#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.

@qapsiel: i guess i could be wrong, but i'm pretty sure.

THE FBI-AGENT'S TRANSLATION MAKES SENSE, BUT SOMETHING STILL SOUNDS OFF. Annie's skepticism remains, her finger still on the key that just served to rewind the audio record. More static than anything. Agent Solange at least understood more than she did ; offering a nod, she sighs.

"Okay, let's just go ahead and replay it." And she presses play, slowly shaking her head and squinting at the laptop screen turning soundwaves into green lines. "Can you tell what language that is? I've never heard anything like that."

the local teens in lebanon had invited jack to a party. the kind with loud music ( that dean wouldn't like ) and underage drinking. teens having a good time together the way they tend to in these small, midwestern towns. there had even been a bonfire. jack had actually had fun - having one or two beers and then ultimately just enjoying the music with everyone else. he'd come home when the party eventually ended - kids either going home or passing out from drinking to much. ( jack, of course, had first made sure that elliot, max, and stacy, his friends, had gotten home safe. )

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.

"please? ... pretty please?"

Castiel, Dean and their private pleasures as a topic somehow creeps its way back in. If Cain's display of annoyance [rolling his eyes and flaring his nostrils around a barely audible sigh] didn't suffice to prophesy his answer... he's going to have to spell it out letter for letter. Does he now? Castiel taking it a step further wasn't on the demon's list of probabilities. So cue a slow turn of his head to face the angel and stare him in the eyes— before his brows arch upward. Mostly mock-indignation, some of it yet genuine.

"Oh no! You don't truly use those puppy eyes on me and think that is going to work, do you?" Just who did teach Castiel this tactic? There exist only two options and one of them happens to have married the angel. "We've had this discussion before and my point still stands." For apparently necessary emphasis, he claps a flat palm onto the counter's surface; "No horse, period."

What Dean wants in 3 years from now in the single dad verse

There's a ghost at the end of the aisle.

Unlike the one from earlier, with all the wailing and glass breaking theatrics, this ghost is quiet, collected, and speaking softly to the passenger in the top shelf of his cart. Cue the stupid triple take, because he's had trouble with these sorts of wishful apparitions before. Dean only gets a backside view, too far to decipher a word of what the guy's saying, but it doesn't matter; he's got a dog-whistle level detection for that rumble. It's fucking Castiel, bet dollars to donuts, carted up in a grocery store in Who-Even-Cares, Washington.

And he's blocking the shaving cream. Last thing on Dean's list. What are the odds.

His feet are moving before he's got a real plan in place, too torn between relief Cas is even alive, abject fury he never considered phone call to say so, and the need to entertain the petty side of his brain that's kept track of precisely how long it's been since he was ditched on a friggin' playground to Heaven. Something must short circuit though, because of all the pithy one-liners he should have on deck, the best he can produce is a lousy, "Hiya Cas."