#fish tf

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(This is the end of the pretty prose. It's infodump time.)

Fish tfs can be obtained through aquatic swarms (aka Fish and Eels). Dolphins are notably not counted toward a fish tf—they're mammals, not fish, with entirely different behaviors and intelligence.

In terms of the science behind it: a fish tf is formed much like the sexual parasitism found in angler fish.

(be grateful for my silly trackpad drawings, you don't want to look at a real anglerfish. Trust me, they're awful.)

Fish latch onto the body, attaching themselves and (if given the time to do so) fusing their tissues with yours. The beginning stages of acquiring this tf involves lots of little dangling bits, like giant skin tags, hanging awkwardly off the body.

But they're fish, and if you leave the water too soon they will jump off and remove any new progress made toward the tf. You have to stay submerged long enough for them to properly fuse with you, until everything from their senses to their sense of self disappear and they truly become a part of you. Only then, once you're sharing a blood stream, can they stay without instinctually retreating from the dry air.

(Understandably, most people don't make it this far.)

Fish that attach themselves to the chest have their mass absorbed into the skin, leaving behind a smattering of scales and adding one chest size (ex: flat -> budding). But most of the fish attach below the waist, and these layers of fish eventually reform into a stereotypical mermaid tail.

The last change to develop are the gills, as the body is forced to adapt to its new habitat. (Whether the PC can hide the tail Little Mermaid style and temporarily reform legs, acquiring a high pain penalty and stress if they end the day on land, or are forever confined to the water after the tf takes hold...is a matter of preference 👍 this is a fake tf, after all)

Brody grew concerned, and then coach came in.

“Boys, you probably know why you’re here. Brody probably doesn’t, but he’s going to learn like the rest of you today. I’m so disappointed in you two, my star players. But a lesson must be learned.”

The two started sobbing, and Brody went to comfort them saying it’s ok, they can always move on from this.

Coach just laughs, snaps his fingers, and forces the three boys (and their dicks) to attention. Brody is screaming internally, not knowing why he can’t control his body or why he feels like he’s getting a blow job. He just wants to stop.

“We’re going to teach you three some lessons. Brody, I want you to watch as Sam and Caleb learn first. You two should know better, so you’re going to learn by being Jake and Paul’s shorts. Forever. You can give them knowledge and strength while playing.”

Coach snaps, and the two boys start exploding cum through their shorts as Brody stares horrified at what he’s seeing. The two men shrunk down, until all that’s left of them is shorts covered in cum. Seniors Jake and Paul suddenly walk in the door and pick up their new shorts, seemingly unbothered by what’s going on. Paul leans into the freshman’s ear and says “sorry, we needed our rivals gone so we had to plant that weed on them. Didn’t know you hung out with them, oh well! Enjoy yourself” and walked to the side of the room, Sam over his groin while Brody could see Caleb vibrating over Jake’s dick.

Coach looks at Brody. “Freshman, you’ve seen what happens to members who cross me. I’m going to have to punish you, too. You’ve not been playing well at all. A year as a fish in my office should be fine, enough to give you swimming skills to put you on the swim team your sophomore year after this gap year. Hopefully it’s not enough to break your brain like the last guy. Poor kid, had to use him as a mindless house slave after turning him back. He was cute, though.”

Coach snaps, and Brody starts cumming hard as his dick inserts into him, still moaning as he grows scales and fins off his head, his eyes preparing to go to the sides to accommodate his new body.

Jake and Paul smirk, but before they can leave, coach says “by the way Paul, I heard you say that to Brody here before I took his humanity from him. I’ve already taken it forever from my best players because of your lies, but I have to punish you both too.”

Jake looks at his friend horrified, and Paul starts begging for them both to be spared. He says that Jake didn’t know anything and it was all him.

Coach snaps, making them freeze while hard, moaning hard.

“Sorry, I just can’t trust either of you after this. I’ve already sealed the spell for Sam and Caleb, and Brody was failing anyway. You two will be trophies to honor those two great players, and I’ll keep them as shorts to give them the pleasure they deserve after what you’ve done.”

He snaps again and they cum hard, their jock bodies hardening into metal as they suffer the same fate as Sam and Caleb.

Brody watches as coach goes to store the shorts and trophies in his closet, ready to display them all later. “Power always goes to so many heads, such a shame when it gets abused. I’ve lost more good players that way. Oh well, hopefully I’ll get a new swimmer out of all of this.”

“Good thing Paul was stupid enough to say that, Brody, otherwise this would probably be your new home forever!” Coach just laughs, and picks up his new pet. He can’t wait for the year to be up to see if he gets a swimmer or a house slave! Either way, coach’ll be happy!

Your body is something to be passed around, something everyone in town feels entitled to. They've all seen the pictures, the videos—you've been publicly assaulted so many times that everyone has convinced themselves you want it. Now they snatch you off the street when they see you, talk as if they're doing you a favor... ripping off your pants, exposing your dick, and thinking that's what you're trying to hide as you scream and scream at the sight of your skin.

