ROLEPLAY WITH GENIE WISH
Prologue - The Proposition

Warning! The following chapter contains the use of swears, discussion of sexual themes, and and is not intended for younger audiences. Though no explicit content is featured in this introduction, this series as a whole will feature adult content and should only be viewed by those to whom this is appropriate.

When a shy, computer fixated recluse fills out a kinky, online form (you know the kind), they find themselves in for more than they bargained for, as an equally perverted being discovers them online and comes to them with a proposal...

“Thank you for your submission,” the finished form on the yet-to-be-closed browser tab reads. It wasn’t anything serious, just a lewd joke questionnaire to fill out your personal taste of kinks, fantasies, and sexuality. There’d be no space for personal data; age, name, or home address. At most, one might expect some “test results” to come, perhaps later on; likely via email. You had to provide an address in order to begin. And, all in all, probably just another way to trawl the internet for folks to send spam and junk to. Get them while they’re horny, am I right? And so forgotten, left by the wayside, there’d be no further contemplating the consequences of such a playful little game, nor any noticing the large, looming figure that soon unfurls behind them.

And like a spider, HE waits.

Another tab on the browser is opened, another episode of anime is started. There’s a continuous, buzzing whine from their unhealthy-sounding computer tower, not quite loud enough to trigger concern, but surely enough to indicate age, strain and over-usage. The shadows continue to darken behind them, dull blaze of the screen seemingly the only light source. They get to their second “I’ll just get to the end of this episode” and- 

Okay, this is perhaps dragging on for a bit too long. There’s a shift as the dark Spectre behind them straightens up slightly. Had this person even noticed him standing there? That- They-

There’s a moment or two of sheer disbelief, a gentle scowl starting to form on this apparition's face. Was this seriously happening? He’d be this huge fucking thing, and not just in terms of size. His mere existence would challenge the very nature of reality as they knew it, a glimpse into a realm of power and majesty. And yet, whatever momentum he’d built with his overly dramatic, and needlessly imposing entrance, it all finds itself falling to an almost comical flatness. Maybe he should reach out, give them a gentle tap on the shoulder. Or... something more subtle? He could clear his throat. 

A soft huff escapes, pushing through his flared nostrils. No, he forces himself to stay at rest. It was… I mean, you had to be pretty oblivious. Even the most basic levels of peripheral awareness should’ve made it clear something was up, forcing them to turn around. Emerging from the shadows, looming overhead, he longed to play the Chelsea Cat. Wide, sparkling, malicious grin, perfectly white, the first thing they see when, whoever his latest summoner is, turns around; it’d worked well enough on the last two mortals. Though admittedly, neither of them had dared to take him up on his tantalizing offer. Completing their risqué declaration of lust online, filling a form that appears before only a rare few. They turn. He greets them. With this person though...

He finds himself standing there.

Well, he’d been summoned. But if they’re not ready to address him just yet, he’d just have to wait. Humility isn’t an issue with him. And playing the servant, having to wait for their new master to finish their current affairs before finally being acknowledged? Yes, okay. He’ll go along with that role for a while. 

A slight turn of his head, and he begins to idly survey his new surroundings, all the while close to either losing interest or tempting to move things along. There’d be… Manga? Despite his relative newness to this century, he’d be able to recognize that much. The shelves are filled with volumes of trashy romance, as well as some of the more popular, mainstream series. With an anime figure or two, and a few cuddly plushies, there’s a softness to this interior. There’s a thick measure of untidiness as well though. Would this person be… some kind of depressed recluse? 

He in turn, of course, is the picture of confidence. You probably had to be, to just suddenly appear in someone else’s home like this. Head turned, one can see the strong, lean line of muscle that stretches from shoulder to neck; a good starting place to begin one's visual assessment. His hair’s dark and short, he sports a short stubble of a full beard and a stern jawline. He’d have no need for a shirt, obviously. Arms presently crossed, his exposed chest and biceps are built for force and endurance; the physique of a Greek statue brought to life. 

Of course, he’d be more than just that. Skin dark, pitched as fresh cut obsidian, his lower half lies shrouded behind a roily thick, mostly black, though slightly purple, billowing fog. He appears to float, with a curtain of smoke obscuring, making it unclear if he even stood on a pair of legs. And to anyone looking, if this tired person could even bother to turn around and spot him, it’d be clear that he’s far from human. Even amidst this ever-curling and ever-flowing mist however, one might nonetheless catch sight of a long, thick, currently dangling silhouette that suggests something material at least, existed below the waist. Though whether this implied, provocative shape was in any way human; shape yes, but size, well... that would be debatable. There’d be mortal men aplenty who’d surely boast of such a thing, more of them liars than not.

Eyeing up the closed curtains and the clear blaze that fires just outside them, his brow furrows. As someone who’d experienced long-term confinement in a near-lightless space himself, albeit for a much longer period, he quickly finds himself questioning just how healthy this environment is for this person. It’s a beautiful, sunny day outside. Yet in here, it looks as though the only thing lighting this person’s lightly up scrunched face, is the glow of their computer screen.

Well, maybe they like it in here. He prefers not to judge. Looking around though- Hmm, again no. From what he can see, there’s a clear cheapness to the “mostly worn out before they’d even moved in”, buzz cut, grey carpet, and kitchen tiles; not to mention the fairly obvious apprehension to replace anything expensive, their cracked phone, their mattress, the PC. The place reeks of someone just barely managing to cobble and scrape enough together for themselves. And yet, despite it all, he catches the little splashes of black and purple and bubblegum pink. Where they could afford it, they’ve done everything they can to put some frilly, decorative sweetness into their home. 

And so, latching to this aspect, moving past his initial reservation, he tilts his head in a gentle smile and surrender. Honestly, it’s kind of cute. Despite the rent being far more than it should be for this place- and he notices now their long, striped, thigh-high socks- and pay too low for the work they did, they really were trying to get what they wanted, what they needed. And he had to admit, he had to admire that kind of desire.

