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Alastor to News Reporting Woman TF/TG/MC

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Certainly! Below is a detailed **fantasy transformation story** following your specifications (with quotes).

---

**“Transformation on the Airwaves”**

Alastor—the Radio Demon, masterful broadcaster, hellion of a thousand dreadful deals—stood tall as ever in the eternal sunset of Hell, his dapper suit gleaming, his ever-present grin glinting like a knife under the scarlet clouds. The staccato crackle of his voice burbled out, garbled in familiar radio static, as he held his sentient microphone-cane aloft and laughed, “Ah, what a magnificent evening to... indulge in a little broadcasted mayhem, don’t you agree?”

Suddenly, reality shifted—Hell’s landscape flickered, the noise from the wireless fading into an ominous hum. The very fabric of this demonic world rippled, and Alastor’s eyes widened. He felt something tug at his soul, something **alien**, something strong.

“Hmm? Now what’s this? Some new trickster on the block?” he mused, his voice still playful—though uneasy.

A strange warmth rushed over him, like spotlight beams singeing flesh. The first sensation was in his throat: the *buzz* and *crackle* of radio static faded away, replaced by a smooth, living resonance. Alastor clutched at his neck—his Adam’s apple seemed to *sink* with a strange shiver, melting away as his larynx constricted and his pitch crept higher, softer, less *imposing*.

“No, no... this is... unexpected!” he gasped, yet his voice wasn’t his; it *rose* mid-sentence, becoming undeniably feminine, smooth as silk rather than frightful as gravel.

His body seized with thousands of tingling pinpricks as bone and flesh contorted. His powerful, statuesque, seven-foot demonic frame *collapsed* inward. With every passing breath, he shrank, his antennas dissolving with a stinging tingle, horns receding, nails flattening, all those exaggerated, cartoonish edges smoothing away. His forearms and legs lightened, red fading to warm tan, claws and hooves receding to normal human fingers and toes. His permanent, carved grin felt odd, *wrong*. The sides of his mouth *shrunk*, muscles relaxing, lips plumping, molding into a far softer, more *human* smile, already painted with a touch of lipstick that had never, could never have existed in Hell.

“What in the blazes—?” Alastor’s grin melted, her lips parting in honest, raw uncertainty as she fumbled for meaning. A deep ache blossomed in her chest—she gasped, feeling pounds of soft, new weight as her chest rounded, swelling beneath her now-straining suit. A *pop,* almost comical, sounded below her waist as—horrifyingly—her very genitals inverted, reassembling themselves inside her new feminine pelvis.

Alastor—*the* Alastor—screamed. But the voice that came out was not his own: higher, frightened, human.

“Oh, God... What’s happening to me?” she cried, clutching her body as it was *carved anew*. Her waist pulled harshly inward. Hips and thighs, once so angular and stick-thin, flared out—flesh padding in sleek curves. Breast tissue strained against fabric as her dapper red pinstripes shimmered and *faded* away, transforming into a snug gray blazer over a light red blouse, a swaying pencil skirt, and pure black flats.

Her cane fell limp in her shrinking, rounded hand—no longer a broadcaster’s instrument, the sentient microphone sagged like a wilted flower, then *snapped* into a modern black news microphone. Her monocle vanished, replaced by black hair falling long and loose around a soft face with striking eyes—her sclera white, irises brown, pupils round, not a hint of malice.

Her towering height receded. She *shrunk*—down, down, down—until all was proportionate, all was ordinary. Five feet three inches of average, curvy, utterly human woman.

Alastor staggered, grasping now at *memories* that were becoming less and less hers with each passing heartbeat. The power—her abilities—gone. She waved her hand, tried to incant, but darkness and magic answered not. All those cunning, supernatural strengths had *vanished*.

*No! I am Alastor! This—* But the thought felt fuzzy, distant. The world itself warped. The infernal reds flickered. Her surroundings blurred, growing glossy, three-dimensional, as the artifice of Hell and its bold, 2D lines melted into subtle, living color: the world of flesh and blood, paper and screens.

*Who... am I?*

Her mind reeled, fighting, but *her* thoughts—thoughtful, assertive, caring but proud—surged in and replaced the old. The name “Alastor” shattered like cheap glass, swept away by real, human recollections: pitching stories to her boss about education reform; skateboarding with her niece; a love for strong coffee (but not the sinister, bitter taste that demon once craved). The demon’s perpetual grin faded away; emotion breathed through her face—confusion, fear, and then, nothing but focus.

*My name is...* The mental static cleared, leaving only the steady hum of a human mind.

