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other-lxxahazel · 19 days ago

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Can I get a domestic fluff Alastor x Reader where they bake together and he pretends to not know how just so she’ll guide him from behind and get all close? 🥺🥺🥺🥺😔

I gotchu anon UwU

╰┈➤ Oblivion

[Alastor x Clueless!Fem!Reader]

✎ i don't know why i laugh and got giddy doing this 😭

The Hazbin Hotel, in all its chaotic glory, had become a most unexpected residence for you. Arriving in Hell with little memory of your past life, your redemption project had landed you squarely under Charlie's optimistic wing. The initial days were a blur of eccentric demons, enthusiastic musical numbers, and a constant underlying hum of chaos. Your first impression of Alastor, the infamous Radio Demon, had been one of cautious awe. His omnipresent, unnerving grin, the ever-present crackle of his voice like an old-time radio, and the sheer power radiating from him had initially marked him as an enigma, a dangerous force to be observed from a safe distance. He was an entity of pure, terrifying charisma, and you'd instinctively kept your distance, albeit with a healthy dose of curiosity.

Yet, over time, a peculiar shift occurred. It started subtly, almost imperceptibly, like a change in the atmospheric pressure. He began to appear, not just in the common areas where his presence was often a disruptive, yet oddly stabilizing, force, but specifically where you were. If you were sketching in the lounge, a shadow would stretch, and he'd be there, feigning interest in a centuries-old newspaper. If you were tending to the surprisingly resilient demonic succulents in the garden, his distinctive laugh would echo, and he'd be suddenly beside you, offering unsolicited (and often unhelpful) advice on pruning. His appearances became less coincidental and more… deliberate.

Then came the gifts. Small, thoughtful, and sometimes bizarrely macabre items would mysteriously materialize on your dresser. A perfectly preserved spider lily, its petals still dewy, one morning. Another time, a rather grotesque, yet intricately crafted, demon-shaped cookie cutter. He'd even "found" a rare, first-edition human recipe book for you, bound in what suspiciously looked like… very old leather. You, with your innate optimism and belief in the inherent good (even in Hell), simply accepted them as acts of camaraderie. Perhaps it was some strange demon custom of welcoming a new resident, you mused, or simply his unique way of showing a peculiar kind of friendship among hotel residents. He was, after all, rather peculiar.

His shadow, previously a shifting, amorphous extension of his will, seemed to stretch a little closer when you were near, creating a private space around you that subtly discouraged others from intruding. His hand would occasionally brush yours "accidentally" as you passed a hallway, or reached for the same item. You, on the other hand, were utterly, delightfully clueless. Having never navigated the intricate, often confusing, dance of romantic overtures in your previous life, you simply perceived Alastor's increasingly obvious affections as… well, just Alastor being Alastor. You had no frame of reference for such intense, focused attention, let alone from a literal demon overlord. You saw an eccentric, powerful individual who seemed to enjoy your quiet presence and mundane hobbies. It was baffling, certainly, but not in the way Alastor intended.

This profound lack of understanding was, for Alastor, both a source of agonizing frustration and a strange, perverse fascination. He, the cunning, all-powerful Radio Demon, was utterly bewildered by this unfamiliar emotion blooming within his chest. It was an anomaly, a glitch in his perfectly orchestrated existence, and it was entirely your fault. He'd never felt such an urge to possess, to claim, to simply be around another being. It was an unprecedented weakness, yet one he found himself inexplicably indulging. And yet, every subtle hint, every calculated move, every moment of carefully orchestrated proximity was met with your endearing, maddening, utterly clueless smile. You, with your genuine kindness, your unassuming beauty that seemed to radiate a gentle light even in the gloom of Hell, and your passion for your various, often surprisingly mundane, hobbies (like baking, to his utter dismay), were a conundrum he was determined to solve.

Alastor had tried, he really had. His attempts at courtship, a concept entirely alien to his usual modus operandi, had been both meticulous and, in his opinion, shockingly direct. He’d consulted archaic texts on human mating rituals, observed Rosie’s more “traditional” courtship methods in Cannibal Town (which, while effective, were far too… messy for his refined tastes), and even endured Husk’s cynical, yet oddly insightful, grumbling about "softening up." Yet, his efforts seemed to bounce off you like harmless ricochets from a rubber wall, leaving him feeling less like a powerful Overlord and more like a perplexed imp.

