"Augh!" says a voice, and another says, "Jackson? Are you okay?" and the first voice says "I'm fine but somebody teleported into our living room and I spilled your smoothie!"

"Wow, somebody's house, okay. Sorry," he calls out, giggling a little bit from the pain. "Not planned."

He looks around curiously. What kind of house does he find himself in?

He's in the kitchen. Linoleum, white wallpaper with yellow patterning on it, not cooked-in enough to have a stand mixer, microwave left standing open, a fair amount of banana smoothie dripping off the counter while a young man with a long braid tries to clean it up with a paper towel.

Aw.

"You want me to, uh, help with that?" he asks half-heartedly. "I've still got an arm left."

Braided person looks over his shoulder. "Uh, you don't have to do that - why are you here though?"

"Fucked up some magic real bad," he shrugs. "I was trying to summon a demon and instead I got smashed into your floor at terminal velocity. Pretty standard fare."

"...I don't... think that's standard... and I went to magic school..."

"Magic school? Fancy. Some secret monastery in the Himalayas, or something? Ancient order of omega warlocks?"

"...Selene in Missouri."

The owner of the other voice appears; Jackson turns his head to smile, and his braid falls out of the way to give Xan a look at the collar on his neck. Newcomer claps Jackson on the shoulder and looks in puzzlement at Xan. "So who are you exactly?" he asks.

"Xan. I'm a witch, I broke my arm on your kitchen." He nods to Jackson. "Nice collar."

"Thanks," says Brian.

"You're a what now?" says Jackson.

"Witch. I use magic, make potions, summon demons? I guess you could call me a warlock, if you wanted. For whatever reason."

"...That's not how magic works," says Jackson confidently. "I didn't do well in school, but -"

"You don't have to have gotten straight A's in magic school to know that's not how it works," says Brian.

"...Shit, did I land in another dimension? That's hilarious. Okay, it's how my universe's magic works, I guess yours is different. Does it have anything to do with your hair?"

"What's wrong with my hair?" asks Jackson.

"Nothing, it's cool actually, it's just weirdly long? Especially for a dude. But, y'know, gender's fake, fight the power, whatever. I support you and your hair's self-expression."

"...I'm a sub?" says Jackson. "I'm a dude sub but I'm still a sub. I'm literally wearing a collar right now."

"...having some vocabulary issues here. I assume you're not talking about sandwiches or the school system, but I'm blanking on what else you could mean. I know you're wearing a collar, I assumed you were just an omega."

"A what now?"

"Is that a frat?" says Brian. "No, those have a bunch of letters... oh, I remember, there's a brand of watches."

"I'm not a watch," says Jackson.

"Omega. The role that isn't alpha or beta. They go into heat? ...Christ, do you not even have roles?"

"The roles are dom and sub!" says Jackson.

"And switch, if you count 'em separately," says Brian. "People don't go into heat, that's like, a dog thing?"

"Dom and- Dominant and submissive. Okay, that's... intuitive in retrospect. Is this some kind of pick-your-own-role thing, or is it assigned at birth? I want to know how jealous to be."

"You can't tell with kids," says Jackson. "Like, maybe with some people you have a good guess when they're eight but you don't really know till later."

"Wow. Okay. So- for reference, back home, you're either an alpha, or a beta, or an omega. Alphas are bigger on average, and more commanding, and they have a knot. Betas, they look... normal, they're a middle ground. Omegas are... smaller, and pretty, and shy." He spits these words like poison. "And you can tell. You can always tell. It's like knowing the color of somebody's eyes. You get your little label and that's it for life."

"A knot?" says Jackson in confusion.

"Well, we can't tell," says Brian, "does it matter, should we know so we talk about you right or whatever -"