Fic: "Skeletons", iCarly (future!Sam/Spencer), PG
Only I would manage to write wanky prose about iCarly. Oh, Pieces.
TITLE: Skeletons
FANDOM: iCarly, futureriffic Sam/Spencer
RATING: PG
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, natch. Dan Schneider's the man, yo.
Skeletons
iCarly-verse, 9th April 2009
---
NOTES: Written in a fit of sleeplessness thanks to having two teeth removed today. :| I have had this niggling need to write some angsty Spam fic - I know, right - so here it is, prose-y and angsty and regrettable in the morning. Kudos to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs for the title - blame them and my dentist. And all the gang at groovysmoothie for putting the Spam love into top gear for yours truly.
---
And nothing's for sure
And nothing's maintained
And nothing's gonna grow to replace
- "Prettier Face", Hawksley Workman
---
The thing about art is that it's completely subjective. Just because one guy likes it, doesn't mean some other dude will; you might like Monet but your mom loves Andy Warhol. It can be subjective in it's directive, separating in the way it brings people together, and beautiful and ugly all in one step.
Six years, four months, twenty-one days, four hours and seven minutes.
It had been a long time since Spencer Shay had liked art, let alone his own.
---
Seattle hadn't changed, and she supposed she hadn't either. The college thing behind her, a track from Washington to New York suggesting that she must have had some sort of goal along the way - still, with a degree under one arm and a pork leg under the other, she knew she couldn't really ever go home.
But here she was, standing in the shadow of a building that held everything she remembered best from her childhood, the only real place she would want to call home, and all she wanted to do was run.
You've been texting Spencer? read the email, and she wrote back without thinking, yeah its for ur birthday dorkface :).
It had been a long time since Sam Puckett had lied to Carly, but she supposed it was like riding a bike.
---
Carly made jokes about "Sam in the City", about her managing to get through an arts degree in less than a decade. She joked, but Sam knew how proud she was, her face beaming from the crowd as Sam felt heavy under her graduation robes.
Later, they'd gone out for drinks and called Freddie in Australia, where he was single-handedly reorganising the AV structure of some TV station and making a million zillion bucks in the process. They both told him they missed him, and Sam threw in an insult because it seemed to be the right thing to do, before sticking their hands in the air and ordering another round of drinks.
It sucks he's missing Spencer's big show, Carly had sighed, pushing her hair back and letting an engagement ring speak for her lot in life. A man who loved her deeply sending text messages every couple of hours to say "hi" and "how's it going" and "I love you", a mayoral candidate in the making with polo shirts and a Beemer and Sam liked him okay because she saw how happy he made Carly and that was enough for her.
There had been guys in New York for Sam, sure. Freddie, for a while, but they'd both agreed after a fumbled night in her dorm room just before Spring Break that it was better to be each other's firsts than kill each other and be each other's lasts.
Some guy named Dave seemed like he'd be okay to have around, but when she received the invitation to Spencer's show in the mail, she broke it off by email and packed her bags for Seattle, leaving her roommate answering "where's Sam?" with little more than a shrug and a "I dunno".
Six Years/Four Months - A New Show by Spencer Shay. It wasn't just a title of a show, she though, it was like a revelation.
---
The thing about art is, it's completely subjective. She remembers a time when she'd been posing for a sculpture and out came a tuna - or a trout - and her mouth curls up in a smile. She remembers a time, two days after graduation, where her best friend's brother had placed his hand on her face and kissed her like she was going away for six years.
Six years, four months, twenty-two days, sixteen hours and ten minutes, to be exact, and she there she was, looking up at herself hanging in a frame, surrounded by tunas or trouts and something that looked kind of like skeletons and she wondered if the art critic dude that was standing next to her got the same thing out of it as she did.
Like pulling teeth, the pressure was there - a bunch of zany mixed metaphors spun around her in brush strokes, the memory of a night and lips and hands and the idea that maybe she'd always just love her best friend's brother, of acceptance and revelation and a text message that had arrived a couple of months before the invitation that seemed like it started the whole ball rolling again.
More than anything, though, the idea that two completely opposite and similar human beings could end up in the same place almost a decade later like nothing was different, prevailed - and it was enough.
She'd continue lying to Carly, she knew, because it was the right thing to do and she always did the right thing by her best friend. Until it was time to stop lying, and show her this painting and how she interpreted it, and how it was always going to be a twelve-year age gap that would frame her life and love.
As a hand fell on her shoulder and that voice said her name, she smiled and thought about aquariums.
---
Fin.
