#mr. harrison

[doctorsqueakyboards]

MR.Harrioson stimboard

It was surprisingly hard to find these gifs! Dunno why

Requested by: @rainycat82

[frvmewxrk]

i don’t know if it’s taken from somewhere, but if not i like the little fun fact that when aziraphale went undercover as warlock’s tutor in the book, he chose the name of mr. cortese, which in italian literally translates to “courteous” or “kind”.

he chose his name to be mr. kind.

it’s just a little easter egg and it’s probably not planned but neil is a genius and i’ll stand by that.

[fieriframes]

[I shall govern by affection, Mr. Harrison.]

[politeanarchy]

Holiday Report

(also on AO3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/43713631 )

Inoffensive, vaguely jazzy arrangements of Christmas songs provided a mellow ambiance in the background, behind a general hum of conversation. The room was hung with garlands of greenery and twinkling lights, and an array of tables held trays full of little nibbly things. At one end of the room was an enormous Christmas tree, with an elaborate nativity scene set up underneath.

Harriet Dowling was circulating near the entrance, and paused to greet a new arrival in a dark suit, whose tinted glasses conveyed that he was both stylish and intellectual, and not to be confused with any of the American security detail. He had found the bar already, judging by the plastic cup of wine he was holding.

"Mr. Harrison, happy holidays! I'm so glad you could join us tonight," said Harriet. "Mr. Cortese is here, too." She waved at a figure nearby, whose hair, beard, jumper, and expression were all equally wooly. He gave a little wave back at her, or perhaps at Mr. Harrison, and strolled amiably over to them.

"I wanted to thank you both so much," said Harriet, "for all your work with Warlock this year. His grades are much better, and he seems to be really enjoying his lessons."

Mr. Cortese beamed. "Dear lady, you are too kind. I've merely done my humble best to, er, broaden the boy's horizons a little, to offer a bit of guidance on the path, as it were."

Mr. Harrison gave Mr. Cortese a repressive glare, then adjusted his smile and turned to Harriet. "Yeah, he's a sharp kid. Keeps me entertained."

"His father and I really appreciate it," said Harriet. "Well, I won't keep you. Enjoy the evening."

Mr. Cortese gestured affably with his disposable plastic cup of wine*. "Evening, Harrison, old chap."

[*a mediocre American white]

Harrison had already persuaded his own cup of wine that it should aspire to be a more acceptable vintage, and discreetly did the same to Mr. Cortese's as he approached.

"Good evening to you, ang—that is to say, my esteemed colleague," said Harrison, with a wry twist of one eyebrow.

Mr. Cortese took a sip of his wine and smiled at his counterpart. "Oh, that is an improvement. Much obliged."

Amid the crowd of political secretaries, low-level diplomats, household staff, and secret service men, it was perhaps only natural that Mr. Harrison and Mr. Cortese would fall into conversation together. Warlock's tutors weren't really part of the usual crowd, and it was somehow easy to overlook them. Despite a certain number of potentially striking personal peculiarities, they managed to fade quietly into the background. They had, presumably, professional interests in common, and were assumed to be comparing notes on their student.

This was true, though perhaps not quite in the way that the rest of the party-goers might have thought.

Mr. Harrison's dark, sleek beard twitched, as though he was trying to suppress a smile of his own, and almost succeeding. "How has Warlock been enjoying your uplifting curriculum?"

Mr. Cortese made a sound like an offended sheep. "Hmph. I got the distinct impression he was mostly excited about it being the end of term. I'm sure he'll spend his holiday playing those awful computerized games, and forgetting everything I've told him about the history of Christmas."

"Bet he'd remember it if you told him about what really happened."

"You know perfectly well I can't do that. In any case, he'd never believe me."

"Yeah, exactly! He'd assume it's just another made-up story, like so much of what Christmas has turned into anyway, so it wouldn't matter. But he'd remember it."

"What have you been telling him, then? Anything memorable?"

"I've got him researching Yule customs and Saturnalia. Human sacrifice, overturning the social order, Lords of Misrule. The fun stuff," said Mr. Harrison smoothly.

"Of course you have."

Mr. Harrison was fairly certain Mr. Cortese was pouting, but it was impossible to be sure, because there was too much beard in the way. "So you didn't happen to mention about how Gabriel—"

"No!" Mr. Cortese huffed irritably, Warlock and his education forgotten in the remembrance of past frustrations. "Anyway, I tried my best to explain to Gabriel at the time. It's not my fault he didn't listen."

