Fic: Sam iAm (iCarly, Carly/Sam, PG)
Man, writing in fandoms I've never written in before is so intimidating. Thanks to Nickelodeon for showing SO MUCH iCarly this week; it has been very inspirational. This is my lgbtfest fic, under the wire!
Title: Sam iAm
Author: beckaandzac
Fandom: iCarly
Pairing/characters: Sam/Carly
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money made.
Prompt: 1682. iCarly, Samantha 'Sam' Puckett/Carly Shay, Sam realizes his gender identity does not correlate with his female body. He still loves and wants to be with Carly but how will she react to the news? Sam!POV.
Summary: Maybe it starts with a haircut. Maybe it was always like this and it just took Sam sixteen years to figure it out.
Author's Notes: Thanks to poor_choices and my mother for their encouragement. ~1400 words.
During the fall of junior year, Sam cuts off her hair, almost three feet of it. She makes Carly do it, even though Carly freaks out about it, standing behind her at the mirror with the scissors clacking, holding Sam’s braid and squeezing her eyes shut. “I can’t, I can’t,” she says, and Sam’s hair swings against the back of the chair for what she hopes is going to be the last time.
“You can. Or else.”
“Or else?” Carly raises her eyebrows and screws her mouth up into a familiar little pout.
“If you don’t do this quick, the Groovy Smoothie is going to close before we get there, and you won’t like me if I don’t get a burger soon.”
“Point,” agrees Carly. She grabs Sam’s hair again, fiercely determined. Three snips of the scissors, straight across the back of her neck, and Sam’s whole head feels lighter. She shakes it around a few times, getting the feel of it. In the mirror her hair hangs unevenly around her face, this cloud of blond fluff. “Did I cut it too short? Is it awful? I’m so sorry.”
Sam stands up to test out her head-banging skills, disoriented by how light it feels when she swings her head around. “It’s awesome,” she says.
Carly looks skeptical. “You’re still going to go to an actual stylist to get it fixed up, right?”
Sam scratches the back of her head. “When I was little my mom cut my hair with hedgeclippers.”
“Your mom is a lunatic.”
“True.”
Carly sends the braid off to some charity that cleans up oil spills. Sam goes to a hair salon the next week and asks to have what’s left of her hair cut like the guy from Cuttlefish, long in front and short in back, buzzed up the back of her neck, where Carly likes to rest her hand when they kiss. Sam puts on a pair of aviator sunglasses and a shiny shirt, and stuffs a pair of socks down the front of her jeans to complete the effect. She practices air guitar in front of her bedroom mirror, imagining a mob of screaming fans spread out in front of a stage. It would be pretty awesome, being a rock star.
***
Sam and Carly don’t really go on dates. It would be weird when they’ve been friends so long. They go to the Groovy Smoothie and they hang out with the hobos in the park, who teach them how to play chess, which is surprisingly un-lame (although Sam doesn’t tell Freddy that). And all spring, once they’re both pretty sure Carly’s going to get a car for her birthday this summer, they walk around a lot, and talk about where they’ll go when Carly can drive. Sam likes slinging an arm around Carly’s waist and hooking a finger in her beltloop, swaggering down the street in cargo shorts and faded t-shirts and watching strangers double-take. It’s just a little game Sam plays, seeing if they can pass for straight, like pretending to be a rock star in the bedroom mirror. Carly never asks about it, just leans into Sam’s shoulder and keeps walking, smiling at Sam’s side.
***
Sam wears a tux to junior prom. It comes from a cousin who’s in jail for fraud when Sam borrows it, and it still smells a little like cheese, even after a round of steam cleaning. “You look good like that,” Carly says, and she’s wearing this long, flowy blue dress that rustles when she moves, and she’s kind of intimidatingly pretty. Sam wants to look good for her, even more than Sam wants to make Freddy’s head explode with jealousy.
