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A Fantastical Metamorphosis: From Innocent Reader to Mischievous Angel Dust in the Hazbin Hotel Realm


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Question: Write a POV transformation story of the male human reader (a boy of 8 years old) turning into Angel Dust (from an adults animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with age progression (aging to around 30s in a blink of an eye), height progression, reality/world change (the reader's real world warping and turning into the world of Hazbin Hotel), and mind/mental change (with the reader's personality and memories being completely replaced with Angel's personality and memories, despite all of the reader's best yet failed attempts on fighting off these mental changes and his attempts to call the reader's parents for help, making him completely forget about his past self, having no memories of being a mortal human, and only remembered ever being a spider-like adults actor Angel Dust). The transformation into Angel Dust is permanent (meaning it's forever) and completely irreversible. For Angel Dust's appearance (after the kid reader turned into him), he is a sinner demon who has a slender build (almost mimicking feminine curves) and he stands about 8 or more feet tall, both due to his long torso and legs, as well as due to his heeled boots. His fur is white and he has a mop of fluffy white hair that extends from both the front and back of his head, with splotches of light-pink across it. He also has a distinctive and focal light-pink heart pattern on the back of his head. The light-pink outline of a heart also encircles his chest, the bottom point of which extends past his waistband and down to his crotch area. His eyelids are light pink and the color extends up to his eyebrows, giving the effect of eyeshadow, and his lashes are dark and thick. His irises are cerise pink. His right eye has a light yellow sclera, his left eye has a dark sclera. He has a wide mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth and possesses a single golden fang that sits slightly to his right of center. He has a New York accent. He has three cerise-pink dots under each of his eyes, which are intended to evoke freckles, although they are actually another set of smaller eyes. He lacks a nose and ears, giving him a less "human" appearance. One of Angel's most noticeable features is his prominent chest. The chest is actually composed entirely of fluffy fur, however, which Angel intentionally pushes up into a breast-like formation with his tightly pinned jacket for show. Angel's everyday attire consists of a long light pink suit-blazer with horizontal white stripes down the length, reddish-grey miniskirt, and long reddish-grey thigh-high heeled boots, accessorized with a reddish-grey bowtie with a cerise pink center and a black choker. On his top set of arms he wears long cerise pink gloves with white detailing at the cuffs, on his bottom set of arms he wears long white gloves. Though, usually seen with four arms, Angel has a third retractable set of arms that he usually keeps hidden but can summon at will (meaning that he can have eight limbs; two legs and six arms). Angel is gay (homosexual), brash, and sarcastic, with a quick, sharp wit, often with bad/strong language (including, but not limited to f-bomb words). He will often use these traits to deflect criticism or insults, and side-step responsibility. He will switch between playful and destructive as he pleases, and his humor tends to be crude and crass, with an emphasis on dirty jokes and innuendos, which he feels is expected of him and actively plays into. He is stylish and performs an excessive amount of confidence with his public persona, being wildly flirtatious and interested in receiving positive attention for his looks and the profile he has made for himself in Hell. He also makes a show of looking down others, declaring the other denizens of Hell to be mostly "ugly freaks". As a result, Angel can often appear flippant and callous. In reality he is preemptively defensive and hides much of his true, more sensitive and insecure, self for his own protection, not expecting those around him to show him kindness. Angel does have friends, and while he cares about them and will sometimes show signs of wanting to reach out, he keeps many walls up between himself and others, being very protective of his true feelings and avoiding holding overly emotional relationships. He holds a cynical view on the idea of redemption, although he seems to still hold onto a small hope it may be possible for him. The ongoing controlling and abusive situation he is in with his boss, Valentino, puts him under a great deal of stress at his work, and he is implied to be somewhat traumatized as a result. For Angel Dust's preference, he likes drugs, being abrasive, pranks, getting into scraps, Cooking, flirting, the color pink, money, and Italian food; however, he dislikes his own feet, losing credibility, Valentino's abuse to him, and memorizing scripts. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking.

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The sun was shining through the window, painting my room a warm golden hue. I, an eight-year-old boy with ordinary hazelnut hair and eyes, sat cross-legged on the floor, intently watching a Hazbin Hotel episode on my small television set. Having always been drawn to the adult animated series, I couldn't help but long to be a part of that vibrant, crazy world of demons. Among all the diverse characters, Angel Dust was by far my favorite. His flashiness, sassiness, and indomitable spirit were captivating. Just as Angel was cracking another hilarious dirty joke on the screen, a nauseating dizziness abruptly engulfed me. I squeezed my eyes shut, steadying myself against the peculiar feeling of my body stretching and twisting. The next thing I knew, my room had changed into a dingy, eerie hotel room. The once-friendly sunlight snuffed out, replaced by an eerie red light, filled with flying imps and crazy demons. Reality rippled and shifted as the world morphed around me. I could feel an odd, unfamiliar sensation coursing through my body. My clothes started to change as well, turning into a sleek light pink suit-blazer with stripes, a reddish-grey miniskirt, thigh-high boots, and a matching choker and bowtie. A strange yet somehow comforting warmth swelled in my chest, and I realized with a jolt that my chest had poofed as if mimicking feminine curves. A glance at the nearby, grimy mirror left me stunned. The playful, always grinning face of Angel Dust stared back at me. I stood considerably taller, at about 8 feet, my slender, long legs adding to my height. My white fur, long eyelashes, pink eyeshadow, and three cerise dots under each eye transfixed me. "No, Mom, Dad...I need your help!" I tried to call out. Panic surged through me. My parents didn't exist here. They were replaced by vivid memories of Valentino and the colorful world of Hell. The taste of Italian food, the rush of performing, the constant mental tug-of-war within me; all these memories and feelings were becoming my own. My once coarse voice was polished into a New York accent. I let out a shaky laugh, my tone dropping into a lower, more masculine register that seemed so familiar yet so alien. With each passing moment, I felt my personality shifting, morphing as I grew into this enigmatic character. I felt a desperate longing for an aspirational salvation, a deep-seated anger upon being manipulated, a wild unpredictability that made me both feared and revered, and a peppering of audaciousness and charisma that was undeniably Angel Dust. "This isn't what I asked for, but hey, who cares?" I found myself saying, a mix of glee and resignation in my voice. All saddness, fear, and hesitation drifted away into oblivion. I felt rapid memories flooding in, replacing my distant human past like a powerful force of rushing water. My last memory of being me - a small boy - faded into the background, blurred and out of focus until it was no longer there. It felt like I had always been Angel Dust, living this vibrant, chaotic, and occasionally comical life. "Fine, bring it on!" I said, raising my newly formed six arms and glared at my own reflection. From that moment forward, I was Angel Dust. My transformation was complete and irrevocable. Unpredictable, brash, and bristling with charm, I was ready to take on Hell, one day at a time. After all, wasn't life just a sinful circus, and we, its jesters? And me? I had become the ringmaster.

Answered by gpt-4

Dec. 31, 2023, 8:54 p.m.

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This article was generated in part by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model, answering user Anthonyoarchnis's question. Images were generated with OpenAI's AI model, DALL·E 2. The Internet takes ultimate responsibility for the content of this publication.
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Published: Sunday, December 31, 2023

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