#its fun to watch him solve the problems and i love wilson

[opens-up-4-nobody]

House MD, my beloved 🖤

[shurisneakers]

shut in [5]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, threats, implied ptsd, violence

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: sam wilson nation how are we feeling after that trailer. only about a month to go for my two dumbasses to get the recognition they deserve!!

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Where are they?”

“We don’t know, boss.”

Their eyes glossed over with rising anger, masking its earlier aloofness.

“I’m going to need more than ‘I don’t know’.” Their voice was acidic, dripping with faux politeness. A bad sign.

“Police say they pulled off the highway at one point and then they lost track of them because there were no cameras.” The agent looked at his partner who only nodded in confirmation.

“They could have ditched the car before going on foot,” the partner suggested rather unhelpfully,  “We have no idea where they could be”

They were silent, mouth pressed in a hard line, leaving everyone in silence.

“Have I told you about the time my dad hired someone to fix the sink here?” they finally asked, looking away from the agents. “Some drunk fuck got in a fistfight and absolutely decimated the thing. Dad got someone to fix the hole in the wall and the fitting.”

They turned away, facing the wall.

“He did an alright job, that guy. Fixed up the place, installed a new sink. But there was a problem that he said he’d be able to fix only the next day, something about water dripping through an unsealed pipe.”

The agents just sat there on their chairs, feet cold. They knew where the story was going. It was a myth at their organisation, a cautionary tale to everyone who joined.

“My dad, he agreed. Said ‘Yeah sure, come back tomorrow’. Guy packed up his bag and was on his way out when my dad called him back. Asked him to hold out his hand for the money and then he just,” they paused, “cut one of his fingers clean off. Told him that he’d get his payment and his finger when the job was done.”

“I loved my father,” They skipped a beat before whipping their head around to look at the two agents. “But he was a coward. I would have shot him in the head.”

The agents looked paler than what they were a few seconds ago.

“If I tell you to do something, either do it perfectly or don’t do it all because the next time you’re here and those two are still alive,” they sneered, lunging forward to grab one of their collars, “I’ll blow your fucking brains out. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes boss,” the partner was barely audible, speaking for the one who was breathing heavily, looking like he was on the verge of passing out.

“Go on then.” They smiled, letting go of the agent’s collar as he stayed frozen in his place. They dusted their hands off before straightening up. “Don’t return without good news.”

The frustration of not knowing something was not one you were used to.

You were used to knowing. The satisfaction of a puzzle. The ease of a predictable pattern.

So when this mystery wasn’t getting solved within twenty minutes, it was starting to affect you. You spent hours staring at the ceiling, replaying every detail for months leading up to the case. Every client you shook hands with. Every coworker you greeted with a nod. Every vile sicko you had killed.

And yet, no matter how much you thought and rethought and rethought again, it simply didn’t make sense. There was a piece missing. A hidden variable.

Sam helped wherever he could. He offered up arguments and rebuttals. If you had a theory, he’d find the flaw or the lack of proof. He was keeping it reasonable. Only snorted when you suggested that maybe the president was involved in a large scale extermination of underground mafias. A absurd theory that had no roots in reality.

“You could point out any official on the damn senate and they would have some connection to our gang that you can dig up with one Red Bull and twenty minutes on the internet,” he had said. “It’s too much of a liability if we get caught. They’ll just get exposed for all the nasty shit they’ve been hiding under the carpet.”

You knew this, of course, and it didn’t help to be reminded of it again because it also meant that one more theory was ruled out. And with each theory ruled out, the further away you were from your answer.

It was frustrating.

Sam was in front of the TV, lounging on the couch with the copy of Pride and Prejudice in his hands. You were working on plausible solutions, drawing up flow charts to see what could be connected.

If Pierce wasn’t the common link then it had to be something else. You couldn’t proceed with the other spies theory because no one else immediately sprung to mind. There was one... but you decided against writing it.

If Ransone was telling the truth, and there was no way of knowing he was, Sam and you were unrelated and his being there was coincidental. You just had to rely on the employee-employer relationship you shared, if you could even call it that.

“Fuck,” you cursed loudly, tearing up the piece of paper and crumpling it. You groaned, holding your head in your hands. Your eyes were burning from straining it for too long and your shoulders were in pain from slumping over the table all day. 