“Thanks. You look pretty good too.” Sam bows like a gentleman and holds out an arm for Carly to take. It’s while they’re dancing to a slow song, Carly’s head tucked down against Sam’s shoulder and Sam’s bowtie starting to chafe, that Sam starts to think it would be nice to do this all the time, be the guy for Carly, be this guy for Carly.
***
When the old guy with the hot dog cart around the corner from Carly’s building says, “Thank you, sir. Please come again,” Sam feels this little thrill, like getting away with something really cool, like everything coming together just right for once. Sam could be some dude with a hot dog, put that on like she had put on a frilly skirt and heels to impress boys two years ago, but way more comfortable and less pinchy.
Sam eats half the hot dog leaning on the wall outside Carly’s building, Lewbert glaring through the glass. Being a guy can’t be that hard, if even Lewbert can pull it off. Sam slouches a little, hoodie hanging loose and open, scuffed sneakers jutting out into the sidewalk. It’s not different from any other day loitering outside waiting for Carly, but Sam’s thinking about it now, wondering how it would feel to give up on being a girl altogether, say no to skirts and makeup and table manners, instead of just passively resisting them.
***
Sam dresses like a boy senior year, not that it’s a big change, not that anyone comments. Sam was already a dyke, as far as school was concerned. Ms. Briggs still says, “Samantha Puckett, report to the principal’s office,” in that menacing old-person way,” and Sam still gets that smug, happy feeling when Carly says, “my girlfriend,” and doesn’t mind that other people say, “she,” but in Sam’s head, it’s different. Sam is a pretty cool guy, even if he doesn’t have a web show anymore. He has a bunch of delinquent friends, and an awesome girlfriend who doesn’t dump him no matter how many times he gets detention, and his mother has finally had her license suspended so he can use the car whenever he wants. Everything is pretty good, in Sam’s head. But he keeps putting off that moment when he has to say something to somebody else, has to admit that he doesn’t feel like a really butch girl. Lazy, but maybe a little bit scared too.
***
Watching Carly pack for college hurts in a low, gut-punched way Sam can’t quite deal with. She folds things neatly into boxes and bags, and Sam lies on her bed, watching, because no one expects Sam to help with things like this. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” Carly says quietly, palm flat against the top of her suitcase, forcing it closed.
“I know,” Sam replies, fingering the beads hanging from Carly’s bedside lamp.
“So are you ever going to tell me?”
“Tell you what? Because I seriously had nothing to do with the smell in Lewbert’s office.”
“That you’re my boyfriend now.” Carly stands up, rubbing her hands against the thighs of her jeans.
Sam swallows, pulls at a loose thread in the hem of his t-shirt. “I don’t know. I guess now’s a good time.”
“You’re kind of a jerk.” Carly folds her arms across her chest. “You could have said something.”
“Are you mad?” Sam asks, sitting up. “I can’t tell.”
Carly sits down next to him, nudging Sam over so they’ll both fit against the headboard. “You could have told me,” she says again.
Sam thinks he might start crying, and that just makes him mad. “I didn’t know how.”
“You always say exactly what you think all the time, no filter, but you couldn’t tell me you were the T in LGBT.”
“Are you mad?” Sam asks again.
Carly smacks him in the arm. “Stop asking that. I’m mad that you didn’t tell me. But I’m not mad that you’re, you know. I like guys. I like you.”
“You’re going to meet a lot of guys at school. And girls.”
Carly wraps her arms around Sam’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “Do you want to come live under my bed in Olympia?”
“Yes,” replies Sam sullenly. Carly nuzzles in close, lips against Sam’s cheek.
“I’ll be back to visit. A lot. And you can come visit me anytime. If you’re not too busy with your new community college friends.”
“Don’t try to placate me.”
“I didn’t even know you knew that word.”
“How do you think I got into community college?” Sam says. “Good looks?”
“I love you.”
“I know. That’s ‘cause of my good looks.”