‘HUW-AHH!’ Hmm? Oh, finally.

Sliding back, turning, spinning in their chair to get up and go get that drink they’d noticed they needed about an hour or so ago, the figuratively and literally thirsty recluse before him has recoiled immediately, half falling, half lunging back. From seat to a brief moment of standing, panicked, the back of their thighs strike the edge of the chair. They’d buckled. It’d shifted. And now their butt descends with terminal velocity, hoping to return to a familiar homestead. But ultimately instead, their once faithful lounging companion slides and swivels away on its tiny, fidgety little wheels, squeaking slightly as it goes, denying their chance to sit back down which; they’d almost have it. The left cheek manages to glance across the edge of its cushioned landing zone; the very edge where-ooh... where it’s not cushioned at all. 

Attempting to catch themselves with a desperate, instinctive flail, their arm flies out to grasp the edge of the desk, striding to take the weight before the back of their head can smack and concuss against the tempered glass edge. Which, yes, they do manage to do that. The challenge now, as they fall into this sudden, unplanned squat, is to stay upright and not tumble into a clumsy, uncontrolled backwards roll beneath the desk that they now barely avoid. Squashed, then violently propelled, their chair hops and rattles away. Likewise, a pair of second-hand cat-ear headphones look to jump and follow, before it too catches on their bungee cord leash. And like a flock of startled birds, the sad collection of cheap plastics and empty food containers, encircling the mouse and keyboard, spring up from the desk to scatter all around. Yet it’s all overshadowed, however, by the leaping yelp and heightened, yet feminine sounding start. With this, the attention of this otherworldly Spectre snaps eagerly back to his intended.

‘Hmm.’ His voice is low, deep and rolling, eyes narrowed, lips curling slightly at the corner of his mouth.

‘Fuck!’ Their voice is gasping, breathy, and clearly shocked to not only see a sudden intruder in their dimly lit, sunlight-deprived sanctum but also a super-natural entity, punctuating their otherwise, hitherto mundane and “not magical at all world” that they’d been so comfortable in. 

Slightly sunken eyes now turned wide, their ill-kept, dark coloured hair even more of a mess, they hardly look like someone ready to fight, or someone able to for that matter. Indeed, looking down upon this small morsel, they seem more a pitiful waste than someone who might please a titan such as him. Yet through it all, he’d had his brief, glance, look about their tiny apartment. He’d caught the subtle clues, the little glimmers and grasps for desperate hope. And with that being the case, and this tiny one so longing for it all, he’s willing to take the chance that there is something, someone, truly precious here before him, just waiting to get out.

‘Oh, fuck. God!’ Though he probably has some explaining to do first. Amused by the thought nonetheless, he has to assume that their current choice of words are exclamations of shock and surprise still, rather than an open acceptance of his upcoming offers. Not that he’s technically a full-fledged deity of any sort. Though, one can hardly expect mortals to know these things.

By this point, they’ve gotten back to their feet, and have slowly started to edge their way around to the corner of their desk. Apparition carefully watching them, he’d practically see the thought process of this tiny mortal. Body leaning to the side, trying to look past him without taking their eyes off him too much, there’s a subtle attempt to judge the path to the nearest exit, but also a glance to try and see- well, what the fuck he was. Is this real? Is this some sort of trick? There’s an expectation to see something technical behind him, some sort of box. Perhaps this is some sort of projection- Or a hallucination. Wait. Fuck. Were they going crazy? Is this some sort of mental break? Please- Oh please, fuck no. They can’t afford to be the kind of social outcast who, on top of everything else, mumbles and speaks to themselves too. 

It’s obviously the only logical explanation though...

‘There is no cause for alarm, little one.’ Oh, thank goodness. His low, abyssal deep, smooth voice cuts through it all, snatching them back to the moment. There’d been no words on his part, up to this point. And as far as openers go, this first line of his isn’t so bad. It’d be far better than “be not afraid” at least. Though fundamentally it’s the same sentiment.

‘Please.’ With a gesture of his hand, a trail of smoke moves to retrieve the treacherous, wheeled thing that’d leapt away for its own sake. ‘You need not rise for me.’ He presents their seat back to them and steps- erm, floats back to give this mortal room. It’s strange. They have trouble placing the accent. He’s clearly foreign in some way, though easily distinct- you can understand what he's saying. The words flow from him like slow, unfurling velvet. There’s refinement and unfettered clarity. The mind wants to think ‘Oxford education and charm’, but there’s a twang that’s failed to fully disappear. He almost sounds like that one guy from that really old Mummy film, the late nineties one, not the remake. They half expect him to begin retelling the terrors of Imhotep and his doomed bride, Anck-su-namun. Egyptian then, but… Hollywood Egyptian?

It is- Despite their current state of shock, it does things for them... to them.

Mental head shake- They say nothing. And, regardless though, it’d still be a lot... this situation. As magnificent as this shirtless form before them is, and enticing the accent, they can’t help but feel a marked sense of self-consciousness in the face of such blatant perfection; comparing themselves to that. They also can’t help but feel that supreme sense of vulnerability and- let us not forget- he is still a sudden, unexpected, uninvited intruder inside their very home. For all the charm and comfort this deeply smooth, royal, enthralling voice has; if such a thing were enough to override their understandable concerns… Well, they’d clearly be even more of a hopeless cause than they already appear to be.

‘I see perhaps, you were not expecting my appearance before you.’ Ah yes, he probably should have expected this. He shouldn’t press too much, too quick. Then again, with a confrontational stand-off like this- No, this is no way for the two of them to be discussing things. ‘Rest assured, I come only offering you my services. If I may...’ There’s a bit of a mess here, one that’s been gathering since long before his sudden appearance. He can do something about that. 

