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SARAH PIDGEON
attends the For Your Consideration event for FX's "Love Story: John F. Kennedy Jr. and Carolyn Bessette" at Paramount Studios (June 02, 2026)
came back a different me (but it's good to see the same old you) 👀?
this is the morning after lily’s grand middle-of-the-night-during-one-hell-of-a-thunderstorm return in cty! quick warning to some allusions to domestic violence and minor injuries resulting from it.
It was the cattle that woke her.
The low, baying sound of cattle lowing shouldn’t be as unfamiliar as it was. Lily hadn’t ever really been away from cattle, save for the long, hot, AC-less summer spent cooped up in her half-furnished Dallas apartment before Rhett moved her in and slapped a diamond on her finger. It was strange, she thought. A couple thousand head of cattle spread over more than twice that in acreage, and she couldn’t remember the last time she woke to the sound of anything except the quiet hum of the central air cooling her bedroom like a tomb.
As her eyes finally fluttered open, she began to take inventory of her surroundings: the rickety ceiling fan still complete with the John Deere tractor pull cord, the handmade bookshelf lined with old VHS tapes and CDs, even the quilt rack in front of the window she’d tripped over climbing in at 2 am her senior year. For a brief second, she could almost believe she’d died the night before, blinking out when her head collided with the steering wheel, or slowly fading away as hands closed around her throat hours before. It was just as she’d left it when she packed her bags and sped out of town, everything untouched like some sort of heavenly time capsule.
Everything except the man slumped in the chair in the corner.
She hadn’t woken him with her stirring, despite the morning light trickling across his face being a clear sign he was sleeping in well past his usual wake up call. It was the first time she’d gotten a good look at him in the light after the events of last night, and she couldn’t help but stare. He was slouched, head propped stiffly by his right arm. Hair fell into his face in messy brown strands, longer than she’d ever known him to wear it. The edges of his scar peeked out, faded with time and age but still prominent on his cheek. Her eyes drifted down, following the line of his shoulder on down and noting the peeks of new-to-her ink adorning the skin of his forearm.
It was strange looking at him, so familiar but so foreign to her now. If she closed her eyes, she could almost picture them back then, all smiles and skin to skin under the same blankets draped over her body now. Those were happier times, back before they had a single clue what life had planned for them. They were just kids.
The glint of the morning sun catching on the barrel of the shotgun Casey had propped against his chair the night before was a stark reminder that those kids were long gone.
The husky rasp of his voice, deepened by sleep and worry, startled her. “You alright?”
She hadn’t the faintest idea how to answer that. Categorically, no. Without the night’s adrenaline coursing through her veins, she could feel new aches and pains making themselves known throughout her body. Her skull throbbed, her ribs ached, and the fresh split on her lower lip tugged painfully as she tried to suck it back between her teeth. She’d inventory them later, locked in the bathroom and away from any prying, pitying eyes.
“Yeah,” she said finally. “Hangin’ in there, I think.”
He stared for a long moment, jaw working almost imperceptibly. It was an alien situation, the war between familiar and brand new. Deciding how to proceed seemed almost impossible when every word felt like a misstep. After what felt like hours of deliberation, he nodded to himself. “You in pain?”
“Not bad,” she said, gingerly sitting up. She moved slowly, delicately swinging her legs over the side of his bed to let them dangle before drawing his quilt around her shoulders. It was hot, almost sweltering already hours before the break of day, but the warmth of his familiar scent engulfing her felt almost like armor protecting her from the truth of her situation.
She could tell he didn’t believe her, and she couldn’t blame him. He eyed her, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before opting for a soft “‘kay.” She watched as he stretched, turning his face into his bicep to hide his wince as the stiffness of his back screamed its protests. “Want some ice?”
“Power’s still out,” she murmured. “Can’t open the freezer. Food’s gonna go. You know that.”
“Don’t care about the food.”
Lily fell silent, the lump in her throat finally giving way to something warmer, something gentler. Downstairs, she could hear the faint sounds of Brenda mulling around the kitchen, going about her morning routine like the events of the night before hadn’t irrevocably changed something for the old house and its occupants. It was strange, she thought, just how familiar it all still felt. It’d been a decade since she’d step foot in this bedroom, but despite the sweltering, sticky heat slowly settling over every inch of it, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the house itself was welcoming her back with open arms.
The low hum of Casey’s voice drew her from her thoughts, gently tugging her back to Earth. “Don’t wanna push you or nothin’, but… Lil, we gotta talk about it. You know that, right? Can—can call the cops if you want, or—“
She stiffened, fingers fisting tight around the ratty quilt she wore. “No cops.”
