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ikevamp-annalyne · 4 years

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Annalyne Sonata [IkeVamp OC]

Hey guys! I am so verry happy to finally being able to officially introduce my IkeVamp OC, Annalyne! ٩(●ᴗ●)۶

This is a very long post, but I hope you won’t be discouraged and will enjoy learning a bit more about her, and the story I imagined for her (^.^)ゞ

I also commissioned the MOST AMAZING ARTIST EVER @lemonsqueazie for drawing my baby OC! ღවꇳවღ She is my favourite artist, and also an amazing human being that I love very much. She is so attentive to what you tell her, always doing everything to meet your ideas and make the best art for you! I highly recommend to check out her blog @lemonsqueazie alongside her Instagram and her DeviantArt post about her commissions! You can also find all the infos here.

NOW, ON WITH THE OC! (๑ゝڡ◕๑)

Name: Annalyne

Last name: Sonata

Nicknames: Anna, Nana, Lyn

DOB: June, 19, 1995 (25 years old)

Origin: French

Languages: French, English, Spanish, Italian, German, Japanese, Korean

Height: 160cm (5.25ft)

Sexuality: pan

Job: freelance fashion designer, blogger, gamer

Passions: fashion, drawing, eating, baking, cooking, videogames, reading, music

Phobias: larvas and maggots, bugs (except ladybugs)

Lover: Leonardo Da Vinci

"Heh? What is this? Kinda like a storage room?"

Annalyne is a very chill woman, taking things at her own pace and working hard towards her goals and dreams. When she doesn't work, she becomes a lazy slug chilling with a good book or videogames -part of why she is also a gamer-.

Her most prominent traits are definitely: her kindness, her humour -made of bad puns and references-, her caring side, her clumsiness and her supportive behaviour. Number one fan of her family and friends.

She will always go out of her way to make her loved ones feel loved, supported or just important. She can also easily throw hands if needed. No one messes with her or her close ones without getting punished.

She has a hard time trusting people. It looks like she is close to everyone, but she hardly confides in people. It takes a hecking long time to build a relationship of trust with her -due to some childhood traumas-

She is strong-willed and -way too- a tad stubborn. But she compensates by being very sweet and cute. She can be very anxious but eating calms her, explaining her chubbiness. Also, count on her for helping everyone.

She is very good at cooking and baking, and loves making things herself. She loves dogs, but honestly, she loves almost every animal ever. She has a talent with them, understanding them beyond reason: animals love her.

"Call me the PUNisher."

She is easily triggered by disrespect, racism, homophobia, bullying and abuse. She can kick your ass off if needed, being very rude and violent when angry -she already broke the arm of a racist, and slapped Shakespeare...-

Comte is the one engaging conversation with her, asking her if she likes this painting. She is hyper excited talking about it and Comte cannot help but giggle, finding a Da Vinci's fangirl in modern days being pretty rare.

How she met Comte:

Annalyne lives near Paris and absolutely loves museums. Therefore she spends a hella lot of time in the Louvre, especially contemplating Da Vinci's works. She meets Comte in front of Da Vinci's painting Saint-Jean-Baptiste.

They spend some time debating and chatting over Leonardo Da Vinci's life, works of art and other controversies. He smiles a lot throughout the whole chat, since he wonders how his old friend would react.

How she ends up in Comte's mansion:

Comte bids her goodbye after they have finally seen Mona Lisa from up close. She thanks him for the delightful conversation, happy she has met someone as knowledgeable as him on her favourite historical figure.

She is taken aback, quite surprised, and thinks the mansion is a storage room. Maybe the man is actually an employee? She is curious though so she walks through the hall and stares at everything in awe.

When he leaves, waving his hand, his pocket watch falls and Annalyne picks it up. She chases after Comte all over the museum and sees him going through a door. She opens it and ends up in the mansion's hall.

Who she meets:

While discovering the hall, she stumbles upon Leonardo who's asleep. She doesn't want to wake him up but God, she stares for a good minute at the sleeping man. "I have never seen such a gorgeous man..."

She walks past him and continues looking for Comte. But then, Napoleon appears and asks her who she is, and what she does here. She tells him she wants to find the gorgeous blonde man to give him his watch.

He offers to give to him in lieu of her. But she is wary of him, a stranger. And Comte appears, the noise having caught up his attention. He recognises Annalyne and is surprised she is there. She gives him the watch.

The first dinner:

Comte gladly accepts the watch and asks her if she wants to dine with him and the residents of this mansion. Mansion? She stares at him, dumbfounded, and frowns. "Mansion? Isn't that a storage room or something?"

Comte giggles and promises to explain it all over dinner. Her trust for Comte and her love for food makes her accepting the offer. How surprised she is upon seeing all these people gather around a huge table!

She sits down and gets served by Sebastian, under all the surprised looks. Comte then proceeds on explaining it all to her: how all the residents in there are famous historical figures, and how she is the past.

How she reacts:

She is surprised, but she believes in timelapse, magic, etc. So she just stares in surprise and shock but is soon overexcited to meet all these people who changed history and inspired her throughout her whole life.

She will ask a bunch of questions to each of them, questions she has always been curious about, like the rumours and alleged controversies. Even when she hears about not being able to go back in her time, she is strangely chill about it.

"Well, there's no helping it! I will come up with a lie when I go back there!" But she will write letters and leave them -along jewels of hers- in places she thinks her friends or family could find them in the future.

Meeting her soulmate:

Sebastian shows her her room and then tells her to explore the mansion if she wants to. What she does! She then remembers the man sleeping in the hall? He must be a historical figure as well, but who can he be...?

She wants to know so she goes to find him and stumbles upon him, nearly falling on top of him. He seems awake since he is sitting on the floor. He had heard her footsteps so he smiles at her. "Well, who do we got there, Cara Mia?"

She smiles at the Italian nickname and tells him everything about her being here. He is surprised she is so chill about it but he smiles and introduces himself. "Well Cara Mia, nice to meet you. I'm Leonardo Da Vinci."

Upon hearing the name, her eyes widen and her breath catches in her throat. She stares, her heart beating faster every passing second. His smile is intoxicating and she cannot help but blush and stutter.

"W-well, nice to meet you, Leonar- huh Sir Leonardo? How, how should I call you?" He laughs."Leonardo is enough, Cara Mia." He smiles and pats her head before standing up. "Watch yourself, Cara Mia."

Her reaction upon the vampiric reveal:

After having talked with Comte and decided to stay in his mansion, she actually wonders how he could resurrect them. She decides to ask Sebastian, her new colleague, and he just shows her the Rouge and Blanc bottles.

"What's that?" She asks, pretty curious."Take a look and you will understand." She first goes for the Rouge and recognises the metallic smell of blood. She stares at Sebastian. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"They are all vampires. Except I, who is human." She widens her eyes, sueprised, and then goes "Aaaaah, that's how he did! Makes sense!" She smiles. "Is Comte the one who transformed them all or no?" "He did, yes."

"So, is he like, a pureblood vampire? A superior vampire who can turn humans into vampires?" "How do you know about this?" "Oh please, Sebastian. Cinema, animes, mangas and books are full of vampires."

Sebastian stares at her, bewildered. "And you are not afraid? They could easily feed off of you, even kill you." "Oh please Sebastian, they're more like puppies than wolves! If they were capable of this, you wouldn't be here!"

