#{/though he would be much easier to just directly cave to alcohol despite KNOWING he shouldn't; given that's his general}

[blindedguilt]

Emotion Meme - Leonard (DOD1)

◈ ANGER.   jaw clenching, hands balling into fists, teeth grinding, yelling, going nonverbal, stuttering speech, rushed speech, slow concise speech, rambling, quiet, arms crossing, shaking head, tearing up, animated, expressionless, projects, internalizes, vents, withdraws, passive aggressive, direct physical outbursts, verbal outbursts. //

◈  JOY.  easy smiles, fighting back grins, suppressed laughter, loud laughter, giggles, chuckling, smirks, whole body laughs, covers mouth when laughing, throws head back when laughing, slaps leg, touches people around them when laughing, looks down when laughing, looks for eye contact when laughing, sparkling eyes, bubbly happiness, quiet subtle happiness, obnoxious happiness, wants to spread joy, quietly savors joy.

◈  SADNESS.  crying, bottling it up, seeks distractions, wallows, meditates & processes, avoidance, seeks out comfort, withdraws, talks it out, internalizes it, sad smiles, depression naps, uses alcohol, uses drugs, seeks out sources of joy, fidgets with sentimental item, sits in silence, broods, gets moody, wants someone to share the misery, tries to hide negative emotions, nurtures others to make themselves feel better. //

◈  EMBARRASSMENT / SHAME.  blushing, looking away, rubbing at back of head, covering face, laughing nervously, laughs it off, overthinks  ->  lets it go, self deprecating humor, deflects, gets irritated, smiles, withdraws, crossing arms over stomach, crossing arms over chest, hands in pockets, shoulders sinking, shrugs, falling into silence until comfortable again, talking a lot to compensate. //

◈ GUILT.  avoiding eye contact, shoulders sinking low, head hanging down, crying, chest aches, lashes out, internalizes, apologizes, deflects, communicates, withdraws, grand gestures for forgiveness, accepts fault easily, punishes themselves, martyrdom, victim complex, overactive guilt complex, healthy conscience, internalizes even after forgiveness, seeking redemption, moves on easily, denial, lack of guilt / conscience, sorry they got caught more than caused harm, can’t handle knowing they hurt others. //  

◈ FEAR / ANXIETY.   trembling, crying, sarcasm / sass to cope, rambles, goes silent, gets angry, fidgeting, clenching jaw, picking at nails, chewing at lip, pulling at clothes, adjusting jewelry / clothing, swallowing thickly, eyes widening, overreacts  OR  underreacts, calm, logical, panicked, irrational, overthinks  ->  carefully analyzes, talks to themselves, breathing exercises, flight  ->  fight, withdraw, fawn. //

Tagged by: I stole it from @glorytomankind lmaoooo I tag: @voicelesshatred, any of the chaps at @etgloria (And/or @booksofthelibrary/@amorfati-rp if you’re up for it!!), @lacrimedelleroina, @innsmaw, and @laplacemail. If you see this and you wanna do it, please, by all means~ (I know there were a couple poor souls Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag beyond this, so... lmao)

[calif0rnia-lovers]

Mayans MC kiss challenge: “i miss you” kiss

title: old habits die hard. 

Me and you are playing house, start thinking that I'm losing touch. Got a tight grip on you now, maybe I should loosen up. When I leave you and I go home, I start forgetting what it is. Start to think I got to get it how I live, we too busy for a wedding or a kid.

Summary: What do they say? The best way to get over someone is to get back under them-wait, that doesn’t sound right...

Words: 1934.

The sun has gone from the sky, replaced by the moon. To those still roaming the streets they are thankful that the sun has disappeared. The sun had been unbearable today. Where you lay it still feels as though the sun is out. Shining directly on you. 

Your entire body is on fire. You can barely breathe.

One might think it has to do with the fact you’re back in Santo Padre for the week. Even in the late hours of the night, it seems the humidity never disappears. Your bedroom window is open, meant to let in as much air as possible, something that drives Bishop insane. Your safety is always his number one concern. The fan over your bed seems to hold no functional purpose at the moment. Despite the cold air, it is pushing down, your body can’t seem to cool down.

It also has nothing to do with the hand wrapped around your throat.

The pressure around your neck is nearly non-existent. Strong enough to remind you who is responsible for the current state of your body.