Moving slowly, remaining in place so as not to alarm, the outer wisps of his billowing smoke get to work. Addressing the misplaced headset, he places it carefully back atop its desk. Seemingly touched by nothing, the spray of untidy litter and refuse begins to un-scatter itself. And gathered swiftly, there’s soon the sound of compacting foil, paper, and unwashed plastic as a tiny, wastebasket is carefully stuffed. It’s… convenient. Though in any other circumstances, one could almost find these actions condescending, perhaps even insulting. After all, you have a guest in your home, albeit an uninvited one, and the first thing they do is tidy up? Fortunately though, it’s not really their focus at this moment. Because mainly… not to stress this too much... There’s a fucking… whatever he is, in their apartment. Obviously, the thing they need to pay attention to is-

Oop!

Cold at first, but quickly turning warm to the tail-end of its brief gust, there’s a sensation like standing to the side of a shower, followed swiftly by the straight-to-the-face waft of a newly open, fresh baking oven. Blown back briefly, but immediately flopping down to its original place, halfway covering the left eye, it takes a second to take in what had just happened and, looking up at him- Had he just… cleaned their hair? And shirt?

It happens in but a moment and, body tense, blinking, they don’t really get much of a chance to process before the next thing happens. With a wave of his hand, he conjures a delicate table cloth, something soft and cottagecore, white and cream, with a gold lace thrill around the edges. It floats and, based on the way it lies out flat before them, it seemingly lies on some sort of unseen tabletop beneath it. Tea pours into delicate cups. There’s a small vase and a set of five coloured tulips dropped into it, two pink, two blue, and one white in the middle. The lights stay low, but he brings a gentle ‘candlelit’ glow to everything, not going quite as far, he decides, to summon literal candles for the two of them. 

His initial intent is simply to invite, not impose. However, gently beckoning this mortal towards him, it’s clear he’s keen to move things along as a smooth, phantom levitation soon takes their body, hair and clothes. And as with so many things that happen out of the ordinary, it’s something of a rush, everything happening suddenly and quick. A careful, cradling scoop, and feeling at first the padded, cushioned touch brush on the back of the knees, the turn-coat collaborator, their once loyal gaming chair is revealed. Not only a cowardly deserter but a traitor as well, it smoothly ensnares its former comrade in its once comforting embrace. And like a freshly whipped, broken thrall bringing an offering to its new master, it glides their prior liege forth, presenting them to a place at this boldly conjured table. 

Of course, vastly overwhelmed, it’s all this tiny mortal can do to grasp the edges of their seat on either side of them, small, fragile hands white-knuckling as their arms pull taught. Any sound, any noise or exclamation they might’ve made; it all seems to have missed the turning, reaching the end of the throat, before crashing into the clumsy “Shit! One of the cyclists in the grand tour just tumbled” pile up, against the roof of their mouth. Heels off the ground, toes pressing down, it actually takes a second… or two, of stillness before they’re able to unclench; The gentle sound of pouring tea being their cue for this. 

There’s a careful, off-to-the-side glance, as though looking to see if anything else was about to happen. As if the thing that’d startled them wasn’t directly ahead. ‘Ho-o-o kay. Shit.’ They finally utter in a long, hesitant exhale. ‘What…?’ Looking at this home invader, they’re still in something of a state of shock. Full sentences are going to be an issue for a little bit. ‘What are you?’ Okay, maybe small sentences like this are okay. Slowly but surely, they begin to move. Lifting their hands up, but apart, they keep them bunched close to the chest, fingers almost balled into fists. The beast in turn remains relaxed, eyebrows raised, elbow resting on the table, a loose fist on his cheek near the corner of his mouth.

He gives a soft, warm chuckle. ‘What do you think I am, little one?’

The fuck? ‘I don’t-’ Seriously- The Fuck? How are they supposed to-?

Sudden silence, as the first glimmer of an idea catches, brain still ticking away on the rest of it. There’s no good explanation for this situation, clearly. Spontaneous hallucination would be bad, after all. You really don’t want delusion and fantasy to take you this fucking far. Looking him over though, surrendering to the intrusion of fictional knowledge, he kind of looks like- Oh! There’s a pause, every expression on their face freezing in place.

With a small measure of delight, he watches as their eyes widen, realisation sinking in. Their gaze distinctly drifts down, south below his waist. He smirks, making certain to drift upward a little bit, giving them a better peek at the smoke and shadow. He sees there’s a touch of pink to their cheeks now.

Yes. Come to think of it, that lewd, kink questionnaire had had a certain “theme” to it. A sort of “if you could have a magic sex genie grant your wishes, what would you do and/or have done to you?” vibe. Certainly, it’d take them a moment to think of it, the whole cheeky quiz submitted about an hour or so ago now. Plus, “the one granting your request”- Not exactly the main focus. Once it clicks however, once they make the connections, looking to his all-white, glowing golden light eyes, he definitely has a kind of “Genie” theme about him.

‘That’s… insane.’ They conclude, when finally, at last, their brain gets around to parsing it all.

‘What is insane is to let this offer pass you by.’ He responds immediately.

Another pause. What offer? Wait. Mind rapidly putting together the damage report. Okay, there’s no way this is actually real. But if it is, how bad is it? What had they put on that list? How far had they gone with it? Their eyes start to widen in panic. Fuck. ‘But I…’ Their mouth starts to speak before they can properly think what to say. ‘I don’t… I-’ To actually have those things happen to them. They feel a pleasurable excitement start to rise in them, even as far more rational and very sensible terrors jump atop to start throwing punches... ‘You know that’s just fantasy, right? I mean, I don’t actually want-’

‘Oh!’ He interjects quickly. ‘No. No, I understand that entirely.’ And he really did, the only misunderstanding here, which he makes clear with his tone, is the thought that he could ever possibly think any different. Yes, indeed. Many of the ideas put forth possessed the potential to be... quite distressing, and disturbing. Some were definite, horrific crimes. It needs to be make-believe, pretend, to be fun at all.

