Blackfeather Woods Naughty baby here to tease you
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Going into heat before the breeding season switch

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Sex. Rape. Sibling Incest.

Her den was thick was her scent, a familiar odor, despite this only being the second time she had encountered it. Heat. Immediately, after she clawed her way out of Vaermina's grasp, she fled the den, without a word to her daughters or sons (would they follow? Were they old enough to be tempted?).

She was still a mother, her children not old enough to be placed in the adult ranks. She had no yearning to carry pups through the fall and winter once more. But more than simple annoyance and inconvenience at the prospect of bearing children once more, it was the fear of her brother that drove her from her den to the marsh.

But was it fear? Her body shuddered as she sloshed through the bogs, recalling the soft nibble at her ear. How had he known about that? Had it been with Damien that he learned that forbidden spot? What of @Cicero himself, the true personality? Was he even the true personality anymore? 

Her training told her that this was fine. Mephala made no judgement on who her followers took to bed, be they friend or sibling. But she had learned better. She knew not why she kept it a secret from her family, why she never mentioned the history of incest that had plagued her family; the Meloniis. Perhaps she had hoped that her family would be better than that. After all, her mother had sought out new blood in their father, and Damien did not even offer himself as the donor when it came time for her to become a mother. But the relationship of her two brothers told her otherwise, and the sudden interest in her was the nail in the coffin.

She did not want half deformed pups or raving lunatics. But her body screamed at her for someone's touch. Thoughts of Sheogorath touching her ear and other spots plagued her mind, and, finding a dry island in the Mire, she curled up, pawing her ears in a fruitless attempt to banish them.
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There was undeniable change in the air. He could smell it, he knew it the first time it touched his nostrils. He knew better than to go to her den, for why would she be there? It was far more likely she was elsewhere, tucked away because she knew that he was coming for her. He had little thoughts of incest or deformed pups on his mind; only his own sick desires drove him.

The tunnels were a first spot to check but at their entrance he found no trace of his dear sister and so he moved on towards the marsh. He entered it from a different side, trudging through the bogs until at last... He found the scent.

"Out for a picnic?" he called through the fog; he did not yet see her, but her scent was like a beacon that he was moving towards.
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#3
She curled her body into herself as much as she could, becoming a small white ball of fur, masked by the fog. She muttered to herself, curses and spells that she hoped would draw the fog even tighter around her, blanketing her and masking her scent and appearance from her brother.

His voice startled her. She jumped to her feet, but the fog was so thick — damn herself — that she couldn't see him. His voice echoed. She could not place where he was, but backed away nevertheless. I am not in the mood for this, Sheogorath, It felt to her that she was not only speaking to her brother, but to the Mad God himself. Who else would purposefully, willingly do this but someone so tainted by madness?
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At first it was easy to follow the trail that lead towards his sister, shining like a beacon at the end of a tunnel. He followed it in a straight line, but the closer he got, the more dispersed the scent became and the harder it was to tell her exact position. As she spoke, he laughed, but it was different than normal — it was a cackle that echoed through the foggy marsh, a sound that echoed the madness that lived in his mind, a little bit of both halves of himself.

"Not in the mood?!" he laughed, then, silence. Seconds of it. Then; "What, then, are you in the mood for, dear beloved sister?" He continued to step forward, trying to gauge where her voice was coming from, trying to find the point where the smell was the most intoxicating, the most violently tugging at him. Trying to get her to speak more, so that he could find her, but until then, he enjoyed himself — he enjoyed the game.
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She was afraid to move. The splashing of her paws in the muck and slime would be enough to allow Sheogorath to hone in on her. She wished that she could fade away into the mist, at least until Sheogorath passed. But in the heat of the moment, her magic would not work. Too short a time, with too much stress. She gritted her teeth, bared in a snarl to the mist and fog. Go away! She hissed, stuck on her island, dreading the worst.
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He no longer heard her paws make a sound, which meant she was either too far away or — ah, but he heard her voice again, and it wasn't very far now — she was staying put in one place. He continued to move through the marsh, his narrow, bony paws splashing with each step he took and making a sucking sound each time he lifted them. The scent became a more general scent the closer he got, and so he could rely only on the hot-or-cold that coming closer or further away gave him and the closeness of her voice.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," he crowed through the marsh. "You can run, you can hide, but I will find you and give you what I know your heart most desires." He finished the sentence in sing-song tone, the wicked smirk that painted his face clear in his voice. The rush of power had never been greater than in the chase of his frightened sister. But he knew she wasn't just frightened. He had seen that she desired him; he knew she desired him; he would give her what she wanted. He knew he was getting closer. He could almost taste her, so close. Just one more word, one more step, or some sheer luck or deduction would pinpoint where she was. Soon.
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#7
Her heart thuds against her chest, her body screaming at her to flee from the singsong voice that is closing in on her. If she had to admit anything to herself — and only to herself — it would be that it was not the act that she feared. Sex was good. It felt good. She knew what rape was, but it was not copulating that she feared. She knew that Sheogorath found that forbidden spot on her ear, and she knew that he would be clever enough to please her. It was not the act. It was the aftermath. She was in heat. Her cycle guaranteed that she would bear his children, her brother's children. From a family of incestous siblings and cousins, broken only by Bane's inclusion, her children with her brother would be twisted, either in body or mind or even both. She would not allow it for her family. She would not allow it for the sleeping children inside her. Potema snarled, her hackles raised, unwittingly allowing Sheogorath to hone in on her. But even if he found her, he would fight.
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There was silence for a little bit as he closed in, going off of the last time he had heard her voice. Ears tilted forward and backward to try and pick up a sound amidst the silence beside the sloshing of his paws, but it didn't happen until he heard her snarl. It sounded like her ferocity had been unleashed, but there was one thing that she hadn't considered. Violence only turned him on more.

