You are walking down a familiar street, your favorite coffee shop on the left and the park you love on the right. It’s just an ordinary day until the very fabric of your world starts to warp. Reality itself bends and contorts, vibrant colors bleeding into your vision as the familiar setting dissolves into chaos. You rub your eyes, blinks rapidly, but the distortion only intensifies. Panic claws at your chest, making your heartbeat thunder in your ears.
“What the hell is happening?” you mutter under your breath.
The world stabilizes suddenly, but it’s no longer the one you knew. You find yourself standing in a saturated, cartoonish version of reality, every edge over-exaggerated, everything rendered in hyper-stylized detail. Pentagram City now sprawls around you, teeming with its demonic inhabitants, each character straight out of Hazbin Hotel.
You look down at your hands and notice they’re no longer yours. Your skin is now covered in pure white fur, soft as velvet. Your fingers, now only four in number, are elongated, slender and adorned with pink gloves. “What the fuck?” you gasp, but the voice that escapes your lips is high-pitched, laced with a thick New York accent.
Your clothes twist and contort around you, morphing into Angel Dust's signature outfit. A light pink suit-blazer with horizontal white stripes all the way down, a reddish-grey miniskirt, and thigh-high heeled boots suddenly hug your form. Your height stretches out, leaving you towering at around eight feet tall due to your long limbs and the heeled boots.
“What’s happening to me?” you scream internally, your voice unable to capture the terror and confusion you feel—a voice now undeniably Angel Dust’s.
An intense fog rolls into your mind, distorting your thoughts. Panic sets in deep within as you feel your memories—your childhood, your family, the essence of who you were—start to dissolve and be forcefully replaced by something foreign.
“No, no, this isn’t right!” you think desperately, trying to hold on to who you are.
But the change is relentless. Memories flood in—ones that aren’t yours. Scenes of an earlier life in the 1940s as Anthony flash by: you, part of an Italian mob family, and the overdose that claimed your mortal life in 1947. You remember the day you arrived in Hell, the moment you adapted to your new form, the relentless loop of sex, drugs, and performing that has defined your existence ever since.
“Fuck off, I’m not this... this demon!” you scream mentally as the assault on your psyche intensifies.
Your personality starts to warp next. Brashness blooms, a sarcastic edge takes over, and witty comebacks designed to deflect the pain of existence become natural. You feel an alien sense of confidence and flamboyant showmanship overpowering your genuine feelings. You start to feel a pull towards being flamboyant, abrasive, and being hypersexual. The very essence of you, that frightened human, is being overwritten.
“Why the fuck am I treating everyone like this?” you berate yourself, even as a flirtatious and crude joke escapes your lips like second nature. You were never one for such language, but now it slips out with ease. “You’re all a bunch of ugly fucking freaks!” you shout at passing demons, your own voice startling you as you insult them preemptively.
A voice, singular and compelling, pipes in your head. “This is who you really are, Angel. You’ve always been Anthony. You’ve always been Angel Dust. Any memories of being a normal human? A mundane loser? Those were just a daydream.”
“No! I’m not Angel Dust!” you try to convince yourself, but the effort is weak.
“Remember who you are,” the voice insists, its tones almost persuasive. “Embrace it. You’re not someone else; you’ve always been gay, an adult film star, a sinner demon. You’ve been Angel Dust since 1947.”
And you start to believe it. You know it’s true. Each objection you held fades like a dissipating fog. It becomes impossible to think of that mundane life, hard to even remember why you struggled against it so.
“Y-yeah... Fuck, what the hell was I thinking,” you mutter, the human memories now feeling like a strange daydream. “I'm Angel Dust. I love drugs, fuckin’ with people, and causing shit.”
You embrace it fully, any lingering fear gone, replaced with a sense of acceptance. “Guess I needed that trip through mental hell to remind me,” you think wryly.
With a definite swagger, you strut through the exaggerated streets of Pentagram City, feeling at home, knowing this is where you belong. The facades, the personality, the looks—all of it fits perfectly.
You spot Fat Nuggets waddling towards you and grin widely, feeling another wave of crude humor bubble up. “Well, look who it is!” You scoop up the demon pig, feeling the weight and comfort of familiarity.
“Looks like I’m back, bitches,” you declare to no one and everyone, your transformation final, complete, and wholly irreversible.
This story was generated by user DylanVsFizzarolli6 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.