“I—okay,” he conceded, nodding to himself before running a hand over his mouth. “No cops, then.” Then, almost as an afterthought: “Gotta warn you. Mama wants to call ‘em. She was pretty damn rattled last night when you came in.”
Lily frowned, gingerly sitting up, careful to not jostle her ribs. “Your mama hates cops.”
“Think she hates what that fucker did to you more.”
BONUS FROM FURTHER ON:
“His name was Rhett,” she murmured, pausing for a moment to snort. “Is Rhett. Didn’t kill him when I cut out.”
“Shoulda.”
She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her, or the way her hand drifted over to swat at his bicep on reflex alone. “Casey Michael.”
“What?” he said, the picture of innocence as a crooked grin tugged up one side of his lips. If he noticed her hand on him, he didn’t show it, but rather opted to politely scan the pasture before them instead. “You sound like my mama.”
i was tagged by @imogenkol and @simonxriley! thanks y’all. 💜
RULES: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Tag as many people as you have wips. People can send an ask with the title(s) that most intrigue them, then you post a snippet or tell them about it!
now. i don’t (usually) title my wips because i write in the notes app like a heathen, a lot of my stuff is silly stuff not for the public, AND i have several hundred wips stretching back years. so. a smattering of recent ones with titles i came up with literally right now:
alpha male confetti deliberations
if only in my dreams (hey! a real title!)
tree karaoke
how i met your mother at a serial killer ted talk
spilling over the idol (the black and the blue) (hey! another real title!)
how i met your mother at the fort worth stockyards
cultist marital dispute (aka a normal tuesday)
what the fuck do you mean your family likes each other
came back a different me (but it's good to see the same old you) (see! sometime i really do title things!)
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I’m gonna throw in a “if only in my dreams” for the wip game
aw. the time i got possessed by a demon and pounded out almost 1k of a christmas fic after watching the pacific when i was sick.
It was the night before Christmas 1945, and somewhere near the blazing fireplace of a cozy New York townhouse, Lily Watt sat surrounded by ribbons, wrapping paper, and gifts.
She’d always considered herself festive—the first to haul out sparkling decorations and spend hours searching for the perfect tree while her mother and father sighed impatiently nearby—but this year held a new magic. Thomas was merely an infant the year before, too preoccupied with the next time he’d feed from his mother’s breast to give Christmas a second thought. This year was different. The last several months had brought many firsts—walking, talking, even climbing the furniture Nora had so desperately tried to keep pristine. The thought of her first child opening gifts swelled in Lily’s heart, warming her chest and carrying her through the labor of love that was sifting through flashy colored papers and bows for something toddler-suitable.
Somewhere over her shoulder, the stately grandfather clock struck 9 pm. It was a comforting sound, just as routine as the sound of her son’s squeals of joy and mischief from down the hall where Nora wrangled him into fresh pajamas after his bath.
The ensuing knock on the door, however, was anything but routine.
Lily stiffened, hands curling around the crafting scissors she’d acquired from her mother as she shooed the lingering demons of war from her mind. The war was over. Her father was home. A knock on the door was no longer something to dread.
“Mama?” she called cautiously, dusting stray paper scraps from the front of her dress as she stood. “Mama, did you send for something?”
She stood silently peering outside the study, listening for any hint of someone else venturing to the door. The soft sound of her father’s snoring and the not-so soft sounds of Nora reckoning with Thomas’ bedtime routine were enough to disqualify them from the task. Resigned to her fate, Lily sighed and closed the study door delicately behind her before venturing towards the stairs. Another knock came, sharper and louder than the last. She scowled, mumbling to herself about the state of delivery etiquette in this day and age as she finally reached the meticulously decorated foyer.
“Yes, yes, I’m coming,” she called out, fingers closing around the knob. “It’s a bit late to be knocking down people’s doors, don’t you th—“
i was tagged by @imogenkol and @simonxriley! thanks y’all. 💜
RULES: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Tag as many people as you have wips. People can send an ask with the title(s) that most intrigue them, then you post a snippet or tell them about it!
now. i don’t (usually) title my wips because i write in the notes app like a heathen, a lot of my stuff is silly stuff not for the public, AND i have several hundred wips stretching back years. so. a smattering of recent ones with titles i came up with literally right now:
alpha male confetti deliberations
if only in my dreams (hey! a real title!)
tree karaoke
how i met your mother at a serial killer ted talk
spilling over the idol (the black and the blue) (hey! another real title!)
how i met your mother at the fort worth stockyards
cultist marital dispute (aka a normal tuesday)
what the fuck do you mean your family likes each other
came back a different me (but it's good to see the same old you) (see! sometime i really do title things!)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Curious about "what the fuck do you mean your family likes each other" 👀
from as per my last email, when lily decides that somewhere in between taking potshots at each other at work, she’ll be her coworkers Platonic (They Swear) date to his sister’s wedding and gets the full big jewish jersey family experience.