The warmth of Bishop’s fingers burns through the heat of your skin. They drift from the base of your neck to the curve of your jaw forcing your head to tilt back allowing him easier access to your lips. Instead of letting his lips press against yours, Bishop kisses the corner of your mouth his chuckle lost against your overheated skin.

Teasing you is never his go-to. When he first saw you this evening teasing was the last thing on Bishop's mind.

His initial goal was simple: make up for the lost time.

But then you started smiling and laughing the way you used to when he was around more. And even though you swore the meet up was just for dinner he knew he wasn't going to allow you to leave it at just that.

Bishop's lips brush against the curve of your nose. The kiss he leaves pulls a smile to your lips. His nose brushes against yours but he pauses. His lips hover over yours, the smiling spreading across his face one you would normally roll your eyes at.

Instinctively, your head presses back into the pillow your chin lifting to bring your mouth to his.

Despite the heated entanglement of your bodies, his kiss is soft-nearly hesitant. He knows his actions are blurring the lines he set months ago. Lines you both said you wouldn’t cross again. It’s hard to move on when the lines have been redrawn so many times neither of you can see them correctly.

It was a kiss that always came once the heat of your desire has been satisfied.

The bristles of his beard scratch against your cheeks as your fingers slip into his hair, your grip firmly keeping him in place.

Bishop kisses you like he knew he should have that night you told him you couldn't handle the second part of him. The part that took over when he slipped on his kutte.

He kisses you softly, seeking the part of you that still believes you might be good together. Neither of you worries about keeping track of your body's reactions. Or who caves first and moans into it.

It is a kiss that says I miss you.

That will remain in your minds tomorrow. That makes it harder to shake the feeling that you were doing more than just fucking.

“We should get together,” Bishop had smiled when you’d run into each other last week. “Catch up over dinner.”

You’d agreed. It's hard to tell Bishop no when he smiles at you. You’d given yourself a pep talk the entire week. Dinner and that’s it. You’d even gone as far as to tell Bishop this same statement when he’d pulled you into a hug at the restaurant.

You sat across from him. The physical distance of the table making you feel at ease. You made sure to stick to one glass of wine just to be safe. But alcohol was never needed for you to end up between Bishop and a mattress.

In fact. If he was asked to recall the events of the evening, Bishop would swear you were the one to kiss him first.

You would deny the claims to your grave.

But you were the first to cave.

Your lips were the ones to meet his first, your fingers were the first to entangle in his hair. To tighten against the thick strands as his tongue playfully brushed against yours. Just as it does now.

“I don’t remember you being this needy,” his voice is low.

The state of your body and mind is too far gone for you to come up with a coherent response to his teasing nature.

"You must have missed me, sweetheart," he adds as your eyes drift shut.

"Not that much," you groan as you gently press against his chest.

Despite your words, you giggle as Bishop kisses your lips a final time. His mouth lingers against your shoulder before he detangles himself from you.

You listen as Bishop shuffles around the room, tracking his movements into the bathroom. You make a mental note to tell him to pick up his clothes that were hastily discarded by the door. Put them on, and don't bother coming back inside the room.

If you let him back in here, he won't leave.

Your mind warns.

But you're exhausted. Your body left in limbo.

You should just cut down on giving him the chance to protest. Get out of the bed, and meet him at the bathroom door. His clothes in hand.

But the moment you get out of the bed, the spell of the warmth he's left around you will disappear. Along with the thoughts that say Bishop showed up because he needed more than just sex.

Although your mind is telling you not to let any part of him back inside, you are incapable of suppressing the sensation that spreads across your skin once Bishop returns.  

The desire to pull him closer. To convince him to stay a little bit longer.

Sitting down alongside you, Bishop smiles before leaning down to let his lip press against your stomach. Soft kisses press against the curve of your hip. His tongue brushes against your skin as he reaches your neck.

“You look as beautiful as I remember,” he smiles the lingering of his fingers against the warmth of your thigh hitching your response in your throat. He doesn’t object as your touch finds his wrist preventing him from moving forward. “You sound just as-"

“Stop.”

Your hand quickly covers his mouth, catching the remainder of Bishop's sentence. You can’t deny him the soft smile forming on your lips. His brows furrow before lifting as a smile forms against your palm. You keep your hand against his lips and instantly regret it. Because now his sole focus is on you. His eyes study yours for a moment.