‘Fantasy to reality is as different to a dream of flying, as a nightmare of falling. I would no sooner inflict this harm upon yourself than I would my own form. And for you, I have no lesson here, no rhetoric of “be careful what you wish for”. I would never desire this.’ 

‘Then, what do you want?’

‘A chance. A chance to see you live out these fantasies. Your... thrilling encounters of avarice. But a dream, nonetheless; to stop whenever you wish. Or else...’ He starts to lean back in, slowly. ‘… continue, should you fall to depravity and break in the face of pleasure and seduction, a cage of your own making.’

A pause, words sinking in. There’s a covetous glimmer in his eyes. And a small twinge of pink once confined to the cheeks of this little human, soon begins to spread. A noticeable gulp slips down their throat. In their head, the first thing that comes to mind is the repeated trope; The scene in oh so many “anime” where the exposed protagonist, usually female, breaks, succumbing to the experience… or experiences…

They snap themselves out of it quick. ‘You know that doesn’t actually happen, right?’ Because, for all the appeal that scenario has for them, there’s a need to stay grounded… For some reason.

‘I’m sure it’d be fun to find out.’ He replies again, swiftly and smoothly. There’s a pause, the human unable to think of a quick comeback to this. 

Oh? 

Fuck. 

Can’t think of a comeback? My, oh my, the Genie seems to now tease, how “indecent”. Shouldn’t your reply be a disagreement?

Clear air of smugness about him, he claims the cup before him, bringing it to his lips for a gloating victory sip. Our human, in turn, seems to sit in muted silence. And while nothing they’d openly admit to, at least in person; boy that online form fucked that part up for them, it’d be with a certain, subtle, guilty pleasure that they find themselves studying the tablecloth, cheeks burning with a deep, blushing shame. 

Hang on...

Wait. What the fuck? Sudden random monster dude in their house! They can’t let themselves do that. Fortunately, they’re able to break some of the way free. Mustering a couple of quick, hesitant glances upward and- ‘Oh…’ Finding their excuse to pass this moment, acting as though they’d finally noticed this beverage before them, they reach out, cautiously pulling it closer to themselves. He’d gone to all the effort of summoning it, after all; Be rude not to. Still, no way they planned to drink it. Because yes, clearly you have to be sensible in a situation like this.

‘I hope I have not taken things too far with my introduction.’ He says, knowing full well that he has. ‘Though I foresaw just as many troubles befalling our encounter, had I sought to approach you in... any other way. And rather than persuade you beforehand, I thought best to show you my true form from the start.’ Hmm, this did make a certain amount of sense. Not that the absurdity of this situation isn’t still laughable. There’s no way they would’ve believed him, had he tried to introduce himself some other way.

Yet this… this can’t be real, can it? I mean, it just can’t. Genies aren’t real. Magic doesn’t exist. If Genies are real, what else is? Are there Werewolves? Gods? Demons? An afterlife? Wait, no… getting off track. Clearly, he’s real and here for a reason. Can they afford to entertain this? They’d felt the wind on their face, the chair moving by itself beneath them. They clearly see him, hear him perfectly. It’s a pretty vivid hallucination if it is one. Tactile, visual, auditory... they’re not a medical professional, by any means, but it’s pretty weird for such severe symptoms to crop up, out of nowhere so suddenly, no prior experiences, just 0 to 100 per cent. No history of mental illness in the family either. Fuck. Okay so… should they just play along? Try as they might, they can’t help but admit how much some of this experience is… erm... getting them “riled”. Plus, hallucination or not, there’s really not much of an option but to play along. Just so long as he doesn’t “gift them the power of flight” or some shit.

Not that this building was tall enough for that problem.

They’d already done the math on that.

‘So…’ They eventually work up the courage, fingers lightly stroking the sides of the cup. ‘Do I…’ They turn their head slightly, a slight squint to their eye as if they’re trying to squeeze this uncertain question out. ‘...ask for... something specific?’

‘No.’ His answer is quick, decisive. A directness to his response, skipping right past the “gotcha” moment that comes with this person even asking; He takes charge. ‘I have something particular in mind.’

And it- honestly it catches them off guard a little. This was already going by pretty quick. But they could almost picture his next words to be, “and you’re going to like it,” a command rather than a statement. His tone is stern, with just the right level of calm, measured assuredness. ‘A proposal, to change your life,’ are his next words instead.A short pause to let them process. ‘And when you wake in the morrow, you will be that: Luxurious. Cute.’ He presses each of these words in, one after another. They can already see where this is going. ‘Lives in a mansion, spoiled rich, sexy... Anime girl, you’ve always dreamed of being.’

He smiles, despite some clues already being there, he also sees their eyes widen with every new word added to the description. Of course, it isn’t until the very end of it, that he sees their gaze and expression really change, the person sat before him no longer human, it seems, but rather some sort of startled, doe-eyed field mouse caught entirely unawares. He loves every second of it. And not quite reading the full magnitude of their response, he dares to continue, 

‘In ex-’

‘Ah!’

They stop. He stops. They both... blink. There’s a sudden tension, human poised, he thinks, to make another sound, possibly something louder and more panicked should he continue. Small, tiny, wordless interrupt, it’s not an overtly vibrant response. Of course, the absurdity of his existence aside, there’s no thinking in terms of real or not real at this point. His proposal pushes them through all that. It… well it peaks his attention just a little bit. There’d been no sudden slap of the table, they’d not jumped to their feet, nor shouted. He could have sworn he’d felt the energy for it though, just for a millisecond. 

He’d been careful to stay open and mindful in case they’d wanted him to stop, in case they wanted to say something. And amidst this moment where they’d seemed otherwise fully engrossed, fully enthralled by him, reading this situation carefully, even this one small sound is enough. 