The underworld knows you as Rape Bait.

They get off on it: your fear, your 'reveal.' They think you play it up for attention, the hysterics another way to get eyes on you. But you don't want to be looked at.

You want to be beneath the sea.

You make your way to the beachfront, swimming out until you reach the rocky alcove a little ways from shore. Still half-submerged, you strip, peeling off your wetsuit without looking at your legs beneath the water.

One of the small squids that makes the rocks its home latches onto you, crawling up your thigh and caressing your naked skin. You let it, smiling as it clings and climbs, and just finish putting your swimsuit aside when a diver rises up from the water.

"Wow, you're just serving yourself on a silver platter, huh?" When they lift up their googles to get a good look at you, the recognition in their eyes is obvious. There's only one explanation they can think of for why you'd be stripping in the open. "I guess I heard right about you."

And then you're taken, arms pinned behind your back as your assailant has their way. Almost immediately you give up, close your eyes and wait for it to be over—when the squid continues to squeeze you, unbothered and unnoticed by your attacker, you force yourself to focus only on its touch. You pretend that everything you're feeling is somehow attributable to the creature you've allowed onto your body. Pretend this is something you chose to let happen.

If to live is to surrender (which it is. It's all you've ever known), you at least want to choose what to surrender to.

When you orgasm, the diver talks like they're the cause. It only further reaffirms their beliefs about you, that you like and enjoy being used like this, and when they finally leave it's with the smug satisfaction of a job well done.

You're left limp against the rocks, cool ocean soothing your heated skin. The water laps against you and you imagine it aftercare, a balm to the nauseous heat you were left with. 

A few fish swim over curiously, nibbling at your toes and nipping your knees. Normally you hate reminders of your lower limbs, but sea life doesn't trigger the usual revulsion. You welcome the touch, not an entitlement but a different type of ownership, a claim... but while the contact is comfortable, you know the fish can't protect you. Not from the hands of man.

You wish you could dive down deep enough that the town disappears, swim and swim and never return. You wish you could belong there, truly belong, like you and the fish both know you should.

Instead you reach back for your wetsuit, slipping it on one leg at a time.

When you first started wearing dresses, everyone seemed to think it was for their benefit. Another layer of thrill, an extra kink thrown into the performance of your faux-autonomy; the sexual fantasy of running into a pretty little thing only to find a fun surprise under his skirt.

The underworld knows you as Diseased.

But it was never your dick you were hiding from them. It wasn't your legs, either—instead it was lumps of flesh hanging off your lower body, arranged like layers of tassels or the fronds of a grass skirt.

They hung off your torso and legs in tiers, varying in shape and size and looseness. Some dangled freely, with enough room to slide a hand under, while others had attached themselves more securely—the oldest beginning to properly fuse into your flesh, becoming less like skin tags and more like protrusions or growths.

The one thing they had in common were their scales, which started concentrated in the lumps before spreading out from their connection points. Smatterings of them speckled your skin, radiating from the sources they'd transferred from... though an untrained eye might think you were the one growing the scales, expelling them out rather than the other way around.

You were wrong in thinking that the fish couldn't protect you. Because here they were, doing exactly that: holding onto you, becoming one with you, in a way no one could understand. Keeping you safe, when a hand flipped up your skirt only to recoil back in horror.

Word travelled fast, and people didn't touch you anymore. The way the town viewed you was changing, and so was your body—the fish's mass absorbing into you, thickening your legs. The gap between your thighs was steadily shrinking.

Soon, you expected there wouldn't be any gap at all.

The underworld knows you as Monster.

A few weeks have passed since your missing persons posters went up in town. They haven't yet connected you to the thing they'd started seeing in the water, the creature with the long, scaled tail and almost human eyes. 

You'd already made a name for yourself, become a presence the dockworkers spoke about in whispers. The sailors shouldn't have indulged themselves so close to shore; when you'd heard the cries coming from their docked ships, so familiar they could have been your own, you'd made sure to pay them back in kind and let sailor's screams echo out from the waters.

And then you'd released them, let them go to swim off and tell their tales. Soon, everyone would know what happens if you were caught harming someone by the ocean. What would happen to you, if you bound your victims and tried to throw them into the sea.

You didn't like looking at the bodies of those victims, even while you rescued them. They were too reminiscent of what your's used to be—used, battered, so pitifully human.

But you aren't human now, not anymore. That's why you can't sit back, passive to any suffering you see. You don't take pleasure in it, either, though that hasn't stop you from causing some suffering of your own.

Still, you aren't like the humans. You practice catch and release, always let them go in the end. They still sometimes feel entitled to your body, attempt to string you in their nets and take their revenge—but your existence isn't theirs to play with anymore. Now, you surrender to no one.