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lazyjellyfish300 · 30 days ago

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*SAD YEEHAW NOISES*

Bless Your Heart | PROLOGUE: SUNKEN EYES

The places our minds can go, the beauty we can see, and the feelings that we, ourselves, can only imagine. Oh, the places your heart will go.

tread lightly ⋆⋆⋆ pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy symptoms (cravings, morning sickness, changes in the body), mentions of food, character death, angst, a bit suggestive

word count ⋆⋆⋆ 2.7k (much thanks to my beta @slushycoookie 💚)

note on the fridge ⋆⋆⋆ I ask that you walk with me here....just walk with me. The prologue is important to get to the next chapter.

next ℧ masrterlist ℧ AO3

Wrap, wrap, wrap, and pull. Wrap and pull, wrap and pull.

Tempest hummed a melody to keep up with the pattern in her lap. Milky brown, light pink, and cream white yarn was all around her.

A friend showed her how to weave the soft material some years ago. She even helped her to start it, but it wasn’t until now that Tempest felt that completing it was her biggest goal.

Her fingers tremble as she holds the crochet needle in her hand, peach nails getting stuck against the string.

“Shit,” she whispers. The ring on her left hand snags against her square, ruining the pattern and her pace.

Slumping back, she drops her head on the seat of the coach, the feeling of the floor bringing her solitude.

Everything has been off.

Just a few weeks ago, she had been fine. Enjoying life, riding through the water with Magenta, eating dill pickles and boiled peanuts, and more importantly, knocking boots with her husband.

It was exhilarating.

Then irritation set in soon after.

Pork rinds never made her wanted to upchuck more than they did three afternoons ago. The smell in the air after opening the plastic was like her uncle clogging up the bathroom during Easter dinner.

She saw a charm with a mama deer cuddling her baby deer and startled the entire jewelry department with how hard she sobbed.

One night, the atmosphere was just right with candlelight and glasses of wine, but one hand on her nipples ruined the mood. It felt like someone or something had been pushing and pulling against her breasts all night.

To top it all off, she felt exhausted. Going to bed as early as 7 PM, waking up far too late to feed the chickens.

It was all too much.

Her last straw was running out on the dinner her husband made for her. Usually, she could muster up a smile and fight her way through the burnt veggies. Last night though, one bite of sour green beans had her tripping over herself to get to the toilet bowl.

He was distraught, one hand rubbing her back and the other holding back her dangling necklaces.

After that, she decided to do what she was avoiding for way too long.

A piece of white and blue plastic laid over a napkin on the bathroom counter. Black ink on the tiniest screen set her heart into motion. A decision of a lifetime sat in the pit of her stomach.

Right now, she felt more comfortable holding the empty trash can over her lap and finding relief.

A tug on the yarn distracts her. Looking down, she smiles at the three-month-old kitten.

“At least you’re having fun, Maple,” Tempest says. She rubs a hand on her kitten’s belly, laughing as she kicks at the yarn. “My happy baby.”

She was as big as ever, putting the stray cats around the farm to shame.

“I hope your Papa is happy.”

Maple paid her no mind, jumping at the string she was shaking above her.

Tempest stayed on the floor, waiting. Her mind was elsewhere as a gameshow panned across the TV screen.

The living room got darker and darker. Maple was curled up on top of her ruined square pattern, huffing big as she slept.

It’s not until she perks up and runs off her lap, squealing with all that she’s got, that Tempest notices that her husband is home.

“Roe!”

She smiles, listening to him fuss at Maple for climbing.

“This damn cat likes to climb me more than the 200 dollar cat tree we bought her.”

He sits on the floor next to his wife, holding Maple in one hand and wrapping around Tempest with the other.

“That would make two of us,” Tempest hummed.

He kissed her, groaning as her thumb pressed against his ear.

Their foreheads touch, and he rubs his nose against hers.

“How are you feeling today?”

“About the same. How was your day?”

“Same old thing. Nothing exciting until I got back here. ‘M more worried about you, though. You gave me a scare yesterday, Roe.”

She closes her eyes and sighs, hands forming loose fists in front of his shirt. Her heart was pounding and the AC wasn’t helping the heat forming over her skin.

“Hey,” he says. He cradles her head in his hand. “Everything ok? You know you can tell me anything.”

“Anything?”

“You were there when I was out on my ass with just a t-shirt covering my closest parts and a rottie on my tail.”

Tempest snickered, “You had no business playing around with those dogs. And they showed out, too.”

“You were also there when I was drunk out of my mind, serenading you in the middle of the night.”

“Almost woke up the entire dorm with The Temptations. How could I forget?”

“And when I lost bareback for the first time. And when Pops almost knocked me into the grave. And when I fought with my brother. And when your family was ready to rough me up-”

“Miguel. I’m pregnant.”

His smile pauses, face shifting as he looks back and forth between Tempest’s eyes.

“What?”

