Angel Dust lounged in his usual spot at the Happy Hotel, a sultry smirk stretching across his face. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and a hint of whiskey as the spider-like adult performer toyed with a strand of his fluffy white hair. He glanced at his manicured nails, which gleamed under the dim lights. "What a fuckin' dump," he muttered to himself, though a playful glint in his eyes hinted at his underlying amusement. “Still, it’s my dump.”
He kicked one of his boots' heels, sending a small cloud of dust into the air. Angel's bored gaze drifted towards the lobby, expecting to catch a glance at Charlie or Vaggie. Instead, a peculiar static crackled through the air, causing his cerise pink eyes to narrow.
"What the hell?" Angel groaned, leaning forward. Static wasn't an unusual occurrence in Hell, but this felt... different. It felt alive. Like a thousand old radios tuning in to the same malformed frequency.
The air in the lobby began to shimmer, bending light as if heat waves radiated from an unseen source. Angel stood, adjusting his bowtie nervously as the crackling intensified. Then, from the shimmer emerged Alastor, elegantly stepping into view as if exiting an invisible door.
"Good evening, dear sinners," Alastor declared, his transatlantic accent cutting through the static with crisp precision. His unwavering smile was both comforting and terrifying. "What a delight it is to see you all."
Angel rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his prominently displayed chest. "Great, it's the Radi-ho man. What's it this time, Al? Another one of your twisted tunes?”
Alastor's grin widened impossibly, his dark-red eyes locking onto Angel with predatory delight. "Why, Angel Dust, you wound me. How about a change of pace? Something transformative perhaps?"
Angel snorted, flipping his hair dismissively. "What are you gonna do, pretty boy? Give me a makeover? Like that's really your thing."
The Radio Demon chuckled, his laughter coming in short, static bursts. He extended his cane, the sentient microphone at the top gleaming ominously. "Oh, but this will be more than skin deep, my dear. How about a chance to forget all your worries, your pains, your past?"
Before Angel could react, a beam of scintillating crimson light shot forth from Alastor's microphone, enveloping the spider-like demon. Angel's figure vibrated, his sharp wit and brash exterior faltering as the light ensnared him.
"What the—" Angel began, only to be cut off as the light seeped into his skin, altering him from within. His height began to shrink, his 8-foot frame regressing to a more compact 7 feet. The fluffy white hair morphed, tightening into Alastor's angular bob-cut with black tips.
Pain seared through Angel's mind as memories burned away. His career, his sarcasm, his crude humor—all were obliterated, replaced with the polished, anachronistic persona of Alastor. As his body transformed, smooth beige-colored skin replaced his fur, and slender antlers pushed through his scalp.
Angel's cerise pink eyes dulled to a bright red, darkening around the sclera. His multiple limbs fused into a more human shape, fingers lengthening to crimson-tipped elegance. The light-pink patterns on his body twisted and reformed into Alastor's pinstriped suit.
"Gah!" Angel—no, Alastor—gasped, clutching his head. His voice warbled, shifting from Angel's gruff tone to the refined polish of the Radio Demon.
"Ahh, there we go," the new Alastor said, his smile never wavering. He tilted his head, as though adjusting to a familiar mask. "What a marvelous turn of events. I feel... quite renewed."
The transformation complete, Alastor straightened his bowtie, adjusting his monocle with a dark elegance. He looked around, taking in the hotel lobby with a fresh, confident gaze. His mind now flooded with memories of his life as Alastor, the Radio Demon; the iconic performer Angel Dust was utterly erased from existence.
"Now then," Alastor purred, his microphone crackling in affirmation. "Why don't we liven things up a bit, shall we?"
He turned to exit, leaving behind not even a trace of the brash and flamboyant performer he had once been. The Radio Demon had risen anew, a testament to the ever-chaotic nature of Hell.
And the laughter that followed was pure, static-filled music to Alastor's ears.
