I like thinking of the many different ways Belial could've lured Primals into the Fallen Angels offscreen based on what we know about them (i.e. Az&Iz and the bean cakes, Azazel wanting to help Lucifer, etc.). It's a fun creative exercise!
And now we have Berceau, who looks like this (and wouldn't have had that egg yet. Using this preview image because I don't have Olivia):
Berceau is the Primal Beast of Incubation. She also looks like this (and has excellent taste in accessories and decor, as the egg shows).
Belial would've been over the moon. XD Finally, someone in Canaan he can seduce with the prospect of baby-making! And if that didn't work, I guess he could claim that he found some abandoned infants that needed to be saved? Either way, I'm curious to see if they'll ever talk now, and if Berceau will be in tears or even forgive him...
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new hidden messages in the qsmp.global code from the website dev! translations using google translate, as they're in several different languages.
J'ai vu vos questions ! Je vais répondre à quelques unes d'entre elles ! Je m'excuse d'avance si tout le monde n'a pas eu la réponse qu'il voulait :(
(I saw your questions! I'll answer a few of them! I apologize in advance if everyone didn't get the answer they wanted :()
QUESTION 1: Pra que esconder mensagem secreta até no código fonte?
(QUESTION 1: Is your secret message uncoded?)
Porque é divertido! E encontramo-los sempre, e é muito fixe!
(Because it's fun! And we always find them, and it's really cool!)
QUESTION 2: Who's been writing messages in the source code?
It's me!!
QUESTION 3: Chilaquiles rojos o verdes? Es importante
(QUESTION 3: Red or green chilaquiles? Is important)
V E R D E
(G R E E N)
QUESTION 4 : Quién nos está hablando? Mr Duck? Cucurucho?
(QUESTION 4: Who is speaking to us? Mr Duck? Cucurucho?)
Jaja ninguna de las anteriores! Cucurocho no se molesta en hacer eso, es más el que me da instrucciones!
(Haha none of the above! Cucurocho doesn't bother to do that, he's more the one who gives me instructions!)
QUESTION 5: Quem é você?
(QUESTION 5: Who are you?)
Sou um programador web! Gosto de dar o meu melhor nos sites que crio e estou muito contente por poder falar consigo!
(I'm a web programmer! I like to do my best on the websites I create and I'm very happy to be able to talk to you!)
QUESTION 6: Por onde você esteve por todo esse tempo?
(QUESTION 6: Where have you been all this time?)
Estava a descansar! Também passei as férias de Natal e recebi uns chinelos lindos :)
(I was resting! I also spent the Christmas holidays and received some beautiful slippers :))
QUESTION 7: What's inside the eggs?
I think you already know the answer to that one, don't you? :)
QUESTION 8: I would like something interesting, something only the most dedicated QSMP Viewer will know and understand.
"Something that only a true QSMP fan would know? Noted :)
QUESTION 9 : Quelle est la signification des codes traduits en césar de "hibiscus" et "rabbit" ?
(QUESTION 9: What is the meaning of the codes translated into Caesar for “hibiscus” and “rabbit”?)
Je pense que tu sauras pourquoi bientôt :)
(I think you'll know why soon :))
QUESTION 10 : Pourquoi vouloir détruire l'île Quesadilla?
(QUESTION 10: Why want to destroy Quesadilla Island?)
Mais pourquoi je voudrais faire ça !? L'île Quesadilla est un berceau de beauté et de bonheur pour nos résidents ! Je ne leur souhaite que le meilleur !
(But why would I want to do that!? Quesadilla Island is a cradle of beauty and happiness for our residents! I wish them nothing but the best!)
QUESTION 11: What is your objective?
My goal is to make sure that the people who come to the websites I make have a good time, and that it helps them to forget the worries they may be going through!
Et voilà ! Je m'excuse encore si j'ai manqué des réponses, merci encore une fois de votre implication, et prenez soin de vous !
(And There you go ! I apologize again if I missed any answers, thank you once again for your involvement, and take care!)
See you soon!
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Drool - Part 5
💊 Part 1 💊 Part 2 💊 Part 3 💊 Part 4 💊
"There's no time for that now, honey! We have to get you to your first treatment session. Just go potty in your diaper for now; that's what it's there for."
Your eyes widen in panic. You're unable to stifle a pathetic moan of protest as you gesture frantically at the bathroom with one of your fat, pink mittens. The toilet is right there! Nurse Molly can't expect you to pee in a diaper on purpose!
"NNNNNNNNGH! Eenh oooohn uhn derrrnherrrrr!" You plead in the stupid language of your muzzling pacifier, which punctuates each drooling syllable with an embarrassing squirt onto your white cloth bib.
"Hmm?" Nurse Molly tightens her grip on your mittened wrist and practically drags you out of the bedroom. You stumble while trying to tug in the opposite direction, and your pink jelly sandal squeaks as you go tumbling to the poured linoleum floor of the clinic hallway. "Oh no, honey! You lost your balance again! Between your tinkles in the bed and how messy you got eating lunch, I'm worried that your tics are just the tip of the iceberg."
You snarl as you attempt to stand up, but it's difficult to gain purchase with the slippery mittens against the freshly waxed floor. With a girlish squeal, your arms slide forward before you collapse into a faceplant, your bobbing pink pacifier clicking against the cold ground. The sudden impact vibrates through your teeth, and you bite down hard on the silicone shaft to numb the intense pain.
"Owwwwwwwooowwwwwwwww!" You scream into the pacifier. The muscles around your eyes tighten, milking tears from the wet heat that flushes your grimacing face.