He’s still waiting for them to say something though.

Okay… There’s hesitation, their gaze dropping. Transversely, his flow is broken, but he’s not trying to rush and pick it back up. Did they want to say something? He didn’t want to rush them. This- huh... He’d never encountered this exact reaction before. There’d be a bunch of different emotions running across their face, each one just as unpredictable to him as the next. He sees them astonished, either at him or at their own vocals. Then there’s embarrassment, followed by… is that anger, frustration? Oh, and then there’s anxiousness, that’s definitely anxiousness. He sees them pinch and rub the tablecloth between their fingers. It’d be concerning, but thankfully there is… Yes, he’s pretty sure he sees some kind of delight through it all. And those are… happy tears welling up, aren’t they? 

If he had to guess, which... he kind of does at this point, he’d have to say that there’s some sort of “human sensibility” happening here, hitting them fast, rebuking, knocking them back.

‘I- er…’ Head pulled down, gaze averted, they begin to say something. Currently, they seem to be taking a detailed scan of the tablecloth. He can see their eyes darting, uncertain where to stay. But he nonetheless waits patiently, letting this person work up to it; Whatever it is they want to say. 

"Oh god. Why can’t I just say it?"

Obviously, they can’t fucking believe any of this. Their face… they can feel it flushing a burning red. There’s not a lot of people they’d openly admitted this to. And he’d- Well, this Genie, he’d put something forth here, something very personal, and so brazen. They needed to say something. Yes. They- they definitely needed to say-

‘When-’ A false start, tiny human actually finding themselves a little startled by the sound of their own voice. ‘When you say “Anime”, do you mean… would everything suddenly look all 2D and… animated and… and stuff?’ Fuck. This- this is not the thing they wanted to ask. Probably a question that needed to be asked as well though, to be fair. But obviously not the most pressing. It’s not- not right. No, it isn’t. They find shame and inhibition deflecting their words at the last moment. Even amidst a possible hallucination. To think it all led to this. It'd be exactly what they’d always wanted, and yet they find themselves ashamed to admit it. They had the world, and their whole life up to this point to blame for that but- Damn it all.

He’d said anime Girl.

‘You… ask a strange question.’ Hearing him speak, it brings them out of it.His expression is furrowed, painted in a quizzical confusion. This reaction- it doesn’t make sense to him. These mortals are strange at times. ‘Yet, I suppose such things are possible.’ He’s doing his best to read between the lines, responding in slow and measured tones. Actually, this could be a pretty fair question, even without something else behind it. A sudden change to the appearance of their entire world after all, and in such radical terms... 

He smiles. He thinks. “Oh!” He’s pretty sure he’s got this now. His left eyebrow lifts ever so slightly. He almost chuckles. Heh. To think, after all their discussions online, of depravity and sex, that this is the thing that rattles them. Perhaps they thought he hadn’t known, or that he'd actually cared. And well… what? Was he supposed to be mad that the girl he’d played with online wasn’t quite as “anime” in real life? It’s another layer of cuteness. And he leans forward again. ‘Most of all though, it will be whatever You wish... And a pleasure for me either way.’

‘Oh…’ They bow their head, sinking back again. Oh, there’s that silky smooth voice of his again. ‘...right.’ Despite that immediate panic, hesitation, and pressing need to say something, they find themselves deflating to a muted silence once again.

‘I had hoped to provide a mere picture of my overall intent, not specific perhaps to this envisioned change. Though I suppose, should you wish, I can make everything this way. It would be a trifling matter for me to make such an alteration to perception.’ Despite everything, they find themselves ready to eagerly jump aboard, this change exactly what they want. Words going elsewhere however, and not to where they expected. Oh. Okay. “Alteration to perception”, not quite sure where this metaphor’s going now. He could make everything anime, but make it so no one notices the difference? Or… so no one else would know the difference? Oh, that- Well they could see how that might work. They might want to discuss consent for that specific detail if this “alteration to perception” included them though, and they’d definitely prefer if he could actually bring about some actual form of Transition, rather than having people just think that one has taken place.

‘Well I, er... I guess the animation style could make it kind of obvious.’ The mortal remarks, chancing a nervous chuckle. ‘Even if no one’s supposed to know, if I look down at my plate and see the food looks really, super fucking good... I’ll know that's the deal, right.’ Ah yes, Anime food. The underlying metaphor’s gotten a little muddled, but they'd hope that they'd communicated the idea that they could “look down and notice something’s different”.

‘A keen truth.’ He comments. ‘Though I suspect a life of luxury would yield the same to you as well, with only the best put on the table before you.’ Yeah. Well, that would be true. Is he still addressing the other thing too, though? 

He smiles gently, allowing a slither of his power to escape. In the delicate tea cup, held between his obsidian hands, a glimmer of light trails around the outer edges of his brew’s surface. A beautiful, perfectly formed crescent, as he contemplates another sip, jostling the liquid ever so slightly, he watches as this clear, featureless reflection swirls, running a brief, singular ring around the perimeter. Heh.

‘If I am truly to speak of this, and not some other matter...’ He makes no effort to meet their gaze, continuing to examine his cup and the modest animation budget. ‘For any expression of reality, I cannot help but picture the clear advantages this “Anime” style has. In particular, the way it captures the key moments... highlighting the points of sweet focus, in vibrant hyperbole and…’ He searches for the word. ‘Exaggeration. Depiction through overplayed embellishment. And for what we both enjoy, I think there are many moments that can be truly limited by the moderation of this reality. In many ways, you cannot truly experience some of the things for which your mortal form…” He looks them up and down ever so briefly. “...cannot stretch.’ Looking across to his current host, he regards their face, their dark hair lying across one eye, light shimmering off the dazzling emerald of the other. Oh yes indeed. It’d be rare to find a real human capable of handling physically all of the things that this one desired. People aren’t made of rubber after all. 