"Stop what?" He asks as you drop your hand.

"Talking."

Your request is heeded as Bishop ducks down to bring his lips to yours.

The addition of weight causes the mattress to shift beneath you. Bishop's lips brush against the warmth of your shoulder. He doesn't bother trying to hide his intentions. Before you can move to stop him, Bishop has already allowed his body to rest over yours. Instinctively, your legs part allowing him to rest between your thighs. The warmth that spreads across your skin rushes to your head as you find your fingers brushing against his skin. They travel along the curve of his jaw, his gaze studying your face as you bite your lip. He knows what's going to come next, yet he doesn't bother moving. He knows it's easier to beat you to the punch. Yet, for some reason, he never seizes the opportunity.

As your lips part, Bishop leans down to kiss you.

You know it's his feeble attempt to stretch out his time. But you grant him a few extra seconds.

"You can't stay," you mumble.

Nothing is preventing Bishop from hearing your words. You speak clearly. Your words are concise. No gray area for him to take advantage of. He even leaves a kiss against your ear in response, but he takes no action to respect your request.

Despite your words, your body makes no attempts to push him away. Your fingers drift into his hair, your eyes drifting shut as Bishop's nose gently traces the ridge of your collar bone.

You repeat the statement. Or, at least you think you do? It's hard to keep track and obey the requests of the logical part of your brain as his lips begin to retrace his steps.

Even if you haven't repeated it, Bishop responds to your words a few moments later.

“Why not? I’m tired." He mumbles, his voice muffled as his lips travel to your chest.

His lips find your pulse.

The heat that resonates beneath your skin rushes to the surface as it applies pressure.

“...because...we agreed...no sleeping over.”

Your half-hearted protest hangs in the air as his mouth sucks and teases your skin until Bishop's satisfied with the bruise it leaves behind.

“Hmmm...I never agreed...you requested and I said I’d think about it,” he mumbles as you gently push against his shoulders.

Giving in to your silent request, Bishop detangles himself before laying alongside you.

You concentrate on the ceiling and the sounds drifting through your window. You allow your breathing to return to normal before rolling onto your side for a better view of his face.

"Pretty sure that’s the rule." You smile as Bishop's eyes roll, his chest rising and falling with a dramatic sigh. Lifting your hand to his cheek, you giggle. "Sorry. It's a good thing you don't live that far away."

Bishop's lips press against your palm before brushing against your wrist.

“You know how I feel about rules, baby girl,” he chuckles.

"I also know if you stay over you’ll try and finish this in the morning-"

"Can I stay if I promise breakfast?"

You pause for a moment, Bishop seizing the opportunity to secure his arm around your waist. Bishop’s lips are soft against your skin, pressing against your cheek and the warmth of your neck. His hand is applying gentle pressure against the base of your spine, the massaging of skin relaxing you against him in a matter of seconds.

He knows you well enough.

The light flutter of your eyelids only pairs with your protests when you’re fighting off sleep.

“No. I can make myself breakfast," you speak softly, the smile on his lips causing you to weakly shake your head. "I’m serious, Bish…”

“And I’m not?” The warmth of his lips finds yours for the briefest of seconds. A soft chuckle leaves his lips, coming out muffled, as your fingers drift into his hair pulling his lips back to yours. “I think I earned it...not to be kicked out in the cold the second you're done with me.”

“I thought Mayans had thick skin.” A yawn escapes your lips as Bishop’s lips drift to your forehead. The sweet nothings he begins to whisper, in his native tongue, seem to be the final push you need to give in to sleep.

Because the next time you wake it’s light outside.

Your body is trapped in a haze of the California morning sun that has broken through your window, and Bishop’s tongue between your legs.

He does make you breakfast.

But he traps you against the kitchen counter when it's all said and done. His lips stealing the last kisses he’ll need to hold him over until the next time one of you is feeling nostalgic and you find yourselves repeating the routine.

[creampuffqueen]

Worlds of Fire and Darkness | Chapter Ten (Tess)

Read this on AO3! (Here) Comments and asks are always appreciated <3

Tess is feeling hungover and emotional.

"Why are you pouring liquor into your coffee?" From across the table, Winnie narrowed her glazed eyes at me. My cousin's hair was a mess, and her wings were drooping slightly behind her.