"I'm sure that's true. You are nothing if not comprehensively thorough. Not to say pedantic."

"It was a very brief report! Perfectly concise and understandable, with just a few suggestions for how best to approach the humans of the day. I said that things were very unsettled, what with the taxes and all, and that they were mostly very lovely simple people, at least once you got out of the palaces and whatnot, and that humans weren't really used to Heavenly visitations anymore, so he would need to reassure them that nothing bad was happening, he'd just popped in to bring them the good news."

"Mmm-hmm."

"There may also have been some explanation of the behavior of the people in the palaces, and the expectations of the people not in the palaces, which is to say the ordinary citizens, shepherds and so forth."

"Mmm-hmm."

"Well, one doesn't like to leave out important details of etiquette."

"'Course not."

"And then, after I'd gone to all that trouble to explain, Gabriel said, 'Sounds like the humans in these parts are a bunch of nervous nellies! Don't worry, I know how to deal with mortals.'"

"And promptly went off and manifested in some random field full of sheep, glowing like a supernova and shouting BE NOT AFRAID!"

Mr. Cortese looked sulky. "And then the whole crew showed up after him, half of them singing Hallelujah and the other half arguing over how Gabriel should have announced it instead. Goodness, it was embarrassing. And in all the confusion, I completely forgot to tell poor Mary and her husband I'd arranged about the rooms."

"It worked out all right. In the end."

"The only person who did anything helpful at all was some woman all muffled up in a headscarf who miraculously turned up at the stable at a critical moment with some hot water and towels. I was jolly grateful to her, I can tell you. I never did find out who she was, but I sent a general blessing after her in the chaos. I hope it reached her."

"...Yeah. Yeah, it did."

"How do you know? You missed all the excitement. I didn't see you until at least a week afterward, and you were just recovering from that awful rash."

"I, um, ran into her as well. Chatted a bit. Local gossip, you know how it is."

"Hm." Mr. Cortese looked thoughtful for a moment, as though putting together some bits of information he hadn't previously considered in relation to one another.

Mr. Harrison decided it was time he changed the subject. "I suppose you'll be off to write up your end-of year report, after this."

"Oh, I'm well started on that already," said Mr. Cortese, with a modest chuckle.

"How awfully virtuous of you."

"Although I shall certainly be adding some notes from tonight's observations."

"Is that so. Tell me angel, what do you observe?"

Both tutors turned their attention to the far side of the room, where Warlock and several of his friends were gathered. They had been eating sugar for a good solid couple of hours, and were in the noisiest possible high spirits.

"He seems to be having a nice time with the other children," said Mr. Cortese, with a fond smile. "That shows an understanding of camaraderie and good fellowship, I should say."

Warlock was gesturing with a candy cane, one end of which had been carefully sucked into a lethally-sharp point. Occasionally be lunged at people, trying to stab them with it. There were some noises of yelping and protest.

Mr. Harrison waved his cup airily. "And I get to report on his keen interest in injuring and intimidating lesser mortals. Oh, the point's broken off. What a shame."

"Listen, Cr—Harrison, they're singing! How lovely, to hear young people expressing merriment so traditionally, in this joyful season." Mr. Cortese sighed happily, and closed his eyes so he could concentrate on listening. Unfortunately, that meant he could hear the words of Warlock's song.

Deck the halls with gasoline! fa la la la la, la la la la! Light a match and watch it gleam! fa la la la la, la la la la!

Mr. Cortese's face fell, and beside him, Mr. Harrison snorted into his drink. "You could probably also say he's celebrating warmth," said Mr. Harrison cheerfully, and Mr. Cortese gave him a scathing look.

Watch the school burn down to ashes! fa la la, la la la, la la la! Aren't you glad you played with matches? fa la la la la, la la la la!

"As a representative of both Heaven and the educational establishment, I find it most disappointing," said Mr. Cortese sadly.

"Yeah, I gotta say, this one's gonna sound better on my report than yours."

See the blazing school before us! fa la la la la, la la la la! Strike a match and join the chorus! fa la la la la, la la la la!

A slow, amused smile spread across Mr. Harrison's face, while Mr. Cortese drooped. "Did you know there was a second verse?" inquired Mr. Harrison.

"I didn't even know there was a first verse!" wailed Mr. Cortese.