This story was generated by user MorningstarSon3 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 the transformation story of Angel "Anthony" Dust (from the adults cartoon/animated series "Hazbin Hotel" made by VivziePop) turning into Alastor (also from the adults cartoon/animated series "Hazbin Hotel" made by VivziePop), complete with age change, height regression, and mind/mental change (with Angel's personality and memories being completely replaced with Alastor's personality and memories, making him completely forget that he was a spider-like adults actor Angel Dust and only remembered ever being Alastor the Radio Demon). For Angel Dust's appearance, he has a slender build and he stands around 8 feet with his heels on. 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 three cerise-pink dots under each of his eyes, which are intended to evoke freckles, although they are actually another set of smaller eyes. 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, Angel has a third retractable set of arms that he usually keeps hidden but can summon at will. Angel is brash and sarcastic, with a quick, sharp wit. 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. For Alastor's appearance (after Angel Dust turned into him), he is a slim, dapper sinner demon with beige-colored skin, and usually has a broad smile full of sharp, yellow teeth. 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). His forearms and lower legs fade to dark grey, and he has red hoofed toes and red 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. Alastor stands out from many of the more chaotic residents of hell for his well maintained amiable persona. He gives the first-impression of a good-natured and charming man, wearing a permanently wide grin on his face at all times. Alastor's 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. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story (including swears/cursing from Angel Dust himself, but not from Alastor) so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking.
Response: Angel Dust lounged in his usual spot at the Happy Hotel, a sultry smirk stretching across his face. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and a hint of whiskey as the spider-like adult performer toyed with a strand of his fluffy white hair. He glanced at his manicured nails, which gleamed under the dim lights. "What a fuckin' dump," he muttered to himself, though a playful glint in his eyes hinted at his underlying amusement. “Still, it’s my dump.” He kicked one of his boots' heels, sending a small cloud of dust into the air. Angel's bored gaze drifted towards the lobby, expecting to catch a glance at Charlie or Vaggie. Instead, a peculiar static crackled through the air, causing his cerise pink eyes to narrow. "What the hell?" Angel groaned, leaning forward. Static wasn't an unusual occurrence in Hell, but this felt... different. It felt alive. Like a thousand old radios tuning in to the same malformed frequency. The air in the lobby began to shimmer, bending light as if heat waves radiated from an unseen source. Angel stood, adjusting his bowtie nervously as the crackling intensified. Then, from the shimmer emerged Alastor, elegantly stepping into view as if exiting an invisible door. "Good evening, dear sinners," Alastor declared, his transatlantic accent cutting through the static with crisp precision. His unwavering smile was both comforting and terrifying. "What a delight it is to see you all." Angel rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his prominently displayed chest. "Great, it's the Radi-ho man. What's it this time, Al? Another one of your twisted tunes?” Alastor's grin widened impossibly, his dark-red eyes locking onto Angel with predatory delight. "Why, Angel Dust, you wound me. How about a change of pace? Something transformative perhaps?" Angel snorted, flipping his hair dismissively. "What are you gonna do, pretty boy? Give me a makeover? Like that's really your thing." The Radio Demon chuckled, his laughter coming in short, static bursts. He extended his cane, the sentient microphone at the top gleaming ominously. "Oh, but this will be more than skin deep, my dear. How about a chance to forget all your worries, your pains, your past?" Before Angel could react, a beam of scintillating crimson light shot forth from Alastor's microphone, enveloping the spider-like demon. Angel's figure vibrated, his sharp wit and brash exterior faltering as the light ensnared him. "What the—" Angel began, only to be cut off as the light seeped into his skin, altering him from within. His height began to shrink, his 8-foot frame regressing to a more compact 7 feet. The fluffy white hair morphed, tightening into Alastor's angular bob-cut with black tips. Pain seared through Angel's mind as memories burned away. His career, his sarcasm, his crude humor—all were obliterated, replaced with the polished, anachronistic persona of Alastor. As his body transformed, smooth beige-colored skin replaced his fur, and slender antlers pushed through his scalp. Angel's cerise pink eyes dulled to a bright red, darkening around the sclera. His multiple limbs fused into a more human shape, fingers lengthening to crimson-tipped elegance. The light-pink patterns on his body twisted and reformed into Alastor's pinstriped suit. "Gah!" Angel—no, Alastor—gasped, clutching his head. His voice warbled, shifting from Angel's gruff tone to the refined polish of the Radio Demon. "Ahh, there we go," the new Alastor said, his smile never wavering. He tilted his head, as though adjusting to a familiar mask. "What a marvelous turn of events. I feel... quite renewed." The transformation complete, Alastor straightened his bowtie, adjusting his monocle with a dark elegance. He looked around, taking in the hotel lobby with a fresh, confident gaze. His mind now flooded with memories of his life as Alastor, the Radio Demon; the iconic performer Angel Dust was utterly erased from existence. "Now then," Alastor purred, his microphone crackling in affirmation. "Why don't we liven things up a bit, shall we?" He turned to exit, leaving behind not even a trace of the brash and flamboyant performer he had once been. The Radio Demon had risen anew, a testament to the ever-chaotic nature of Hell. And the laughter that followed was pure, static-filled music to Alastor's ears.
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