"Why aren't you pouring liquor into your coffee?" I shot back. The last drops of alcohol dripped from the mouth of the flask, and I closed it before sliding it across the kitchen table. It was meant to stop at the end, but I'd pushed it to hard and it fell off. Nobody batted an eye as the metal clattered to the ground. Winnie was staring off into space again, and Cirrus still had his head in his arms. I shrugged and stirred my coffee.

Normally my cousins were more coherent in the morning, but after all the whiskey last night, they were both battling massive hangovers. My own head was pounding, but I pushed it aside and chugged my coffee, hoping the caffeine and alcohol would act as a pick-me-up. Cirrus started to snore from his end of the table.

Last night, after talking for hours and finishing the whole bottle of whiskey, we'd all stumbled inside, nearly drunk out of our minds. Cirrus hadn't even bothered to go up to his room and passed out on the couch. I'd made it to a guest bed before losing consciousness, and I'd woken up with Winnie beside me. The sun was high in the sky and the house was deserted. Where the rest of my family went, I didn't particularly care. At least I didn't have to deal with Cali, Arlen, and Larall screaming at each other.

Screaming kids. What I'd soon be subjected to. My thoughts found their way back to my mother and father, and the baby that would be joining us sooner rather than later. I wished I had more alcohol.

I put my empty mug in the sink, and even picked the flask up off the floor. Even though bending down made my head throb painfully. Passing my cousins, I gave them both a hard shove to wake them up and convince them to get going.

"I don't know about you two, but I need a bath. And new clothes. Winnie, mind if I borrow some of yours?" Winnie nodded absently, and I bounced off to the guest bathroom.

I locked the door behind me and started drawing a bath. While water poured from the faucet, I leaned against the bathroom counter and clutched my head in my hands. The pounding in my head was growing worse by the minute, and I could no longer look directly into lights without a throb of pain from my head.

I yanked off my clothes from yesterday and sank into the bath, despite it still being ice cold. The cold took my breath away, but soon it was a soothing cool against my hot and sticky skin. The bath tub was large, large enough to comfortably fit wings. I stretched my own wings in the water, letting the refreshing cool water reach them as well. With a sigh I leaned back and closed my eyes, sinking further into the icy water.

I fell in and out of consciousness for a bit, sleeping for a few minutes and then waking up. The cold seemed to be helping my headache, which was a blessing. I looked along the wall to all the soaps and other various bits and bobs that were kept for guests. I normally bathed with soaps that had more masculine scents, like pine or iron. These shelves, unfortunately, only seemed to have pastel colored bottles containing a myriad of flowery scents. I wondered if Aunt Elain had picked out the supplies for the guest bathroom.

I finally, after several minutes, found a soap that wouldn't make me smell like a flower garden. I lathered it up in my hands and scrubbed my dark hair until it was white with bubbles. After dunking my head under to rinse the soap off and receiving what felt like a brain freeze on the outside of my head, I decided to keep my face above water. I finished my washing and then laid against the side of the tub to rest.

I must have dozed off again for a few minutes, because I was startled awake by a pounding on the bathroom door. Even with the pungent odors of soaps in the room, I could still smell Winnie on the other side of the door.

"Tess, get out, I want to bathe before my parents get home. You've been in there forever!" Winnie shouted. I groaned in annoyance, but I rolled out of the bath anyway. It was high time I got out anyway, I decided; my fingers were all pruny from the water.

I toweled off my hair and then dried my body, and I held the towel tight around me as I exited, giving Winnie the finger as I left for good measure. My cousin just snorted and shut the bathroom door in my face.

When we'd passed out on the guest bed last night, neither Winnie nor I noticed the travelling case in the corner. This morning, however, it had come to our attention; as much attention as we could give it, being terribly hungover. It was Winnie's travelling case, and full of her clothes for whenever we went off to the High Lords meeting. My own case, I realized soon after, was still at the House of Wind. And I was in no state to fly over there and retrieve it.

Winnie's mother had likely put it there last night when she came over. As I dug through my cousin's clothes I felt a pang of jealousy for that. For the relationship she had with her mother. Any chance of my own mother and I having a normal relationship had shattered weeks ago when my mother found out she was expecting.

Part of that reason was my fault, that I knew. But just because I knew it didn't mean I wanted to admit it. I finally found some damn pants in Winnie's case, and paired it with a pale green blouse. I let the towel fall to the floor and put the clothes on instead. They were a little bit loose in a few areas. Winnie, after all, is curvier than me. But I preferred slightly loose clothes to no clothes at all, so I didn't particularly care.

