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"Embracing Hellfire: Reader's Unveiling of Angel Dust"

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You’re sitting on your couch with a cup of coffee, minding your own business. The laptop screen in front of you flickers as you scroll through a few sites and come across some fan art of "Hazbin Hotel." You’ve always loved the show’s extravagant yet dark art style, such a crazy blend of humor, sin, and raw emotion. Suddenly, the room around you starts to blur, the edges of your vision darkening as if the world's being detailed over with new lines and shading.

You place your cup down, startled, a sinking feeling growing in your chest. “What the...?” you mutter.

Your hands stretch out in front of you, fingers elongating unnaturally. Panic sets in as the flesh turns white, changing texture into something fluffy—fur. A chill runs down your spine, amplified by the fear that somehow wraps around you like an invisible serpent.

You jump up and look around, but what was once your living room morphs into a twisted, vibrant version of Hell—Pentagram City—a chaotic blend of flashing signs, seedy alleyways, and inhabitants who look as if they’ve stepped right out of a graphic novel.

“What is happening to me?” you shout, your voice catching uncomfortably in your throat. It twists and distorts into a brash, quick, New York accent. “No, no, this can’t be real. It’s gotta be a dream!”

Your body grows rapidly—I mean really grows. You shoot up to an alarming 8 feet tall, legs lengthening and pressing against the heeled boots that suddenly encapsulate your feet. The weight of these limbs makes stumbling as your balance recalibrates a struggle. There’s a sharp pull at the waist and chest, as your old clothes stretch and morph into a light pink suit-blazer with stripes and a miniskirt. On autopilot, you look in the reflective surface of a shattered window and see him.

Angel Dust.

“This ain’t me!” you protest with your entire being, staring at the hollow-eyed and unnaturally grinning face looking back at you. “Shit, fuck, not now!” The expletives spill out naturally even though they aren’t words you’re accustomed to using.

Memories begin to flood you, like a dam breaking somewhere deep inside. Drugs, interviews, flashes of neon lights, sleazy studio sets. The taste of narcotics. The oppressive presence of Valentino. Your mind reels, a whirlpool of thoughts and fragmented scenes pulling and twisting, tearing at the fabric of your reality.

“No— I’m just— I’m...” you say, voice trembling. But it's getting harder to remember what those simple letters meant, who they referred to.

A voice echoes in your mind, a whisper that feels more like a command than a suggestion. "You are Angel Dust, Anthony. You were never a mundane person. That was just a daydream."

“Fuck you!” You try to push back, but your own voice betrays you, sounding just like his. "I’m... I’m not..."

"You are Angel Dust, always have been. Embrace it. Open your eyes, it's just Hell baby!"

You clutch your head, nails dragging against your scalp's fluff of hair. The memories of your past life as some normal, mundane person seem distant, fuzzy—a dream you're waking up from.

Terrified, you murmur, "Don't forget yourself. Don't forget..."

But it’s slipping—faster than you can hold onto it. The joys of cooking, the adrenaline of a good fight, your caustic humor, and the whimsical pranks suddenly feel so natural, so...familiar. It’s you.

"It was never real," the voice soothes, and you believe it. "You were always Anthony, always Angel Dust."

Warmth spreads through your chest as you finally let go. “Yeah,” you mutter with a laugh, the sound transitions smoothly from disgust to an oddly comforting camaraderie, “I was one fuckin' crazy kid to think otherwise. Who the hell pretends to be some normal nobody?”

You chuckle, shaking the last remnants of who you 'used' to be from your mind. The haze finally clears completely. You’re Angel Dust—flamboyant, sarcastic, damn stylish, and everyone’s favorite pain in the ass.

Pentagram City around you glows with a new sense of familiarity; hell, it's home. The bright, devilish desire pumps through you like an electric current, recharging the actor, the hell-raiser, the living cartoon you actually are.

You let a self-satisfied smirk tug at your lips. The clamor, the caustic humor, the glint of cerise eyes—it all feels right. It’s time to steal the show.

After all, you’ve always been the star.

