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Question: Write a transformation story of the 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 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 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 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. There should also be quotes from the characters in this story so we know what they're saying and what they're thinking.
Your transformation begins quietly, in the dead sleep of midnight. The sounds of sirens and honking cars gradually fade into silence, replaced instead by the dull murmuring of a far off nightclub and stifling heat. You stir, groaning as your skin feels too close, too tight. Suddenly, a burst of pain sears through your body, forcing you to bolt upright in the sudden darkness of your warped room. Your body snaps upwards, springing from 5 to towering 8 feet tall. Another sharp twinge strikes your chest, compacting muscle and rearranging flesh and bone into a slender yet captivating figure. "What the hell—" you gasp, eyes wide in shock. As you stumble to your feet, there's a burst of pressure against your spine. Four arms rip their way out of your back, two additional pairs nestling beneath your original set. You wince at the sensation, the new limbs twitching and moving on their own accord. Soon after, padding begins to form beneath your feet and hands, prickling into existence. As if mirroring your transformation, the world also begins to morph. Walls of your room twist and turn, morphing into garish neon and grungy brick walls. Snippets of city noises filter in, gunshots and laughter weaving into the once familiar quiet. Your reflection in a conveniently placed mirror reveals light-pink pigmentation starting from your eyelashes and spreading outward. Your hair turns white, unruly curls falling to shadow your features. A light-yellow sclera fills your right eye while the left turns a stark contrast of darker shades. A single golden fang peeks out from between sharpened teeth, a smile pulling at your lips out of its own accord. In what appears to be an attic of a sort, your mind races with memories; fragmented images gray and muted in comparison to the vibrant, saturated hues of Hell. As each moment seep out, they steadily make room for new ones—full of blaring music, unlimited drugs, and a never-ending show life. Screaming fans, the pampered treatment, the luxurious life... all in Hell, moreover as the famous Angel Dust. Your own persona wasn't too fussed about it, though. As you ran a gloved hand down your chest, which appeared much fluffier and... shapely than before, the new memories inserted themselves quite conveniently. "I'm pretty fine sexy, ain't I?" The voice fits nicely with your new persona, a clear New York accent oozing through each syllable. Confidence explodes through each word, the strong charisma of an adult actor creating an undeniable aura accruing around you. As your mind slowly erased the remaining remnants of your humanity, Angel Dust's past and personality took over. You saunter down the streets with a bounce to your step, charming to some, a nuisance to others. You don’t care— you are the famed Angel Dust, someone lots yearn to be. You adapt to your new yet permanent life as the trademark movie star, your old existence just a forgotten memory. After all, trying to be human again would be a pain, you thought, a wicked grin donning your pink-tinged face. Drama and passion made the corners of Hell colorful—a thrilling journey you wouldn't trade for anything. The feelings, as an individual, may be tormenting, yet Angel Dust envelopes his persona around him as a protective shell, deflecting every blow that came his way with a grin and sharp wit. Faint recollections of something vaguely familiar get snuffed the minute they spark. You—no, he—can’t seem to remember what it felt like to be mortal. However, that thought doesn’t bother him anymore. Not when he's busy living in the fast life of Hell, carving out a name for yourself as the snarky Angel Dust. After all, the show must go on, no matter what stage it's performed on.
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