"Plus," she says while flashing a big dumb grin. "If they wanted to eat me, they would have already bitten me and emptied me of all my blood. They are not dangerous." Sebastian is shocked at how chill she is.

Her relationships with the residents:

She gets close to every resident ofthe mansion pretty fast, especially since she is not pushy, funny, kind, calm and knowledgeable on a lot of matters. They all grow a soft spot for her, even shyer and harsher residents.

Napoleon: they bond over cooking and baking. Also, since she is French, she can tell him about the impact he had on her country.

Mozart: music is common ground for them. She knows a lot about him and will sing for him, being allowed in the music room.

Arthur: writing sessions together, in his room or hers. They tease each other a lot and she is quick to react to his flirting.

Vincent: they are very close, bonding over drawing and painting. They talk a lot about art and have art sessions.

Theodorus: she doesn't let him win with his harsh replies and he likes that. She is strong and adores Vincent: he likes her a lot.

Isaac: she isn't pushy and gives him room so he likes talking with or teaching her a few things. They often meet in his room.

Jean: he likes how pure she is but she doesn't let him avoid her. She will do anything to befriend him and he gives in.

Dazai: sharing writing ideas brings them closer. They also laugh a lot because they are both airheads amd chaotic walking memes.

William: she likes his work but hates him. She will always avoid him, or shoot sharp daggers glares at him.

Comte: the father figure. She loves going to him to talk or when she needs some calm, and having tea together.

Sebastian: always laughing and teasing each other. She will flick his forehead when he assumes things for her.

Her relationship with her soulmate:

She is a Da Vinci's fangirl so of course, she is a mess around him. At first, she just blushes a lot, stutters a bit around him and she fangirls when he is not around. "Omg I can't believe I witnessed him sketching!!!"

They bond very easily since they both love arts. And Leonardo is very curious about her fashion style, her job, and basically how the world works in modern days -she spent an entire night talking about phones-

One day, he finds her sighing in her room: "what's the problem?". "Ah, nothing, I'm just, not comfortable in Comte's dresses. I'm more into trousers or skirts from my time." He is curious so she tells him about modern day fashion.

"Ah, so women wear pants and shirts. Whatever they want." She nods excitiedly."Yeah, and I hope one day men will be able to do so as well! Wear skirts and dresses and heels. But toxic masculinity is still pretty deep..."

"Wait for me, Cara Mia" and he dashes off the room, to come back later with a stack of shirts and trousers. "Here, take these. They're mine but for now, it will do. Tomorrow, we're going shopping for you."

And they do go shopping the next day, buying loads of men clothes alongside jewels and shoes. Also, they buy fabrics, needles and everything for Annalyne to sew her own clothes. He loves seeing her so happy.

She spends the next days adjusting Leonardo's clothes and the ones they bought to her chubby curves. And Leonardo surprises her by wearing a dress. They go have dinner like this: her in men's clothes, him in women's clothes.

Legend says every resident nearly choked themselves of either shock or laughter. And Leonardo and Annalyne really enjoyed it a lot and decided to do this at least once a week -Leo enjoyed the dress, actually-

The purebloodness revelation:

She catches very early on that he is a pureblood, without him even telling her. She is extra sensitive so she kinda feels auras and saw how Comte and Leonardo's eyes are similar. His genius made even more sense.

"Leonardo. Are you like Comte, a pureblood vampire?" She asked him while they were shopping for fabrics. Leonardo nearly fell out of surprise. "What are you talking about, Cara Mia?" "Well, you know..."

"Same eyes as Comte, genius who can do anything, super strong and intimidating aura. Open-minded as if you've already seen everything, and laziness that can be explained by already having done everything possible..."

He stares at her and then laughs, patting and ruffling her hair. "You're awfully clever and intuitive, Cara Mia. Yes, I am a pureblood. Does it change anything between us? "HELL NO!" she shouts. "But I've got questions!!!"

She drowns him under questions on everything he's done, seen, lived. They spend almost all of their time together, teaching each other about their lives and their knowledge. Residents are jealous of the Leonardo monopoly.

How it "ends" between them:

She is a strong woman and will go back to her time. But she promises Leonardo she will find him, right after returning to her time. He asks her what day it was, when she entered the mansion. "March, 15th, 2020."

When she leaves, while everyone is crying, Leonardo calculates. "Okay, gone for a month in her time, so she'll be in the Louvre in April, 15th, 2020. Ah. My birthday." He smiles. Almost 200 years, but it will be so worth it.

When she passes through the door, she is back in her time. Asking a guide what day it is. "April, 15th, 2020". The day they agreed upon, and Leonardo's birthday. She smiles and then proceeds to rush out of the Louvre to look for him.

But then she passes in front of Saint-Jean-Baptiste. Her favourite painting. A tall and gorgeous man is standing there, in a blue shirt and blue jeans. She feels it. She goes to the man, pats him on the shoulder, and asks: "Leonardo...?"

The man turns around, a huge grin on his face, bright golden eyes shining with love: "Was about time, Cara Mia..." she cries and throws herself at his neck; he spins her, crying as well, burrying his face in her neck.

"I missed you so much. Never do this again. 200 years was worth it but it was too long." She is a mess while crying. "I, I pwomiss Leo, I will neba leaf you again-" he laughs at her messy face. "Look at you, silly girl." He kisses her.

"I want you to see how much I love you in my eyes. They speak on my behalf."

Trivia facts:

She has a tiny water spray bottle she labelled as "Holy Water". Whenever a resident smiles or laughs, she opens it and "collects" their happiness. Thus, when one is talking shit about himself, she sprays the water on them.

"There, you have been blessed with Holy Water. Now love yourself or I agressively hug you." -the mistake on the label,on "thoughts" is intended, as it is is a mix between thots and thoughts, bitch thoughts she's gonna spray away.

She hates Shakespeare, Faust and Vlad. Whenever they pass by the mansion, she grabs the garden hose she labelled "Garden Hoes" and splashes water on them. "Oh no, you walking sin, stay away from my babies!"

She eats A LOT and puts shame on Theo when it comes to eating sweet things. They have pancake-eating competitions -and guess what, she wins-. She will be snacking 24/7 when nervous, anxious, sad and basically under negative emotions.

She listens to every type of music. She really enjoys any kind of rock music, and is also very knowledgeable on classical music. She likes to dance on Kpop and sing on Disney songs: her favourites are definitely I’ll Make A Man Out Of You and Why Should I Worry -in French-

She used to practice martial arts so she can beat the crap out of anyone being a little sh*t with her or her loved ones. She also has a very scary aura when furious, leading to most people just running away from her wrath.

She loves gossiping with Arthur. Whenever she knows about some rumours, or when she needs to talk about something that upset her, she goes to his room with coffee or tea. They both irradiate chaotic gossiping energy when together.

She is the mom friend, and becomes the mom of the mansion. She already told Jean to “get his bottoms in the living room to eat with all of them”, else she was going to kick his butt so hard he would be unable to sit or practice fencing.

All the animals LOVE her. Chérie is missing? She is cuddling with her in the patio. Lumiere is not under the bed? He is sleeping on her laps while she reads. King is nowhere to be found? She is playing with him in the garden. Snow White vibe.

