, your soft flesh under my sharp fucking teeth. It feels so good." he managed, like feeling good was something that caused him physical pain.

"Okay," he whispered, not quite sure how to sooth him in this.

"I'm fucking marking you," he finally spit. "I'm claiming you, mating is what my pack would call it."

And Draco couldn't breathe properly for a moment, "Oh," he managed faintly because never could he have imagined a confession of this magnitude.

"So there you go," Harry said, voice tight. "You're sleeping with a fucking monster. Which maybe you already knew but-"

"Harry," he interrupted, suddenly realizing the extent to which the other man was spiraling after telling Draco all of that. "Hey," he repeated, ducking under his arm and slipping around Harry's body until he was standing in front of him, back against the balcony, with Harry's arms bracketing him in. "Hey," he whispered again, stroking one hand into Harry's hair and cupping his jaw with the other.

The other man refused to look at him, keeping his eyes firmly shut.

"Look at me," he requested.

He shook his head and Draco watched a tear track down his cheek.

"You're not a monster."

A broken sob shook out of Harry's chest.

"Oh," he whispered, pulling his head down until it was tucked into Draco's neck. He realized belatedly that it was the exact spot that Harry'd just confessed to dreaming about moments before. "You're not a monster," he repeated.

"Draco," he groaned raggedly, "I could hurt you."

"You think that loving me could hurt me?" he asked. "Because that is all I hear when you talk about your dreams of me."

He pulled back, affronted, "Did you not hear the part where I literally went for your throat? With my teeth?"

"Did you not hear the part where you said that I was in ecstasy while you made love to me?" he asked. "While you bit me?"

"Draco, I-"

"Is that why you always get so bent out of shape when I tell you I want you to bite me?" he demanded. "Not because you don't want to spend your life tied to me, but because you do?"

Harry pulled away completely, turning away from Draco and heading back inside.

"Hey!" he said. "Harry, we are not done with this conversation."

"I am," Harry replied as he stepped inside and made his way to the sink.

He followed him in, shutting the door behind them and crossing his arms over his chest. "I want that too."

"No you don't," he replied without missing a beat.

"You don't get to speak for me," he said, balling his hands into fists. "You don't get to decide-"

"It would turn you!" he exploded. "Do you not get that? It would ruin your life. It would ruin your friendships, your opportunities for work in the wizarding world. It would ostracize you."

"Gee, I wonder what that must be like," he said, raising an eyebrow.

He shook his head, "You don't want this."

Draco looked at Harry for a long moment, took in his defensive posture, the pleading in his eyes, hands clenched into fists. "When you say that I don't want this, do you actually mean that I don't want you?"

His face crumpled and he turned away, "How could you?"

"You," he said, stepping lightly across the room and moving so that he could see Harry's face once more, "are not a monster," he repeated. "I am not afraid of you. Your love is not going to hurt me."

"It's not just love," he said, "It's ownership, that's the wolf's drive, the desire to possess, to claim, to own. It's-"

"It goes both ways, you know," Draco interrupted. "I love you too," he said, brave as he could possibly manage to be in the light of the gift of Harry's honesty. "And not only do I want you to claim me, to see me as yours," he said because honestly, that idea was hotter than anything and sounded so permanent that Draco's entire heart melted into a puddle in his chest at the thought. "But I also want to hold your heart. I want to call you mine, for everyone to know that you are mine," he cupped Harry's cheek, "It's not just you. You aren't alone. And," he continued, "I don't have a wolf to blame it on. Just my own instincts." Then he gave Harry a little smirk, "Not yet at least."

Harry stared at him for long moments, absorbing what Draco had just said, "I can't make that decision right now. I'm too emotionally compromised."

"I'm not asking you to make any decisions right now," he said calmly. "I'm not expecting you to drag me to bed and mark me," he added, shuddering a bit at the thought, "Although, I wouldn't say no if you did-"

"Draco-"

"The point," he continued, "is that all I want to do is make it clear to you that you are not alone."

He hummed and grasped the flaps of the flannel shirt Draco had borrowed, pulling him in closer, "not alone," he murmured softly.

"Not alone," Draco repeated, leaning up to steal a kiss. "Not anymore."

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