Musical Ink

--artwork by halulu-- A long vinyl scratch fell silent and with it, a new masterpiece had been born. At least, that was Fyshi’s hope. DJ Fyshi unwarily lived the life of a musician, going only by his stage name, working at a record store on the side of his live gigs, and spending most his time at his crib mixing and creating new tracks.

The DJ had a penchant for style. His somewhat large, broad shouldered, toned figure was fitted in a tight, classy, black suit, black jeans and a black undershirt. His dark chocolate skin faded into his outfit which contrasted nicely with the brighter tones sprinkled about. Fyshi loved his neon, and his outfit had splashes of it all over: a green neon belt, poppy, neon green sneakers, a green stripe on his black fedora, and his undershirt showed neon green graffiti text that read RUSH!. The inspiration for his outfits often came from the video games he adored.

Games were the most important thing to Fyshi outside of his music. They had thrust him into the world of music at the age of 10. All his old-school favorite games on the Genesis and SNES had a sound that mesmerized the young boy. Those chiptunes led him down many paths of discovery as he explored the many ins and outs of music creation. He grew a particular affinity for the EDM House stylings of the electronic genres especially, and his obsession only grew from there. His love of audio pushed him away from video games for a while, but he always found himself coming back for more, usually drawn to a game by its soundtrack alone. Fyshi continued to hone his craft and draw inspiration from the game sounds he loved.

Now age 23, he felt he was on the cusp of a huge breakthrough. The venues were becoming bigger and the crowds larger too. He was working tirelessly as of late, even using PTO to get off of work so he could continue slaving away at his craft. He lived and breathed music.

He was relentless in the pursuit of his dream and would not let this growing flame of his die. Someone was bound to notice him soon and he would finally hit the big stage. To see crowded masses packed like sardines into an arena, leaping and dancing for his performance, there was no better dream in the world. If only he could reach even more…

“Shit man. I’m so close ta finishin’ dis mix.” Fyshi said while rubbing the bags of skin under his eyes. What was usually a stern face covered in a finely cut black bush beard now looked like a ratty shell of its former glory, beaten down by lack of sleep. His lips were cracking, his large, rounded nose stuffy and his brown pupils barely revealed through faltering eyelids.

“Gotta keep grindin’. Tha deadline is midnight.”

Fyshi glanced at a Nintendo Switch tablet controller lying near him on his work desk. A text prompt was displayed on the screen with a countdown timer to midnight. It was from the game Splatoon 2, Fyshi’s current gaming addiction. He adored the music in the game that was drenched in the urban and DJ cultures he was a part of. He was surprised to have booted the game yesterday to find his favorite gaming girl Marina (A DJ in the game herself) advertising a competition for music-creating fans to submit their own tracks to a contest for a chance to be chosen to create new music for the game itself. Fyshi wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. It’d be a dream come true to see his music featured in one of his favorite games, maybe even being performed by Marina herself!

“If I git my music in dis, I’ll make it big time fo’sho.” The wide-eyed DJ said as he put the finishing touches on his submission. “I know itz goin’ ta happen!”

With a confident declaration of victory, Fyshi uploaded his entry to the contest and hit submit on the screen. He was unsure how long it might take for a winner to be announced, but he had been patient for so long, what was a little more waiting.

The worn down DJ was ready to pass out in his chair when he heard a loud ping come from his Switch. He stumbled out of his chair towards his Switch, almost face-planting, and nervously looked at the screen. A silent gasp built into a loud celebration as the aspiring DJ’s hopes had been realized, his victory displayed in large, bold text.

CONSPLATULATIONS! YOU ARE OUR WINNER!

“Hell yea! I won!” Fyshi yelled, the life returning to his body fast.

The ecstatic victor pumped his fist and began pacing around his apartment laughing. He could hardly process it and could only think to laugh in joyful shock. Another ping rang out from the Switch. He hurried back to the screen and with a huge smirk on his face read a new message that had appeared.