She loves flowers and will put some all over the mansion. She puts one every day in front of every resident’s door, with a message written on a tiny piece of paper, something like: “You are a sweetheart and you deserve the best, keep going, dearie!”

#Ikemen Vampire #IkeVamp #ikevamp oc

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madzilla84 · 4 years

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hi i went through your ace tag and it was rlly comforting in a way. can i ask when u knew or how to deal (if its not to invasive!) thx

Hi anon! I’m glad you liked the posts - I know I can be pretty iffy at tagging so I’ll make sure to keep everything there if I can :)

It’s not invasive at all! The answer’s very long though, lol, because it’s me, so I put it under the read more.

I talked a bit about this in my post last year with the clumsy metaphor for my II denim jacket as sexuality, so if you read that then I might be repeating myself a bit, apologies.

The very short answer is that on some level I’ve always known, and I handled it Extremely Badly lmao. Don’t do what I did. Which was mostly nothing. XD

The longer, proper answer - I knew I was in some way Different when I found myself completely bewildered by the crushes my friends developed when we became tweens/teenagers. Like a lot of queer people, I selected my Pretend Crush and dutifully put up his poster in my locker (Noah Wyle from ER; I thought he had pretty eyes). I thought everyone else was just doing it to be cool, as well, in the same sort of way everyone pretended to love [insert name of popular band here] to save face at school.

But like, we got older, and people started making out and hooking up with Real Boys at parties, and still - I felt nothing. You’re a late bloomer, many people told me. I thought maybe I could be gay, if I had no attraction to men - but then I wasn’t attracted to women, either, so couldn’t be that. So what, then, I wondered? You can’t be nothing.

OR CAN YOU??? XD

I got to university-ish age, and around that time I went online and heard the term ‘asexual’ for the first time, and stumbled across AVEN; read the definition and thought, yep, that sounds very familiar. But the problem is, finding something out about yourself doesn’t mean you accept it, or like it, or even really believe it. I wondered then if it was actually a real thing, and not something someone on the internet had made up to make themselves feel better, because there was actually something wrong with them, and thus, with me?

I came home for Christmas during my first (only. lol whoops) year of college and brought up the subject with a small group of acquaintances at a New Years party (I’d had quite a bit to drink), and the reaction was - depressingly predictable.

That’s not a thing.

I can’t imagine that.

That sounds awful.

God, no sex? I’d rather be dead.

Have you even tried it? You need to try it.

That can’t be natural.

Okay, I get it, I thought, not bringing that up again.

And, the thing was, because I wasn’t in a relationship, or dating, or looking to, it was sort of - a non-subject. I had no prying family members asking about my love life. My true friends were unfazed by whatever I did or didn’t do (and still are, they’re good eggs), so it was just - something I never had to think about. In my mind, it was just another thing about me that made me weird and an outsider and that I didn’t belong anywhere or with anyone. (All not true! But that was then.)

And unfortunately it took me about 15 years to start to properly deal with it. Yikes. Such a long time - it’s not even about missed opportunities for dating because I’m still not looking to do that, but more about - accepting that it’s a real part of me and is okay and *good* actually and not just a peculiarity to avoid thinking about at all costs. Acceptance seemed unattainable, let alone the idea of being *proud* of it? Ha! Unthinkable. The best thing to do was just to - pretend it didn’t exist. Why poke that bruise, I thought?

I was always in this weird kind of limbo with the LGBT community - like, I felt on some level like I should be there? But at the same time, I felt like an outsider. (For many of the same reasons people to this day will tell you aces/aros don’t belong. All wrong.) I got really into queer films etc as a teen, I went to gay bars with friends and joined the uni LGBT society … and felt uncomfortable almost all the time. (I know *now* that’s because I was *still* trying to be something I wasn’t and wasn’t being honest with myself or anyone else, on any level. And a lot of the club nights we went to were basically about hooking up, which is fine and all but absolutely Not what I was looking for, and made me feel even more out of place. Why don’t I want to do that? What’s wrong with me?)

But fortunately, the world is quite a different place now, and I don’t think it’s quite so bad now for younger folks because people are talking about it *so* much more; there’s so much more help and support. And I know everyone bitches about social media but it didn’t exist when I was a teenager and there are so many ace/aro people and resources to connect with now!! We’re still made fun of almost constantly *at best* and excluded a ton and erased etc etc, but it *is* getting better. Even for us older folks still figuring it out. :)

I don’t mind admitting that Dan’s video was a huge help. (Albeit a very painful one. Part of why that video was so tough for me to watch, and still is, is that some of it hit a bit too close to home, you know? I didn’t experience the bullying he did, nor the fame, but many things were deeply recognisable.) That sort of tore the scab off (bit gross, sorry), whether I liked it or not, and made me look at it properly for the first time … well, ever, really. The period of time directly after that was - very raw, for me.

The phandom really helped, too; it’s a very accepting and welcoming community and there are actually lots of ace people! Which is awesome! Maybe I *am* a real person! ;)

So many little things helped too. I met a friend for lunch in January and she got me a glass ace flag pendant as a gift; I couldn’t believe it. I’ve felt able to bring it up with a few people outside my closest friends - eg. a couple of colleagues - and was heartened by their responses. I know they didn’t 100% get it, and that’s okay, but they were interested and open to listening and that meant a lot. I went to Pride last year and had a great time, and the first person who spoke to me there asked me where I got my ace pin. :_) (I’d been once before, in 2015, and I hated it; I felt uncomfortable and disingenuous and like I didn’t belong there, and yet I knew deep down I wasn’t technically just there as an ‘ally’.) Even Dan’s little tiny offhand mention in his mermaids stream! I was like, yeah, we do exist!

It’s all sort of had the fringe benefit of feeling happier and better about being open about it, like joining the LGBT network at work and - you know, just taking little steps. (anyone wanting to start with me that aces/aros don’t belong in LGBT spaces can catch my tiny hands) I saw an ace lanyard at Vidcon and thought ‘yay!’ rather than being uncomfortable to wear it, partly because I thought about how happy I would be to see someone else wearing one.

I don’t know what the rest of this ‘journey’s going to look like, I just know that over the last year I’ve gotten mostly to a place where I can say I *like* being ace, because it’s actually just what I am in the same way I have brown hair or am short, and not some weird deviance from Being Normal that I Must! Hide! At All Costs! That might sound simple but it was a hard place to get to. (thanks Mr Fire, I guess)

I hope this ramble made *some* sense and answered your question in some way! Feel free to send any more questions :)

#anon asks #ace tag #mad.txt #long post #this looks really whack on mobile but should still be readable :/#we love a functional website

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nicolewrites · 4 years

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i’ve never loved (like this)

@tsunnychan this is your fault. have some more sylvgrid.

Rating: T+ Genre: Romance, Friendship Characters: [Sylvain Jose Gautier & Ingrid Brandl Galatea], Byleth/My Unit, Dorothea Arnault Words: 5,661

"Sylvain is minding his own business in the kitchen, only half reading the paper he needs to have reviewed by tomorrow, when Dorothea decides to ruin his day completely. And by Dorothea, he means the outfit that Dorothea picked out for Ingrid to specifically to ruin his day." / modern au sylgrid

AO3 | FFN

Sylvain is minding his own business in the kitchen, only half reading the paper he needs to have reviewed by tomorrow, when Dorothea decides to ruin his day completely. And by Dorothea, he means the outfit that Dorothea picked out specifically to ruin his day because Ingrid is wearing an icy blue dress that’s all gauzy and flowy and had a deep v-neck that’s the cause of a few problems. It also shows off her legs marvellously that’s the cause of the rest of his problems.