---
Note the pulling teeth reference. It's on my mind, y'know?
*walks away, bleeding from the mouth*
TITLE: Skeletons
FANDOM: iCarly, futureriffic Sam/Spencer
RATING: PG
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, natch. Dan Schneider's the man, yo.
Skeletons
iCarly-verse, 9th April 2009
---
NOTES: Written in a fit of sleeplessness thanks to having two teeth removed today. :| I have had this niggling need to write some angsty Spam fic - I know, right - so here it is, prose-y and angsty and regrettable in the morning. Kudos to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs for the title - blame them and my dentist. And all the gang at groovysmoothie for putting the Spam love into top gear for yours truly.
---
And nothing's for sure
And nothing's maintained
And nothing's gonna grow to replace
- "Prettier Face", Hawksley Workman
---
The thing about art is that it's completely subjective. Just because one guy likes it, doesn't mean some other dude will; you might like Monet but your mom loves Andy Warhol. It can be subjective in it's directive, separating in the way it brings people together, and beautiful and ugly all in one step.
Six years, four months, twenty-one days, four hours and seven minutes.
It had been a long time since Spencer Shay had liked art, let alone his own.
---
Seattle hadn't changed, and she supposed she hadn't either. The college thing behind her, a track from Washington to New York suggesting that she must have had some sort of goal along the way - still, with a degree under one arm and a pork leg under the other, she knew she couldn't really ever go home.
But here she was, standing in the shadow of a building that held everything she remembered best from her childhood, the only real place she would want to call home, and all she wanted to do was run.
You've been texting Spencer? read the email, and she wrote back without thinking, yeah its for ur birthday dorkface :).
It had been a long time since Sam Puckett had lied to Carly, but she supposed it was like riding a bike.
---
Carly made jokes about "Sam in the City", about her managing to get through an arts degree in less than a decade. She joked, but Sam knew how proud she was, her face beaming from the crowd as Sam felt heavy under her graduation robes.
Later, they'd gone out for drinks and called Freddie in Australia, where he was single-handedly reorganising the AV structure of some TV station and making a million zillion bucks in the process. They both told him they missed him, and Sam threw in an insult because it seemed to be the right thing to do, before sticking their hands in the air and ordering another round of drinks.
It sucks he's missing Spencer's big show, Carly had sighed, pushing her hair back and letting an engagement ring speak for her lot in life. A man who loved her deeply sending text messages every couple of hours to say "hi" and "how's it going" and "I love you", a mayoral candidate in the making with polo shirts and a Beemer and Sam liked him okay because she saw how happy he made Carly and that was enough for her.
There had been guys in New York for Sam, sure. Freddie, for a while, but they'd both agreed after a fumbled night in her dorm room just before Spring Break that it was better to be each other's firsts than kill each other and be each other's lasts.
Some guy named Dave seemed like he'd be okay to have around, but when she received the invitation to Spencer's show in the mail, she broke it off by email and packed her bags for Seattle, leaving her roommate answering "where's Sam?" with little more than a shrug and a "I dunno".
Six Years/Four Months - A New Show by Spencer Shay. It wasn't just a title of a show, she though, it was like a revelation.
---
The thing about art is, it's completely subjective. She remembers a time when she'd been posing for a sculpture and out came a tuna - or a trout - and her mouth curls up in a smile. She remembers a time, two days after graduation, where her best friend's brother had placed his hand on her face and kissed her like she was going away for six years.
Six years, four months, twenty-two days, sixteen hours and ten minutes, to be exact, and she there she was, looking up at herself hanging in a frame, surrounded by tunas or trouts and something that looked kind of like skeletons and she wondered if the art critic dude that was standing next to her got the same thing out of it as she did.
Like pulling teeth, the pressure was there - a bunch of zany mixed metaphors spun around her in brush strokes, the memory of a night and lips and hands and the idea that maybe she'd always just love her best friend's brother, of acceptance and revelation and a text message that had arrived a couple of months before the invitation that seemed like it started the whole ball rolling again.
More than anything, though, the idea that two completely opposite and similar human beings could end up in the same place almost a decade later like nothing was different, prevailed - and it was enough.
She'd continue lying to Carly, she knew, because it was the right thing to do and she always did the right thing by her best friend. Until it was time to stop lying, and show her this painting and how she interpreted it, and how it was always going to be a twelve-year age gap that would frame her life and love.
As a hand fell on her shoulder and that voice said her name, she smiled and thought about aquariums.
---
Fin.
---
Note the pulling teeth reference. It's on my mind, y'know?
*walks away, bleeding from the mouth*