YOU ARE OUR NEW STAR! LET’S GET KRAKEN!

After a brief chuckle, Fyshi felt an odd sensation creeping over him. He glanced down at his hands and was immediately stripped of all joy upon seeing them fading away into a flurry of floating pixels that were being drawn into the game screen. His legs too were disappearing; his entire body was starting to fade away! He was soon nothing but a torso, and as he yelled out in terror his face came apart into tiny pixels as well—his scream trailing off into silence. The remnants of Fyshi’s body were finished being sucked into the Switch and the console went black screened, the hum of the machine dying.

***

Fyshi awoke in a sweat, his head darting every which direction. It felt like he had just woken from a nightmarish, long sleep. It didn’t take him long to notice that he was no longer in his apartment, but instead what appeared to be a dressing room that you might find backstage at a concert. Not too dissimilar to many he had been in before his own live shows, only this one had a clearly more feminine decor. Was he still dreaming?

Finding his composure, Fyshi decided all he could do for the moment was investigate.

No way dis be a dream. I mean, gettin’ sucked into a game? He pondered in denial over what had happened. Somewhere deep down though, he knew it was real. And that fact began to set in as he explored the room—which looked bizarrely cartoonish with its proportions and the look of the objects. Despite the unrealistic look of everything, the touch of it all felt so very real.

The dressing room was colored with faded blacks, grays, and purples. A neon green rug in the shape of a cute, cartoony octopus covered a large section of the floor in the middle. The wallpaper was black with some gray stripes running vertically down spaced decently apart. A set of purple-red posh recliners and a couch lined one end of the room near a flashy, mahogany coffee table that had legs carved like squid or octopus tentacles—the suction cups bigger the higher up towards the table top they were. The legs had some coloration on the wood, starting out green near the bottom and turning purple towards the top.

“Dis be… lookin’ kind o’ familia.” Fyshi mumbled to himself, the tentacles of the table bringing on a creeping realization.

The soft, cushy touch of the couch was of a much higher quality than anything he had ever felt at a venue. Done admiring it, he turned toward a wall where he was taken aback by several large picture frames displaying images of Marina and Pearl, the music performers from the game Splatoon who looked like Squid-human hybrids. Marina, who wore black and neon green apparel—an inspiration for Fyshi’s own look—seemed to be the focus of most of the pictures.

He stepped slowly back and turned towards the station near the opposite wall. A green, glossy table stuck out from the wall, with a large mirror above it. Giant, octopus shaped lights bordered the mirror, shining a warm light onto the space—not too bright, but just bright enough for whoever was fixing themselves in the mirror could see their work. A wood stool carved in similar tentacle fashion as the table sat beneath it pulled out. The curled up ends of its back legs looked like fingers beckoning the DJ towards it.

“Dis must be…? Fyshi said, walking heavy towards the table nervously. It was like his legs were moving on their own. He had a gut feeling that whatever answers he sought must be over there, so he stopped fighting the motions of his body.

“…Marina’s dressin’ room.”

The realization hit once Fyshi reached the table and saw a large, mass of tentacles fashioned like a hairpiece sitting on it. It was unmistakably Marina’s octopus hair. This room had to be Marina’s dressing room! Looking in the mirror, his body appeared at odds with its surroundings, a made-of-flesh human standing in a fantastical, video gamey rendered room.

“Oh shit!”

Fyshi jolted and took a step back, as he saw the tentacle hair convulse for a brief moment. The gut feeling that what he sought was in front of him still hadn’t left, so he worked up his courage and approached the octo-hair once more. It made no movement.

After psyching himself up, he grabbed hold of the extremely shiny tentacles and lifted it up for a better look. It wasn’t just made to look like tentacles, they were tentacles. Their slick surface made it somewhat hard for Fyshi to hold on to. It was heavier than it looked, the thick, fatty appendages distributing weight unevenly. Three of the tentacles were very long, while one was small and stubby. The top where the tentacles met into a scalp had a dark, purple-red coloration that slowly transitioned into neon green the further it went down the length of each feeler. The undersides with the suction cups had a vanilla tone to them. The suckers were small at the tips and very large near the top of the head.