Finally he was able to reach her. The sloshing stopped when his paws reached the dry island. "So, you like it rough," he hissed through his teeth. Sheogorath had enjoyed playing the good game with Potema, just being nice, gaining her trust and getting close, but this... This was a whole different level of the playground and he loved the rush of adrenaline that gushed through his veins when his mismatched eyes finally found hers — equally mismatched, although in much different ways — and her snarl was matched with a wicked grin of his, far beyond mischief, that showed there was no appealing to his reason, for there was none left.

"Don't worry, me too." And he dove towards her blind side, moving towards her flank and trying to nip at her flank before she'd presumably spiral round to face him again. He was not the strongest, but neither was she and he had the advantage of her blind side.
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#9
She is not a warrior, no. But she fought. The moment she heard Sheogorath's pawsteps switch from sloshing to soft, muffled thuds on the ground, she stood. Rising from her curled position to face him, her hackles raised and tail curled as if her life was on the line. Sheogorath wouldn't kill her, no. But she had a duty to protect her family in the subtler ways compared to the warriors and assassins that consistently dominated the pack. And so far she was responsible for continuing the Melonii bloodline. With both of those goals in mind, she had to defy him now. If it meant hurting him, she would do it, and she made that clear in her body language and the burning fury in her single eye.

She thought he would be smarter. While it was minimal, she had been trained to fight, and how to compensate for her missing eye. It had been a while since she had fought, but the memories were still locked in her muscles. She sprung away, keeping her eye firmly locked on the man, briefly feeling the brush of his muzzle near her skin. Potema attempted to counterattack, her fangs aimed at clamping onto his tore and spottled muzzle.
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She responded surprisingly supple to his attack, more than he had expected. In turn her counterattack easily landed because he was taken aback by how well she could manage her blind side; he had not expected his little princess of a sister to be so good at that. As her teeth tore into the bridge of his muzzle and his sensitive nose Sheogorath merely laughed. It was the kind of laughter that served as a reminder that he loved the pain. It only spurred him on, it made him stronger, it blew up his desires from 'this is just a game and we'll see how far we get' to 'this is happening'.

He ignored her initiative, tearing upward and ripping his own skin in the process as her teeth enveloped his nose. Blood gushed from his nose as he tried putting his front paws on her shoulder from the side while teeth gripped for anything to hold onto.
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#11
In any other battle, she would have triumphed at the successful attack, but instead, she was only filled with dread. His blood filled her mouth, but she tasted nothing but disgust, nearly gagging as she heard his laugh. Her shock from the moment threw her off, and it was in that moment of hesitation that allowed him to put his paws on her. She let go, and stumbled back, barely registering the pain of his teeth until he was holding onto her.
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Sheogorath wasted no time as soon as he found purchase on her scruff and managed to throw his legs over her back. She stumbled back but he held on tight, a grin on his face that she couldn't see as he threw his ragged body into position behind her while he held onto her scruff and placed his paws on either side. He had waited so long for this — culmination — and although it was not his tight-assed brother Sheogorath was not unhappy with the trophy he got instead.
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Before she knew it her brother's weight was on her back. It was a lot lighter than the other males she had bore there, but the severity of the situation added to his weight. She gasped out, knowing now that she had less and less options of escape than before. She wriggled, bucked like a wild mare, her head swinging back to try and sink her teeth in some part of him.
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As she snapped wildly around her and bucked to try and get him off he only cackled, even as her teeth grazed sharply and painfully along his front legs. This game was beautiful and he was so gone in his own mind that he did not even really care anymore whether or not he would get what he wanted in the end at this point. But it was too late now, and she would wear out soon, he knew, grow weary from her struggles. Once she would calm somewhat in her movements at least by stopping the bucking, he would tighten his grip on her and make his move so that she could truly no longer escape.
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She was not warrior, or even some scout. Her body had not been trained for long physical exertion. But she was not all plump and sedentary. She lasted a long while, biting and snapping at Sheogorath's legs, bucking as much as she could to shake him off. But he clung like a leech on her back, unmoving. It seemed that her movements were in vain as nothing she did seemed to make him budge from her body.