You took a deep breath, shaking your head before instinctively reaching for another sheet. Your hand came up short so you fumbled around the table blindly, trying to grab at a piece of paper without spending the extra effort of searching.

“You’re not getting another sheet,” Sam’s voice came from above you. “You’re going to watch some shitty movie, eat some soup and relax for today.”

“Give it back, Wilson,” you muttered, reaching out your hand.

“No. You can use your unhealthy coping mechanism when I’m not around to see it. Half of this is my mess too and I’m not going to watch you have a breakdown over it.”

He was going to be annoyingly persistent; somehow he had exhibited that magnificently over the last few days. You knew better than to argue with him over something that he had made his mind up about by now.

“I don’t want to watch a movie.” You let your head fall onto the table, wishing that the cool wood would do something for the headache you felt coming.

You heard him set the paper back down, not saying a word. Your head was throbbing and all you wanted was the frustration to ease. It was killing you.

“Come on. We’re going outside.” That piqued your interest. Sam had never invited you anywhere before.

“Where?”

“Y’know; the outside. I know you haven’t seen it in a while but see if these words jog your memory. Sun. Grass. Win-”

“I know what the outdoors is, Wilson.” You smiled against the table, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing it. “I’m asking where exactly we’re going.”

“You’ll see. Put some shoes on.”

By the time you looked up he was already walking away from the table, leaving you to follow.

You sighed. He sounded too determined and you didn’t have many other options.

Pushing your chair away from the table, you went to go put on your shoes. __

“If in care you were planning to, I’m just going to tell you right now that you can’t kill me.”

The both of you had been wandering along the path for a while. When you met him by the backdoor, he had a bag with him filled with who knows what.

He declined to tell you what was in it either, despite you asking thrice.

“Calm down, Keanu Reeves. That’s not what I was going to do.” Sam gave a short laugh.

“I’m serious. I know karate.”

“So do I.”

“Krav Maga.”

He hummed in agreement. 

“Kickboxing.”

“Now you’re just insulting me. That’s level one.”

The path was littered with tree roots that stuck out of the soil, stray branches and leaves that crunched satisfactorily under your feet. One second of distraction and you were sure you’d fall flat to the ground. 

You both continued for a few more minutes before he finally came to a stop.

It didn't look very different from the rest of the woods until something caught your eye. In front of you, one of the trees stood out. The bark had large concentric circles, resembling a large dart board. A few indentations were already made in it; clearly it was being used for practice regularly.

“Here you go,” he spoke from beside you, handing you a tomahawk. “Go ahead, throw it at it.”

You looked at the tiny axe in his hand.

“Think of it as adult darts,” he encouraged, “Here, I’ll throw the first one.”

He extended his arm in front of him, pulling his wrist back before effortlessly throwing it at his makeshift board. It was two circles away from the bullseye he had carved out. It must have taken a while to make.

“This doesn’t look very safe,” you commented as he picked up another one, launching it at the tree. You followed its trajectory, watching it embed itself into the bark closer to the centre than the previous turn.

“That’s what makes it fun.” This man had no regard for safety protocols. Given, these were things that came with the job but it didn’t mean you did it in your free time. “It helps, just try.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked curiously, trying to assess his reaction. Pulling you out of the house for a bar game wasn’t exactly the type of thing people generally did for you.

“Because I wanted to.” He shrugged, not giving you any further explanation. “Try one.”

“Okay.” You followed his example, watching as it glided smoothly before landing close to his initial throw.

“Nice shot.”

A smile made its way to your face automatically as he handed you another one. You repeated your action, an unusual sense of pride establishing itself in you when it came closer to the middle.

“Now what?”

“Now we collect and do the whole thing again till you feel better,” Sam replied, making his way towards the tree and plucking the small axes out easily. His back muscles tightened against the material of his shirt in the process. It wasn’t a bad sight at all. “Endorphins and all that.

“Is this where you keep disappearing to?” you inquired, taking two of them from him when he returned.

“Sometimes.” He took aim before throwing it at the board. “There’s a few things you can do around here.”

“Your coping mechanism is extreme sports without proper guidelines.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” Sam took a step to the side, giving you space to take your turn.

“Have you always been this wise, or?” you teased, concentrating on the circles in front of you. Your shot came pretty close. 

When you didn’t receive a reply, you glanced at him through your peripheral vision. He wasn’t moving, a thousand yard stare in his eyes.

“Hit it.”