He casually waves his hand, as though dispelling some mild contemplation (or localised change to reality). ‘A trivial detail.’ In truth, they look great to him either way. They’d not noticed anything changing. And so returning to the true matter... Hmm, he can see there’s still some apprehension. Indeed, following his latest dismissal, he can see them starting to struggle again, working their way up to the point of speech. ‘Though I see such things are of great importance to you.’ He adds quickly, emphasising his words. ‘And I give you my assurance, you shall not be kept in the dark.’ This seems to relieve them of some of their tension.

‘So… Money, wealth, power, a giant mansion with aids and attendants. A beautiful body though... you already have that last one if you ask me.’ He flashes a sparkling grin and a wink. Immediately they’re back to “studying the tablecloth”, a blush on their cheeks. He’d run through the proverbial bullet points, hitting them rapidly in order to get things moving along. Despite it all though, he can’t help but slow down to throw in that last little comment in, the billowing figure pleased to see it have the desired effect. ‘You will have it all.’ He gives them the chance to recover, letting them focus on him again.

‘But in exchange… I want you to be aware. You will live in a world of untold pleasures, sexual perversion, hentai monsters, and creatures waiting in the dark with unruly, unrelenting tentacles.’ The gentle smile becomes a cocksure grin, this figure leaning in now. Oh yes, he’d be so sure that this added little detail would get them flustered again. And watching their reaction, they’d certainly seem surprised at least. Their eyes wide, shocked, inching up and down on him, just a little bit, they have a studious look, as if trying to read him, to tell if he's actually serious.

Is he for real? They have to assume as such. Their conversation up to this point had likely hinted towards something like this. But it’d be another thing entirely to think he’d propose such a thing fully. Oh, but wait- A random intrusive thought makes its way in. Is he literally being a meme right now? “You get this wish, but in exchange…” He may as well be a big red button. Of course, a lot of the time, they’d see that shit on the internet and find themselves going "Yep. Sounds good to me." A button that gives you a million dollars (always so American), but there’s a ten per cent chance you turn into an anime cat girl? It’s framed like a bad thing but… Well, guess who now has nine million dollars and a heat cycle? And thinking about it for only a second or so, though it’s true his proposition would be somewhat overwhelming, with a couple of clear downsides, far from hesitating, or shying away-

Their shoulders relax. Their eyes narrow to a gentle, inquiring squint.And matching his stance, leaning forward just as much to meet him halfway, it’s finally their turn to perhaps catch him off guard. ‘Old school or new school?’

Needless to say, this isn’t quite the response he’d expected, the last couple of mortals he’d tried this with not quite as “keen” as this. ‘You… appear to have lost me.’ Which, in fairness, he’d be fairly new to the genre, arcane giant having only recently discovered this particular form of erotica. 

He’s eager to try it out though.

‘Well, in old school hentai the monsters are usually more, well… monstrous.’ They begin to give their own analysis of it all, a studied professional to his freshly started amateur. ‘The girls in the scene rarely survive, and there’s usually very little focus on her enjoying it, broken bones, death. Whether there’s a bunch of tentacles going overboard, stuffing into her insides until they burst out of her stomach, or some other horrific way to go. More often than not, gore used to be the way to go. The writers seemingly knowing only this one way to finish a scene. And while there’s still a few hentai nowadays that-’

‘New school, I should think.’ He interjects, having heard enough. Though slightly taken aback by this person’s apparent expertise and deep knowledge of this genre, he’d be keen to put himself in charge again. ‘Pleasure, not pain. I have no interest in… blood’ His expression shares his disdain for this. ‘No death or gore, or any of that folly.’ 

‘Cool. Also piss and scat-’

‘Not to my liking.’

A brief pause, both parties pleased by this.

‘Might be some squirting though.’

‘That would be the height of your pleasures’ He observes, concurrence immediate. They’re both eager to ignore the science. As far as they're both concerned, this particular act is simply a sign of blissful motor control loss, a guarantee that genuine, overwhelming intensity is happening. 

Another lull of silence, ebony powerhouse perhaps a little surprised, but mostly just pleased to see this one might actually, possibly be considering this. ‘Hmm…’ They hum. He tweaks an eyebrow as the human finally makes a sound. ‘That still sounds like a pretty big risk though.’ They continue. ‘I mean, you can give me everything I want. But with the tentacles and stuff, who’s to say you wouldn’t just grab me in the first thirty minutes?’

He lifts his head in contemplation. ‘I suppose... I could. I'd be eager to be your first, to... help you experience your new form for the first time. But... would that be so bad?’

They blink, not quite fully certain how to respond. ‘Well… not exactly.’ They rally. 'But I wouldn’t- exactly- get to enjoy this new lifestyle all that much.’

‘Right. Mansion. Not... forever trapped in the fleshy meat walls of some twitching tentacle hive.’

He smirks. ‘Quite the enticing imagery. And I’m sure things might go that way for you eventually, but it would not entertain me greatly for that to be your first day.’ 

Hmm, yes. There's clearly a Temporary intent to all this- with that being his end goal. Maybe they could do something about that. ‘Still...’ After a few more moments of contemplation. ‘I’d still be this fancy rich girl, right? I could get whatever I want. High-tech security, an army of guards, surveillance cameras... Hmm, though I don’t know what good it’ll do, particularly if we’re sticking to the genre.' Yes, there's very rarely any "winning" when it comes to fighting such creatures. 'But... Okay, if I can’t stop myself from being captured, what if I hired beforehand some super elite, high specs, special forces group that can track me down afterwards? I could even put in some kind of tracking device, something under the skin that they can’t remove. You said no gore after all.’ Human’s words spoken as if they’d caught him in some clever loophole, he gives a gentle smirk. Oh, so that’s the way they wanted to play it…

‘That could be arranged.' He gives a coy smirk. 'And I’m sure you would not mind if it took a day or two for them to come to your rescue, so long as none of these... “encounters” are permanent for you.’