Sylvain nearly drops his coffee when he sees Ingrid and he does let his tablet slip through his grip and clatter on the countertop.

Ingrid stares at him quizzically as Dorothea emerges from her room behind her, already smirking at Sylvain. Sylvain coughs to himself and tries to refocus on the paper he had been reading, but now that Ingrid is here and she is dressed like that, his brain is completely fried.

“Ready to go?” Ingrid asks him.

Sylvain forces a grin that he hopes doesn’t look too lovesick and he turns off his tablet. He takes another sip of coffee before reaching over the counter to place the mug in the sink. He stands off the barstool and pats his pockets for his keys and his phone: both are present.

“Absolutely,” he agrees. “You look nice,” he compliments. The compliment is definitely directed at Ingrid, but Dorothea gives him a sharp smile as she links one arm with Sylvain and the other with Ingrid, placing herself in between the two childhood friends. “Thank you for noticing,” she says breezily.

Sylvain is tall enough that he can see over the top of Dorothea’s head to Ingrid, but Ingrid isn’t looking at him as she tugs Dorothea towards the apartment door. Dorothea releases Sylvain and walks with Ingrid as the two girls start to pick out shoes.

Sylvain is already wearing shoes: pointed brown dress shoes that were way more money than they had any business being, but they look sharp, so he’s not going to complain. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and spins them around his finger as he watches Dorothea practically bully Ingrid into a pair of strappy white pumps before putting on her red heels herself.

Dorothea darts out the door then, snagging her coat as she goes, leaving Ingrid and Sylvain alone for one moment. Ingrid sighs heavily, staring at the shoes and the four inches of height they give her. Sylvain smiles faintly. Just because she’s dolled up, doesn’t mean that she’s not the same old Ingrid he knows so well.

“You don’t have to wear them,” he reminds her.

Ingrid lifts her gaze to him and sweeps it over his outfit critically: tailored grey suit, pointed shoes, and a black dress shirt but no tie. She shakes her head.

“It’s fine,” she disagrees. “I asked her to help me with this and they do match the dress.”

Sylvain shrugs. He’s about to say something potentially stupid and friendship ruining when Dorothea pokes her head back into the apartment.

“Coming?”

Ingrid straightens her shoulders. “Yes,” she assures and then she’s disappearing out the door of the apartment, leaving Sylvain to turn the lights off and lock the door.

The girls are waiting at the elevator for him and Sylvain swoops in to push the down button to call the elevator. Dorothea chats easily and Sylvain responds when she directs the conversation towards him, but he spends most of his time trying not to stare at his best friend.

- ~ -

The Blaiddyd Manor is all lit up and bustling with life by the time that Sylvain turns into the long driveway. Dorothea coos at the vibrancy of the event while Ingrid answers her questions about the house and the guest list and the occasion.

Sylvain has barely parked the car and gotten out when there are tiny arms wrapping around his waist and squeezing as a tiny woman squeals in delight. He has time to gently pat the firecracker that is Annette Dominic on the back twice before she’s darting away from him to hug Ingrid and Dorothea and to gush over how pretty they both look.

Annette is wearing a sparkly gold dress that, combined with her fiery hair, makes her hard to miss, even if she is absolutely tiny. Sylvain watches the girls for a moment with a faint smile before he turns to the man following Annette.

“Hey Fe,” he greets.

Felix’s arms are crossed and eyes narrowed, but he is wearing a light grey dress shirt and tailored black suit pants. His hair is also braided back into an updo that was definitely done by his tiny firecracker girlfriend.

“Sylvain,” he practically grunts.

Sylvain laughs and pulls Felix into a hug. Felix resists, pulling at Sylvain’s arms for the entire time, but it’s been that way as long as they’ve known each other. Sylvain pats Felix one more time on the back before releasing him.

Dorothea and Ingrid have managed to curb Annette’s enthusiasm and the three girls have walked around the car to join Sylvain and Felix. Ingrid hugs Felix too, and he does actually almost reciprocate her hug. Dorothea doesn’t try to hug Felix, just flashing him a wide smile that makes him narrow his eyes. Sylvain almost laughs.

He looks up at the Blaiddyd Manor and grins widely. He slings an arm around Ingrid and one around Felix. “Going to be a weird party this year,” he says brightly.

Felix makes a face. “I hate this party.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “It won’t be that weird, Sylvain,” she says.

He shrugs and pulls them both forward. “I dunno. Last time we were all here, Felix was still living with us.”

Annette laughs and grabs her boyfriend’s hand, pulling him free of Sylvain so that the two of them were walking together. “Well, too bad for you,” she teases.

Ingrid ducks out from under Sylvain’s arm once Felix is gone and he tries not to be too disappointed by it. She darts forward to walk next to Felix and Annette and the three start up a conversation. Dorothea links her arm through his once Ingrid is gone, smirking.

“Stop that,” he grumbles, still watching Ingrid.

“Oh absolutely not,” she replies cheerfully.

“I hate you,” he mutters quietly.

“No you don’t,” Dorothea sings back playfully.

Sylvain shuts up and escorts his and Ingrid’s friend to the front of the manner. Ingrid presents all of their invitations to the man at the door and they are waved through into the grand foyer.

The foyer is different from how it has been in years past. Instead of gaudy decorations dripping from every available surface, the decor is much sparser but just as eye-catching. It’s mostly silver this year, a contrast from the usual ostentatious gold. Sylvain likes it much better.

“Do you think Dimitri fired his party planner from last year?” he asks his friends.

Annette giggles. “I think this is probably Byleth’s touch.”

Ingrid nods. “Dimitri mentioned Byleth had been doing a lot to help him out this year.” “That’s his girlfriend right?” Dorothea asks curiously.

“Yeah,” Felix replies dryly. “They’re disgustingly in love. It’s awful.”

Annette laughs at Felix’s repulsion. “Come on, let’s go say hello to your father. I think I saw him head into the sitting room.” Felix casts Ingrid and Sylvain a ‘save me’ look, but they both just allow Annette to drag her boyfriend away to go find his father. Sylvain is about to ask Dorothea how much she knows about the Blaiddyd Gala since she’s never been before when Dorothea perks up noticeably.

“I just saw Ferdinand and Hubert arrive,” she says brightly. “I’ll catch up to you two later.”

Dorothea disappears into a crowd of people towards a flash of bright orange hair that’s probably her friend Ferdinand, and then Ingrid and Sylvain are alone. Coherent thoughts and social abilities all immediately vanish and Sylvain nearly chokes on his tongue as he tries to say something not completely stupid.

“Should we go find Dimitri?” Ingrid suggests when Sylvain’s words fail him for a moment too long.

He relaxes, smiling, and nods. “Excellent idea. Ballroom do you think?”

“That’s usually where he is,” Ingrid agreed.