Fyshi flipped it forward so he could get a better look at the underbelly. The moment he turned it, he saw a large hole making a sucking motion. The tentacles sprung to life again, the larger ones wrapping around the back of his head. The octo-hair was then yanked from his grasp and thrown at his face. It wriggled its way onto the top of his head and settled in place, the large hole fitting itself around the radius of his skull. Fyshi tried fighting the hairpiece off, but it was clamped on far too tight. Some of the feelers swatted and grabbed at his hands to keep them away.

In a panic, he ran to the closed door. It was locked. A few attempts at breaking it open were unsuccessful. He was trapped, with a grotesque octopus monster sucking on his head. He could feel goopy, heavy saliva dripping from the creature’s mouth. He then noticed clumps of his hair falling in front of his face. The creature’s secretions began to flow down his face in heavy amounts, some of it falling down onto his clothes. He watched in horror, his clothing being eaten away by the black, inky looking substance. Soon, his beard was sliding clean off his face too. All his body hair and clothing were melted away by the acidic gunge.

Fyshi began cursing at the creature and yelling out in confusion. He was soon muffled though by copious amounts of thick ink spilling out of the octo-hair. It flowed like a waterfall down his body, coating him completely black. Fyshi felt control over his own body waning, like the ink was holding him in place with heavy weights. He could barely move of his own accord, faltering about the room in a lumbering fashion. His clothes and hair had completely disintegrated at this point and he was as naked as a baby beneath the black goo. He could barely open his mouth to scream, the ink having covered even the inside of his mouth and who knows how much of his insides. Some had entered his throat, but he shuddered to think what might be happening inside him.

The goopy coat tightened up on Fyshi, becoming skin tight and then something even further than that. The feeling of what was his skin and the ink began to blur until they became indistinguishable. His nerves fired off abnormal signals to his brain, his body feeling like an amorphous mass holding together the shape of a human. He grabbed one of his arms and while the physical shapes of arm and hand remained firm as they touched, the sensation felt completely new to him. It was solid and runny all at once.

Tightening up his gut, Fyshi noticed a ripple across the surface. How he was able to even see clearly through eyes covered by ink was a mystery to him, but he was more worried about exploring the strange sight along his stomach. Still keeping his core tight, Fyshi gasped in fright as the hand he touched it with slipped into his body like water, thick ripples rolling outward. He pulled out and in his panic lost the mental hold of his body. It was once again hard for him to move.

My fuckin’ whole body be ink! Fyshi wailed. Words no longer escaped in a manner that matched his thoughts. Every vocalization came out as high pitched, indecipherable gurgling. A shockwave jiggled his slimy body as the tentacles on his head started waving fast and erratically. The long octopus arms then smacked themselves into place at different points on his body. One landed at an angle across his chest, another twisted itself around his midsection, and the last one stuck itself to his backside and ran all the way down past his butt, curling underneath onto his groin.

Prickles of pleasure excited wherever the tentacles touched Fyshi. Dem damn things be buggin out! Fyshi thought, detesting the groping of his body. Something aint right. I can feel my body… twitchin’.

The DJ’s body began to rumble, starting off small and growing in intensity until he was shivering out of control. Suddenly, he began to violently contort, his posture snapping in dramatic, inhumane ways—arms bending, breaking, reforming, and bending again. His legs twisted about in similar fashion to his arms, his knees buckling and pushing backwards. Somehow his legs kept him upright despite the crooked ordeal.

Fyshi surprisingly felt little pain. All bodily sensations felt like some cooled, numbing flood of goosebumps. His body bent in ways that defied reality and it was as if he was highly insensitive to certain physical perceptions. He had gained a form that was completely malleable and resistant. However, one sensation that hadn’t dampened for him was pleasure. Anything that was stimulating to the touch—such as the feelers caressing him—was amplified when making contact with his new skin. He tried tugging at one of the octo-arms while one of his hands briefly settled down, but when he did it felt as if he was tugging on his own hair. The adventurous tentacles felt very much a part of him now. He could feel every muscle contraction and every shift in their movement.