She got up and ran to the bathroom, grabbing her proof. She hands it to Miguel and hugs her legs close.

“I’m…pregnant. I don’t know how far along, but I haven’t been feeling good for a few weeks.”

Miguel reads the test over and over until the lines blur.

“Oh, Hare, I-I know. I know we’re still building our time together. And I still want that for us,” she wipes the tears falling from his face, the ones that match her own. “We’ll figure this out. If you don’t want the baby, we can go somewhere and, and we can make them go away. I’ll be happy as long as you’re happy.”

“But what about you? Do you want the baby?”

Tempest’s lips curl in and out. It feels like he can see right through her.

“Yes, more than anything.”

He pulls her to his lap as soon as she finishes the sentence. Maple jumps on the couch.

“Then, I’m going to be a Daddy.”

Tempest smiles through her tears, laugh bubbling up. Miguel joins in, hands clasping against hers.

“You want to be?”

“No better time than now, Temp. We’ll give ‘em the world.”

“The world and then some.”

Miguel gets up and spins her around, the sound of her laughter louder than the live studio audience over the TV speakers.

“I…I’m gonna be a Daddy!”

Her face hovers over his as she scans his expression.

There was a glow on his skin that she would be soon to match. A fire lighting him up from inside.

“You’re gonna be a Daddy, Guel.”

She’s so beautiful.

Even as she turns her nose up at the plates he brought home, she’s still beautiful.

“These are your favorite!” Miguel holds out meat from a crab leg.

She gags, tears threatening to break free, “And right now they’re making me want to mess up your shoes.”

He takes the meat back and takes a bite. He furrows his brow, “Actually, I don’t even know if they cooked this right.”

“Spit it out.”

She’s so beautiful.

Even as her favorite pants can no longer button up and she’s sprawled out over the bed about to cry, she’s still beautiful.

“I’ll buy you more pants, Roe,” Miguel sighs as he pulls on a different jacket.

“But these ones make my ass look amazing. And I’m bloated.”

“It always looks amazing. You always look amazing. That’s not going to change ‘cause of some denim.”

“But you always end up eating me up like a sundae because of these.”

He pauses, turning to her as she throws an arm to her forehead dramatically.

“If that’s what you wanted,” his jacket is thrown to the floor, “all you had to do was ask.”

She’s so beautiful.

Even as she’s staring at Miguel in disbelief, rubbing a cold towel across his face, she’s still beautiful.

“You’re irritating me right now.”

“When you get sick in the morning, so do I.”

“I didn’t get sick today, Hare.”

“But I did!”

“What are you going to do when this baby catches a cold? Gets a stomach bug? Breaks a bone?”

He turns his head on her lap, face pressed against her barely visible bump.

“Take care of it. Then, come lay in your arms.”

She’s so beautiful.

Even as she nearly jumps through the ceiling when the doctor lays the gel over her stomach, she’s still beautiful.

“I can never get used to that,” Tempest mumbles.

Miguel kisses her head, “You never liked the cold.”

The two of them are holding hands like they’re freefalling on an amusement park ride watching the transducer go over Tempest’s skin.

His heart is drumming so loud against his chest, Miguel almost thinks it’s his baby instead.

“Alright, family. Would you like to hear your baby’s heartbeat?”

“Yes, please.” Miguel can’t help it.

Like the horses galloping across the plains, the sound fills the room.

Tempest shudders out a laugh of relief, of joy, as she leans her cheek on their clasped hands.

“Oh, Miguel. I think that’s the most amazing sound I’ve ever heard.”

He hums in agreement, eyes never leaving the screen.

“Would you all like to know the gender?”

The two nod. Days of wondering have led to this.

The probe moves and Miguel’s thumb moves over the back of Tempest’s hand as a reminder to breathe.

“It looks like a perfectly healthy baby girl!”

Tempest shouts, all of her intuition and old wives’ tales were validated. She’s getting the girl she wanted.

Miguel hopes she looks like Tempest because Tempest is so beautiful.

Even as she crosses off Miguel’s first choices for a name, she’s still beautiful.

“Why don’t you like Mist? It’s us, Roe! Miguel and Tempest. Mist!”

“We are not naming our baby after condensation, Hare. No.”

“With the way you’re going, her initials are going to be GMO. A farmer’s daughter with the initials GMO? A future cowgirl with GMO on the back of her shirt? Really?”

“It could be cute!”

“It could be lethal.”

Tempest huffs, “Well what else do you have?”

He flips a page in his notepad, “Tempel.”

“Like a temple? You know you would hate that. You barely like stepping foot in a church pew”

“Touché,” he drags his pen down the page, “Teguel.”

“Sounds like kegal. Do you want her to get bullied? Do you really want that for our child?”

He laughs, thinking the frown on her face is beautiful.

Even as she sits a package of frosted sugar cookies and ranch on her stomach for dipping, she’s still beautiful.

“This is rancid.”