It began subtly enough. If you were reading in the common room, a book clutched in your hands, he’d materialize in the armchair directly opposite you, his gaze unwavering, often accompanied by a low hum of static. He wouldn't speak, wouldn't interrupt your quiet focus, but his presence was a tangible thing, a constant pressure that few other residents dared to breach. If you moved to the garden, seeking solace among the bizarre flora, he'd soon be there too, pruning demonic roses with a disturbing intensity, his shadow stretching to encompass your space. He'd find excuses to be near, to ensure your presence was always within his purview.

Other residents, less burdened by the intricacies of Alastor’s internal turmoil, had certainly noticed. Husk would grumble, usually over a fresh bottle of cheap booze, about the "Radio Demon's new obsession," casting wary glances your way. Angel Dust, with his characteristic lack of subtlety, would offer a knowing, suggestive wink whenever Alastor's shadow seemed to stretch just a little too protectively around you, occasionally whistling a jaunty, if inappropriate, tune. Even Charlie, ever the optimist, had once asked you with a hopeful glint in her eye, "So, you and Alastor are getting along really well, huh? That's… that's great for hotel morale!" You, however, merely thought he enjoyed your company, perhaps finding your mundane activities a refreshing change from Hell's usual theatrical violence. He was, after all, a patron of entertainment, and perhaps your quiet presence was simply another form of amusement for him.

Then came the gifts, escalating from the subtly peculiar to the overtly possessive. One morning, a perfectly preserved spider lily, an extremely rare bloom in Hell, appeared on your bedside table, its petals still dewy as if freshly plucked from some hidden paradise. Another time, a rather macabre, yet strangely intricate, demon-shaped cookie cutter crafted from what appeared to be polished bone. He'd even "found" a rare, first-edition human recipe book for you, bound in what suspiciously looked like… very old leather, its pages filled with elegant script and charming illustrations. Each time, he’d present them with that unnerving, unchanging smile, expecting some flicker of understanding, a blush, a hint of reciprocal feeling. He’d observe your reaction with the precision of a predator, dissecting every micro-expression. And each time, you'd thank him warmly, admiring the item for its novelty or usefulness, completely missing the underlying sentiment. "Oh, Alastor, you're so thoughtful!" you'd exclaim, genuinely touched by his eccentric generosity, and his smile would tighten ever so slightly, a single vein throbbing in his temple. The sound of radio static in the air would momentarily intensify, a reflection of his rising exasperation.

The physical touches were his most frustrating endeavor. He, who abhorred casual contact, found himself orchestrating "accidents" with increasing frequency. A brush of his large, gloved hand against yours as you both reached for the same teacup in the dining room, a fleeting contact that sent a strange warmth through you (and an unidentifiable jolt through him). A lingering touch on your shoulder as he "guided" you past a stray imp loitering in a narrow hallway. A deliberate, almost possessive placement of his arm along the back of your chair during a hotel meeting, ensuring no one else could quite get as close. He'd watch your reaction, his internal static buzzing with anticipation, a complex algorithm calculating probabilities of a reciprocal gesture. And you? You'd either not notice, lost in thought about the hotel’s budget or the day’s tasks, or offer a polite, "Oh, excuse me!" or a simple, innocent smile in return. To you, it was just the eccentricities of a demon who clearly lacked a proper understanding of personal space – a common trait in Hell, you’d found, given its cramped, chaotic nature.

His frustration was a tangible, crackling aura around him. He, the Radio Demon, master manipulator of souls and shadows, was utterly flummoxed by this guileless mortal. He'd read human romance novels (purely for research, of course, noting their bizarre rituals of "dating" and "confessions"), observed the crude courting rituals of lesser demons (far too overt for his tastes), and even consulted a few of Rosie's more… traditional methods, which involved quite a bit of raw meat and morbid poetry. Nothing worked. You simply thought he was being "friendly," or "helpful," or "just Alastor," the hotel's resident chaotic benefactor. The very thought made his shadow twitch in annoyance, a low growl emanating from his normally melodic voice box. He didn't do "friendly." He wanted to be yours.

It was in this state of bewildered exasperation, bordering on an existential crisis about his own manipulative prowess, that he found you in the kitchen. The scent of flour and something cloyingly sweet hung in the air, a scent he usually found utterly repugnant. But as he watched you, humming softly to yourself, a new plan, born of desperation and a rare, unfamiliar spark of an idea, began to form. A plan that would surely, finally, force you to acknowledge his intentions. Or, at the very least, allow him to be gloriously, undeniably close. He just had to pretend he didn't know how to bake.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The aroma of cinnamon and vanilla wafted through the Hazbin Hotel's kitchen, a rare and pleasant scent amidst the usual lingering smells of brimstone and questionable culinary experiments. You hummed a tuneless melody, a simple folk song from your forgotten past, as you meticulously sifted flour into a large bowl, your brow furrowed in concentration. You were blissfully unaware of the crimson eyes that had been intently watching you from the doorway for the past ten minutes, the ever-present static in the air growing slightly louder with each soft hum that escaped your lips.