While his body continued to bend in ridiculous ways, Fyshi’s muscles stretched and pulled. He was puzzled that despite seemingly having a body of pure ink it still felt like he had a solid, inner mass of muscles and organs. His limbs inflated like balloons before flattening down. His gut expanded outwards and then pushed back in. Every muscle fiber inside him shifted and enlarged with reckless abandon, having no clear direction for what it wanted to do.

Between his spaghetti muscles and awkwardly curving body Fyshi began to squash, stretch and expand like a cartoon character. It seemed utterly random what was happening, but he could feel a definite form solidifying just beneath the surface. Maybe it was ink being pumped into his mind causing him to hallucinate, but he felt a clear, distinct shape of a woman pushing towards the surface, cutting through the gooey exoskeleton.

Fyshi felt a tugging on his arms as they stiffened. His body thankfully halted its mad, twisted dance, but his shaking arms were an omen of more to come. Both limbs suddenly launched forward outstretched. Each muscle and follicle worked in tandem with each other, heaving the whole of Fyshi’s extremities further away from him. Like elastic they continued to stretch, thinning out the more they did. His rubber band arms could stretch no more and so his fingers picked up the slack. Each one elongated towards inhuman lengths, appearing as if they were desperately reaching towards some unseen goal. Everything felt so tense, vibrations channeling through each limb, subtle cracking sounds bubbling to the surface of the skin.

As quickly as his arms had nearly torn themselves from his body they came hurtling back, Fyshi gasping in relief at the sweet release his arms felt coming back into shape. They whiplashed upon arrival, waving about like noodles before settling back into a more proper form. However, as Fyshi gazed down he was startled by the frail hands peering back. His fingers were more delicately shaped now, more chiseled where the skin lay on bone. His fingernails looked like flat, round-tipped talons that tenderly crept out from the tips of each finger. He flipped his hands to the other side and then back again, double-checking to make sure what he was seeing wasn’t a trick of the eyes.

A large, gurgling pop came from each of Fyshi’s shoulders. He lost his footing for a moment, and as he raised his posture he could tell his shoulders felt out of alignment. He rubbed one of them and noticed that it felt a lot less bulky, a sloping, smooth dip from neck to arm. Venturing further down, he was chilled by the realization that his hands were not the only things to have changed. His arms too looked vastly more slender, like all the mass had withered away. They looked like the arms of many of the dancers he’d seen at the clubs he performed at.

My body be like rubba! Whaz happenin’ ta me!? Fyshi lamented, before his shivering legs stretched in an unorthodox manner reminiscent of his arms before. This time, his torso was the thing being pulled away, tugging things longer and longer. He saw the ground pulling further away from sight as his legs became taut stilts.

Fyshi knew what was coming next and braced himself. Sure enough, his legs slacked up and he began his descent back down towards his feet that were still planted firmly on the ground. He landed with such ferocity that his body squashed into an accordion shape before unfurling back to normal—what had become his new normal. His form was reacting in outlandish, exaggerated ways like a cartoon character. It was a hard pill for Fyshi to swallow, but he was no longer a normal human, that much was certain.

The rattling in his head and eyes after his latest ordeal settled after a few seconds, and once he had the clarity of mind he put all he could into fighting back against the ink weighing him down. He would not let himself be lost to this madness! Though he quickly noticed his attempts at lifting his legs lacked the same strength from before. Was he simply tired? Fyshi nervously glanced down to see his legs had been wasted away into smaller, delicate shapes. His feet where now small and supple compared to his previous flat footed monstrosities, and his thighs could barely touch each other—there was so much space between. There was no denying it, the woman he felt creeping towards the surface before, it was beginning to emerge. The smooth, limber legs staring him down could never belong to a man.