“I think you mean delicious. I’m gonna try pickles wrapped in Rice Krispies treats next. Oh! And dill pickle chips with strawberry ice cream. I heard that’s the best.”

“And I need to go get these things now?”

“I suggest you do, unless you want to sleep in Magenta’s stall.”

“Yes, honey.”

He thinks she’s beautiful when she hands him the keys to the truck.

Even as he comes running to the bathroom when she yells his name, she’s still beautiful.

There’s an open half a gallon of milk in his hands and his tank is dangling over his shoulders.

“I think she just kicked!”

He’s not sure where the milk lands, but he’s on his knees, hands on Tempest’s stomach in a heartbeat.

He waits and waits, eyes going from her dark skin to her anticipating face.

Then he calls out to her.

“Baby girl, it’s me. It’s Papa!”

Three sharp kicks have Miguel squeezing around Tempest’s legs tight, pressing long kisses where she left an impression.

Tempest runs her fingers through his short hair softly and hugs him close.

“You got milk all over my floor.”

When she directs his mopping from her pregnancy pillow from the bed, he teases her about being beautiful.

Even with her exhausted state, trying to sleep through his soft chords, she’s still beautiful.

“You would think that this would keep her up, and yet, here we are singing lullabies at 2 AM.”

“I’ll keep humming, Roe. You just rest up.”

The timbre of his voice and his fingers sliding across guitar strings warms the chilly bedroom. His back is piled with two quilts while Tempest keeps a thin bed sheet just under her hips.

As she finally sleeps, Miguel thinks she’s beautiful.

Even when she stands in the mirror, taking in every last change to her body, he knows she’s still beautiful.

He stands behind her, rubbing cocoa butter into her skin. He follows the stretch marks up her stomach in awe. They remind him of roots of a tree, intertwining and intricate.

When he finds her face through the glass, she’s glowing. The black finger waves she sported eight months ago have turned into a small, curly fro with hot pink tips.

“You’re gorgeous today, Mama Roe,” Miguel whispers.

“Thank you, baby.”

The two of them cradle her stomach, sinking into the late afternoon. Maple is asleep upside down on an ottoman having tired herself out from chasing butterflies in the grass.

“Are you ready? To be a daddy?”

“Never been more ready. I got my pink hatband and everything.”

Tempest beams, “I guess it don’t get more ready than that, huh? You got your pink spurs, too?”

“You better know it.”

His words tickle her so, she laughs in his arms for what feels like hours.

She’s so…

Beautiful.

With lips like a heart and a sharp cupid’s bow to match. The top lip darker than the bottom and a mouth like a sailor.

Hair so thick, she cuts it off to not deal with it. The finest pixie cut you’ll ever see. Waves curling deeper than the ocean, grown a little and dyed for fun.

Toned thighs and a once hard stomach from pulling stubborn pigs riding horses without a saddle. Low-rise jeans in almost every shade adorned her closet.

Her eyes are like the sun setting in the summer. Warmer in the depth of the night, holding his heart close, leaving him bare. Orange and burnt umber. Somehow, yellow could make it through. Black pupils with nearly white, shining highlights.

Too beautiful.

“Daddy?”

Miguel breathes in sharp, the smell of freshly cut grass cutting his senses.

A monarch lands on a sunflower planted in the rose gold vase and he blinks.

His knees are starting to go numb and the sun is blaring against his back. He reads over the stone one more time.

A heart like no other, A soul that shines bright

Tempest Monroe-O’Hara

Miguel sniffs as a loose strand of hair goes across his cheek and a face slots against the side of his, nearly knocking his hat off. It’s a familiar feeling.

“Almost ready to go?”

“Yeah, Sunshine, I’m almost finished. I promise.”

“Ok, I’m going to wait on the back of the truck!”

She squeezes his neck and runs to the truck bed, not before her little hands grasp his own.

He rubs his hands against his jeans, head ducking as he thinks.

“Every day, she’s growing up to be more and more like you, Roe,” he chuckles. His throat is tight and some spots on his pants go from dark blue to navy. “Impatient as ever.”

He takes off his hat and looks at the embroidery on the inner rim. The once anticipated date staring back at him is not too far off from the sunset on the marble before him. The pink hatband is still intact.

“And she’s just as beautiful.”

The butterfly dances from the flower to his hat, wings slowly expanding and pinching.

“I hope you’re still watching her grow. I hope you’re still watching us and smiling up there.”

A dragonfly lands next to the butterfly, its abdomen shaking swiftly with iridescent wings buzzing away.

“Daddy!” Gabriella yells. “C’mon! We’re going to miss our show!”

The two insects twist together as they fly off, cool and warm colors mixing with the grass. Miguel sees them off until they become miniscule.

“I guess you heard the princess. Can’t miss our show.”

Miguel gets up and places his hat back on his head. He presses a hand from his lips to the top of the stone.

“Te amo, Roe.”

divider by ⋆⋆⋆ rookthornesartistry 💚

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