Follow me through smoking rubble! fa la la, la la la, la la la! Holy crap, are we in trouble! fa la la la la, la la la la!

Mr. Cortese perked up a little at the last line. "There, you see! He does at least understand that actions have consequences."

"Oh, yeah, yeah! Definitely considering the, ah, the...ethical implications, sure." The amount of sniggering that accompanied this remark rendered it less than reassuring. "You can tell yourself that, if it makes you feel any better."

"Well. Perhaps I've seen enough. Should probably be off, so I can finish writing my report in good time."

Mr. Harrison drank the last of his wine, and set the empty glass down in the middle of the nativity scene. "Come on, angel, I'll give you a lift back to the bookshop." They found their way to the door, with the voices of Warlock and his friends fading away into the distance.

Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg...

Before he climbed into the passenger seat of the Bentley, Mr. Cortese paused for a moment to look up at the stars. "It is going to be all right, isn't it?" he asked quietly. "I mean, he doesn't seem to be, well, evil, exactly. Merely inclined to...boyish high spirits."

"Nyeeeeeaaaahhh, that's right, just trying to have a good time with his friends."

The two man-shaped beings settled themselves into the car, and drove away from the embassy, becoming less like respectable tutors as they drove, and more like worried occult and ethereal forces.

"Would we be able to tell, though, if he was beginning to manifest his powers?" wondered Aziraphale, losing the last traces of Mr. Cortese's patient confidence.

"Yeah! Well, yeah, probably. I mean, you'd think, wouldn't you?"

"It's only—I don't like the thought of this being the last Christmas. I suppose I'd hoped some year we might—" He trailed off, stared out the window, and picked at some lint on his jumper.

"Might what?"

"Oh! It's silly, really. But I'd imagined that we might, I don't know, roast some chestnuts. Make egg nog. Sit by a fire and sip hot toddy."

"We will," said Crowley, who had entirely ceased to be Mr. Harrison. "Next year. After all this blows over."

"I know you're just putting up a brave front, to try and cheer me up."

"Is it working?" asked Crowley, as the Bentley came to a stop in front of the bookshop.

"No. But I appreciate the effort." Aziraphale pulled himself together, and got reluctantly out of the car. He smiled, and it almost looked like he meant it. "Happy Christmas, Crowley."

[magnetothemagnificent]

I redrew a drawing I did a few months ago of Mr. Harrison/ tutor Crowley

Before:

After:

Skill progress is fun!!!

[tydy-the-megnet]

The Elevator Scene

When Peter had sat down in his hotel room and began to work the tracker out of his suit, Ned had asked, “So we’re lying to Iron Man now?”

And when he put it like that, Peter mused, it sounded really bad. “No, he just—he doesn’t understand what I can do yet.”

“I don’t know, man, this still seems like a bad idea to me.”

That gave Peter pause. Ned being cautious usually meant Peter was being senseless for once. Ned was the one who blurted out that Peter was friends with Spider-Man; and as much as he loved his best friend, Ned usually acted without completely thinking things through.

If he was thinking things through this time, then Peter was probably going too far.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re probably right.” Peter replied, leaning back from the suit. “What do I do, then?”

Ned looks at him, “Uh, call Iron Man? Let him handle it like you said he said he would? Help us win the decathlon.”

Peter stayed silent for a moment, staring pensively at Ned. Slowly, the young hero nodded and brought out his phone, “Yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks, Ned.”

…

The next day, the competition had gone without a hitch – it had been Michelle who won it for them in the end, and they had all practically dog-piled her afterward – and then they were exploring DC.

The Washington Monument, specifically.

Ever since they entered the tall spire, Peter’s mind had been itching at him as if he’d forgotten something important. It had left him irritable as the group (minus Michelle who had elected to stay on the ground) ascended in a small metal box.

They had nearly been at the top of the shaft when Peter recognized that sinking feeling as his sixth sense flaring up with righteous fervor.

Glancing around in a panic, Peter saw the purple light as it arose from Ned’s backpack. It must have been the glowy thing.

Lasers erupted from the bag, lighting up the area and cutting through the ceiling like hot butter.

“Oh my god, look at the ceiling.” Flash whispered as color drained from everyone’s faces.

Indeed, there was a rough circle of molten red-hot metal from the cut, and it was very obviously weak in holding the elevator together. Peter glanced at Ned, who threw down his backpack in a panic and looked up to meet Peter’s stare.