Horrified, he covered his face to avoid gazing upon his deformity.

The tentacles that had been groping Fyshi this entire time suddenly cranked it up a notch, pressing tightly against him and constricting parts of his body like a snake. With the movement of each appendage, Fyshi could feel a tugging within his cranium. Whatever muscles used to work the octo-arms were moving out of his control. It was like having a huge parasite attached to his head.

The octo-arm planted on his chest suctioned itself tightly onto it, 2 suckers aligning themselves on top of each nipple. The one coiling around his midsection continued to tighten, acting like a corset forcing an hourglass shape. And the dirtiest tentacle of all between his legs latched a suction cup onto the tip of his dick and then began to grind feverishly, squished between his thin, girly thighs. His dick was flicked back and forth like a metronome as the slippery, fatty appendage imitated a cock teasing a woman. Ink spilled from Fyshi’s coat due to the intensity of the grinding. It being the longest tentacle, its motions brought the most stimulation. It glided along his entire backside, slid effortlessly along his bare ass crack—with the suction cups tickling inside the crevice—and breached the thigh gates below which were doing their best to halt its movement.

A satisfying shiver of electricity traveled down Fyshi’s spine while the tentacles began to mold his body. If the building fits of pleasure weren’t enough, he simply had no strength left to fight back. He was a slave to this perverse creature. He could only hope that he would be able to move past whatever happened next, the creature’s intent clear to him.

Fyshi’s gargled moans began to overwhelm his pleas. His tightening tummy was being pulled well beyond just a simple hourglass shape. It looked as thin as a twig now. The more the octo-hair had tightened Fyshi there, the more the mass that resided there began to push out into his hips and bottom. The tentacle working his cock seemed to be moving in tandem with its brother, looking like it was working a pump. With each crank of Fyshi’s cock, it began to shrink in size while simultaneously his butt began to inflate. The ink of his genital’s well flowed into the hills of fat nearby, gradually bestowing upon it an alluring, bubbly shape. The more prominently it grew, the more dramatic the curvature of Fyshi’s spine became. It was like everything was trying to make his ass look as grandiose as possible against his slimmer frame. The heavy new addition to Fyshi’s behind made it easier for the tentacle dissolving his dick to wedge itself in his butt crack. The new bubble butt thwacked loudly against the slimy tentacle gliding between its mounds.

The octo-arm clasping Fyshi’s chest started to pull at his pecs viscously. The suckers attached to his nipples hung tightly with each forceful tug, yanking them out more erect. The groping tentacle was pulling forward so rough that loud snaps began to release from Fyshi’s backside. He felt his upper back slimming down and his spine pushing more forward. The tentacles wrapping his midsection squeezed tighter than ever and forced a huge mass up his body and into his chest. Two large mounds began to erupt there and he sent both hands up to try and yank off the octo-hair. But whatever was happening up there soon lost his attention, as down below his shrinking cock began to greatly entice him. He couldn’t fight this growing bliss any longer. He knew the octopus creature had no intention to kill him and he was starting to feel less and less in danger the more his body welled with ecstasy. His new ink body was so much more sensitive than his old human one; it was hard not to frolic in the sensations.

The tentacle around his waist finally released and Fyshi’s scrunched body expanded out again, but settled into a more narrow shape than what was before. He now possessed seductive curves. Lithe muscle tightened along his tummy to create a flat, refined surface. Bones created small peaks across its terrain near the now much wider pelvis as well as up just above his belly. Any man would wish to wrap his arms around such a testament to femininity.

His lower body now of a more bottleneck shape, Fyshi could feel an odd shift in his exterior. It felt like an empty space was opening within him around his pelvis, like something was hollowing him from the inside, scooping into him with a giant spoon. He shivered in excitement as he felt his dick flatten, the suction cup now resting firmly between his legs. His butt cheeks clenched tight, hugging the tentacle wedged between them while an eruption of black cum released from his shriveled cock into the sucker that had teased it.