She blinked as the world faded to a peaceful, inky black. Then a *jolt*.

~

A sharp, fluorescent studio light snapped on.

*“We’re back in thirty,”* someone called.

She gasped, sitting up straight at her desk, dressed—of course—in her sharp gray skirt suit. A black necklace rested against her throat. She glanced around. The familiar LED signs of Channel 7 News. The clipboard in her hand—her notes. The black microphone, wires running offscreen.

*What was I just imagining?* She suppressed a nervous chuckle. She hadn’t been a seven-foot demon, or a man, or anything outlandish. *Of course I wasn’t. That’s crazy,* she assured herself.

The floor manager counted down: “Three, two—”

She straightened her papers, put on a warm and professional smile that came easily to her now, pleased to feel how genuine it was.

“Good evening, everyone. I’m **Ariana Sayeed**, and you’re watching Channel 7 News.”

Her voice was warm, perfectly pitched, and carried no echo of static or infernal mischief—only crisp professionalism.

“And tonight, we bring you an important update: the City Council has just approved new legislation for universal public pre-kindergarten, guaranteeing free pre-K for all three- and four-year-olds starting next fall. This landmark move is set to affect over ten thousand families across our city, and we’ll be talking to parents, teachers, and members of the council for their reactions. Stay tuned, I’ll be joined by education correspondent Maria Lee after the break to break down what this means for you and your children.”

She relaxed in her chair as the cameras rolled into the next segment. **Ariana**—never Alastor, a name she didn’t recognize, a shadow from nowhere—was secure, settled, and ready to continue her real life’s work. All that other *nonsense*—the wild images, the gender and world and body so unlike her real self—she dismissed as nothing more than a wandering daydream. There was always news to report, and tonight, the city would hear her voice.

This story was generated by user JesterImps with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.

Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.

