#it had sounded like an interesting premise but then it sprung that pairing on me

[lasthumaninwales]

My wife and I have been burned too many times by historical fiction writers taking a sudden left turn into Richard III/Elizabeth of York territory that we're both just, coiled springs whenever they're in the same room around the time of Anne's death.

Author: -brings up that time Anne and Elizabeth wore matching dresses-

Us: Bitch you better not...

[the-captains-ayebrows]

I’m intrigued by the therapy one and the studio?

The Studio AU was supposed to be a three-parter Modern AU. The first part is modern deckhand!hook backstory. It’s all him and Milah and Gold. That’s the only part I’ve written so far. Part 2 and 3 were going to be Emma and Henry’s backstories, respectively. All of them are told as flashbacks and the stories dovetail into each other so Killian, Emma and Henry meet at this recording studio where Emma works and Killian is a guitar player. I may post part 1 just on it’s own, since it’s actually finished. IDK.

The therapy one though...Oh lord... *blushes* That sprung from a GIF of Bernard Curry as a high school principal.

The basic premise is that Emma is in court-ordered anger management counseling. Liam is her therapist. Emma has been angrier than usual lately because her new neighbor wakes her up cheering at football matches that air at 4 am. She also may be having a few questionable dreams about said neighbor. Little does she realize the neighbor is her therapist’s brother.

Here’s what I’ve got thus far:

“I don’t need therapy.”

The doctor slid on a pair of reading glasses, and began thumbing through her paperwork. “That may well be Miss Swan, but Judge Spencer seemed to think otherwise. Hence, making it a condition of your probation.”

Emma rolled her eyes. God, this was irritating. “Geez, you slam one slimeball’s head into a steering wheel…”

The doc paused his perusal and looked up at her, blue eyes peeking out over the top of the lenses. “Just the one?”

“I mean,” Emma gestured vaguely with one hand, “there may have been a few skips that I had to get physical with, but they all earned it.”

“Mmhmm. I see.” The doctor closed her file and removed his glasses, sitting up straight to face her fully. “Still, as well-founded as your reasons may have been, the Superior Court of the state of Maine believes that you may have a bit of an anger management problem. And they shan’t reinstate your bail bonds license until I’ve cleared you.”

“So, here I am.” Emma made a sweeping gesture with both hands, encompassing the large tufted leather couch upon which she was sitting as well as the elegant wood-paneled office in general.

He nodded, one corner of his lips tilting up slightly. “So, here we are. Anything you’d care to talk about?”

No. She cocked her head to one side and said the first thing that popped into her mind. “How did America end up calling it ‘soccer’ when the rest of the world calls it football?”

The doc’s eyebrows made a little peak over his nose. “An excellent question to be sure, but I’m afraid that discussion won’t bring us any closer to discovering the root of your anger issues.”

Emma snorted a bitter laugh. Shit. She’d meant to say something random and meaningless. But no. He was infiltrating her thoughts again.

“What’s funny?”

“It’s just…” Emma gave him a tight smile.”You’d be surprised.”

“Ah, well then enlighten me.”

Emma leaned forward on the couch, resting her elbows on her knees. “I don’t have anger issues. I, uh - I haven’t been sleeping much lately. I guess it’s making me kind of…” She leaned back on the couch again and raised her arms helplessly. “prickly.”

The doctor narrowed his eyes. “And this is somehow related to football?”

“I’m getting to that. I’ve got this new neighbor, see? He’s from your side of the pond, and no offense to your countrymen, but this one’s an asshole.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s all arrogant and smirky and clearly thinks he’s hot. Okay, so he is hot, but the point is he knows it. And he seems to have made it his life’s mission to annoy the shit out of me.”

She didn’t like the way the doc was raising his eyebrows or the tone of his, “Mmhm.”

“Look. All of that I could ignore, but it’s the damn soccer or football or whatever the hell you call it. Apparently my neighbor is a rabid fan of the English Premier League - oh, I’ve googled all of this since I’m fucking awake anyway - and what the hell kind of sport starts at 9:00 a.m. on a Saturday?”

“That doesn’t sound too early…”

Emma leaned forward for emphasis, slamming her hands down on the couch cushion on either side of her. “In England. 9:00 a.m. in England which is 4:00 a.m. here. I swear to God if I hear ‘Glory glory Man United’ drunkenly slurred through my wall when the sun isn’t even up yet one more time, I’m going to go over there, tear his scruffy head off, and shove it up his-”

“Right. Got it.” The doc crossed his legs and tilted his head, seeming to study her. “I don’t supposed you’ve tried asking him to keep it down?”

She fidgeted, taking particular interest in a loose thread sticking out from the seat cushion of the couch. “No,” she finally answered.

“Why not? That seems the simplest solution.”

Emma really didn’t like his insufferably reasonable tone. “That would involve talking to him.”

“And that’s bad.”

“Yes. That’s bad.”

