#qapsiel

Omegaverse Quiz

Submissive Omega

Here's some basic things you need to know about your second gender diagnosis. You are the second weakest link. But just be thankful you are not the first weakest.

You display prominent Omega traits. You tend to like others to have control in situations and want people to take care of you. You like to ignore when bad things happen to you, too scared to speak your mind. Omegaverse experts may call you a "Stereotypical Omega", the one many fanfics feature.

However, this does not determine how you act. Some Submissive Omegas are brash and loud, and others are meek and quiet. But when push comes to shove, you desperately want an Alpha to take care of you and fix your problems.

In short, you are mentally ill. And transgender. I don't make the rules. I just tell you the facts.

Should you choose to enter the workforce, we at Omegaverse Inc have some recommendations for you! Never work with kids. Look, I'm sorry, but the fanfics are wrong. You cannot be trusted around kids. You would get bullied by them so hard you'd cry and wouldn't know how to be firm with them. You are hereby banned from teaching, working at a daycare, a school, babysitting, and hospital work.

As a Submissive Omega, you are most compatible with a Flirty Beta, Dominant Alpha, Soft Alpha, and a Protective Beta.

plotted starter | @qapsiel

"Okay!" Chuck's slightly high, upbeat voice filled the hall as he walked and scribbled against a clipboard. "We'll say — fifth time's the charm? Castiel number five, I should- I should write... that... down," his steps slowed as he annotated that at the top of the paper and then resumed his brisk pace, "perfect. No discernible defects upon dissection and reassembly of the first four Castiels, so I am continuing my investigation with number five from-" he flipped up a page and squinted. "... I need a better naming system for my parallel universes. B90? What is- nevermind, it's not important. What is important,"

Sneakers turned down a separate hallway as he kept reading, "is finding out the how and why you pesky little Seraphs keep ending up as stars in my stories. And why, every time I don't rebuild you, a real main character gets all. Mopey. And suicidal. It slows everything down, it's annoying. I know I gave him a horrible life, but he got over everything else before you came along? That's- that's another matter, I'll dissect Dean later, right now, we're focusing on you, Castiel number 5, from universe B90. And you should be right... where..." Chuck slowed to a halt as a pair of all but melted doors greeted his eyes above the clipboard. It looked as if a meteor had crashed through them from the other side, and the celestial alloy operating table? Empty. The first four iterations must have weakened the Enochian restraints that dangled broken and useless off the side.

"... Crap."

Another case was behind them, and all Dean wanted to do was close his eyes. Hell, he was half tempted to ask Cas to drive. Almost home, he told himself. They'd get to the bunker, he could shower the blood off, and it would all be-

Blinding blue-white light filled their world, and touched down in the center of the road ahead. Dean's eyes went wide as he slammed the brakes, and he threw an instinctive arm over Castiel's chest to protect him from the sudden halt in momentum. The car was still moving when the source of the light swelled. He caught sight of a head and elongated limbs before what looked like rings of energy expanded from it. Volatile and frenetic in their haste to grow, and the path they carved filled the night air with a sound that may as well have been that of a train derailing — it manifested the same promise that whatever the fallout would be, his human body couldn't take it. But he swore, in that second and a half, that a massive, spectral pair of wings fanned behind the anomaly, and those blue-white rings had eyes.

After a couple of hours of sitting down in contemplation next to the "man" we all thought was dead, I still can't find the words to describe what happened in the scan room. If Dana hadn't been there with me to witness it, I would have thought I'd finally lost my mind.

I'm still not quite sure what compelled me to take him for an MRI scan: There was just something about the body that didn't seem… right. With only a few minutes left before the OPO representative would take him away for harvesting, I knew I had to do something.

As we watched the screens go completely dark—often a terrible sign—then suddenly flash blinding white, we instinctively looked away. By the time it stopped, the MRI machine was unusable, but the body began showing signs of nerve reaction.

Thousands of dollars in damages, and we were left with more questions than answers…

As soon as my eyes refocus, I notice our John Doe is waking up. I quickly rise to my feet (although "jumped" might be a more accurate description) and walk towards him; not close enough to startle him, but enough to get a better look at his expression.

"Hello?"

