TGB: You're Gonna Be a Daddy! (SOULBONDCEST)

Artistic-Twist:
It had been quite the walk from Light tribe to Earth, but one Neytiri was happy to make. She'd had a hunch about something for a while now. She'd been sure it was right, but she'd slunk away to see the healers just to be certain that morning. There her suspicions had been confirmed, and now every cat who saw her noticed there was a slight skip in her step. She entered the Earth-tribe camp. Her eyes briefly scanned the clearing, till they landed on a large dusty colored tom cat at the corner of the camp, laying in the shade of a bolder. Her Mar. Her mate. With a joyfully prideful look about her, Neytiri made her way over to him. “Marrrr~” She purred, abruptly leaping onto the larger cat's back.

Takethra:
Mar’s ears twitched at the sound of Neytiri’s approach, and his nose twitched at the manifestation of her smell in the Earth Tribe camp – a sanguine tinge in the aroma. So it was no great wonder that she was so suddenly there, he reflected absently as he felt her pounce upon his back. There she was.
He purred raspily at her proximity, and promptly flipped over, to lay his mate out beneath him, unashamed of the display though they were in the middle of camp. He looked down at her with affectionate avarice. “What is it, Newt?” he inquired, though he was not particularly curious, as he felt himself quite content to rest upon her. What a spectacle it would be, to couple here right in the eyes of all the other Earth Tribers. That would certainly be a blow to the face of their revered Silver. He knew that he himself would not be at all mortified. Here is the hell of the tribes’ Soulbound Mates. Enjoy, lovely leader. The thought made him smile.

Artistic-Twist:
Neytiri purred louder when she was suddenly turned onto her back, with Mar resting upon her like she was some kind of soft pillow. It felt nice, not only because he was warm himself, but she loved it when she got his attention. Still purring, the she-cat gently nuzzled and licked his battered visage. Like Mar, she didn't really care that they were being so affectionate in the middle of the camp. She was proud of her mate; and if anyone had a problem with that, their answer would be the sharp sting of Neytiri's thorn like claws.
“I've got a surprise for you.” she purred proudly.

Takethra:
Mar accepted her affection with aloof appreciation as his gaze resided over her face. He settled himself as though to fall asleep upon her, scarred belly over her warm figure, tail swaying with gratification at her vicinity. “You have a surprise?” he inquired, not sounding particularly interested, if not for just her proximity. There didn’t seem to be much left for saying between them anymore – after all, they’d said so much in that mutual childhood in the swamps, and confided so much since the consummation of their lovely taboo, words were almost no longer necessary. He found himself wondering what she could possibly wish to say – if the surprise was even news, that it need to be told. “Pray, what is it?” he asked, aroused by the pleasured flame in his mate’s eyes.

Artistic-Twist:
Neytiri could have fallen asleep there in the middle of camp, under her much larger mate. One would think it would be uncomfortable, but Neytiri didn't think so. In fact, she enjoyed being in this position with him. Most of the time because It was actually quite restful to her... But she liked it best because this was how it was when they were spending some quality time together, like they had in the fox den. She smirked at the memory and then put on a falsely coy expression. “Yes, a surprise~” she purred alluringly.
She glanced around the camp, before stretching up as far as she could, and wrapping her front limbs around Mar's long neck. She pulled his face gently down towards hers, and she gave his muzzle a gentle lick before whispering quietly in his ear. “Guess whose gonna be a daddy?~”

Takethra:
Time seemed to halt upon her words, and visages that were not of his mate seemed to flash before his eyes.
Another she-cat, with another tom, at another time.
His words to Marble. I was born quite alone; my mother died removing myself and my siblings from her at birth. The smell of an unmitigated flow of water and blood from a wasted body, of dry milk in an old, dark, lonely nursery. The wide eyes of a horrified father. The limp bodies of starved brothers.
Death indeed.
Hadn’t that been the shadow present over all his last nights’ afterglows?
Mar froze over Neytiri, an unvoicable feeling mounting within - his eyes fixed upon the ground; he was glad that in her embrace she could not see his face – for it gave him time to recover.
Recover with what, though?
His words couldn’t come.
Father.

Artistic-Twist:
Neytiri could tell that something was wrong. She could not see his face, but she felt him stiffen above her. Suddenly her position, once so warm and comfortable, became the opposite; uncomforting, cold.
She blinked, suddenly pushing against Mar's chest till their positions had been reversed, with him on his back and her smaller form resting on top of him. Her blue eyes gazed down at his face, and if one looked hard enough, you could see the worry in their depths. She loved her mate, but had she come to him with her news at the wrong time?
“Mar?” she asked, pressing her face against his neck.

Takethra:
Mar did not like to be thrust off balance, but he let himself be – it was Newt, he reminded himself, and so he accepted the grapple without any protest, despite their visibility in the camp. He returned her gaze, but allowed no anxiety to show – only blankness. Damn, he was acting stupid, but that thought only came dully as he felt Neytiri embrace him and mew her uneasy question.
His jaw hardened into a smile.
At first the expression had been an effort, but as new thoughts began to flood his mind, the expression was sharp and sincere.
“Good,” was the first word he uttered – a deep, gratified sound. There was a growing feeling in his gut, an ethereally hard heat – yes, good. He could smell it on her now, yes, that was what he’d smelled. The smell of new blood. Theirs. His.
May all the tribe cats be most assuredly damned. A feeling of sublime exultance made his head light, brightened his eyes. Vindication.
Mar rolled to his side, that they were both level with one another, tail swaying with pleasure. He pressed his chin to her brow, breath over her soft laughter. “Good. You’ve done well.” And he thought of more to say, sincerely drawing her closer with his forelegs. But then all of the words he put together did not seem adequate, and so he did not speak further.  

Artistic-Twist:
Neytiri felt warm as her mate turned them so they both rested on their sides. Somehow, when he embraced her she felt everything was perfect. He was pleased, happy with the news, and she was happy that he was happy. She purred quietly to him, licking his shoulder and drawing closer to his chest so she rested against him. Yes, this was perfect...

Takethra:
Perfect.
Hadn’t this been his plan?
Well, not entirely his plan – Neytiri – her, being his mate, had never been part of any sort of plan – but – finally, this seemed to be the culmination of some great goal, just achieved. She – his soul-sister – would bring his kits into the world – to desecrate all that the tribals held sacred.
Despite the feelings of conflict clenching his heart, he could smile again, a thin expression. That’s what this was for. They would see the two Soulbound Savages bring kits into the world and marvel at their own inadequacy. It was only a matter of time, now.
But still. Something didn’t feel right.
Neytiri. Newt.
He wasn’t using her. They both wanted this to happen, and all would lie well, he reassured himself, paws lax over her flanks. All would lie well.
So he nosed her, an affectionate gesture, as she’d seemed to fall asleep in the alcove of his chest. The glimmer of her blue eyes reassured him. New lives. He felt his tattoo grow warm at her proximity, the burning of a galvanized soul and its progeny.
Mar blinked, and didn’t mind that he himself was growing tired, didn’t mind that laying here would mean falling asleep in the middle of camp. His crooked whiskers slackened over his face, and he rested closer to his mate. “Good,” he repeated, and his voice was a ghost.