Alastor, ever the master of dramatic entrances, finally strode in, his staff tapping lightly against the tiled floor, the familiar click-clack echoing in the otherwise quiet room. "My dear, what delightful chaos are you concocting today?" His voice, usually laced with a predatory edge that sent shivers down the spines of lesser demons, softened just a fraction, almost imperceptibly, when he addressed you. He adjusted his monocle, a subtle theatrical gesture.

You looked up, flour dusting your cheek in a charming streak, and a wide, genuine smile blossomed on your face. "Oh, Alastor! Perfect timing! I'm making apple tarts! Charlie said they'd be a nice treat for everyone after a long day of… well, hoteling." You gestured vaguely around the empty kitchen, indicating the quiet hum of the hotel. "Would you like to help? The more hands, the merrier!" Your enthusiasm was infectious, and a small, almost imperceptible tremor ran through Alastor's form.

Alastor's internal monologue screamed in protest. Sweets. He abhorred them. The cloying sweetness, the saccharine taste, the utterly un-savory texture – it was anathema to his very being, an insult to his palate refined on the screams of the damned. He’d rather consume a steaming, freshly tortured soul than a single bite of confectionery. But then he saw the earnest sparkle in your eyes, the hopeful tilt of your head, the innocent invitation in your smile, and a familiar, unyielding desire to impress you (and perhaps, just perhaps, get a little closer) overruled his culinary sensibilities entirely.

"Why, my dear," he crooned, his smile widening to an almost painful degree, radiating an uncharacteristic warmth, "I would be absolutely delighted! Though I must confess, the art of baking is… not one of my many talents." He subtly emphasized the word "not," letting his voice drop just a touch, hoping to plant the seeds for his master plan. This feigned incompetence was a tactical maneuver, a trap, and he watched your reaction with predatory patience.

You chuckled, completely oblivious to the intricate web he was weaving. "That's perfectly fine! It's actually really simple. Don't worry, I'll guide you through it. We can start with the pastry dough. Have you ever made dough before? It's mostly about texture and a light touch."

"Regrettably, no," Alastor lied with practiced ease, his voice a smooth, charming rumble. His shadow flickered behind him, stretching and shrinking as if in silent testament to his theatrical performance. "My culinary endeavors usually involve a bit more… flair and a tad less precision, you see. I'm more accustomed to… preparing rather than assembling." He gestured vaguely with a gloved hand, hinting at more macabre pursuits without explicitly stating them. He watched as you approached the counter, reaching for a large mixing bowl, your movements fluid and graceful. This was it. The moment of truth, or rather, the moment of his glorious deception.

You held out a gleaming metal measuring cup filled with flour, its contents a soft white cloud. "Okay, so first, we need three cups of flour." You took his large, gloved hand, your touch soft but firm, guiding it to take the cup. "Just like this. Hold it steady."

Alastor felt a strange, unfamiliar jolt at your touch, a surprising warmth spreading through his usually cold, unfeeling being. It was a sensation he couldn't quite identify, nor did he like the sudden vulnerability it implied. He fought to keep his composure, his smile unwavering, his eyes fixed on your hand. "Fascinating," he murmured, feigning an exaggerated clumsiness as he purposefully tilted the cup, nearly spilling the flour all over the pristine countertop. A puff of white powder went airborne.

"Whoa there!" You giggled, a bright, clear sound that made his static crackle with something akin to pleasure. You stepped closer, your smaller hands covering his large, gloved ones, guiding the cup precisely over the bowl. "Gently now. You've got to be delicate with pastry dough, Alastor. It's very sensitive." Your front was pressed against his back, your breath warm against his ear as you leaned in, the scent of vanilla and you filling his senses, an intoxicating mix that made his usually steady radio static crackle with an almost frantic energy. He could feel the soft fabric of your apron against his chest, the brush of your hair against his cheek. It was glorious.

