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Question: Write a transformation story of the mortal human reader turning into Angel "Anthony" Dust (from the Hazbin Hotel series), complete with gender change (if the reader is a female), age change, 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, making the reader 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 Lucifer Morningstar is permanent (meaning it's forever) and completely irreversible. 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. 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). 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 preferences, he likes drugs, being abrasive, pranks, getting into scraps, cooking, flirting, the color pink, money, and Italian food, but 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 Angel, 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.
Your life as a mortal had its ups and downs, but it was nothing compared to your current predicament. Humming to yourself, you leisurely drank your coffee, blissfully unaware of the major transformation about to take place. As you lifted the milk carton, your hands suddenly felt lighter, almost airy. In the battle between trying to comprehend the situation and dismissing it as a figment of your imagination, you chose the latter. Yet, it became clear as day; it wasn't just an illusion when you looked at your reflection and saw with a gasp of disbelief, your usually dull, human eye color replaced by a strikingly cerise pink. Perplexed, your heart pounded against your rib cage, matching the rhythm of a song you heard from far off. The flamboyance in the tune seemed to resonate with you, awakening a part of you that never existed before. You stood taller, your slender silhouette reflecting femininity despite being a male figure. Since when did you have those long legs? Soon you realized your height was crossing the eight feet mark along with your body structure shifting according to each beat in the music. The transformation was well into play and there was no stopping it now. Panic pooled in your stomach as the reality you knew crumbled around you, repairing itself into an unfamiliar world. Buildings molded themselves into uncanny shapes, the sky wavered between hues of blue and red, and though you tried your best, you found yourself unable to call out for anyone, or even remember who you'd call out for. Despite your desperate attempts, your mind was lensing different memories, gradually burying your past, and replacing them with some other life that was not your own. These new memories packaged a whole new set of emotions, bridging with Angel Dust's sarcastic demeanor as the previous framework of your personality disintegrated. "Who's in control, huh?" a voice echoed in your head, a voice so distinct and firm with that New York accent that you had no choice but to believe it was your own. You twitched at the feeling of elongated eyelashes, framing your eyes heavier as if melodramatically inviting the world to look at you. "Taller, sassier, more machine than man now, ain't I?" You chuckled, unable to resist a glance at your reflection. You nearly jumped at the sight of a fluffy, white chest along with stylish attire – a pink suit-blazer paired with tall boots and matching gloves. An external appearance so elegant, so stunning that it even tricked you into momentarily believing you were free of worries. Yet, deep down, you knew something was inexplicably wrong. With each moment, your past life was wiped clean, lost in the abyss of forgotten tales and replaced by an embellished version of yourself – Angel Dust. "I can't remember who I am...or who I was..." you mumbled to yourself, getting lost in the rhythm of this new heartbeat. The memories of Angel Dust consumed you, embedding themselves into the essence of your very being. You were no longer the mortal you once were; you were Angel Dust now - a flamboyant adult star trapped helplessly within the illicit web of Hell. “I’ve actually never done this before,” you confessed, noticing the third retractable set of arms that sprouted at your command. The initial shock was gradually being replaced by acceptance; the universe had a hooker with a heart for dinner. Intoxicated by the entity of Angel Dust, you acknowledged the undeniably endless rollercoaster that lay ahead, which you – or rather Angel – were going to face flamboyantly. You caught a glimpse of yourself at a nearby reflective surface, clad in your scandalously atrocious attire, sporting a smirk that seared the hearts of many in Hell. The room echoed with Angel Dust's last words, "Hey, no one said livin' like me was gonna be easy." With a sigh, the familiarity of the phrase imprinted itself across the folds of your new existence. With your head held high, Angel Dust’s trademark devil-may-care attitude washed over you once more, hardening your heart against the onslaught of emotions that threatened to spill over. Even in the face of adversity, you grasped onto the thread of silk-spun hope, dulling the sting of your lost humanity. In this perpetual cycle of torment and pleasure, even as your sanity hung by the brittle thread of hope, you held onto your newly found identity, bracing to challenge Hell's grand melodrama with a sarcastic smirk and wink; "I’m a f****** poet and you didn't even know. Are we done?"
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