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.

AI Prompts

Prompt: Write the POV transformation story of a human reader instantly turning into Angel Dust (from an 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’re sitting on your couch with a cup of coffee, minding your own business. The laptop screen in front of you flickers as you scroll through a few sites and come across some fan art of "Hazbin Hotel." You’ve always loved the show’s extravagant yet dark art style, such a crazy blend of humor, sin, and raw emotion. Suddenly, the room around you starts to blur, the edges of your vision darkening as if the world's being detailed over with new lines and shading. You place your cup down, startled, a sinking feeling growing in your chest. “What the...?” you mutter. Your hands stretch out in front of you, fingers elongating unnaturally. Panic sets in as the flesh turns white, changing texture into something fluffy—fur. A chill runs down your spine, amplified by the fear that somehow wraps around you like an invisible serpent. You jump up and look around, but what was once your living room morphs into a twisted, vibrant version of Hell—Pentagram City—a chaotic blend of flashing signs, seedy alleyways, and inhabitants who look as if they’ve stepped right out of a graphic novel. “What is happening to me?” you shout, your voice catching uncomfortably in your throat. It twists and distorts into a brash, quick, New York accent. “No, no, this can’t be real. It’s gotta be a dream!” Your body grows rapidly—I mean really grows. You shoot up to an alarming 8 feet tall, legs lengthening and pressing against the heeled boots that suddenly encapsulate your feet. The weight of these limbs makes stumbling as your balance recalibrates a struggle. There’s a sharp pull at the waist and chest, as your old clothes stretch and morph into a light pink suit-blazer with stripes and a miniskirt. On autopilot, you look in the reflective surface of a shattered window and see him. Angel Dust. “This ain’t me!” you protest with your entire being, staring at the hollow-eyed and unnaturally grinning face looking back at you. “Shit, fuck, not now!” The expletives spill out naturally even though they aren’t words you’re accustomed to using. Memories begin to flood you, like a dam breaking somewhere deep inside. Drugs, interviews, flashes of neon lights, sleazy studio sets. The taste of narcotics. The oppressive presence of Valentino. Your mind reels, a whirlpool of thoughts and fragmented scenes pulling and twisting, tearing at the fabric of your reality. “No— I’m just— I’m...” you say, voice trembling. But it's getting harder to remember what those simple letters meant, who they referred to. A voice echoes in your mind, a whisper that feels more like a command than a suggestion. "You are Angel Dust, Anthony. You were never a mundane person. That was just a daydream." “Fuck you!” You try to push back, but your own voice betrays you, sounding just like his. "I’m... I’m not..." "You are Angel Dust, always have been. Embrace it. Open your eyes, it's just Hell baby!" You clutch your head, nails dragging against your scalp's fluff of hair. The memories of your past life as some normal, mundane person seem distant, fuzzy—a dream you're waking up from. Terrified, you murmur, "Don't forget yourself. Don't forget..." But it’s slipping—faster than you can hold onto it. The joys of cooking, the adrenaline of a good fight, your caustic humor, and the whimsical pranks suddenly feel so natural, so...familiar. It’s you. "It was never real," the voice soothes, and you believe it. "You were always Anthony, always Angel Dust." Warmth spreads through your chest as you finally let go. “Yeah,” you mutter with a laugh, the sound transitions smoothly from disgust to an oddly comforting camaraderie, “I was one fuckin' crazy kid to think otherwise. Who the hell pretends to be some normal nobody?” You chuckle, shaking the last remnants of who you 'used' to be from your mind. The haze finally clears completely. You’re Angel Dust—flamboyant, sarcastic, damn stylish, and everyone’s favorite pain in the ass. Pentagram City around you glows with a new sense of familiarity; hell, it's home. The bright, devilish desire pumps through you like an electric current, recharging the actor, the hell-raiser, the living cartoon you actually are. You let a self-satisfied smirk tug at your lips. The clamor, the caustic humor, the glint of cerise eyes—it all feels right. It’s time to steal the show. After all, you’ve always been the star.

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