“I can’t.” His fists were bleeding through the bandages wound around them. He could feel the tear in his skin, the burn of flesh against sweat soaked clothes.

“I said, hit it,” Emil commanded once more. Sam could feel his chest rising and falling steadily from beside him, his putrid breath making him want to vomit.

“I can’t.” He could barely stand up. Exhaustion seeped through every muscle in his body.

“You’re weak,” his trainer spat. “Nothing but a fucking child.”

“He’ll die.” Sam looks down at the boy, bloody and mangled on the floor. He had passed out ages ago but that did nothing to stop them from forcing Sam to continue relentlessly.

“It doesn’t deserve mercy. You hear that Wilson?” He leered right into his ear. “Do you fucking hear that?”

Sam flinched, nodding his head. The saltiness of his sweat was fresh on his tongue, burning where it dripped onto his busted lip from his forehead.

“So fucking finish it.” He knew that if he didn’t listen this time, there would be consequences. He didn’t want to find out what it was because he had no doubt it would pain a hell of a lot more than bruised knuckles.

“No,” he whispered, eyes wandering over the body on the floor. “I won’t.”

“What’d you say?” Emil straightened up, taking a step towards him.

“I said no.” Sam turned around on his heel. He could barely stand straight but the spite running through his veins was driving him, giving him enough energy to not collapse right there on the spot.

“He said no,” his trainer repeated, leaning away from Sam. “He said no.”

He turned to look at Ransone. Sam had forgotten he was there in the darkness of the room, observing the fight for the past two hours.

“He said no.” He started chuckling. His chuckles soon gave way to hideous laughter. Stomach clutching, tear inducing laughter.

Before Sam could even realise the change in attitude, Emil’s entire demeanour shifted. He stepped forward, forcefully gripping Sam’s neck. He shoved him backward until his back was pressed against the wall, no doubt bruising his spine further than what it was.

“Say that again, you fucking idiot,” he growled. But Sam couldn’t say anything. He could barely breathe. He was terrified, but determined not to let it show on his face. “When I say something, you better fucking listen.”

His trainer observed his expression for a few more seconds. Sam didn’t open his mouth.

His trainer finally loosened his grip, letting go of his neck.

Sam’s knees nearly buckled but he kept his balance, coughs racking through his body. He felt lightheaded, swollen eyes watching Emil walk towards the body on the floor. The only friend he had.

“Maybe this oughta teach you a lesson.” Emil flashed a quick smirk at Sam before raising his fist above Riley’s face.

Within a split second a guttural cry escaped his throat as he launched himself at the much larger trainer, taking him by surprise. The pure rage he was feeling had him seeing only red, the adrenaline steering his body on autopilot.  

With their position suddenly switched, Sam found himself on top of Emil, bloody fists beating down on his face without a break. The pain didn’t even matter anymore.

“Fuck you,” he screamed, not giving him even a second to defend himself. “Fuck you, you fucking dickhead.”

When he could feel his trainer raising his arm to grab from behind, he took a pause from pummelling his face to grab his arm, twisting sharply it till he heard a crack. The roar escaping Emil’s throat didn’t dissuade him from finishing what he started, returning to landing a punch wherever he could.

He didn’t even know how long had passed before his body was being pulled away, kicking and cursing.

“You see how good it feels Wilson? You feel that relief?” Ransone held him tightly as he squirmed furiously trying to get back to beating the shit out of that asshole on the ground. “Next time you’re angry, remember that’s the only way to feel good. If you’re in pain, you cause pain.”

Sam’s flailing was reducing as the adrenaline wore off. The exhaustion was beginning to take hold of his body as he looked at the onslaught of blood splatter everywhere, two bodies side by side on the ground. He did this to both of them.

“Violence is your only friend. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Ransone let go of him. His feet gave out beneath him, chest rising and falling heavily. His shoulders ached as he dragged his body towards Riley, praying to every force in the universe that he wasn’t dead.

He was still breathing. Sam nearly cried out of relief, collapsing next to him. Ready to defend him if Emil woke up.

“Next time you want to let out some anger, come find me,” Ransone called out. “I’ll find you your next victim.”

“You okay?” You waved your hand in front of his face. “Earth to Wilson.”

It seemed to work as he snapped back, blinking rapidly.

“You zoned out a little there. Everything alright?” you asked. He looked at you blankly for a second before realising what you asked.