"Oh no! My little circus tumbler! Are you okay?" Nurse Molly stoops and rubs the back of your head as you try -- and fail -- to stop whimpering. You suck and smack your pacifier frantically, and the counter-stimulation soothes the pain in your mouth. Your usual reaction to any discomfort is to bite your lip or scratch your arm, but the thick, rubbery nipple has become the node through which you filter out all negative sensations. For a split-second between sniffles and sobs, you wonder if you even want to stop sucking the pacifier.
As the pain numbs, you become cognizant of your desperation to pee again. You move to make another attempt at standing, but a firm palm on your back keeps you from rising further than your knees.
"I think until the doctor can get her hands on you, we should be careful about overtaxing your motor control. Four limbs is sturdier than two! Why don't we crawl to the office like a puppy dog?"
Despite her use of the inclusive "we," it's clear that Nurse Molly intends for you to crawl while she walks behind. With one last longing look at the toilet, you shuffle forward pathetically on your mittened hands and wobbly knees, announcing your lumbering progress with a parade of crinkles from your fat diaper. Your white cloth bib hangs perpendicular to the floor, barely catching the occasional comet of drool that comes oozing from your nursing lips.
"There you go!" Nurse Molly coos, congratulating you for shuffling down the hallway as though you're accomplishing some feat of strength. "Left! Right! Left! Right! You're an expert!"
Your cheeks burn like hot lamps; you're absolutely humiliated to be seen in this state. But what else are you supposed to do? It's all apart of your treatment...isn't it?
At last, Nurse Molly stops you at the foot of an unassuming white door, gently setting the toe of her low-heeled shoe in front of your left mitten. The plaque below the frosted glass door pane reads:
AMELIA BERCEAU, M.D.
With a twist of the faux crystal knob, Nurse Molly pushes the door open. As mystified as you were by the décor of your bedroom, nothing could have prepared you for the bizarre spectacle of Dr. Amelia's office.
One corner of the room is dominated by what appears to be a mock kitchen; its full-sized stove, sink, and accessories are made of a chunky plastic with pastel colors. Though clearly not functional for actual cooking, the fake stove crackles with a tinny sound that emanates from a cartoonish teapot resting on one of its "burners."
A sandbox shaped like a smiling turtle lies in the shadow of a towering structure made of colorful foam blocks, deliberately cobbled together as a sort of play-fort. Against the opposite wall, a bookshelf gleams with the glossy spines of such titles as "Mr. Badger Makes a Friend" and "101 Animal Noises."
But most surprising of all is that there are people in this room. Two young women sit cross-legged on a carpet patterned to look like a twisting road through a bustling city. They're rolling small cars along its splashy, winding design in a bored stupor. One of the women has short black hair that hangs in her face, and she seems to be wearing some sort of braces on her legs. The other woman has long blonde hair, half of which is done up in a pigtail while the other half hangs loose, as though someone started styling it and then got distracted.
As the blonde looks up at the opening door, you see she's suckling a massive blue pacifier similar to your pink one, and that it's secured to her head with a length of white ribbon. Your eyes meet, and the pretty blonde drops her pink toy convertible to give you a gentle wave. Shivering with humiliation on your hands and knees, you feel the wet heat return to your face, tingle its way down your spine, and then concentrate in your groin. The sensation grows and grows until you realize it isn't just embarrassment at being seen like this...you've started flooding your diaper.
"Nnnnnnnnnnngggggggggggggh!" You wail, frozen in place as the hot ocean begins drowning your bum, seeking out every corner of thristy padding to nestle into. Your eyes are wet again as you feel the back of your diaper grow heavy with urine, strengthening the smothering hug of gravity on your quivering bottom.
Nurse Molly ignores your obvious discomfort as she scoots you into the room with a nudge of her heel. The blonde continues to eye you curiously as she suckles her pacifier, while her raven-haired companion simply returns to her childish game.
"Here you go, honey! Meet Daisy and Emma! They're here for treatment, too, just like you! I'll leave you three to get acquainted; it looks like Dr. Amelia is running a little late."
Still reeling from the experience of soaking your diaper, you barely notice the creaking of the door as Nurse Molly leaves the room. Unable to communicate through your pacifier, you're at a complete loss for what to do now.
The blonde, Daisy, reaches over and taps Emma on the shoulder. Emma looks up, only one eye visible through her heavy bangs, appearing to truly notice you for the first time.
"Oh. Hi," she shrugs, sounding neither rude nor enthusiastic. "You must be a biter, too, huh?"
You feel the dampness of your diaper acutely as you now hold both women's attention. With a cautious suckle, you nod your head up and down.
"Well, you won't be anymore," Emma smirks, picking up a plastic dump truck and using it to piston a smaller car several feet in your direction. "Whether you like it or not."
You look down at the little car and then back up at Emma, raising your eyebrow in confusion. Daisy twirls her pigtail nervously as she nurses her blue pacifier.
"Oh, you didn't know? I guess I didn't either, when I checked in," Emma sighs. The dark-haired woman crawls over to you to retrieve her toy, and you become aware of the distinct bulge and crinkle beneath her long shirt. Your eyes shift instinctively to Daisy, who shyly lifts the hem of her dress to confirm your suspicion. Both of these women are diapered!
Your heart begins beating like a hummingbird's wings, and your nervous slurping on your pacifier quickens to a drooly allegro. Emma picks up her toy car and leans in, half-smiling, inches from your face. You can smell baby powder on her skin like a sickly sweet perfume.
"Treatment never ends, pottypants. We're here forever."
💊 Part 6 💊
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