I wrapped my discarded towel around my head to keep my soaking wet hair from dripping everywhere, and made my way back to the kitchen. Cirrus was there, though looking perkier than before. His own dark hair was shiny and smooth, and he had on fresh clothes. He was sipping some more coffee.

"Good morning." Cirrus said. He glanced at the clock above the stove. "Or good afternoon, I suppose."

"Do you have any idea where the rest of the family went?" I questioned. I didn't really care too much, but knowing the whereabouts of my friends and family always made me feel safer. Even if they were on the other side of Prythian, I liked knowing where they were.

"No clue. Not a note. But they should be back soon; Cali and Cam have tutoring today in about an hour."

"Wait, your sisters are tutored?" I asked. I had thought Cirrus and his sisters were home schooled, like Winnie and I had been.

"My sisters are, I was home schooled." Cirrus said, answering the question I hadn't even asked. Aunt Elain had home schooled both me and Winnie, as my own mother didn't really care to, and my father was busy with his duties as General.

"Mom and Dad have a lot going on, so it's just easier." He continued with a shrug.

"Whatever, I just didn't know." I poured myself another mug of coffee, though I had no intention of drinking it. I just wanted to switch the topic of conversation so I didn't look like more of a fool. Imagine not even knowing your own little cousins are being tutored instead of home schooled. It didn't even matter at all, I wasn't sure why I was so bothered.

I saw Winnie making her way to the bedroom, a towel tightly wrapped around her. I heard her rustle around for a moment, then she came out in a soft blue dress with a glare on her face. She made her way over to me and turned her glare on me.

"What?" I snapped. "I'm not in the mood for attitude."

"I said you could borrow my clothes, not throw them all over the room." She growled.

"Why put them up if you're just going to be making a mess when you go through them?" I shot back. Winnie rolled her eyes and snarled in exasperation.

"Just because you're upset doesn't give you the right to do as you please."

"It's just some clothes!" I shouted. "It doesn't matter."

"Not the point."

Cirrus hadn't said a word during the whole argument so far, instead opting out and just sipping his coffee and looking mildly interesting. It was infuriating.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked Winnie with a growl. She growled right back, hazel eyes flashing. Even though Winnie was a year younger than me, she was nearly my equal in battle. The only reason she didn't have her own flank of warriors to command was because she wasn't twenty yet, and her mother really didn't want to put her in danger. Not to mention, Winnie was a shadowsinger, and I was reminded by the pulsating shadows that writhed around her hands and wove through her hair.

"I want you to clean up your mess, and apologize." She hissed. Her glare didn't let up, and she even leaned forward more, getting in my personal space.

"Leave me alone. Its your clothes anyway-" I was cut off when she smacked me. The slap didn't hurt, it was more just the element of surprise. Winnie and I threw hands often, in fact the last time we'd fought was still fresh in my mind. But she didn't normally get so worked up over little things like clothes.

I was seconds away from smacking her right back and starting a brawl in my Aunt's kitchen, but Cirrus finally decided to step in. He put down his coffee and forced his way between us with a growl of his own.

"No fighting, not in my house. If you want to brawl then do it back in the mountains." Winnie and I both growled, and our cousin had the good sense to look slightly alarmed, but he didn't step back.

I caved first, rolling my eyes and stepping back. "Whatever. If your stupid clothes mean that much to you, I'll go clean them up."

"It's my stupid clothes that you're wearing," Winnie snapped back. "If it weren't for me and my stupid clothes you'd be walking around naked."

Cirrus flashed me a warning in his gaze, and I growled, but didn't step forward again. Before either could say anything, I whirled around and stalked into the bedroom. I hadn't even made that much of a mess, but whatever. I didn't feel like starting a feud with my cousins when we'd be stuck with each other for the next few weeks.

I cleaned up the few dresses and shirts I'd thrown while looking for some pants, and closed the travelling case neatly. I would have been stewing about the argument, but I just couldn't bring up enough energy to be mad anymore. Ever since my parents' announcement, weeks ago, my emotions had gone all over the place. I felt like I was a teenager again, with my moods drastically changing every few minutes.