“Yeah.” He gave you a half smile. “Yeah, I’m good. You done with your turn?”

The light that was there behind his eyes a few minutes ago had dimmed considerably. He looked weary. You recognised what had happened, what he was probably thinking of. You didn’t bring it up, not risking the chance of him reliving it.

“Kinda.” You pointed towards the target where a tomahawk was sticking out of the centre.

“Damn,” he whistled, resting his hands on his waist. “Best of three?”

“Didn’t know it was a competition.” You went to collect it. It was harder to pull out than you thought. You wondered how many times Sam had practiced it to make it look so effortless.

“Only if you want it to be.”

“Nah.” You walked towards him, handing two of them back to him. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time, huh.” He tested his throw before letting go of the handle. Bullseye. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

You only smiled.

Next part

[moscarific]

Yuletide Letter 2019!

Dear Holiday Hero,

It's Yuletide time again, and I'm happy you're here on this journey with me, you beautiful stranger! I’m a gold star Yuletide participant: I’ve signed up every year, and written at least one story every year, since the challenge began. That’s great news for you, because over the years, I’ve learned that the best Yuletide gifts are the ones that weren’t quite what I had expected, and also that gifts are satisfying and joyful for me as long as it’s clear that the author put effort and care into them. Basically, as long as you avoid my Do Not Wants and run spellcheck, I’m going to be over the moon with excitement at whatever you write for me.

My biggest non-obvious DNW is babyfic. No pregnancy, no babies, no little kids. I’m also a grumpy Jew, so I’d prefer not to receive stories with strong Christmas themes. The “five things” format is not my favorite. Please don't center your story around ships that I did not ask for.

But I like a lot more things than I dislike! Unless the Yulegoat arrives late, I’ll be reading this on the train to Chinatown for my traditional family dim sum, so please do make me laugh out loud on the L. Or make me uncomfortably aroused on the L. (Porn is optional, obviously, but: oral sex, eroticized hands, exhibitionism, shower sex, gender play.) I like experimental structures and styles, as well as more standard ones, and I am fine with whatever POV and tense you choose. If you are the kind of person who does multimedia or interactive fiction, or just clever footnotes, I am all for that. All of my requests this year have strong and distinct voices, and I would love to receive a story that embraces their sound and feel. I like stories that stick close to canon or present interesting "what if" canon divergences, and I also like superhero and In Space AUs. When I've provided gen options, I promise I want those just as much as the ships - they're not just "gen outs," but stories I very much want to read.

I tend to write the fic I want to see in the world, so you’ll get a good sense of me by browsing my AO3 account. My AO3 bookmarks are a recs list, and therefore a great way to see what kinds of fic appeal to me and make me happy.

Here are the individual requests from my sign-up, with a little more detail added here and there. I've divided each request into three sections: things I do not want, things I very much want, and ideas for things I'd love to read in the fandom.

Wayfarers Series - Becky Chambers: Rosemary Harper, Sissix Seshkethet, Dr. Chef

Do not want:

Shipping Rosemary or Sissix with people other than each other, death of characters who are not dead in canon.

Very much want: To read fic set in this universe! I ship Rosemary/Sissix very hard and would love some hot cross-species femslash porn. Canon-consistent depictions of humans as weird aliens. Worldbuilding.

Ideas: I will be equally happy with sexy shippy fic about Rosemary and Sissix (with a line or two for Dr. Chef), or with fic centered around Dr. Chef that puts the other two requested characters in smaller roles. Or a story with all three of them having an adventure or solving a problem together! I love the xenophilia aspects of Rosemary and Sissix's relationship, so explore Sissix's affection for, or exasperation with, Rosemary's alienness. Show Rosemary bringing Sissix into an aspect of human culture that Sissix hadn’t encountered before - perhaps something uniquely Martian - or take us on a more in-depth tour of Aandrisk culture. Alternatively, write me a story focused on Dr. Chef: give me more insight into his earlier life, or send him on a culinary adventure. I’ve read all three novels, so references or character cameos are fine. This is a fandom where it's okay to make me sad, and where I'd prefer a touch of angst, hardship, or grief to lighthearted fluff.

Delicious World (Video Game): Frank Truffaut, Felix "Monet" Wilson

Do not want:

Fic centered around Emily/Patrick or Emily/Jean-Paul (background mentions are okay if you must). AUs outside the general setting or premise of canon (so, like, no In Space for this one).