Fyshi moaned in delight at a final release of everything he had. It lasted for what felt like an eternity. His body twitched, his hands gripping lovingly tight to the tentacle still yanking two swollen melons from his chest. A seemingly endless waterfall of ink flowed down from his thighs. The octo-arm let go of the flattened head of his dick for a brief moment before plunging forward with its tip into the slit-opening on its head.

The DJ unleashed thunderous wails of agonizing pleasure as the tentacle spread open the head of his cock, forcing itself inside his urethra like a slimy pike. It pushed itself deeper and deeper inside him, filling up the cavernous space that he had felt forming inside him. The split open head of his cock stretched and fused with the smooth surface between his legs, forming into a larger slit. Ridged walls gave way to the penetrating octo-cock as it burrowed itself as far in as it could, hitting against the entrance of a womb that had grown inside the former man. Just like a man would, the giant member began to pound back and forth inside its moaning maiden. Fyshi was reduced to a blubbering mess being fucked by his own tentacle hair.

He stumbled forward and collapsed onto the dressing room table. The tentacle encouraging the growth of his chest went into overdrive, sucking and yanking as hard as it could. His body hopped up and down off the table. Soon, the growing mounds began to take a much finer shape, spherical mountains of fat squashing against the table’s surface and tentacle. They were not large by any standard compared to how thin and shapely Fyshi’s body had become, but they were quite shapely, almost perfectly round—a symmetrical v-like shadow forming above the cleavage. With one final, enormous tug, Fyshi’s dramatic bombshell posture came into place and the groping octo-hair brought both breasts pressing together in harmony—comfortable cushions for the budding lady.

With another tentacle’s job finished, only the largest, most perverse one remained, raping the masculinity out of Fyshi.

Dis can’t be! Oh, uhn. How tha fuck can dis feel so good!? I-I’m a man! Not a woman! Fyshi fought back within his mind, trying hard to not accept this body as his own. His mind was going numb; he was unprepared for such joy rippling across every inch of his being.  This was something better than any old sex, this was something no other person but him could feel.  This pleasure was all his now, and he began to relish in it.

Dis is betta than any sex I’ve eva—oh! Oh fuck! Shit!

Fyshi gripped tight to the edges of the table as the pistoning tentacle reached a lightning-quick pace inside him. For the very first time he also had some control over the other tentacles of his hair. He controlled the two free ones to stick to the mirror in front of him and brace him, keeping his head from smacking forward.

His ass and thighs rippled from impact after impact, the giant tentacle drowning his insides with ink. The strikes had such velocity that he was lifted up onto his toes and then eventually onto the table, far enough that his legs limply swung an inch off the ground. After filling the new woman full, the tentacle uncorked itself from Fyshi’s pussy, leaving him in an exhausted heap. Soon after, the ink coating that was Fyshi’s skin began to recede, a new body emerging from the goop—one that was fully dressed in flashy attire.

Fyshi’s skin had become a flawless, shiny chocolate coat with the only blemish being a love spot below one end of his mouth. His fingertips glowed neon green as if they had been dipped in bioluminescent goo. The green contrasted well with his skin and the black, wrist length, fingerless leather gloves on his hands. Fyshi was left bare armed, midriff fully exposed; the only piece of clothing covering his torso was a skin tight, black leather cropped vest with a puffed up collar pressing tight, yet comfortably, against his bosom, an enormous zipper head dangling like a charm below his exposed cleavage that was appealingly framed by the borders of the open zipper. A single, glimmering, jade piercing adorned his navel—a dessert for any eyes feasting upon the captivating landscape surrounding it. He had green tights that covered his legs below odd, poofy, green-and-black striped accordion shorts. Black, leather boots with giant zipper tabs matching the one on his vest rounded out the showy outfit.