She grabs his hand and pulls him forward. Sylvain blinks stupidly and stays rooted to the spot, keeping them both from actually moving. He stares at their joined hands. Ingrid follows his gaze slowly before raising an eyebrow.

“So we don’t lose each other?” she offers and Sylvain’s shock tightens into a practiced smile.

“Right.”

He lets her lead this time and follows her closely as they dart between people to get into the ballroom. The ballroom is even more crowded than the foyer had been and Sylvain recognizes even fewer of the people. The Blaiddyd Gala had been an annual event that Dimitri’s parents had put on every year for as long as Sylvain could remember. After they had died, Dimitri’s uncle Rufus had hosted the event until Dimitri had turned 19. From then on, Dimitri had hired planners and event coordinators and had thrown himself into continuing his parents’ legacy ball, no matter how much he hated actually hosting the event.

Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix had been going to the gala with their families since they were children, but now they were old enough to receive their own invites. While the party crowd is still mostly politicians and business folk, there has been an undeniable shift in attendance in recent years towards Dimitri’s colleagues and friends instead of his father’s old partners. It is refreshing to see.

Ingrid spots Dimitri first, at the far side of the ballroom chatting with Holst Goneril, the son of a politician Lambert had known well. There is a rather large crowd around the host, all waiting to pass their regards on to the host and to make useless small talk for a little while. Ingrid’s energy deflates a bit when she sees that Dimitri is so busy, but Sylvain spots a woman nearby that makes him smile.

He tugs Ingrid along, making sure not to trip her up on her high heels, and approaches Byleth Eisner. Byleth is wearing a silver dress and black heels and her shocking mint green hair is braided in a crown around her head. She’s sipping champagne from a flute and she immediately smiles when she sees Sylvain and Ingrid heading towards her.

“Hello you two,” Byleth greets.

Ingrid smiles. “Hello Byleth.”

The two girls embrace and Sylvain just grins, happy to have at least partially lessened Ingrid’s disappointment. Byleth hugs him next. She’s strong and her hug is firm. She’s quite short too, but as small as Annette, but the heels help, bringing her so she, like Ingrid, is only around 7 inches shorter than him.

“It’s lovely to see you both,” Byleth continues.

Sylvain eyes the ballroom for a moment. “We’re happy to be here. I’m guessing some of this had to do with you, right?”

Byleth scoffs into her champagne glass. “With how the decorations turned out last year? There was no way I was letting that witch back on the premises. Hilda did a much nicer job.”

Sylvain raised an eyebrow. “Hilda Goneril?”

Byleth shrugged. “She likes pretty things and she likes to delegate so when I offered her the position, there was no way she was turning me down.”

Ingrid laughs lightly. “Well, everything looks wonderful. It reminds me of Patricia’s last gala. She took suck pride in organizing these things herself.”

Byleth smiles a bit sadly. “Dimitri said as much himself. I’m sad I couldn’t have met them.” She shakes off the sadness and glances over her shoulder to where her partner is swamped in visitors. “You know, I’m sure he’d much rather entertain you guys than those old codgers.”

Ingrid brightens. “Maybe I’ll go rescue him then.”

She slips into the crowd of people before Sylvain can stop her, and he’s left alone with Byleth. He snags a flute of champagne off a server’s tray as they walk by and Byleth taps her glass against his.

“It is good to see you, Sylvain.”

“It’s always good to see you, Professor,” he teases in reply.

Byleth rolls her eyes. She’s taken an assistant professor position at the university so many of their friends have taken to calling her professor jokingly. She nudges him with her elbow and glances at where Ingrid disappeared to.

“How is she?”

Sylvain shrugs. “You know how it is this time of year. She and Felix get mopey and Annette and I try our best. How’s Dimitri?”

Byleth fiddles with a long silver chain around her neck. The pendant on it dips into her cleavage, hidden from sight and Sylvain valiantly keeps his eyes on her shoulders and up. “He’s struggling. He loves and hates this party. It reminds him so much of his parents, but it’s also a chance to gather all his friends together in one place.”

Sylvain nods. “Yeah, it’s the same for us. We like to come to see our friends, but then some of us spend the whole time avoiding our families.” Byleth shakes her head with a fond smile. “How are you two though? Still hopeless?”

Sylvain feels his neck get a bit hot, but it’s Byleth and Byleth can read anyone like a book, so he’s not too surprised. They’ve had this conversation every day for the last four years at the party.

“Absolutely,” he agreed.

He can just pick out Ingrid where she has finally reached Dimitri through the crowd of old men. Dimitri is wearing a suit, but a simple grey one, and his hair is tied back out of his face. He is smiling much more genuinely at Ingrid than he had at any of the other guests greeting him.

“How’s are you and Dimitri?” he asks.

Byleth’s lips curl into a stunning smile. She lifts up the silver chain around her neck until Sylvain can see the pendant she has been concealing. It’s a pretty silver ring with a green emerald set in the centre of it and Sylvain is floored.

“Wised up, did he?”

Byleth laughs and drops the pendant. “I think he was tired of everyone assuming we were engaged honestly.” Sylvain throws an arm over her shoulder and squeezes her in a one-armed hug. “Congratulations, Byleth. I’m thrilled for you guys.”

Byleth looks over at where Ingrid and Dimitri are. “Do me a favour and tell the girl you love her, alright?”

Sylvain scowls and he’s about to argue when he notices that Dimitri and Ingrid are headed right towards them. Ingrid is beaming and Dimitri is smiling too. He reaches them first on his long legs and Sylvain lets himself be pulled into a hug by his longtime friend. Dimitri has about an inch on him now, but he hugs like a truck.

Sylvain pulls away and grins. “What’s with the hugginess of everyone tonight?” Ingrid elbows him and he laughs. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. It’s great to see you too, Dimitri.”

Dimitri takes Byleth’s hand and smiles broadly. “Thank you for sending Ingrid to rescue me,” he says to her. He looks back at his friends. “And thank you guys for coming again. I know this isn’t the easiest place to be for any of us.” He looks around the ballroom for a second. “Is Felix here?”

“He and Annette went to say hi to Rodrigue,” Ingrid says.

Dimitri looks surprised. “Really?”

“Annette’s idea,” Sylvain supplies.

“Ah,” Dimitri says, smiling faintly.

Byleth looks small next to him, but she’s beaming and he keeps stealing glances at her like she’s hung the sun in the sky and Sylvain knows that they love each other a lot. He’s struck by a sudden urge to give the newly engaged pair a bit of privacy.

“We should finish making the rounds too, Ingrid,” he suggests. “We haven’t seen your brothers or your father and we should also probably find Dorothea too.”

Ingrid nods and bids Byleth and Dimitri goodbye before she lets Sylvain take her hand and lead her across the ballroom again. They get about ten paces away before she squeezes his fingers.

“Since when are you in a big hurry to socialize with my brothers?”

Sylvain feels mildly ill suddenly. “Oh god, save me, I’m definitely not.”

Ingrid laughs. “Do you think they’re suddenly going to want to kick your ass because Felix moved out?”

He shrugs. “They always seem ready to kick my ass.” Ingrid rolls her eyes affectionately. “No more than I am,” she assures.

They stop at the edge of the ballroom. The quartet on the far side has started playing and some people have started to dance. A server walks by them and Sylvain drops Ingrid’s hand to grab her a champagne flute. He offers it to her with a flourish and she takes it with a smile, taking a small sip.