I went back out and collapsed on the couch. I even groaned out an 'I'm sorry for being a bitch' before rolling over and falling asleep again.

[theoscout]

do not reblog

There's a channel called misha miraculous who uploads ancient film reels about a character named Whirl, who looks like a fantasy version of an anglerfish. He's a MASSIVE JERK for a cartoon, and I'd say he was made in around 194x (AFTER wwii). Acts like Woody Woodpecker does. According to his creator (Paul), he's a berberoka. Paul was originally aiming to be a horror artist to try and put the trauma he's suffered through life into artwork, however at the time most publishers only published horror comics of a particular style. Paul couldn't make his drawings that style, but he tried very hard and was left with a series of drawings that looked the same. Realising he could get into animation instead of horror comics, he repurposed the stories he had written about Whirl (real name Whirlpool but no one aside from Paul knows that) and began to make short films about Whirl.

Whirl is obviously a villian protagonist that people aren't intended to sympathise with. Instead, according to Paul, they are intended to sympathise with the people he hurts along the way. Paul said in interviews in the reels that sometimes there are villians in life that you can't escape from no matter how much you hate them or wish you could, and he wanted his work to show that. But he also wanted to show that said villians could be beaten and weren't invincible. Paul explains that berberoka in mythology are cryptids that would suck the water out of swamps and let all the dead fish lie at the bottom, to lure in fishermen to collect the fish. Once they were within range the berberoka would release all the water and attack and eat the fishermen while they were struggling with the influx of water. He designed Whirl to look like an anglerfish because they too lure in their prey before eating them. Whirl was never seen directly killing anyone in the cartoons, but he was a tricky kind of sadist who liked to pull people into playing awful kinds of games. (Whirl is magic and goes by whatever gender suits him at the time btw) She would do things like make miraculous inventions that in secret would make the lives of the person she sold them to far worse.

Whirl's inventions were like Wile.E.Coyote in terms of absurdity, but the difference was that they almost always worked perfectly until the victim figured out a way to turn them against her and escape his influence. So Whirl was quite a bit darker than most cartoon protagonists at the time.

Paul said that he had based Whirl off many people he actually knew, and that he didn't feel confident enough to write other central characters. He had anxiety which gave him self confidence issues and often led to him thinking of only the worst case scenarios which he would then fuel for his cartoon series. He argued against people who thought that having a berberoka as a character in a cartoon would be too dark for audiences by saying that the brothers Grimm would write tales far darker than what he did, and people tell them to their children all the time anyway.

Now for more on Paul and his family. Paul Fernsby was the middle child of a pair we shall call Mr and Mrs Fernsby. Their oldest child, Sean Fernsby, passed away around 5 years ago due to organ failure caused by severe stress and alcoholism. Their youngest child, Carrie Fernsby, is a mechanic. She struggled frequently in her job and school due to the stronger gender discrimination there, and as a result had to share a home with Paul in order to be more financially stable. Mr and Mrs Fernsby are AWFUL people. They aren't evil, they're the kind of insufferable pricks that think they're morally above everyone and that they're always right. Sean always wanted to be a dancer, for instance, but Mr and Mrs thought that was a job unsuitable for a man and refused to let him dance, instead forcing him to cut contact with all of his friends and force him to study to become a mechanic. Carrie and Paul both strongly believe that this played a major role in Sean's fall into alcoholism, but Mr and Mrs are still in denial. They insist that they *extended* Sean's life, and that Sean was just unhealthy to begin with and that a life on the stage would have killed him quicker. So they haven't learned anything about his death. What's more, despite opposing Carrie's early attempts to be a mechanic and trying to force her into being an obedient housewife for a future husband, when she finally got successful they took all the credit for her success and said that she was delusional and complained too much.

As for Paul? Well, Paul's a special case.

From a young age he had a special gift. The ability to see and hear things that no one else could. As a child he would frequently point out ghosts and fey that he occasionally saw in gardens or staring from nature reserves from a distance away, but no one else saw them so he kept his mouth shut. Originally his parents would yell at him for drawing when he could have been studying, so as a teenager he left offerings for the fey and asked for advice. And one day... something ancient and powerful began to answer him.