AI Prompts

Prompt: Write a transformation story of Alastor (a character, voiced by Amir Talai, from an adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel) turning into a female human news reporter (from real life), complete with gender change (Alastor turning from male to female, a pair of womanly breasts grows on his chest, while his mouth shrank to a normal-sized human mouth with his lips plumping up into a woman's lips with lipsticks applied to it, as body becomes more curvy and feminine (with his waists curving inwards while his hips and thighs pump up with feminine fat to make him sexier), while his Adam's apple in his throat vanished to make his voice higher-pitched and feminine, while his male genitals (testicles and a penis) invert itself and sucks into his body with a wet "pop" to turn into a vagina, ovaries, and uterus, making Alastor realize that he is now a girl), voice change (not only becoming higher-pitched and feminine, but also loose a radio static-like effect in his voice), clothes change (Alastor's clothes instantly turn into a woman's skateboarding outfit), age change, height regression (turning from 7 feet tall to somewhere around 5.3 feet tall), supernatural powers loss (losing his supernatural powers/abilities, while his thin cane with a sentient vintage style microphone on it becoming lifeless and instantly transforming into a black news microphone), art style and reality change (Alastor's world in Hazbin Hotel's depiction of Hell becoming the real world on Earth, with his body's art style turning from 2D-animated into live-action to match everyone from this new reality), and mind/mental change (with Alastor's personality and memories becoming fuzzy, being completely replaced with a female news reporter's personality and memories (as his, now her, face loses her permanent grin and making her able to make various emotions like a normal person), despite her best efforts of fighting these new personality and memories (she then remembers her real/true name that starts with "A"), and as the mind clears up, the hellish world around her starts fading into blackness and, after turning back to normal (her real life has always been a human woman), and once her real memories come back to her, she jolts back to consciousness, waking up from her daydream (which she has completely forgotten about) and back to her true reality (therefore she is back to her true self) and she opens her eyes and wakes up to reality and finds herself back in a news station she had always remembered ever since she got a job there them years ago, and she realizes that she was daydreaming on a commercial break. She has completely forgotten that she was ever Alastor the Radio Demon (who never existed), later realizing that she was imagining being Alastor all this time and realizing that her previous self as Alastor was not real (confirming that she was never a man (she had always been a woman) and that she was never a demon to begin with (since demons never existed), even she knew that she was never Alastor (she does not know anyone named Alastor), that was impossible, since Alastor was never real (he was just an adults animated character and he never existed) and she knows that she was and always always had been a human woman and she had always been herself), although she doesn't understand on what she had imagined/dreamt a minute ago during the commercial break, and she remembered that she was and always had been a normal human woman who lived a life of an educator and a news reporter (and she knew that she always had been a human woman, which is her real and true self), and she goes back into her job as the news reporter greets the viewers (with her own name and the news channel's name) before she announces a recent and important news story (you can make up an important news story for the end of this story)). For Alastor's appearance, he is a slim (having an unnaturally thin torso, neck, arms, and legs, except his shoulders are broad), dapper sinner demon with beige-colored skin, and usually has an unnaturally broad smile (reaching from each cheek's upper area) full of sharp, yellow teeth (he has no ability to frown due to this permanent smile). He is approximately 7 feet tall. He sports a pinkish-red cropped, angled bob-cut with black tips at the ends and two large, black tipped tufts of hair extending from the top of his head, evoking the ears of a deer. The style has an undercut at the back, and two small black antlers protruding from the crown, which can grow in size in his full demonic form. Alastor's eyes have dark-red sclerae, bright-red irises and thin black pupils (which can change into the shape of radio dials when shifting into his full demon form). He also has four fingers (like all Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss characters), unlike real world humans. His forearms and lower legs fade to dark grey, and he has red hoof-toed feet and red clawed fingers. Alastor wears a red pinstripe coat with dark-red lapels piped with white, which is ragged along the bottom hem. Underneath this he wears a bright red dress-shirt with a black cross on the chest, and long black dress pants with matching bright red cuffs. He also wears a dark-red oval-shaped monocle, rimmed with black, over his right eye. He accessorizes with a black knotted bowtie with a bright red center, black gloves with red at the fingertips, and black pointed-toe boots with red deer hoofprints emblazoned on the soles. Alastor also carries a thin cane with a sentient vintage style microphone attached to it, which he uses to play sound effects and broadcast his voice. His voice also sounds like it is coming from an old-fashioned vintage radio. Alastor has many supernatural powers, such as demon transformation (the ability to turn into a more powerful demon form), flexibility (able to contort his body into numerous unnatural poses), demonic magic (able to cast magic thanks to the high power-level he has accrued in the demon ranking system, this magic takes the visual form of glowing red symbols that resemble Voodoo veve, which float around him), shadow manipulation (able to summon shadows and manipulate them into doing his bidding), spatial warping (able to get around with the help of his shadow, allowing teleportation through this ability), portal creation (able to transport