Help? Peter caught him mouthing, and the hero had never seen more fear on someone’s face. Peter began thinking about how he could get them to safety. The obvious answer was Spider-Man.

But then he’d have to reveal his identity.

“We are so screwed.” Peter registered the words without quite hearing the voice. His mind was running itself down with multiple scenarios following their predicament, trying to come up with something that wouldn’t out him as Spider-Man.

Death. Death. Severe maiming. Death. Permanent paralysis. Peter continued to shut down myriad bad ideas, even as the guide slowly climbed to the roof of the elevator and began helping everyone up.

Just as Peter’s head was starting to become overwhelmed, he briefly noticed Flash being pulled up to safety. For a second, he thought that despite the terrifying shaking, that everything would be okay.

Then his stomach dropped from his abdomen and the ceiling broke. He stopped thinking.

Peter slung his bag down around his arms, bringing it in front of him. The elevator stopped suddenly, jerking everyone with a heart-stopping lurch, and Peter wasted no time in opening his bag and slipping his web-shooters onto his wrists.

“Okay, everyone,” He said, his sense still buzzing with the imminent danger the situation presented, “I’m going to trust you not to tell anyone about what you’re about to see, alright?” He looked around, acknowledging the confusion permeating the atmospheric terror.

Slowly and gently, Peter climbed up through the hatch, making quick work of webbing the edges of the elevator to the surrounding beams. He also took note of the staircase that spiraled around the elevator shaft – it was a glorious sight after what had just happened. Then, he reached inside and said, “Okay, guys, one at a time. Don’t worry, I gotcha.”

Ned. Mr. Harrison. Liz. They were the only ones left. Mr. Harrison insisted on being the last, and Peter’s respect for him went up a couple of notches. Ned, of course, looked both excited at the prospect of seeing Peter’s heroics up close – to the point Peter had to actively calm the other boy down so he wouldn’t shake the compartment. Liz seemed so awe-stricken and shock-ridden that Peter was slightly worried he’d broken her brain.

He’d worry about that later, though.

“Peter? You’re the Spider-Man?” Mr. Harrison stated it more than asked, but Peter nodded anyway. With a quick glance up, Peter noticed quite a distance between them and the top. Hopefully no one up there would see him.

“Okay,” He said, turning to look at the final three victims of this incredible misfortune, “Step carefully, the elevator’s structural integrity looks pretty bad, so I’m going to help you guys onto the stairs.” To think that just an hour ago he had looked at the stairs and never been more grateful from elevators. Now he kind of wished they had done the extra walking.

Once again, Peter climbed up to the surrounding beams and took hold of his company. He gently – effortlessly – lifted them from the elevator and over to the staircase, depositing them safely so they could walk down.

And as the mortal terror faded, and the adrenaline died down, the questions arose.

[luanna801]

For reasons which are completely random and have absolutely nothing to do with any discourse I’ve been seeing on my dash lately, I’d just like to remind people that the fan tendency to get invested in murder-y bad-boys, root for them to get redeemed, and ship them with people is so incredibly common and longstanding that L.M. Montgomery affectionately poked fun at it back in 1915: 

Diana rose to the occasion and cried properly; but, when the end came, she looked a little disappointed. 

“Why did you kill Maurice Lennox?” she asked reproachfully. 

“He was the villain,” protested Anne. “He had to be punished.”

“I like him best of them all,” said unreasonable Diana.

“Well, he’s dead, and he’ll have to stay dead,” said Anne, rather resentfully. “If I had let him live he’d have gone on persecuting Averil and Perceval.”

“Yes--unless you had reformed him.”

“That wouldn’t have been romantic, and besides, it would have made the story too long.”

[....]

“Anyhow,” resumed the merciless Mr. Harrison, “I don’t see why Maurice Lennox didn’t get her. He was twice the man the other is. He did bad things, but he did them. Perceval hadn’t time for anything but mooning.”

“Mooning.” That was even worse than “pitching!”

“Maurice Lennox was the villain,” said Anne indignantly. “I don’t see why every one likes him better than Perceval.”

“Perceval is too good. He’s aggravating. Next time you write about a hero put a little spice of human nature in him.” 

“Averil couldn’t have married Maurice. He was bad.”

“She’d have reformed him. You can reform a man; you can’t reform a jelly-fish, of course.”

(Anne of the Island, Chapter 12, 1915)

[batrachised]

remembering why anne of the island was the anne book i read repeatedly before discovering rilla