“Thanks, Sylvain,” she says.

He taps his almost empty glass against hers. “Cheers.”

They stand in quiet companionship at the edge of the ballroom for a few minutes, just sipping at their drinks and taking in the atmosphere of the gala. Only about half the ballroom is being used for dancing. The other half is just people socializing, much like the rest of the manor during the gala. Even though the event had originally been a way to celebrate spring, it quickly morphed into one of the most influential parties in the city and a key networking point.

Sylvain never liked to think of it as a networking event because that ruined the atmosphere of the party. He used to come to the party and dance with as many girls as he could until someone got mad and then he’d sneak his younger friends drinks until they could all sneak away to Dimitri’s room to just talk. They hadn’t done that since Dimitri’s parents died and he missed it.

“Sylvain?” Ingrid asks and he jolts, realizing she has asked him something and he hadn’t heard her.

“Sorry, Ing, what did you say?”

“Just asking if you were okay is all,” she murmurs.

Her hand on his chest, resting on the side of his ribcage and Sylvain’s heart thuds painfully in his chest. They’re so close and he can count the individual eyelashes on her dolled up eyes. He can’t deny that Dorothea’s makeover has made her look absolutely stunning, but he also loves the Ingrid that wallows on their couch when she has a test coming up in sweatpants and her hair in a bun.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles in reply.

It’s increasingly hard to focus with her this close to him when every nerve in his body is singing for him to kiss her and to sweep her off her feet and to pin her against the wall of the ballroom and shower her in the love he’s been concealing for nearly eight years. It had been a horrifying realization when he first realized he was in love with her and it had been a struggle to conceal it from her for so long.

“You know,” he says lowly, “I wasn’t talking to Dorothea back at the apartment.”

Ingrid’s chin lifts just the tiniest bit and there’s a glimmer of something in her eyes. “You weren’t?”

“You look stunning, Ing,” he says quietly. “The kind of pretty that could walk all over me and I’d probably thank you and ask you do to it again.” Ingrid looks a bit startled at his words and her hand drops back to her side. “Oh,” she says. Her voice is small and Sylvain instantly wants to backtrack. He’s said something wrong.

He leans away from her to give them both breathing room and Ingrid relaxes once he’s out of her immediate space. The calmness on her face doesn’t stay long though as it drops into something that looks a bit like half-concealed dread a second later.

Sylvain feels his brow knit. “Ing?” He starts to turn to follow her gaze, but her hand grabs his arm in a vice grip and doesn’t let him look.

“Sylvain, just don’t,” she says hurriedly.

He frowns. “What?”

She closes her eyes and inhales. “Your father is here,” she mutters.

Sylvain feels dread coil in his stomach. “Oh,” he says faintly. He doesn’t look, but suddenly the romantic moment between him and Ingrid feels like it was a thousand years ago.

“Let’s go,” Ingrid says firmly.

She grips his hand and pulls him out of the ballroom into the eastern wing of the manner. She doesn’t look back and doesn’t let him hesitate either. Determinedly, she leads him through the kitchen and out the side door. One of the kitchen staff looks like she is about to scold them, but she recognizes them and lets them pass without hesitation.

Ingrid doesn’t release him until they’re standing under the gazebo in the impressive garden. Sylvain still feels kind of numb, but he lets her push him down onto one of the benches. She sits next to him, forcing him to slide over and make room for him.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says, sounding guilty.

Sylvain shakes his head. “Ingrid, I see him here every year.” He squares his shoulders. “I’m okay, I promise.”

She purses her lips and levels him with a glare. “You are absolutely not, so do not lie to me, Sylvain.” She takes both of his hands in hers and squeezes them tightly. “Your father was awful to you. You’re allowed to never want to see him again.”

Sylvain shuts his eyes. “I’m the prodigal son, Ing, there’s only so long he’ll let me do my own thing.” His stomach is still all twisted in knots.

Her hands drop his and cup his face. He opens his eyes and is surprised by the burning intensity in her gaze.

“You’re in law school, Sylvain, that is absolutely nothing to scoff at. And if he thinks for a second that Felix and Dimitri and I will let him go back to his old ways with you, he’s mistaken.”

He feels the corner of his mouth twitch. “I don’t deserve you.”

Ingrid slides her arms around his neck and hugs him. She smells faintly of something floral she’s warm against him, even if her hands are cool to the touch.

“You’re my friend, Sylvain. That’s not going to change any time soon.”

She releases him from the hug and leans back, studying him. Sylvain doesn’t try to force one of his plastic smiles because he knows she sees through them. She’s been doing it since they were young so there’s not really any reason to try to sneak one past her now.

“It was easier when I could get under his skin by acting up,” Sylvain mumbles.

Ingrid takes his hand again and he feels weak and stupid. They should be inside enjoying the fanciest party of the year and yet they’re sitting under a gazebo while he, a grown man, freaks out about seeing his father.

“When Miklan wasn’t around and I was flirting like crazy, it was fine. He’d get annoyed but I was good at ignoring that. Once Mik went to prison,” Sylvain trails off, shaking his head.

Ingrid knows this story. She’s lived this story with him. It started with his father shipping Miklan off to as many boarding schools as possible because he was always trouble. It ended with attempted fratricide, disowning, attempted suicide, and Sylvain cutting ties and seeking therapy to deal with his fucked up family life.

Ingrid’s been through a lot too, with her mother dying when she was young and her father’s business struggling, causing her family to struggle to support her three older brothers and her. And then, of course, there had been Glenn.

Glenn Fraldarius who had been Felix’s older brother and Sylvain and Dimitri’s friend and Ingrid’s boyfriend. Glenn Fraldarius who had gotten shot protecting Dimitri from the same people that killed Lambert and Patricia. Glenn Fraldarius that had died and made everything go to shit.

“Sylvain,” Ingrid interjects gently, “you’re allowed to be angry with him. You’re allowed to be hurt.”

The words sounded terribly similar to the things that he had said through Ingrid’s locked door after Glenn had died. Back then, he had been ashamed of his attempts to comfort Felix and Ingrid because he could never get rid of the needling self-hatred in his stomach that some horrible part of him was glad that Glenn was gone because Ingrid would never, ever choose Sylvain over Glenn.

He takes a deep breath and stands up. He holds out a hand to her. “Come on, Ingrid. We have a party to enjoy.” She takes his hand, but she hesitates. “Sylvain.”

“As long as you’re with me, I’ll be fine. We’ll just avoid my parents and talk to your brothers and bother Felix. We haven’t seen Mercedes or Dedue or Ashe yet either, and we can’t leave without saying hello to them.”

Ingrid smiles a bit. “That’s a line,” she mutters, but she does let him tug her back towards the manor.

“Nah,” he disagrees, smiling at her. She looks prettier when she smiles. “It’s the truth.”

They run into Ashe in the dining room off the kitchen and Sylvain is happy to shove unpleasant thoughts of his father and his brother away to watch Ingrid light up as she greets her old friend. Ashe’s optimism is the same as always as he chatters about the catering, which is from the restaurant that he started, Sylvain notes.