“I do enjoy the arm candy.” Carly kisses him on the mouth, hand at the nape of his neck pulling him in. “You’re going to be a great college boyfriend.”
~fin~
Title: Sam iAm
Author: beckaandzac
Fandom: iCarly
Pairing/characters: Sam/Carly
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not my characters, no money made.
Prompt: 1682. iCarly, Samantha 'Sam' Puckett/Carly Shay, Sam realizes his gender identity does not correlate with his female body. He still loves and wants to be with Carly but how will she react to the news? Sam!POV.
Summary: Maybe it starts with a haircut. Maybe it was always like this and it just took Sam sixteen years to figure it out.
Author's Notes: Thanks to poor_choices and my mother for their encouragement. ~1400 words.
During the fall of junior year, Sam cuts off her hair, almost three feet of it. She makes Carly do it, even though Carly freaks out about it, standing behind her at the mirror with the scissors clacking, holding Sam’s braid and squeezing her eyes shut. “I can’t, I can’t,” she says, and Sam’s hair swings against the back of the chair for what she hopes is going to be the last time.
“You can. Or else.”
“Or else?” Carly raises her eyebrows and screws her mouth up into a familiar little pout.
“If you don’t do this quick, the Groovy Smoothie is going to close before we get there, and you won’t like me if I don’t get a burger soon.”
“Point,” agrees Carly. She grabs Sam’s hair again, fiercely determined. Three snips of the scissors, straight across the back of her neck, and Sam’s whole head feels lighter. She shakes it around a few times, getting the feel of it. In the mirror her hair hangs unevenly around her face, this cloud of blond fluff. “Did I cut it too short? Is it awful? I’m so sorry.”
Sam stands up to test out her head-banging skills, disoriented by how light it feels when she swings her head around. “It’s awesome,” she says.
Carly looks skeptical. “You’re still going to go to an actual stylist to get it fixed up, right?”
Sam scratches the back of her head. “When I was little my mom cut my hair with hedgeclippers.”
“Your mom is a lunatic.”
“True.”
Carly sends the braid off to some charity that cleans up oil spills. Sam goes to a hair salon the next week and asks to have what’s left of her hair cut like the guy from Cuttlefish, long in front and short in back, buzzed up the back of her neck, where Carly likes to rest her hand when they kiss. Sam puts on a pair of aviator sunglasses and a shiny shirt, and stuffs a pair of socks down the front of her jeans to complete the effect. She practices air guitar in front of her bedroom mirror, imagining a mob of screaming fans spread out in front of a stage. It would be pretty awesome, being a rock star.
***
Sam and Carly don’t really go on dates. It would be weird when they’ve been friends so long. They go to the Groovy Smoothie and they hang out with the hobos in the park, who teach them how to play chess, which is surprisingly un-lame (although Sam doesn’t tell Freddy that). And all spring, once they’re both pretty sure Carly’s going to get a car for her birthday this summer, they walk around a lot, and talk about where they’ll go when Carly can drive. Sam likes slinging an arm around Carly’s waist and hooking a finger in her beltloop, swaggering down the street in cargo shorts and faded t-shirts and watching strangers double-take. It’s just a little game Sam plays, seeing if they can pass for straight, like pretending to be a rock star in the bedroom mirror. Carly never asks about it, just leans into Sam’s shoulder and keeps walking, smiling at Sam’s side.
***
Sam wears a tux to junior prom. It comes from a cousin who’s in jail for fraud when Sam borrows it, and it still smells a little like cheese, even after a round of steam cleaning. “You look good like that,” Carly says, and she’s wearing this long, flowy blue dress that rustles when she moves, and she’s kind of intimidatingly pretty. Sam wants to look good for her, even more than Sam wants to make Freddy’s head explode with jealousy.
“Thanks. You look pretty good too.” Sam bows like a gentleman and holds out an arm for Carly to take. It’s while they’re dancing to a slow song, Carly’s head tucked down against Sam’s shoulder and Sam’s bowtie starting to chafe, that Sam starts to think it would be nice to do this all the time, be the guy for Carly, be this guy for Carly.