The creature identified itself as a pelagic god, but more specifically a ghost of one. According to the creature, it was once extremely powerful and was a tyrant of the land with it's powers thriving off the spread of fear. but eventually the people who once knew about it moved or passed away and it faded into weakness and irrelevency. So in exhange for making people fear it again, the god would grant Paul the power to live life as he pleased. Paul knew enough about fey to keep himself safe, and he kept the god a secret from everyone. The god didn't care what was going on in the cartoons, only provided that people feared her avatar. And Paul could provide for that just fine.

Eventually, Paul felt safe enough to confide in Carrie about the existence of the god, and Carrie built a special machine that would allow the god to communicate easier with people. They set very strict rules about how much communication there was, because neither of them trusted the god enough to let it close to them. Plus, with the success from the cartoons, the god was growins stronger.

The god granted Paul with massive viewer success the stronger it grew, and a lot of luck. No one knew about its existence, but the fear and awe from the cartoons would be enough to sustain it. Though they worked for each other in a mutually beneficial way, they still held a great deal of mistrust. Paul did not trust the god and some of her suggestions to problems he had were extremely disturbing. Plus, she had threatened to curse a number of people who 'got in the way' of Paul, and Paul had retaliated by threatening to stop producing the cartoon if she did that. Meanwhile, the god had been asking for Paul to reveal its existence so that more fear would be caused, or commit a crime, which he obviously refused.

Actually you know what? Forget the stuff I wrote about the pelagic god earlier, I got something that makes more sense.

Paul nicknames the deity the Unsiren because sirens are mythological creatures who sing to lure people onto rocks to drown, and the deity is a creature that screams from a cave to frighten away people and warn of dangerous currents. Unsiren was the deitiy who lived by the sea and was associated with fear, loud noises and the ocean. The tribe who lived there were constantly in danger from the sea, which they relied on for food but was too unpredictable for them to approach safely. Due to the geography of the underwater coastline, the tides were extremely unpredictable at random times of the day with little to no pattern. Think of the Bolten Strid from Britan- an innocuous looking stream which is actually a massive canyon filled with rapids that sucks you under and kills you the moment you set foot in it. That was how dangerous the water around the coast was.

But there was one way to tell about the danger. There was a cave in the side of the cliff, and at certain points when water would rush through it a certain way, the sounds produced sounded like whispering or roaring from some terrifying beast. At first the tribespeople feared the unseen creature, but eventually they learned to intrepret the noises of the ocean into ways that would lead them to fish safely. Their explanation for the sounds was that a massive creature who was too frightening to look at was trapped behind the raging rapids by some malicious fey, but then learned to use its frightening voice for good by warning people of the dangerous tide. So they prayed to the sea cave and the monster murmering behind the rocks to be there to warn of any changes in the tide, and would throw offerings of food into the sea in order to earn its favor.

But centuries of erosion meant that eventually, the sea cliffs that mutilated the dangerous currents and gave the sea cave its voice no longer existed. So with that, the stories of the great beast hiding beyond the rapids began to fade away, and so did their desire for the Unsiren to speak for them. The stories began to grow increasingly obscure, until one day the tribe went to war with invaders and suffered heavy losses. The few who still retained knowledge of the beast beyond the cave no longer existed to spread the story, and the creature faded into a strange purgatory.

The Unsiren isn't evil, but she is frightening by nature. She will go for the hard truth over any sugarcoated encouragement any day, and isn't afraid to speak up. Paul's ability to see into her realm and speak with the inhabitence there interested her greatly, and so did his desire to create. She made a deal with him to prevent herself from dying completely: provided that he could create a series that carried on her life's work, she would reward him with safety and stability whenever she could.

Her life's work was simply warning people about danger. More specifically water related dangers, but she could adapt to that. Paul designed Whirl in mind as a personified representation of the dangerous currents which now no longer existed, choosing him to be a berberoka because that seemed like the best fit. And Whirl's cartoons were made to warn about a variety of dangers, to children and adults. Abusive relationships, kidnappers, dangerous situations, peer pressure etc. The Unsiren had an avatar within the cartoon series, but that wasn't Whirl as the audience might be lead to believe at first. Instead, she's the narrator character. The voice of reason that usually goes unlistened to until the very end. The one who existed in title cards, and as a kind of voiceover narrating the episodes sometimes while using Paul as a medium. No one figured out how Paul was able to make himself sound like that, not even him.

Paul still didn't fully trust Unsiren at first, but she acknowledges that it was wise on his part. After all, it's in her nature to be frightening. Even if she is anything but evil.