Very much want: Sappy, shippy, porny Frank/Monet fic. Competence kink. Loving and detailed descriptions of food and cooking. For people who do not play this kind of game to watch the cut scenes on YouTube - you can pick up the canon in a couple of hours.

Ideas: Is there anything more Yuletide than nominating the casual time-management game I play on my phone? Especially since this one blew my mind with its sweet, believable m/m romance. Please give me the AU where they stay together and make their relationship work while the contest continues, or the one where they encounter each other again after the contest ends and get back together. Mostly, I am sad that the game narrative has split them up and want them to be together making crepes forever. I'd be more than content with domestic fluff, just to spend more time with Frank and Monet's relationship. Or go the other direction and give them more plot than canon would: send them on the run from an underground restaurant crime cabal, or have Frank save Monet from deranged paparazzi. Send them to parts of the world that the game hasn’t traveled to yet - it’s mostly been North America and Europe so far.  I very much enjoy the best friendship between Frank and Emily, and would be happy to see her play sidekick to Frank for once. 

For the People (TV 2018): Jay Simmons, Seth Oliver, Tina Krissman

Do not want:

If you write Jay/Seth, then I DNW fic set before Jay and Seth were roommates, or focus on their prior romantic relationships. For RL/job related reasons, court cases related to the US education system, both because they will make me sad and because I will not be able to turn off my nitpick brain.

Very much want: Romantic and/or angsty roommates-to-lovers Jay/Seth. A fun role for Tina, whether she's the protagonist or just gets a few choice lines in. Well-researched, plausible legal scenarios as plot. Love letters to New York City.

Ideas: There are two ways to go with this that would make me equally happy. The first is Tina character building, because she is one of my television heroes and never had enough to do on the show. "This Is America" is my favorite episode of the series, and anything in that vein, with Tina as the hero, would please me to no end. I'm an angry American progressive, so feel free to engage with my politics (or not, if that's uncomfortable/unfamiliar). Backstory would also be great, especially if it's Young Tina Saves the World. Talk about race, gender, and immigration. Let her be the soothing, fearless mouthpiece about the scary stuff. Or just send her on a relaxing vacation, "Captain's Holiday" style.

The other way to go is to give me Jay/Seth romance and/or porn. They're roommates and adversaries who are clearly also boyfriends. And now the show is canceled, so we can pretend that's where the showrunners were going with it! Jay's parents canonically love Seth, and I would enjoy a sweet story about Seth's growing relationship with them, and Jay's mixed feelings about it. Or give me a court case where they're directly opposing each other, especially one they're both passionate and both kind of right about. If you want, tell some or all of the story from Tina's POV, or do an epistolary/"found documents" structure.

Crooked Media RPF: Ira Madison III, Louis Virtel

Do not want:

For RL/job related reasons, centering stories around political discussion related to the US education system. Major roles for Crooked-Media-adjacent people, such as spouses, who are not public figures (mentions are fine). Stories formatted as a script or transcript of a podcast.

Very much want: Silly, sexy Ira/Louis with a friends-to-lovers or frenemies-to-lovers vibe. Canon-consistent engagement with progressive US politics.

Ideas: Oh, just write me something fun, and I'll love it. Tell about the wacky or apocalyptic event that makes these two cross the line into sex/romance. Or show them in a secret long-term relationship and tell about the wacky or apocalyptic event that makes them go public. Show how they're adjusting to Aida, or tell it from her POV and show how she's adjusting to their relationship (or non-relationship that turns into a relationship, or long history of FWB hookups). Show what happens when they land the Beyonce interview of their dreams. Or throw them into a fandom trope (sharing a bed? sex pollen? aliens made them do it?) and have them respond with their signature wit.

[scriptmedic]

Anatomy of a Medical Drama: House, MD

This post is part of a series on the Anatomy of a Medical Drama.

The first thing to know about House, MD is that Dr. Gregory House is One Cranky Jerk.

The second thing to know about House, MD is that it isn’t a medical drama.

Oh, sure, it pretends to be. We get all the furniture of a medical drama: the dying patients, the worried family members, the gruff attending physician, the compassionate and sensitive younger doctors. We get death and we get life and we get medical miracles.

But that’s not the true genre of House. 

House is a detective show. In fact, it’s a medical adaptation of the classic Sherlock Holmes.