The tiny mortal smiles, cheeks still pink as they surrender a little to their own promiscuous nature.

‘Well, I wouldn’t say I’d mind too much if there were some lewd things happening now and then. Just so long as it doesn’t consume my whole life.’ They admit. And if that's something he'd be happy to entertain, things would really be looking up.

‘You might even go as far as to say there is no downside for you in all of this.’

‘I might…’ They go back to being shy, looking away out of modesty.

‘To spare you the trouble, how about we make that part of the wish? I would happily see that such things are arranged for you beforehand.’

‘You’re not going to make them a bunch of rough savage guys that’ll take advantage of me, are you?’

‘Oh, but of course not. Unless... Would you want that?’

‘Hmm…’ They genuinely have to ponder this question. ‘Maybe not. They’re supposed to be rescuing me after all. I don’t want to be sat around in my day-to-day life uncomfortable, surrounded by a bunch of scarred, ragged, criminal-looking types.’

‘A small team of good-looking, professional, elites then.’

‘Yeah. Maybe… Perhaps ex-special forces or Marines?’

‘I think I might have something in mind.’

They pause, contemplating for a moment if this fully covers everything. ‘And you’ve got the list of my preferences on your end?’ They ask. He nods. Honestly, it’d be a bit crazy that this was happening, that some random guy on the internet had turned out to be this. Would they actually go through with this? ‘It’s just… it’s kind of a lot. Having my whole life changed and turned around...’ 

‘You need not give your answer right away.’ There’s a sigh of relief. ‘I made quite the entrance and pressed quite the heavy issue on you. Any changes would entail a mix of your preferences and mine. But I understand that you’d need a moment to consider.’

Yes. There’d honestly be a lot to consider. That said though, it’s not as though they had family they ever wanted to see or speak to again, nor friends that’d be important to them.

‘Would I still have my save files?’

Their attention turned to their computer and the extensive collection of lewd and non-lewd computer games- He waves a hand. The machine and desk transformed into something far more fitting, a massive upgrade, new headphones, a second screen, rainbow LED lights dancing across… Well, fuck… across everything really.

‘For you. Regardless of your answer to this.’ And because some mortals are a little backwards and unlearned in this regard. ‘And no incentive for you to accept one way or another. This gift is…’ He tries to think of what the most minuscule thing would be, ‘… someone lending you a pen, the most trivial, insignificant thing to me.’ As would be the rest of this offer he’d planned to give. Money? Wealth? It’s literally just moving a few pebbles around from one mortal to the other. This being could move planets if he really wanted to.

‘Oh shit.’ They utter in quiet disbelief and approval, marvelling at their new set-up. At this rate they’d actually have means to play some of the newer games that’d come out, not to mention the money to buy them as well. ‘Er… I mean. Thank you.’ 

Another silence, and this time he seeks to pick it up with that one thing he’d never been any good at. Small talk… ‘So er… How Have You Been?’ Each word is deliberate, unnatural to him as though he’s reading from a script. He seems almost nervous, uncomfortable even. Such a strange juxtaposition from how he’d been. ‘I know it has not been long since our last missive, but last time we spoke, you gave mention to your current employment. Have things gone well on that front? You said there was a “Steve” a manager who-’ He stops, catching the look in their eye as they raise their head to look up at him. There’d be no need for words. He’d see that their work was still, to this day, just as much an act of torture as it’d ever been. Honestly, he’d feel bad. It’d almost be... “accidentally manipulative” on his part. But then, if they accepted his offer, they wouldn’t have to deal with any of that ever again.

‘Perhaps I should-’

‘Okay.’ They quickly respond, cutting him off. Uncertain if they were just answering his question about work, and obviously lying as they’d have to be, or accepting his proposal, they quickly reiterate. ‘Okay, let’s do this. You said I get to be rich and pretty.’ The first part was just about as important as the second. After years, they were just tired. They just felt so fucking tired.

He finds himself a little taken aback, worried he might’ve spurred them on a little bit there. ‘Of course.’ He does his best to rally. ‘Though there’d be no need for magic, for that last part,’ he throws in one last, half-hearted compliment. This human having accepted his offer though, he gets to work, arcane equations starting in his head. ‘But... very well. You shall have until the morning. When you go to sleep tonight, you shall be as you are. But come the morrow, fully aware of your past, you shall awake with knowledge of this life and your new one. It Shall Be A Date.’ 

And with that, the deal is made. The last few details worked out, a couple of quick questions to clear things up, and with all things settled, the lonely little human soon sees the floating creature retreat, drawing back, dwindling like the fog. Pulling back into a large, almost Japanese-style, urn or pot, sealed by a twisted rope, appearing before their eyes for only a second before it too disappears into the shadows; He’d admittedly not be from the region. But, as a free entity, he’d be just as capable of decorating and customising his vessel/home as much as anyone else. And for now, the human has new games to play, continuing late into the night until, at last, they find themselves heading to bed, heart pounding with excited anticipation.

---

A small beam of light breaks through the drawn curtains of her room, making it to the soft, warm, welcoming embrace of her massive, antique, king-sized four-poster bed. And the esteemed heiress Olivia Nightingale awakes. Slowly opening her eyes and blinking in the light, there’d be a brief second of confusion as these surroundings appear unfamiliar to her. But not wasting the chance to highlight this moment however- 

‘Woah!’

Warmth of her thick, heavy, cotton duvet slipping down to her waist, the young woman sits suddenly all the way up. She looks around her, naturally wavy, light brown hair tumbling off her shoulders. It’d be… it’d almost be as though she’d never seen the inside of her own room before. There’d be the big ol’ chest of drawers, the ancient, polished mahogany wardrobe. It's all there, the furniture she’d grown up with. 