Prompt: Write a POV transformation story of a human reader instantly turning into Angel Dust (from the adults cartoon/animated series Hazbin Hotel), complete with art style shift (the reader now being in a cartoon world of the Hazbin Hotel series, and the reader now becoming a cartoon character with the same art style as the other Hazbin Hotel characters, rather than being a real life person), gender change (if the reader is a female), instant clothes change (the reader's clothes instantly changes into Angel Dust's outfit), age progression (aging until the reader is biologically somewhere around the 30s), height progression (growing from an average 5.7-6 foot height to 8 feet tall), voice change (the reader's voice changes into Angel Dust's voice), reality change (the reader's real world becoming the world of Hazbin Hotel), and mind/mental change (with the reader's personalities and memories being completely replaced with Angel Dust's personality and memories, despite the reader's best efforts of fighting his/her new personality and memories, making the reader completely forget he was a normal human person, even forgetting that the transformation that just occurred seconds ago, and instead he remembers ever being a sinner demon who died as a human man somewhere in 1947, and he remembers being a spider-like demon named "Angel Dust" since his mortal human death, and has since been in Hell afterwards and becoming a popular adults film actor (such as for sex films, etc)). For Angel Dust's appearance (after the reader turned into him), he is a sinner demon who has a slender build (almost mimicking feminine curves, despite being a male) and he stands about 8 or more feet tall, both due to his long torso and legs, as well as 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. He also has four fingers (like all Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss characters), unlike real world humans. 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 six limbs (two legs and 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). Here is Angel Dust's personality; he 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. Here are Angel Dust's preferences (likes/dislikes); he likes drugs, being abrasive, pranks, getting into scraps, cooking, flirting, popsicles, the color pink, monetary gain, and Italian food. However, he dislikes his own feet (he would avoid sex work that involved his feet, or else he would be angry about it if it was unavoidable), losing credibility, Valentino's abuse to him, memorizing scripts, Niffty getting into trouble (including Niffty handling weapons), anyone pointing out his facade (including being called fake), how expensive drugs and alcohol cost him, anyone else ending up like him, anyone discrediting his acting, Charlie's scriptwriting, and Charlie involving herself with Valentino's affairs. Here is Angel Dust's history (according to the Hazbin Hotel series); Anthony was born (when he was a human) on April 1st alongside his twin sister, Molly, in the early 20th century. He came from an Italian mob family in New York City. He died in his early-mid 30s in 1947 following a drug overdose. Upon entering Hell as a sinner demon, Anthony quickly became involved in sex work, cutting ties with his family's mob-related activities, and adopted the name "Angel Dust". He eventually met and signed a contract with Valentino. This gave Valentino ownership of Angel's soul and put him under his employment at his porn studio, which allowed Angel to eventually become one of the biggest adult film superstars in Hell. Continuing to drown out his world with narcotics and sex along with his twisted sense of humor, Angel followed a path of self-destruction to cope and in the hope that if he ruined himself enough Valentino would no longer want him as "his favorite toy" and release him from their contract. Angel at some point starred in a kidnapping BDSM film which won him a "Sex-x-xi" award over another actress, Tiffany Titfucker. At some point, Angel Dust was gifted a demon pig named Fat Nuggets from Valentino. The story is that the reader is minding his/her business, but then the world around him/her warps/changes into Pentagram City, located in the Pride Ring of Hell, as depicted in the adults cartoon/animated series "Hazbin Hotel" before his/her body started to change. After the reader (now truly a male if the reader was a female before the change) had fully transformed, he is confused, but then his mind becomes cloudy/foggy/fuzzy as he starts losing his previous personality and gaining a new personality (he's scared of his personality being replaced), making him homosexual, brash, and sarcastic, with a quick, sharp wit, often with bad/strong language (including, but not limited to f-bomb words), with these personality traits forcing into him against his will, however they become natural as if part of him. His memories are also being replaced with those of Angel Dust's, making him terrified of losing himself, as he starts remembering everything about Angel Dust's history, preferences, etc. During his horror, a voice tells him that this is who he really is and that he was never just a mundane person, telling him that he had always been Anthony (now named Angel Dust after arriving in Hell as a sinner demon), as well as always having been gay and loving sex, as well as loving drugs, being abrasive, pranks, getting into scraps, cooking, flirting, popsicles, the color pink, monetary gain, and Italian food, despite the reader's best efforts on fighting off the mind/mental changes (he's scared of losing his personality and memories, so he tells himself to not forget about himself). The voice then tells the reader that the life he remembers was not real (it was just a daydream he got lost in) and it tells/encourages the reader to remember who he really is (Angel Dust) and the reader starts to believe and trust the voice inside his head, and he realizes (or rather knows) that he is indeed Angel Dust and he was never someone who was mundane (which he realized/knew was only a strange daydream he just had; that was impossible for him to have been human just moments ago, since he died in 1947 and has been a sinner demon since then, so he questions on why he dreamt that so he quickly forgets all about that ever occurring and continues his afterlife). There should also be quotes from the characters in this story (including quotes from the reader) so we know what they are saying and what they are thinking (including profanities/swears/strong language/bad language, such as "fuck", "shit", "bitch", and many others that are used/said by Angel Dust, Vox, Valentino, etc, but the human reader doesn't use profanities/swears unlike Angel Dust, who the human reader transforms into). Also, it is a POV reader story, so it should not be in an author's point of view (my, I, mine, etc), and it should be from the point of view of the reader (you, your, etc).