Instead of  a doctor, I want you to consider Greg House to be a detective. (Even the name House is supposed to get you to think of Holmes.) He’s arrogant, he’s rude, he’s problematic — and he’s brilliant.

Instead of a disease, I want you to consider whatever improbable virus, condition, or disease to be a criminal, a devious mastermind out to do harm. The symptoms, the actual disease process, are thus its crimes, and the patient is its victim. The loving family members are witnesses to the crime with valuable information for our detective, while the junior doctors, House’s intrepid fellows, are the junior detectives.

Lisa Cuddy, the hospital’s chief administrator, plays the role of obstructor and leader. She’s the less-than-brilliant chief who’s supposed to see things done the “right” way. She is the Lestrade to House’s Holmes; she’s there to get in his way.

And what would a Sherlock Holmes be without a Watson, or in this case, a Wilson? A best friend who enables and supports our main character not because he doesn’t see his flaws, but because he loves him in spite of them?

House, my friends, is a crime drama.

Thus we’ve discovered House, MD‘s Content Genre: Crime Drama (Medical), also known as a Diagnosis Drama.

The Reality Genre of the show is aimed to be Realistic, grounded in reality and the cutting-edge medicine of the day. The rules of the world are ostensibly the same as the one you and I live in: magic, elves, and science fiction take no part in this show. That said, the show’s connection to actual realistic medicine is tenuous at best, as we’ll discuss below.

What Makes House, MD Great?

There are a number of things that contributed to House, MD‘s success over its eight-year run.

First, the acting was great. Hugh Laurie brought depth and a tremendous amount of weight and poignancy to the character of Greg House. The supporting cast, including Lisa Edelstein (Cuddy), Robert Sean Leonard (Wilson), Jennifer Morrison (Cameron), Omar Epps (Foreman), and Jesse Spencer (Chase) made the first few seasons absolutely riveting, and adding in talent like Olivia Wilde (Hadley / “13”), Kal Penn (Kutner) and Peter Jacobson (Taub) in later seasons only improved things.

Second, House’s mindset is absolutely fascinating: Everybody Lies. (The question that makes things interesting is how they lie, to what degree they lie, and, most fascinating of all, why they lie; this is part of the fun of House, MD as a show.)

House has been criticized for being formulaic, and I can definitely agree that it is, and yet something in the formula that drove the show was incredibly compelling. House was always doing something absolutely crazy that we knew was wrong (because the episode was only half over), Cuddy and his staff were always trying to keep him on the sane and level path, and what’s even better, the show recognized it. It was acknowledged in multiple episodes, and even by House himself, that his colleagues were the reason House could stay sane and keep from killing his patients.

In fact, House and Wilson fall into (or at least adjacent to) the “Buddy Cop” trope, what Roger Ebert called a “Wunza” relationship: one of the pair is a calm, competent, mild-mannered oncologist, while the other is a dramatic, abrasive, neurotic, brilliant critical care doctor. It doesn’t contain all aspects of the traditional Buddy Cop relationship — we don’t see them hate each other in the beginning like we do with most buddy cops — but the relationship is there; we see it after it’s stabilized.

And that drama, that tension between the egomaniac with a syringe and a helpless patient and those who want the best for both of them, made House an incredibly tense show. That tension carried us through to the inevitable end — that House would solve the case, the patient would get better, and because the patient got better, all would be forgiven.

House also had consequences for the character’s actions that played out over multiple episodes. At the end of Season 1, House is shot because he was such a jerk — which resulted in his getting a certain kind of anesthesia (ketamine) which eliminated his pain and gave him the ability to walk and run pain-free again for a limited time at the start of Season 2.

House’s unorthodox treatments (such as prescribing cigarettes for Irritable Bowel Syndrome) landed him in hot water with Medicare, which threatened to pull his license. His constant abuse of drugs, a cornerstone of his character, landed him in rehab more than once, and addiction is a theme that plays its tune throughout the show.

All in all, House was a very good show with a lot of strong qualities.

Where Does House, MD Fail?

First, we need to get something out of the way: we get a lot of racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, etc. from House himself — he is, in a sense, the show’s social villain. He’s portrayed as a man so offensive that the only reason he keeps his job is because he’s too brilliant to fire for his childishness and gruff exterior.

That said, hearing some of the awful and offensive things he’s said come from a “medical professional” and the show’s protagonist is damaging and hurtful. There were ways the showrunners could have made House a jerk without resorting to insults based on someone’s identity.