Ingrid leaves the conversation with a plate of food and her pleasant mood restored and Sylvain’s stomach loosens as he looks at the beautiful smile on his friend’s face.

- ~ -

Dimitri gives a speech later that thanks all of his friends for their support. Byleth stands next to him and holds his hand. She makes eye contact with Sylvain during the speech and noticeably flicks her eyes to Ingrid who is standing next to him, still holding his hand. Sylvain holds her gaze and Byleth narrows her eyes just the tiniest bit in a measure of displeasure.

Sylvain ignores her and focusses on the warmth of Ingrid’s hand in his. Her fingers are long and slender, but her hand still feels dwarfed and delicate in his. He squeezes it once. Her eyes stay on Dimitri as he gives his speech, but her grip tightens around his a moment later.

- ~ -

At one-thirty in the morning, Sylvain waits on the front steps of Blaiddyd Manor while Ingrid searches for Dorothea inside so that they can leave. After the brief hiccup, the party had been quite enjoyable. They had spoken with Ingrid’s brothers who only gave him a few suspicious looks and had bothered Felix and Annette and had spoken with countless other friends, all while successfully avoiding Sylvain’s parents.

He has shed his jacket, draping it over one of his arms as he waits for Ingrid to reappear with their friend. He doesn’t wait long since she emerges from the manor, rubbing her arms and looking mildly annoyed. She waves her phone at him as she approaches.

“Thea texted me,” she explains as she approaches. “She left with Petra half an hour ago.” Sylvain laughs. “Of course she did.” He can’t tell if Dorothea left because she was super into Petra or if she was trying to leave Sylvain and Ingrid together for even longer while Ingrid was all dolled up. Knowing Dorothea, it was probably a twisted mix of both.

“Shall we go then?” Ingrid asks.

She shivers as she said it and Sylvain pulls his jacket off his arm and drapes it over her shoulder. She looks like she’s about to protest, but Sylvain places his hands on her shoulders and smooths the coat over her dress. The wispy blue dress doesn’t really match the dark charcoal suit jacket, but it kind of dwarfs her figure anyways.

“Sylvain?” a voice calls from the manor’s entrance before they can move a muscle.

Sylvain’s stomach tightens and he lifts his head to stare at the tiny blonde woman in the doorway of the house. She has delicate, china-like figures and an extremely expensive red dress on. He hasn’t seen her in a year and he really wishes he had gotten away before she had spotted him.

“Hello Mrs. Gautier,” Ingrid says politely.

Sylvain feels like hiding behind Ingrid, but he takes a deep breath. “Hi Mom,” he replies.

His mother looks like she is going to say something when a tall redheaded man appears next to her, his gaze sternly focusing on Sylvain and she says nothing.

“Sylvain,” his father says, his voice as hard as he remembers it.

Ingrid takes his hand and squeezes his fingers so hard that they hurt. “Hello Mr. Gautier,” she says, repeating the greeting for his other parent.

Sylvain’s father’s gaze darts to their connected hands and Sylvain’s jacket draped over Ingrid’s shoulders. “Miss Galatea,” he says like he barely remembers her name.

Ingrid keeps her head up and smiles plainly at his parents. She waits for him to take the lead, but she doesn’t let go of his hand. Sylvain squares his shoulders and nods to his father.

“Goodnight,” he says abruptly before turning and pulling Ingrid after him, heading for his car.

Thankfully, his parents don’t call after him or follow him so they make it to his car without issue. Ingrid gets in the passenger side and Sylvain climbs in the driver’s side. His hands curl around the wheel until his knuckles turn white.

“Are you okay to drive?” she asks.

“Only one glass,” he assures. “I’m fine.” “That’s not what I meant.”

He stays silent for a moment until the blood rushing in his ears settles and he feels like himself again. “I’m okay,” he promises.

“Okay,” Ingrid agrees.

She pulls his jacket off of her shoulders and drapes it over her lap so that she can fasten her seatbelt. Her palms smooth along the fabric of his jacket. Sylvain loosens his grip on the wheel and watches her for a moment. She doesn’t look at him again so he starts the car and starts driving them home.

The roads are mostly empty through the city as he pulls into the parkade of their apartment building. He kills the engine and they sit there in silence for a moment.

“You said you’d let me walk all over you and that you’d thank me and ask me to do it again,” Ingrid recalls as Sylvain reaches to unbuckle his seatbelt.

He tenses and looks at her. Her cheeks are pink and she finally lifts her head to look him in the face. Under the fluorescent lights of the parkade that filter through the windows of the car, she almost glows.

“What does that mean, Sylvain?” she asks.

A lie sticks in his throat and he tries to tell her the truth instead, but that gets stuck too, so he’s just stuck looking at her dumbly.

“Right,” she mutters. “I told her it was a long shot.”

Sylvain’s brow furrows and his hand shoots over to grab Ingrid’s wrist before she can let herself out of the car. “Long shot?”

She’s blushing fully now as she bites her lip. It hits him suddenly and totally and a bubble of happiness wells and bursts so quickly in his chest that he’s not entirely in control when he leans over the console and kisses her.

Her hands fist into his hair immediately and she kisses him back fiercely. Sylvain’s hands slide to her back and he coaxes her towards him. It’s awkward and a bit bumpy as she maneuvers into his lap, pressed between him and the steering wheel. They kiss furiously for a long second before Ingrid jerks away, gasping for breath.

Sylvain’s chest is heaving too, but Ingrid looks mussed. One of her pretty dress’s straps has slid down her shoulder and his jacket is abandoned on the floor of the passenger side. Her lipstick is smudged to nothing and her fancy hairdo is falling out. He brings a hand up to brush away wispy threads of blonde hair.

His love for her is written all over his face, but for the first time in a long time, he’s not afraid of it. Ingrid looks a bit shy and uncertain even though she’s literally perched in his lap in the front seat of a car and Sylvain laughs lightly.

“I love you,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a light kiss to her neck.

She sighs for a moment, but then hands pull his head back and she looks at him seriously. “It’s not a line, right?”

Sylvain slides his hands to her waist and squeezes, trying to let her feel the warmth of his palms through her dress. “Ain’t a line if it’s the truth, Ing,” he breathes.

She kisses him again and neither of them breaks it for a long time. Sylvain is pretty sure that he could die happy kissing Ingrid, but she makes a small noise of discomfort and he pulls back, staring at her.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. She shifts closer to him so they’re pressed even closer than they were before. “Steering wheel,” she mutters.

Sylvain laughs and presses his forehead against her shoulder as he tries to stop laughing like a child. She runs her fingers through his hair and he can feel her give a breathy laugh too.

“I love you too,” she says. “But, please, for the love of god, we have an apartment upstairs.”

Sylvain smirks and presses a kiss to the junction of her shoulder and neck, opening his lips just enough to gently press his teeth against her skin for half a second. She practically shivers against him.

“And no nosy Felix,” he agrees and he opens the car door.

#the writing section #i've never loved (like this)#sylgrid #sylvgrid #sylvain jose gautier #ingrid brandl galatea #f: fire emblem #fic: i've never loved (like this)#c: ingrid brandl galatea #c: sylvain jose gautier #c: dorothea arnault #c: byleth #g: romance #g: friendship #rating: t+#words: 5.6k+#fe3h #fire emblem three houses

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scriptmedic · 7 years

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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

[disclaimer]

[Free Email Course: Injuries in Storytelling]

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

#anatomy of a medical drama #content genres #genre conventions #genres #medical ethics #obligatory scenes #reality genres #masterposts #crossposts

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Industry insiders don't use their products like we do. That should worry us.