***
When the old guy with the hot dog cart around the corner from Carly’s building says, “Thank you, sir. Please come again,” Sam feels this little thrill, like getting away with something really cool, like everything coming together just right for once. Sam could be some dude with a hot dog, put that on like she had put on a frilly skirt and heels to impress boys two years ago, but way more comfortable and less pinchy.
Sam eats half the hot dog leaning on the wall outside Carly’s building, Lewbert glaring through the glass. Being a guy can’t be that hard, if even Lewbert can pull it off. Sam slouches a little, hoodie hanging loose and open, scuffed sneakers jutting out into the sidewalk. It’s not different from any other day loitering outside waiting for Carly, but Sam’s thinking about it now, wondering how it would feel to give up on being a girl altogether, say no to skirts and makeup and table manners, instead of just passively resisting them.
***
Sam dresses like a boy senior year, not that it’s a big change, not that anyone comments. Sam was already a dyke, as far as school was concerned. Ms. Briggs still says, “Samantha Puckett, report to the principal’s office,” in that menacing old-person way,” and Sam still gets that smug, happy feeling when Carly says, “my girlfriend,” and doesn’t mind that other people say, “she,” but in Sam’s head, it’s different. Sam is a pretty cool guy, even if he doesn’t have a web show anymore. He has a bunch of delinquent friends, and an awesome girlfriend who doesn’t dump him no matter how many times he gets detention, and his mother has finally had her license suspended so he can use the car whenever he wants. Everything is pretty good, in Sam’s head. But he keeps putting off that moment when he has to say something to somebody else, has to admit that he doesn’t feel like a really butch girl. Lazy, but maybe a little bit scared too.
***
Watching Carly pack for college hurts in a low, gut-punched way Sam can’t quite deal with. She folds things neatly into boxes and bags, and Sam lies on her bed, watching, because no one expects Sam to help with things like this. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” Carly says quietly, palm flat against the top of her suitcase, forcing it closed.
“I know,” Sam replies, fingering the beads hanging from Carly’s bedside lamp.
“So are you ever going to tell me?”
“Tell you what? Because I seriously had nothing to do with the smell in Lewbert’s office.”
“That you’re my boyfriend now.” Carly stands up, rubbing her hands against the thighs of her jeans.
Sam swallows, pulls at a loose thread in the hem of his t-shirt. “I don’t know. I guess now’s a good time.”
“You’re kind of a jerk.” Carly folds her arms across her chest. “You could have said something.”
“Are you mad?” Sam asks, sitting up. “I can’t tell.”
Carly sits down next to him, nudging Sam over so they’ll both fit against the headboard. “You could have told me,” she says again.
Sam thinks he might start crying, and that just makes him mad. “I didn’t know how.”
“You always say exactly what you think all the time, no filter, but you couldn’t tell me you were the T in LGBT.”
“Are you mad?” Sam asks again.
Carly smacks him in the arm. “Stop asking that. I’m mad that you didn’t tell me. But I’m not mad that you’re, you know. I like guys. I like you.”
“You’re going to meet a lot of guys at school. And girls.”
Carly wraps her arms around Sam’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “Do you want to come live under my bed in Olympia?”
“Yes,” replies Sam sullenly. Carly nuzzles in close, lips against Sam’s cheek.
“I’ll be back to visit. A lot. And you can come visit me anytime. If you’re not too busy with your new community college friends.”
“Don’t try to placate me.”
“I didn’t even know you knew that word.”
“How do you think I got into community college?” Sam says. “Good looks?”
“I love you.”
“I know. That’s ‘cause of my good looks.”
“I do enjoy the arm candy.” Carly kisses him on the mouth, hand at the nape of his neck pulling him in. “You’re going to be a great college boyfriend.”
~fin~