(It’s also worth considering its place in time; the show ran from 2004-2012, an era in which minority voices were far less recognized in TV than they are even five years after the show’s end. )

The show fails the realism test on several fronts. In fact, speaking as an ICU paramedic, the medicine is often laughably inaccurate or hyperbolized. Things progress at a pace that suits dramatic storytelling, not reality; diseases layer that are astronomically unlikely; hell, House’s entire specialty — “Diagnostic Medicine” — doesn’t exist, because all doctors diagnose and all doctors treat.

But that’s not the big problem with the show. The biggest problem with the show are its ethics.

The number of unethical and outright illegal measures House takes to “get the job done” would have gotten any real doctor fired in their first year. They are, frankly, a scary thing to normalize in the minds of non-medical viewers.

Speaking of getting fired, fun fact: while medical staff who come to their employers and admit addiction to a substance are generally treated well — [estimates of substance abuse among nurses run from 10-20%] — they’re not allowed to practice stoned. Many employers will give time off for rehab, but staff must be compliant to practice.

Moreover, the repeated displays of unpunished bad behavior lends itself to a mindset that “the ends justify the means,” which is incredibly dangerous. A great many awful things have been “justified” in this manner.

Is It Good TV?

This is the most irritating part about House. Because with as many inaccuracies and flaws and mixed messages and damaging representations as the show has, as many bad stereotypes as it engaged with — it was still damn good TV, at least for the first 4 seasons. Characters changed, at least a little; the stakes were constantly escalating; House the Bully was often, let’s face it, hilarious in his cruelty.

House might have been bad in a great many senses, but it was damned compelling TV, and for all its faults, that fact is undeniable.

In short: House is great to watch, but don’t try to be a Greg House.

How Can We Write Like House?

If you wanted to produce a book, movie, or TV show along the lines of House, MD, my first suggestion would be to get very, very comfortable with the genre conventions and obligatory scenes of the crime drama, and consider how they can translate into medicine.

If we truly want to classify House, MD, we would likely call it a diagnosis drama to differentiate it from a crime drama, though really all that’s changed is the furniture.

Here are some of the Obligatory Scenes and Genre Conventions for a diagnosis drama, and the parallel scenes in a crime drama:

The Disease Strikes. (The Crime) Whether something has been building up for a while or comes to a head, we need to see a character felled by a disease or injury. This must occur early in the story/plotline and is essentially the Inciting Event.

The Doctor & The Team. (The Detective & Sidekick(s)) We must have a lead character, usually a doctor, trying to solve the medical puzzle, usually working with a team. The interpersonal dynamics of the team are crucial to establishing drama and hooking the audience.

Gather Symptoms and Information. (Interviewing Witnesses; Red Herrings.) The doctor must try to gain as much information as they can to solve the case. In House this often involves burglary for reasons not entirely clear.

Diagnose / Treat / Fail / Repeat. (Red Herrings & False Accusations) As the drama wears on, the patient gets worse, often by the hands of the doctor treating them. The team iterates over their work, trying new approaches that must get riskier and more dramatic as time goes on.

It Gets Personal. There must be some reason the doctor (and thus our audience) becomes closely entwined with the outcome of the case. Either the patient and doctor or team must form a personal bond, the doctor’s reputation must hang in the balance, or the rising tension between the team (who must think differently from the doctor) can only be resolved by solving the case and helping the patient.

The Final Diagnosis. (J’accuse!) The doctor must make a final diagnosis that will either save or kill the patient.

A Life Saved or a Life Lost. (The Justice Theme) Our story must end with either the patient’s life being saved or their life being lost. This may come with an ironic twist: the doctor may save the character at the expense of a relationship they value dearly.

If you’d be willing to take a piece of advice, though… check the misogyny, racism, homophobia, transphobia, etc. at the door. Take the best things from this show, not the worst.

For more reading on genre conventions and obligatory scenes, I recommend Shawn Coyne’s excellent guide to editing, [The Story Grid], and Blake Snyder’s [Save the Cat!], both of which are excellent books on storytelling from wildly different, and yet similar, perspectives.

What Medical Drama Should I Analyze Next?

Drop a comment or reblog and let me know!