others to his location easily via the portals he makes), pyrokinesis (able to summon small balls of fire for display purpose), phytokinesis (able to make plants wilt with a single stare), manifestation, photokinesis (able to project red glowing light from his eyes as well as his microphone), and outfit alteration (capable of changing the outfits of his targets as well as his own with a snap of a finger). He is also capable of various other abilities including deal-making (as Alastor is known to be a deal-maker demon; deal-maker demons like Alastor can increase their power by dealing in souls, which is a very powerful commodity in hell, so they’re seen as very manipulative and not to be toyed with, deal-making is not something every demon can do, as such it is not to be taken lightly as it doesn’t generally work out well for the other party), broadcasting (when he was a living human, Alastor's profession was as a radio show host, and he continues his broadcasts in Hell as a demon, ensuring that Hell's denizens are aware of his activities over the airwaves, earning him the title of "The Radio Demon"), bilingualism (Alastor can speak English fluently as well as some broken Creole French), cooking (Alastor is noted to be "a big foodie" and mentions having admired his mother's cooking, specifically her Jambalaya), musical/dancing/theatrical talent (Alastor is known to display moderate vocal abilities and excels at dancing, with some people noting tap to be a style he excels in specifically, he also shows a flair for theatrical showmanship), and wide intellect (Alastor is known to be quite a cunning individual, resulting in him accruing a large amount of power through his tricks and deal-making). Alastor stands out from many of the more chaotic residents of hell for his well maintained amiable persona. He gives a first-impression of a good-natured and charming man, wearing a permanently wide grin on his face at all times. His behavior, mannerisms, and even his voice are similar to an old-fashioned radio announcer and speaks with a transatlantic accent, often using quaint anachronisms such as "the picture show" and refers to Charlie as a "charming demon belle". This playful dandyish exterior, however, obscures a much darker side to him - one with high levels of self-importance - and he will not hesitate to use physical violence when others don't act in line with his very particular values or expectations. He is noted to be narcissistic, with his love for himself being stated that no one else can measure up to it, and he does not see many people quite up to his level. Alastor is described as a man of duality. He values good manners, affability and intelligence very highly in others, and will actively look down on those who do not meet his standards, however he will often play fast and loose with these arbitrary rules in regards to himself and his own conduct. Alastor has an odd sense of morality, which is described as "not normal", and has been noted to be quite sadistic, even cannibalistic, devouring lesser demons or those that have incurred his anger. Despite this, he keeps close friends with the other cannibals of Hell, including the denizens at the Cannibal Town. His smiling is a very self enforced form of ego and a show of power and dominance; he looks down on anyone who lets their true emotions show, and even when faced with a rival in strength, if they let slip a frown, Alastor will see them as truly weak. His smile is also to be more unpredictable and unnerving, and gives him a feeling of complete control over himself. While Alastor is powerful, he is aware that there are other demons and entities that rival him in terms of power, such as other Overlords. For this reason, he is wary around such demons, as they could potentially harm him if he is not careful. Despite everything, Alastor does genuinely seem to want to help Charlie run the Hazbin Hotel, albeit for his own amusement, and hopes for its failure over siding with her idealism. Alastor also dismisses the idea that redemption is possible as laughable, nevertheless, he fulfills his role as patron as promised, providing the hotel with staff, and protecting Charlie and her business from outside threats. He views the whole endeavor as a fun distraction from his decades of boredom. Despite consistently having a confident and cheerful demeanor, he harbors a vulnerable side that becomes apparent when confronted with reminders of being "chained". In this instance, his facade of certainty crumbles, and he succumbs to panic attack. According to Mimzy (Alastor's friend), when Alastor was alive he would become a "kitten" (not literally a kitten) if he drank enough rye whiskey while jazz music was on. Here are Alastor's preferences (his likes and dislikes); he likes himself (including his own fashion style), smiling, doodling, gossip and drama, invading others' personal space, his mother and her cooking, jazz music, strong liquor, cooking, seeing people fail, playing pranks, bitter tastes (especially those of black coffee), theater, dancing, the Stock Market Crash of 1929, venison, being in charge, Charlie's potential, pineapple on pizza, and making jokes. However, he dislikes Lucifer Morningstar (the king of Hell and Charlie Morningstar's father) and his "tacky" circus décor, Susan (a Cannibal Town resident), being touched (including his hair being touched), dogs, frowning, tea, anything sweet, Angel Dust's sexual remarks, being humbled, post-30s' technology, anyone ruining his outfit, being controlled and reminded of it, the idea of the hotel failing, and Mimzy bringing destruction to the hotel. For the news reporter woman's appearance (after Alastor turned into her), she is an average-sized human woman, about 159 centimeters (5.3 feet) tall and weighing around 59 kilograms (130 lbs), and with light tan skin, long dark hair, beautiful normal (human) eyes, flat human teeth, and a curvy and sexy body. Her outfit is a business suit, which appears to be a gray skirt suit, consisting of a blazer-style jacket and a knee-length pencil skirt. She also wears a light red button-down shirt underneath the jacket and black flats. Additionally, she has on a black necklace. She is caring and thoughtful to her friends and she herself is authoritative, smart, and cunning. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking.