His clinging weight, though initially miniscule, began to increase as her body weakened. She panted, trying to squeeze every scrap of energy from her body that she could in an inevitably failed attempt to stave off their coupling.
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It took a good while before she was worn down enough for him to make his move. She was a feisty one, his dear sister, that much was for sure. When she eventually tired Sheogorath gripped her scruff even tighter between his teeth and wrapped his forelegs around her waist. He was quick to make his move and started to move back and forward, thrusting quickly from the beginning. The feeling was intense, even moreso because of the power rush that this gave him. Whatever the consequences, this was worth it. He clenched his jaw and eventually released her scruff from his teeth so that he may breath down her ear and whisper hoarsely: "Say hello to your brother for me." The last word was mangled into a moan as he finished and slumped.

Consciousness nearly slipped but he managed to right himself, slide off but finding he was stuck. Cicero's mismatched eyes tried to steady and find focus but he was dizzy and he didn't know what was going on. He felt amazing — didn't remember feeling so good — but there was a nagging feeling at the back of his mind...
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It was in her weakest moment that she was attacked. She didn't expect it otherwise. She thought that, with her squirms, that she would have tired him enough to make it quicker, perhaps lessen the blow. But it still happened.

She shouldn't like it, she shouldn't like it. Her heat, the damned hormones pumped out of her brain into her body made her like it. At least, that's what she told herself as he continued to thrust inside her.
She moved herself as best she could in an attempt to jostle him from her before the knot formed, but only succeeded in rubbing him against her inner walls, another unwanted wave of pleasure burning through her.

It seemed like an eternity before she felt him spill, heard him groan. He whispered something in her ear, but she was sobbing too much to hear. She was relieved to feel him slide off, but it was the tie that reignited her fury. She turned to him, no longer caring which side of her brother he was now. She bit and clawed at him as best she could, wanting to tear the guilty organ off from him, to castrate him, or anything that would give her the same pain that he gave her. Nādrēsy! Nyke vēdros ao! Jaelan ao naejot morghūljagon! Morghūljagon! Morghūljagon! Morghūljagon!
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When she suddenly turned on him Cicero saw his sister's face. He had not seen her so enraged, the calm façade fallen off completely now. Ears flattened and he made himself small but fell as he found himself stuck to her. She could not reach what she wanted because of it but his face was free game now, teeth landing to grab his legs a few times and tear through the skin on his face like a knife through butter. He knew his face would heal soon but he knew that there had been irrepairable damage done, somehow — that much was clear to him now.

Blood seemed to be everywhere and he did not see as he had closed his eyes to protect the delicate orbs from tearing. He did not speak nor try to defend himself by any other means than to turn away, figuring he had deserved this and, truthfully, enjoying the pain that landed upon him for it quenched the guilt he felt for something the beast had surely done; that he, a part of him, had surely done.

It was only when he would be free of her body that he would turn and run away as quick as he could to try and get away while trying to blink the blood from his eyes.
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#19
The moment she felt the tie between them break, she turned to face him. She tried as best she could to latch onto him, to sink her fangs and claws into his haunches to tear him down and — kill him? She wanted to, so so badly. Her body demanded that it be so. But he was too quick, and she too exhausted, even with adrenaline pumping through her. He escaped her with nothing but the wounds on his face and chest and front legs. She screamed after him, the noise not quite a howl, not quite a screech. When all of the air had been expulsed from her lungs she collapsed, sobbing and choking, curled up away from the realities of the cruel cruel world.
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He was quick to run away, running as fast as he could manage through the blood and the pain and the murky waters that tried to suck him in. His paws sopped through the marsh until he had no more energy left to run with. He tried to piece together all of the puzzle pieces but none of it made sense. The last thing he remembered... He didn't know. He knew it was long ago but he didn't know how long, didn't know what exactly. All he had at the moment were blurry memories that he couldn't place.

He breathed in ragged breaths while he made his way to the den he and Damien used to share. His brother was nowhere to be found, just when he needed him most. Cicero curled up there and stared at the moss in front of him while he felt the pain creep through his face, a thing that brought him both pleasure and bitterness.