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

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  Anatomy of a Medical Drama: House, MD was originally published on ScriptMedicBlog.com

[irregularjohnnywiggins]

I've never talked to you before, bruh. Please blab about your favorite Holmes stories.

My time has come.

Okay, so if we’re talking canon stories, mine are probably the most predictable: A Scandal in Bohemia, because Irene Adler (I could go into a long rant about how the noir genre ruined Irene’s character, but we’d be here all day), Hound of the Baskervilles, The Final Problem, Yellow Face, Charles Augustus Milverton, that sorta thing, mainly the ones with kickass women. My personal favourite of the short stories is The Solitary Cyclist, because it has a man going to a woman ‘I may have done horrible things, but I love you!’ and the woman telling him to fuck off. It also has Holmes in a tavern brawl, and my favourite line in the Canon:

"I emerged as you see me [with a minor scrape]. Mr. Woodley was taken home in a cart."

But in terms of non-canonicals... Well, Lyndsay Faye’s Dust and Shadow is a must, a perfect blend of Sherlock Holmes and Jack the Ripper that is practically without equal (it’s getting a musical adaptation soon, and I can’t wait). In addition, June Thomson has written some great Holmes tales, and a Holmes biography, that are all brilliant. Stephen King’s Holmes tales are great, as is anything Neil Gaiman has written with Holmes in it, particularly A Study in Emerald and A Case of Death and Honey. I liked Anthony Horrowitz’s two Holmes books, just ignore everything he himself says about Holmes (particularly Elementary. Authors, why must you always be so disappointingly human?). In addition, if you’re interested in non-Holmes-centric stories and just fun books, Kim Newman’s Moriarty: The Hound of the D’urbervilles is a straight bet. Newman’s Irene in particular is a joy every time she appears on the page, and to that end I also highly recommend Angels of Music, which is what happens when someone has the inspired idea to look at the Phantom of the Opera and say ‘He reminds me of Charlie from Charlie’s Angels. I shall make him so.’ It’s really good, is what I’m saying. On that note, whilst I have my own hangups about it, Alan Moore’s League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (particularly Volume 1 if you’re a Holmes fan) is an interesting take on Moriarty and Mycroft in particular.

In the vein of Dust and Shadow, the 1979 movie Murder by Decree is a fun little jaunt, as well as being a better adaptation of Moore’s From Hell comic than its own movie. 1985′s Young Sherlock Holmes is a brilliant fulfillment of exactly what it wants to be, and in that vein so is 1976′s The Seven Per Cent Solution. The best version of Holmes on the silver screen, however, is 2015′s Mr. Holmes, where an aging, dementia-stricken Holmes is played by Ian McKellen. What more can I say, it’s Ian McKellen. It’s also depressing as fuck, so be warned (seriously, I could and probably will write an essay on how good Mr. Holmes is.) I also like the RDJ films, particularly how cavalier they are about Homes and Watson’s relationship (which some writers should pay attention too, hmm Moffat?)

In terms of TV... look, I still maintain that even if the rest of the show is balls (which it is) the Christmas Special of Sherlock is... mostly fine. I really need to catch up on Elementary (I forgot to set the third season to record and had to scrounge up the episodes from somewhere, and after that I just stopped watching) but it was brilliant before that, so I definitely am going to finish it sometime soon. On top of that, there’s a series called The Adventures of Shirley Holmes, which is about Holmes’ great-grandniece solving crimes at a high school, helped by her Watson, Bo Sawchuk, and hindered by her Moriarty, Molly Hardy (get it?). It’s pure kid fluff, but I get a sense of enjoyment out of it all the same.

My major recommendation, however, is the BBC radio adaptations of the Holmes stories and the follow up series The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, both directed by Bert Coules and with Clive Merrison as Holmes, who is possibly the second best Holmes after Jeremy Brett, and actually played the part for longer. All of the Further Adventures are taken from the little references in the canon, and whilst some are only passable (The Singular Inheritance of Miss Gloria Wilson) and some god-awful (The Striking Success of Miss Franny Blossom), some are brilliant mysteries and one, The Savior of Cripplegate Square, is nothing short of a masterpiece (and, if you’re a Doctor Who fan, hilarious because it features Tom Baker as a wise old mentor of Holmes, something that the 50th Anniversary confirmed is actually canon.) All of them are worth a listen to.

And that’s all of my favorites, unless I’ve missed some (I probably have). If anyone else has recommendations, I’m always up for more Holmes!