Response: Certainly! Below is a detailed **fantasy transformation story** following your specifications (with quotes). --- **“Transformation on the Airwaves”** Alastor—the Radio Demon, masterful broadcaster, hellion of a thousand dreadful deals—stood tall as ever in the eternal sunset of Hell, his dapper suit gleaming, his ever-present grin glinting like a knife under the scarlet clouds. The staccato crackle of his voice burbled out, garbled in familiar radio static, as he held his sentient microphone-cane aloft and laughed, “Ah, what a magnificent evening to... indulge in a little broadcasted mayhem, don’t you agree?” Suddenly, reality shifted—Hell’s landscape flickered, the noise from the wireless fading into an ominous hum. The very fabric of this demonic world rippled, and Alastor’s eyes widened. He felt something tug at his soul, something **alien**, something strong. “Hmm? Now what’s this? Some new trickster on the block?” he mused, his voice still playful—though uneasy. A strange warmth rushed over him, like spotlight beams singeing flesh. The first sensation was in his throat: the *buzz* and *crackle* of radio static faded away, replaced by a smooth, living resonance. Alastor clutched at his neck—his Adam’s apple seemed to *sink* with a strange shiver, melting away as his larynx constricted and his pitch crept higher, softer, less *imposing*. “No, no... this is... unexpected!” he gasped, yet his voice wasn’t his; it *rose* mid-sentence, becoming undeniably feminine, smooth as silk rather than frightful as gravel. His body seized with thousands of tingling pinpricks as bone and flesh contorted. His powerful, statuesque, seven-foot demonic frame *collapsed* inward. With every passing breath, he shrank, his antennas dissolving with a stinging tingle, horns receding, nails flattening, all those exaggerated, cartoonish edges smoothing away. His forearms and legs lightened, red fading to warm tan, claws and hooves receding to normal human fingers and toes. His permanent, carved grin felt odd, *wrong*. The sides of his mouth *shrunk*, muscles relaxing, lips plumping, molding into a far softer, more *human* smile, already painted with a touch of lipstick that had never, could never have existed in Hell. “What in the blazes—?” Alastor’s grin melted, her lips parting in honest, raw uncertainty as she fumbled for meaning. A deep ache blossomed in her chest—she gasped, feeling pounds of soft, new weight as her chest rounded, swelling beneath her now-straining suit. A *pop,* almost comical, sounded below her waist as—horrifyingly—her very genitals inverted, reassembling themselves inside her new feminine pelvis. Alastor—*the* Alastor—screamed. But the voice that came out was not his own: higher, frightened, human. “Oh, God... What’s happening to me?” she cried, clutching her body as it was *carved anew*. Her waist pulled harshly inward. Hips and thighs, once so angular and stick-thin, flared out—flesh padding in sleek curves. Breast tissue strained against fabric as her dapper red pinstripes shimmered and *faded* away, transforming into a snug gray blazer over a light red blouse, a swaying pencil skirt, and pure black flats. Her cane fell limp in her shrinking, rounded hand—no longer a broadcaster’s instrument, the sentient microphone sagged like a wilted flower, then *snapped* into a modern black news microphone. Her monocle vanished, replaced by black hair falling long and loose around a soft face with striking eyes—her sclera white, irises brown, pupils round, not a hint of malice. Her towering height receded. She *shrunk*—down, down, down—until all was proportionate, all was ordinary. Five feet three inches of average, curvy, utterly human woman. Alastor staggered, grasping now at *memories* that were becoming less and less hers with each passing heartbeat. The power—her abilities—gone. She waved her hand, tried to incant, but darkness and magic answered not. All those cunning, supernatural strengths had *vanished*. *No! I am Alastor! This—* But the thought felt fuzzy, distant. The world itself warped. The infernal reds flickered. Her surroundings blurred, growing glossy, three-dimensional, as the artifice of Hell and its bold, 2D lines melted into subtle, living color: the world of flesh and blood, paper and screens. *Who... am I?* Her mind reeled, fighting, but *her* thoughts—thoughtful, assertive, caring but proud—surged in and replaced the old. The name “Alastor” shattered like cheap glass, swept away by real, human recollections: pitching stories to her boss about education reform; skateboarding with her niece; a love for strong coffee (but not the sinister, bitter taste that demon once craved). The demon’s perpetual grin faded away; emotion breathed through her face—confusion, fear, and then, nothing but focus. *My name is...* The mental static cleared, leaving only the steady hum of a human mind. She blinked as the world faded to a peaceful, inky black. Then a *jolt*. ~ A sharp, fluorescent studio light snapped on. *“We’re back in thirty,”* someone called. She gasped, sitting up straight at her desk, dressed—of course—in her sharp gray skirt suit. A black necklace rested against her throat. She glanced around. The familiar LED signs of Channel 7 News. The clipboard in her hand—her notes. The black microphone, wires running offscreen. *What was I just imagining?* She suppressed a nervous chuckle. She hadn’t been a seven-foot demon, or a man, or anything outlandish. *Of course I wasn’t. That’s crazy,* she assured herself. The floor manager counted down: “Three, two—” She straightened her papers, put on a warm and professional smile that came easily to her now, pleased to feel how genuine it was. “Good evening, everyone. I’m **Ariana Sayeed**, and you’re watching Channel 7 News.” Her voice was warm, perfectly pitched, and carried no echo of static or infernal mischief—only crisp professionalism. “And tonight, we bring you an important update: the City Council has just approved new legislation for universal public pre-kindergarten, guaranteeing free pre-K for all three- and four-year-olds starting next fall. This landmark move is set to affect over ten thousand families across our city, and we’ll be talking to parents, teachers, and members of the council for their reactions. Stay tuned, I’ll be joined by education correspondent Maria Lee after the break to break down what this means for you and your children.” She relaxed in her chair as the cameras rolled into the next segment. **Ariana**—never Alastor, a name she didn’t recognize, a shadow from nowhere—was secure, settled, and ready to continue her real life’s work. All that other *nonsense*—the wild images, the gender and world and body so unlike her real self—she dismissed as nothing more than a wandering daydream. There was always news to report, and tonight, the city would hear her voice.

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