// if i had a nickle for every time i posted a reply or answer to a meme for @qapsiel that i've already answered or posted a reply to? i'd have like two thousand dollars. omg. that poor soul. i'ma just start leaving them here like little stored away treats she can circle back to if she gets hungry and runs out of food or smth.

you put up with so much. bless your heart for taking on the responsibility of me.

It wasn't fair to say Bern was running late for their meet-up, because to a being who could manifest anywhere in an instant, anything slower was late by default. But, they were on their way to a town supposedly littered with demonic omens, and what they all hoped was a hint to what the next move of the apocalypse would be. Sam, Dean and Bobby were working the opposite side of town... and coming up with nothing. No demons, no monsters, not even an illegal parking job.

Castiel on the other hand? Had walked into an ambush. Not by demons, but an angel who had fabricated the whole thing. Blades had been thrown in the vicious fight between two well-matched angels. Arioch was a cunning soldier, but he wasn't fighting to kill. It seemed his orders had been to capture Castiel alive, and a heavy blast of grace sent the beaten Seraph into the opposite wall with enough force to crack the brick.

"You are making this so much harder than it needs to be." Grace sang from a slash in Arioch's cheek as he stalked forward, and that grace wrapped around his boot as it came down hard on a wing joint still battered from Hell. He leaned down and wrenched Castiel closer by the tie as he began to chant the angelic exorcism. "Omnipotentis Dei potestatem invoco! Omnipotentis Dei potestatem invoco! Ab orbe terra, Hunc angelum omne obsequendum! Domine expuet-!"

@qapsiel & @bloodsalted

Sam’s been writing letters. He’s been writing letter after letter after letter. Talking about his day, complaining about the weather, sneaking in code words and phrases in the hopes that Castiel won’t somehow know what they mean—he’s not so stupid and naive as to think the self-proclaimed angel (which is something he has thoughts and opinions on, frankly) doesn’t read them before delivering them to Dean.

If he even delivers them at all. He probably doesn’t. Probably takes each and every letter Sam’s sealed in an envelope, flies teleports away, and then reads them, laughing at how stupid Sam is for even bothering to write them in the first place. He probably throws them in the garbage after. Maybe he burns them. But writing letters is the only way Sam knows how to feel close to his brother anymore. He doesn’t have any option but to write them.

He doesn’t have high hopes for being rescued anymore, is his point. It’s been months, coming up on almost a year now, and Sam’s still stuck with Castiel. He hasn’t been rescued, if there have been any attempts at all, and he’s still stopped every time he tries to run away—something that’s been happening less and less often as it sinks in exactly how pointless the act really is. He spends a lot of time in bed, these days. Refuses food half the time it’s offered and is sort of just going through the motions. He stares blankly at the TV when it’s on, does homework when he’s prompted, but what’s the point in doing anything else when none of it matters?

What’s the point in any of it?

Castiel left a little while ago to “deliver” his latest letter, and Sam’s just been laying on the bed deemed his, staring blankly up at the ceiling the whole time he’s been gone. There’s a soft rustling of what sounds like wings, something he’s learned to associate with Castiel’s coming and going, and he almost doesn’t bother looking. He almost ignores him. Something makes Sam turn his head to the side, though, and, for a long few seconds, he can’t do anything but stare. Blinks slowly, then quicker, trying to clear his vision, or make sense of what he’s seeing, because no way is this real.

@qapsiel Asked:

"I saw a creature made of light and shadow—something not of this world." (For Sam)

【༶•⛧┈♛】     ――――    Sam's   brow   furrowed   as   he   processed   Castiel's   words.   ❝   What   do   you   mean,   Cas   ?   Like   an   angel   ?   A   demon   ?   ❞   He   ran   a   hand   through   his   hair,   his   mind   already   racing   through   the   lore   he'd   memorized   over   the   years.   ❝   Maybe   it's   from   another   dimension   ?   We've   dealt   with   that   before.   ❞

The   younger   Winchester   looked   up   sharply,   his   hand   instinctively   moving   to   the   gun   at   his   waist.   ❝   Is   it   still   here   ?   ❞   He   didn’t   understand   what   was   happening,   but   years   of   hunting   had   taught   him   to   be   prepared   for   anything.   But   then   the   youngest   Winchester   gave   pause   shooting   the   Angel   with   a   questioning   look.   ❝   Have   you   been   watching   Netflix   again   ?   ❞