A cunningly edited selection of the think-thoughting session from 402 to highlight Malcolm’s dawning apprehension that hell isn’t other people; hell is Quiet Batpeople.

(If I’d been a little more on the ball I would have posted this yesterday which was the same day this happened without being the same date since the Wednesday before Remembrance Sunday in 2011 was actually November 9th.)

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1. In re: bullying

And that’s all that needs to be said about that.

2. Childhood cuddles? wonders Malcolm suspiciously. What does she know?

For indeed, the no-tie tweedy tousled strangely ginger psyche psychoanalyst* that lives deep deep deep within Malcolm’s unconscious mind–

–well, on second thought maybe not THAT deep within, is still slooooowly working through some of Malcolm’s obviously unresolved cuddle-related issues,

but how could Helen possibly know that?????

*Yes, a psyche psychoanalyst IS totally a thing and conclusively a Freudian construct because luxuriant beard

anonymous asked:

Malcolm/Helen? A tiny little one scene or something please? Love your fics :)

“She’ll no’ forgive you for this if she found out”

“Shut the fuck up, I’ll deal with Nicola, you deal with me”

Malcolm obliged, biting Helen’s lower lip and pushing her harder against the wall of the cupboard they were hidden in. Her legs hooked around his waist and he practically purred as her fingernails sunk harshly into his back.

Yes, Malcolm would deal with Helen. He’d deal with her until she was an exhausted mass in his hands.

Then he’d deal with Nicola.