Crap, now he was starting to look worried. “Do you find him to be threatening or harassing? If so, I can-”

“No, no no.” Emma waved his concern away. “It’s not like that. He’s not a creep, and even if it was like that I can take care of myself.” Her fingers fiddled with the thread some more. “I could definitely kick his ass,” she added under her breath.

The doctor fixed her with a wry look. “You realize you aren’t doing a lot to convince me about those anger issues, Miss Swan.”

Emma glared at him in a manner that clearly communicated she could kick his ass, too. He raised a hand in surrender and gestured for her to go on. She didn’t know how to go on. God this was stupid.

“It’s just- he just…” She exhaled heavily. “Flirts with me.”

“And you don’t like that.”

Damn, that thread just really needed to be plucked or clipped or something, and how cliche was it for a shrink to have a leather couch like this?

“Miss Swan?”

Emma pressed her lips together. “Hm?”

“You said that your neighbor flirts with you, and I asked if you don’t like it when he does that?”

Emma felt her cheeks warming. She turned her head to the side and gave a nonchalant shrug. When she glanced back at the doc, he was smiling at her like he’d made some big discovery.

“I see.”

Emma glared again, emphasizing her point with a jab of her index finger in his direction. “You see nothing.”

“Miss Swan, do you have feelings for your neighbor?”

Emma huffed in exasperation. “Of course I have feelings for him. It’s like I just told you: anger, hatred-”

“Sexual frustration?”

“Ew!” Oh, God. What am I twelve? Who says ‘ew’?

“Oh, really?” His eyes were wide and it looked like he was trying to suppress another ‘eureka’ kind of smile.

“It’s-” Emma shook her head and looked at the top of the bookshelf behind him. “It’s nothing. I’ve been having kind of a dry spell, and he’s there, and he’s-”

“Hot? I believe you said he was hot. Your word.”

“It’s nothing. I’ve been having these dreams. It’s kind of the other reason I’m having trouble sleeping.”

“And in these dreams…?” he prompted.

This was getting ridiculous. Emma exhaled sharply and sat up, looking the doc square in the eye. “I have wild crazy monkey sex with my neighbor. Who I hate. Anyway, it’s confusing and I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Fair enough, but Miss Swan, you do realize you have to deal with these issues and perhaps get some sleep before you’ll be able to resume your livelihood?”

“I don’t have issues.” Emma’s voice sounded petulant and unconvincing even to her own ears.

“Lass, I’ve known you for less than half an hour and in my professional opinion, you’ve got a fair few. Trust, intimacy, anger management, denial-”

“Okay, okay. I still don’t want to talk to him. Can’t I just move?”

“Disregarding for the moment whether that’s even a remotely psychologically healthy attitude, is moving a financially viable option for you?”

Emma slumped. “No.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re going to have to face this.” The doctor shifted in his chair, and furrowed his brow. “Now, you say you’ve been having sexual dreams about your neighbor. Have you engaged in any self-release?”

“Self-re...oh my god.” Emma’s head dropped into her hand, covering her eyes. This wasn’t happening. She wasn’t about to get the talk at age 30 from a stuffy Brit in a sweater vest and blazer with elbow patches. He must’ve taken her reaction as embarrassment, and maybe it was, kind of. The second-hand variety anyway. He kept talking. Emma checked out.

“...and that’s why masturbation is perfectly healthy.”

Emma finally raised her head. “Stop. Please. Look, I’ve… self-released before. But, I’m not feeling myself up while thinking about my neighbor. I’m not a creep.”

He extended a hand toward her in what she supposed was meant to be a reassuring gesture. “I’m not suggesting you make it habitual, only that it could be a safe way for you to confront and explore your confusing feelings for this person. Particularly since you seem so resistant to confronting the actual person causing them.”

Wait, that - that actually kind of made sense. “So…” Emma narrowed her eyes. “Like banging one out, only solo?”

“Bit of a gross oversimplification, but yes, I suppose so. Much safer at least than picking up a stranger at a bar and projecting your feelings onto him or her.”

Well, that hit close to home. “Have you been reading my diary, Doc?” Emma asked coyly, trying to make a joke out of it.

He chuckled. “Analysis is my job, Miss Swan. And you, I must admit, are a bit of an open book.”

“Huh.” Emma considered her options. As much as she thought it was dumb and unnecessary, she had to do this therapy thing if she wanted her license back, and this shrink didn’t seem like such a bad guy. A little awkward, maybe a little judgey, but not awful. He didn’t seem put off by her which was unusual enough, and she suspected he might even have a sense of humor in there somewhere. She guessed she could suck it up and deal with this. It was all confidential anyway. It’s not like he can go blabbing on her, right?

“Well, if we’re gonna be discussing every intimate detail of my life, I guess you better call me Emma.”

He smiled again. Not an ‘ah-ha!’ kind of smile like before, but a friendly one. “Very well, Emma. You can call me Liam.”