She’d played in this room, hidden in that closet. The staff that’d helped raise her had always gone easy on her during hide and seek, the maids catching on quick to how much she liked to sometimes just chill in those small, enclosed spaces. There’d even be the little settee that, with wooden shutters closed, couch pulled away from the wall, curtains draped across it, would create the newly made space, the “bomb shelter during the blitz” snack time place she’d come up with for her make-believe fantasies. Not that she’d ever had that many people to share it with.

But wait.

Was she… was she safe right now? Like a scared child checking their room, she glances under her duvet, then under her bed, no signs of… “intruders”. Laid down on her front, mattress beneath her, she’d definitely feel one major difference. Glancing down at her chest- Oh. Right, definitely not a child anymore. Is this real? Is she-?

‘Miss Nightingale? Olivia?’ There’d be a knock at her bedroom door, the voice familiar. Scrambling on top of the bed, the hair (and bedding) of the heiress finds itself a little frazzled as she re-positions to a more conventional pose.

‘Oh.’ It takes her a second to remember, a few of her memories a little disjointed at this point. ‘Y-yes, Emily?’

Again, it takes Olivia a second to remember. Life here in the Nightingale estate, more like a reel of film that she’d watched over and over, than a life that she’d actually lived, her other lifetime still remembered, there’d be almost an element of ‘Role-play’, Olivia nearly playing her own character at this point.

‘No, no. That’s… that’s quite alright,’ the heiress concedes. She didn’t have much going on today.

‘Only, you have a nine o’clock with the new security group you’d hired.’ Oh right, except for that.

‘It’s alright, I can put myself together casually for now. No need to be too formal. Perhaps later I can do something more, if I feel like it.’ And feeling a little extra inspiration for the role. ‘Oh, and please ask chef to put together to usual for me today.’ The usual not actually the usual, she’d nonetheless leap at the chance for some luxury. Smoked salmon and scrambled egg, toast and butter, there’d probably be some fancy, over-the-top, pretentious name for it. Oh, and scones, she could have “cream teas” and little triangle sandwiches later on. She’d remember, there’d be a whole, lovely garden just outside.

‘I’ll call down and let him know.’ And with that, the young heiress has the whole, entire space to herself.

Climbing out of bed, bare feet tickled by the long, fluffy carpet, heading to the full-length mirror, she finds herself eager to take a look. Just a little under five foot tall, body smooth, flawless, milky chocolate, tanned skin, she’d be a darling, caramel mix. Mother a proud, high-born, Indian noble, and Father a shrewd, stern English businessman, Inara and Olivia Nightingale, they’d neither of them seen much of their Father or Husband as of late. There’d be rumours that he’d actually be off spending his time, or rather his life, with another man, his actual love, their arrangement with Inara exactly that, arranged.

The Father/Daughter fetish had gone cleanly under the ‘strongly disliked’ column.

‘Holy shit.’ Admiring her own form, the young heiress finds herself dressed for now, in nothing but an oversized T. Form lithe and slender, there’d been gymnastic lessons, yoga, and callisthenics. She’d clearly kept herself in shape and, despite her appetites, it appears that no volume of cake or chocolate sundaes could ruin that, everything going seemingly to her modest b to c sized breasts. 

Muscles small but powerful, tightly compact in toned measurements, finding herself wondering just how much this tiny body could do, she pauses for a second. Then, one leg rising up, she slowly starts to lift it high. Practising a standing, vertical split, the heiress watches, body slightly shaking and wobbling, fighting to stay balanced, astonished more and more by just how much her own form could-

Oop! Her cheeks go slightly crimson. Letting go of her ankle, letting the foot and leg travel back down, along with the hem of her t-shirt, that’d be the other, big, massive change... Apparently, she liked to sleep commando. Well, that would have to change... Or would it? 

Taking some time to remember herself, she’d have other things to do though. Getting dressed, brushing her hair, they’d soon have guests after all. A quick shower with… brief explorations, and hair dried, it isn’t long before she steps out to venture down the hall. Olivia dressed casually today, she quickly finds herself greeted by the chief of staff, Mr Valet. And walking to the upstairs foyer overlooking the main entrance, she’d even get a chance to see her new hires as they enter the building.

‘One would usually have them come round via the servant’s entrance, but I understand you wanted to be more “casually acquainted” with these new hires?’ The rigid old butler observes. Looking down, watching these new arrivals, there’d be only three of them for now. First tall, strong, muscular looking, this one soldier carries the full bulk of their work luggage over… over Her shoulder, weapons and supplies locked in a heavy, black sturdy case. Well, obviously not every ex-marine is going to be a man. Blonde hair, fair skin, she has that fresh-from-rural America look to her.

Not far behind her, there’d be the leader of the group. Medium height, medium build, Olivia locks eyes on the rather roguish, tomboy-looking… Oh dear. She’d start to see where this is going. Dark skin, east Asian, possibly Korean, she’d have a feisty look to her with her short, dark red hair, some sort of exchange occurring between her and the large-breasted, laid-back, blonde-haired country girl.

And then finally, and of course, there’s one more, there’d be the tiny, even smaller than Olivia, white hair and big circular glasses nerd girl, clumsily walking into the back of her leader before uttering her quiet apologies. Even from a distance, you can see the demure shyness practically radiating off of her. And though Olivia didn’t know much about these “heroes” she’d hired, these ex-special forces commandos who are meant to come (not cum) and rescue her from the tentacles and the monsters, she nonetheless knows the diverse cast of a hentai series when she sees one.

They didn’t know what they’d be facing, but Olivia did. ‘Son of a…’ And here she makes use of a word that honestly, Mr Valet had no idea the delicate heiress even knew. Though he’d let this misbehaviour slide this one time.

[Continue in Role-Play With Genie Wish, Shadows Behind the Camera.]