New Post has been published on https://nexcraft.co/industry-insiders-dont-use-their-products-like-we-do-that-should-worry-us/

Industry insiders don't use their products like we do. That should worry us.

Apple founder Steve Jobs didn’t let his kids use the iPad, or really any product their dad invented, according to a 2014 report from Nick Bilton in The New York Times.

“They haven’t used it,” Jobs told Bilton. “We limit how much technology our kids use at home.” Every night, the family had a phone-free dinner together, according to Walter Isaacson, author of the definitive biography Steve Jobs. “The kids did not seem addicted at all to devices,” Isaacson told Bilton.

Many found Jobs’s choices startling—and for good reason. What does it say about the safety of a product if its creator forbids his own kids from using it? But the tech billionaire’s choices weren’t as unusual as they might seem. From tobacco to food manufacturing to social media, executives and insiders are subtly sounding the alarm in actions, if not in words. Their behaviors provide insight not just into the risks of certain consumer products to children, but to adults, too.

From the moment the Surgeon General’s 1964 report on the harmful effects of carcinogens in cigarettes was published, tobacco executives have engaged in a decades-long campaign of misinformation and obfuscation. Though they continue selling their products—wrapped in government-regulated warning packages—news reports have shown that many executives have stamped out cigarette smoke in their own lives.

As of 2014, Reynolds American, which makes Camel cigarettes, no longer lets employees smoke in the office. The company’s former CEO, Susan Cameron, stopped smoking “conventional cigarettes” more than 15 years ago, according to Fortune magazine, and turned to electronic cigarettes, which some believe are a healthier, though no less addictive, alternative.

And David Crow, then the managing director of tobacco company BAT Australia, regularly warns his children to avoid the very products he makes, according to a 2011 report in The Sydney Morning Herald. “It’s bad for you. It says it on the pack,” Crow said. “I’ve got a 13-year-old, an 11-year-old and a seven-year-old and if they smoke I tell them absolutely, categorically, ‘Do not smoke’.”

In his 2013 book Salt Sugar Fat, author Michael Moss documented the ways in which food manufacturers hacked our taste buds and designed snacks, sodas, and other grub that keep us “hooked.” Publicly, these companies have broadcast their efforts as a boon to convenience, satisfaction, and savings—despite mounting health concerns. But privately, Moss revealed, many junk food executives and their families avoided their own products, acutely aware of the dangers wrapped in brightly-colored plastics.

Take the grandchildren of Bob Drane, the creator the Lunchables. One of Drane’s adult children allows his own kids to eat Lunchables, according to Moss’s reports. But Dran’s daughter, Monica, doesn’t let her children anywhere near the stuff, which she calls “junky” and “awful.” “They know they exist and they know Grandpa Bob invented them,” she said. “But we eat very healthfully.”

Drane argues that benefits of the product outweighed the health problems associated Lunchables. While the bologna tray, Moss reports, somehow contains 13 teaspoons of sugar and two-thirds of the daily recommended sodium intake for children, the snacks save parents time. “I wish that the nutritional profile of the thing could have been better,” Drane told Moss, “but I don’t view the entire project as anything but a positive contribution to people’s lives.” Still, Drane has come to believe that his industry—if not the Lunchables product specifically—should acknowledge its accountability for issues like childhood obesity, one of several causes he’s taken up as a volunteer.

But the emphasis isn’t on children alone. When Moss grabbed a meal with “food industry legend” Howard Moskowitz, who led the effort to develop Cherry Vanilla Dr Pepper, Moss ordered a few cans of soda for the table, and asked its creator to have a sip. “I’m not a soda drinker,” Moskowitz said. “It’s not good for your teeth.” With some goading from Moss, Moskowitz eventually takes a pained sip, calling the drink “terrible” and “overwhelming.”

“There is a class issue at work in processed foods, in which the inventors and company executives don’t generally partake in their own creations,” Moss concluded. Some executives have spoken up about these problems, with mixed results. In 2003, for example, Kraft rolled out nutritional labels that featured “whole package” data, providing consumers with a modicum more insight into what the CEOs already knew: how the sausage gets made. “Most of these executives [agitating for more transparency or healthier products] ended up quitting in frustration or getting fired for their unconventional views,” according to the Washington Post.

In Silicon Valley, it’s almost impossible to avoid your own inventions. Software developers abide by the maxim of “dogfooding”, which states that to refine your product, you have to use it (or “eat your own dog food”). But that doesn’t mean they don’t worry about themselves—and their children. In fact, industry insiders often use junk food as a metaphor for digital products. “It’s like if you ate potato chips all day long,” Mike McCue, the founder of Flipboard, said of social media during a 2017 appearance on the Recode Decode podcast. “You have to have a balanced information diet. There’s nothing wrong with looking at Facebook. If that’s all you do then you’re just going to be a product of that.”

Other insiders seem to harbor similar concerns. Bilton, who reported that the Jobs family was low-tech, interviewed at least six other software-savvy families for his 2014 piece. One sources said he’d “seen the dangers of technology firsthand,” from bullying to tech addiction, and wanted to protect his children from those experiences.

In 2017, Microsoft founder Bill Gates revealed he had both age and habit-related rules for his three children. “We don’t have cellphones at the table when we are having a meal,” he told The Mirror,, a British newspaper. “[W]e didn’t give our kids [cell phones] until they were 14 and they complained other kids got them earlier.” The rules about how long before bed phones had to be off probably wasn’t popular either.

But the reasonings followed a similar pattern of logic: smartphones and related devices were useful for “homework and staying in touch with friends,” Gates said, but had the potential for “excess.”

The Gates kids may not have gotten cell phones until they were 14, but the average American gets their first phone at age 10. Today, 45 percent of teens say they are “online on a near-constant basis,” according to a 2018 analysis by the Pew Research Institute. This, despite the fact that 45 percent of teens see social media neither good or bad and 24 percent see it as mostly negative.

And the statistics are just as bleak for adults. The average American spends 5 hours a day on their phone. That translates, according to one analysis, to touching, swiping, and tapping our phones 2,000 times between getting up and going back to sleep. Like a Lays potato chip, you can’t “like” just once. While many adults need smart phones for work and other essential tasks, former Google employee Tristan Harris and his colleagues at the Center for Humane Technology modify their own behaviors by graying out their screens and turning off all (or all non-essential) notifications.

Research papers, investigative journalism, court cases, and government inquiries are all sources of important consumer information, from the safety of the food we eat and the beverages we drink to the technology we keep closest to us, always in our hand, or on the nightstand. But it’s clear that the actions of CEOs are an important bellwether—a sign of problems consumers may not even know they’re facing.

Plenty of executives believe wholeheartedly in products that are clearly dangerous or, at best, a waste of money (think supplements, activated charcoal, or fad diets). But as history shows, many more executives use their insider knowledge to make different personal choices than the ones they promote to the public. Like the canaries in the coal mines of their own creation, when the CEO squawks, we should listen.

Written By Eleanor Cummins

#Technology

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