Once he came to, Fyshi slowly rose and gazed into the mirror at his new body. He surprisingly reacted with little fanfare. He immediately recognized the woman staring back as Marina, his gamer girl crush. Perhaps that helped soften the blow, turning into one of his idols. There was no doubt he had become her, everything aside from his face—soft and more feminine in nature but lacking the cartoony visage—an exact match.

He traced his face while trying to speak, but only the gargled words of an octoling escaped him. He now spoke the language of the world he was transported into. It was all clear to him now; he had literally been sucked into Splatoon’s world and taken the place of Marina.

Therez no way dis be real right? Thought Fyshi, still harboring doubts. A game can’t just suck ya in n’… shit I’m a woman! Fyshi looked at his wriggling tentacle hair which he finally had more proper control over, though if he wasn’t focusing on it they still seemed to move about on their own.

Dis… can’t be what tha contest meant right? Do they want me ta… take ova fo Marina?

Fyshi contemplated such an impossible concept, that he was now stuck in this world and meant to bring his personal talents and utilize them as Marina. The more he pondered the more he warmed up to the idea. His music could reach a larger audience than ever. And maybe even the change wasn’t permanent. Maybe he just had to make the best of—

Nah, dis be crazy! Why am I thinkin’ such nonsense… Gettin’ banged by tentacles n’ shit. Whaz happenin’ ta me!?

As he began to question the burgeoning thoughts of ambition swelling in his mind, Fyshi’s tentacle hair came to life once more and coiled around his face. Muffled screams were drowned by the wriggling pops and smacks of the convulsing octopus arms. They flailed wildly in their grasp, with no clear direction or intent at first. Soon though, they began to target points of his face, suction cups sliding in place under his eyelids to latch onto his eyeballs. The tip of one tentacle forced itself into his mouth, coating his lips with its slick slime, giving them a glossy texture. Some suckers began to pluck at his eyebrows, trimming them down into a more refined shape. Heavy amounts of ink gushed into Fyshi’s mouth and he could swear he felt some seeping into his brain as well.

The panicking man tried to tear the arms away, but to no avail. A rising, deafening musical hum began to pound away in his head. Along with it came a plethora of new information, instructions for a new job. Fyshi was downloading all of Marina’s skills and knowledge and with it some of her personality began to seep in. The tentacles began to mold his face into a more bobble head shape. The suckers attached to his eyes reformed them into large, emotive eyes with giant green-and-pink cephalopod pupils. His lashes became thick and pointed, creating an eyeshadow border.

The overwhelmed man was soon influenced by the essence of Marina. His ambitions as a DJ, to have his music heard by as many as possible and his adoration for the world of Splatoon and its music made him easy prey for these encouraging thoughts. Fyshi soon embraced it, what this new life could bring him. He no longer cared if he became a woman; he wanted what being Marina could offer him. With fulfillment within his reach, he let himself go and inherited the identity of Marina. Fyshi became a new Marina, the same sassy yet shy woman, but with all the knowledge and skills of Fyshi now—his burning passion building on her own.

The tentacles released the octoling woman, and she nearly collapsed onto the table. Marina shivered with delight, a wide smile on her face as intense joy swelled within her. Her long held dream as Fyshi had become a reality! With all the excitement she had become quite wet down in her shorts. Embarrassed, she covered herself. She soon giggled at her funny reaction upon realizing no one else was in the room with her and used her slime body to clean up her mess, shapeshifting the shorts into a fresh pair.

A loud knock came to the door and seconds later it flew open. In the tongue of their world, Marina’s assistant said, “3 minutes to showtime dear! They’re all super excited to hear what new music you’ll drop.”

That’s right, Marina remembered. Today was the day she was to debut some new tracks. She had so much planned inside her head, a whole backlog of fantastic new music to add to her repertoire. It was finally time for their debut.

Light shining in her eyes, Marina stepped onto the stage, basking in the warmth of the multi-colored spotlights raining down on her. There was no place like this stage for her; it was her home, her outlet to the world. She felt reborn, ready to explode to even greater heights.