“It’s weird,” she murmured finally.
“I mean yeah, they’re a little weird, but—“
“No, no,” she interrupted, leaning against the counter before gesturing back towards the lively living room. “This is weird. They—they like each other. Everyone wants to be here.”
He was quiet for a moment, opting to chew at his bottom lip in favor of his usual jabs as he studied the way she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Wasn’t like that for you growing up?”
“Never.”
He frowned, nodding to himself as he took a cautious step forward. His hand outstretched, landing gently on her shoulder before giving it a soft squeeze. “Hey. This too much? We can go on a walk, or—“
from these unquiet hollows! lily mulling over the weird things she’s heard/seen in the woods surrounding the holler. there’s about six million stories in appalachian folklore about whistling/singing/voices coming from the woods at night (animals. it’s usually animals.) and everyone who grew up in the region swears they’ve seen or heard something weird at least once.
She squinted against the blackness, peering further into the tree line as the night’s chill nipped at her bare ankles. When did it get so cold?
“You get lost?” Christopher’s voice sounded from the trailer doorway.
Lily startled, exhaling sharply as she turned on her heel to face him. He leaned there lazily, lanky frame illuminated from behind by the dingy warm light. Hugging herself, she shook her head. “No, I—“ she started, trailing off as she realized she wasn’t quite sure how to explain it. I’m fine, babe. Just got distracted by the woman singing in the woods at 2 AM. “I’m fine.”
He studied her, eyes lingering on the way she’d wrapped her arms around herself like some kind of flesh and bone armor. Raising a brow, he leaned out, craning his neck towards the trees. “What’d you see?”
She blinked.
“Spend long enough starin’ out at the dark, soon enough your brain starts imaginin’ shit starin’ back,” he continued. He descended the trailer stairs, eyes locked on the trees. “Used to see all kinds of shit in the desert at night. Mighta just been sleep deprived, but…”
“I bet,” she murmured, automatically leaning into his warmth as he approached. “But I didn’t see anything.”
It wasn’t a lie, not really. She hadn’t seen anything that night. The dancing lights had seemed to have abandoned her, given up their post amongst the leaves and returned to wherever the hell they came from in the first place. For a brief moment she wondered if she’d scared them off during the last week’s construction, like they were timid stray animals peering at her from their hidey-holes. No, she hadn’t seen anything that night at all.
“Ah,” he hummed. His arm found its place around her shoulders, squeezing her tight to his side. “Trees’re singin’ again, ain’t they?”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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how i met your mother at the fort worth stockyards for the Wip Game 😊
aw. this is from when i was gonna tackle casey’s parent’s love story in a novella style. i might still do it. but. knowing how it ends really, uh—y’know. put a damper on my motivation. (in which casey and his daddy get exposed for having the same smile, which is a very important plot revelation to me.)
“Sorry,” she said finally, much too loud for the narrow corridor. She cringed back, fingers twisted in the hem of her blouse like the cotton could somehow battle back the crimson rising in her cheeks. There it was again — too loud, just like her father always said. “The bathroom. I’m lookin’ for the bathroom.”
The boy nodded, crooked grin somehow splitting his face even wider before he gestured behind him. “Down the hall and to the left. Almost made it.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled. The heat in her face was unbearable now, embarrassment scorching through her veins hotter than the stifling summer air outside. She ducked under his arm, long legs carrying her across the wood floor before a call from behind stopped her dead in her tracks.
“Hey. Blue shirt.”
She turned, unable to hide her own grin this time. “Blue shirt?”
He shrugged, nearly dropping the beat up duffle bag he carried slung across his shoulder in the process. “Don’t know your name, do I?”
She knew better. She really did. There wasn’t a point — she’d return to school, and he’d return to… whatever it was they did here. Fort Worth was temporary, just a hub she was passing through on her father’s quest for her higher education. It wouldn’t be long until she was called back home, and boys in hallways at rodeos she shouldn’t be attending in the first place would be a distant memory. It wouldn’t be sensible.
But her parents were hours away, and what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