Response: You are walking down a familiar street, your favorite coffee shop on the left and the park you love on the right. It’s just an ordinary day until the very fabric of your world starts to warp. Reality itself bends and contorts, vibrant colors bleeding into your vision as the familiar setting dissolves into chaos. You rub your eyes, blinks rapidly, but the distortion only intensifies. Panic claws at your chest, making your heartbeat thunder in your ears. “What the hell is happening?” you mutter under your breath. The world stabilizes suddenly, but it’s no longer the one you knew. You find yourself standing in a saturated, cartoonish version of reality, every edge over-exaggerated, everything rendered in hyper-stylized detail. Pentagram City now sprawls around you, teeming with its demonic inhabitants, each character straight out of Hazbin Hotel. You look down at your hands and notice they’re no longer yours. Your skin is now covered in pure white fur, soft as velvet. Your fingers, now only four in number, are elongated, slender and adorned with pink gloves. “What the fuck?” you gasp, but the voice that escapes your lips is high-pitched, laced with a thick New York accent. Your clothes twist and contort around you, morphing into Angel Dust's signature outfit. A light pink suit-blazer with horizontal white stripes all the way down, a reddish-grey miniskirt, and thigh-high heeled boots suddenly hug your form. Your height stretches out, leaving you towering at around eight feet tall due to your long limbs and the heeled boots. “What’s happening to me?” you scream internally, your voice unable to capture the terror and confusion you feel—a voice now undeniably Angel Dust’s. An intense fog rolls into your mind, distorting your thoughts. Panic sets in deep within as you feel your memories—your childhood, your family, the essence of who you were—start to dissolve and be forcefully replaced by something foreign. “No, no, this isn’t right!” you think desperately, trying to hold on to who you are. But the change is relentless. Memories flood in—ones that aren’t yours. Scenes of an earlier life in the 1940s as Anthony flash by: you, part of an Italian mob family, and the overdose that claimed your mortal life in 1947. You remember the day you arrived in Hell, the moment you adapted to your new form, the relentless loop of sex, drugs, and performing that has defined your existence ever since. “Fuck off, I’m not this... this demon!” you scream mentally as the assault on your psyche intensifies. Your personality starts to warp next. Brashness blooms, a sarcastic edge takes over, and witty comebacks designed to deflect the pain of existence become natural. You feel an alien sense of confidence and flamboyant showmanship overpowering your genuine feelings. You start to feel a pull towards being flamboyant, abrasive, and being hypersexual. The very essence of you, that frightened human, is being overwritten. “Why the fuck am I treating everyone like this?” you berate yourself, even as a flirtatious and crude joke escapes your lips like second nature. You were never one for such language, but now it slips out with ease. “You’re all a bunch of ugly fucking freaks!” you shout at passing demons, your own voice startling you as you insult them preemptively. A voice, singular and compelling, pipes in your head. “This is who you really are, Angel. You’ve always been Anthony. You’ve always been Angel Dust. Any memories of being a normal human? A mundane loser? Those were just a daydream.” “No! I’m not Angel Dust!” you try to convince yourself, but the effort is weak. “Remember who you are,” the voice insists, its tones almost persuasive. “Embrace it. You’re not someone else; you’ve always been gay, an adult film star, a sinner demon. You’ve been Angel Dust since 1947.” And you start to believe it. You know it’s true. Each objection you held fades like a dissipating fog. It becomes impossible to think of that mundane life, hard to even remember why you struggled against it so. “Y-yeah... Fuck, what the hell was I thinking,” you mutter, the human memories now feeling like a strange daydream. “I'm Angel Dust. I love drugs, fuckin’ with people, and causing shit.” You embrace it fully, any lingering fear gone, replaced with a sense of acceptance. “Guess I needed that trip through mental hell to remind me,” you think wryly. With a definite swagger, you strut through the exaggerated streets of Pentagram City, feeling at home, knowing this is where you belong. The facades, the personality, the looks—all of it fits perfectly. You spot Fat Nuggets waddling towards you and grin widely, feeling another wave of crude humor bubble up. “Well, look who it is!” You scoop up the demon pig, feeling the weight and comfort of familiarity. “Looks like I’m back, bitches,” you declare to no one and everyone, your transformation final, complete, and wholly irreversible.
AI Prompts: 1
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