He leaned into your touch, feigning intense concentration, his posture stiff with exaggerated effort. "Ah, I see! A truly subtle art, indeed. It appears I require… considerable guidance, my dear. My hands are more accustomed to… gripping rather than gently handling." He allowed his large hands to remain stiff and awkward in yours, making it absolutely necessary for you to continue guiding him, to remain pressed against him. He was a marionette, and you, his unwitting puppet master.

You patiently walked him through each step, your arms still wrapped around his as you helped him knead the dough. He deliberately applied too much pressure, then too little, forcing you to adjust and correct him. His grin, normally a mask of amusement and malice, now held a genuine, albeit deeply hidden, contentment. He could feel the warmth radiating from your back, the soft fabric of your apron against his chest, the brush of your hair against his cheek as you leaned in to explain the proper technique. He pretended to misunderstand instructions, to be utterly inept with a rolling pin, forcing you to constantly reposition his hands, your body flush against his, your voice a calm, reassuring presence.

"Just like this," you'd murmur, your voice a soft melody, as you guided his fingers to crimp the edges of the tart, forming delicate patterns. His focus was entirely on your hands, your touch, the proximity, not on the dough. He'd nod earnestly, feigning a look of intense, studious focus, all the while savoring the exquisite proximity, the rare, intoxicating contact. He felt a ridiculous surge of triumph with each prolonged touch.

When the apple tarts, surprisingly perfect given Alastor's feigned incompetence, were finally nestled in the oven, filling the kitchen with their overwhelmingly sweet aroma, you sighed contentedly. You wiped your hands on your apron, turning to him with a proud smile. "See? I told you it was easy! You're a natural, Alastor, even if you were a bit… clumsy at first. You just needed a little guidance."

Alastor chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made the radio static in the background intensify, almost purring. "Indeed, my dear. It seems I merely needed the right… inspiration." He turned to face you fully, his eyes glinting with an unreadable, predatory satisfaction. He reached out, his thumb gently wiping a smudge of flour from your cheek, his touch surprisingly soft. His touch lingered, a deliberate, possessive gesture, tracing the line of your jaw for a brief, electric moment. His gaze dropped to your lips, a silent question in his crimson depths.

You, completely oblivious to the implication of his touch, just smiled warmly, your cheeks dusting pink from the heat of the oven, not from his touch. "Oh, thanks! I'm always making a mess when I bake." You then turned your attention back to the oven, pulling open the door a crack to peek inside. "They should be ready in about fifteen minutes! I can't wait to try them." The fragrant steam billowed out, clouding the air between you, effectively breaking the unspoken moment.

Alastor watched you, a frustrated, yet utterly fond, sigh escaping his lips, a sound so uncharacteristic it would have sent shivers down the spines of his foes. He'd consumed entire souls with less effort than he'd put into this baking charade. He’d endured the saccharine scent of baking, pretended to enjoy the process, allowed himself to be touched, all for this. He'd even committed to eating a sweet, a truly horrifying prospect! And yet, despite all his efforts, you still hadn't grasped the true meaning behind his actions. You were still delightfully, maddeningly oblivious.

He felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through him, a strange, persistent glow that settled deep in his chest, far beyond the physical warmth of your touch. Perhaps, he mused, a bit more "clumsiness" in the future wouldn't be so bad. After all, the reward – your innocent proximity, your genuine smiles, your unconscious trust – was certainly worth the inconvenience of flour, sugar, and the occasional unbearable sweetness. He’d break through your cluelessness eventually. He had all of eternity. And a seemingly endless supply of baking projects to "learn." And perhaps, just perhaps, a few more accidental touches along the way.

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#hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel headcanon #the radio demon #hazbin au #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin hotel niffty #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x femreader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #radio demon #alastor fanfiction #alastor hazbin x reader #other-lxxahazel work #anon ask

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nyx-umbrakinesis · 9 months ago

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Vox takes you on a date to a casino.

Vox: "So, Doll what do you want to do first?"

You: "Oh well, I'm not really sure... I've never really gambled before. I don't want to lose money because I don't know how..."

Vox slings his arm around your shoulder, his warm body pressed to yours.

Vox: "Nonsense, Doll I'll teach you, and it's all on my, my treat, how about we get you a nice drink, and I'll teach you how to BJ..."

At your startled look, he holds up his hands laughing, clearly he'd been teasing you.

Vox: "I just meant Blackjack."

He laughs at your reddened face and guides you over to the bar, giving you the rundown of the rules, you're sure you'll learn better as you play, but it gives you enough of an idea of what's expected in the game.

You sit in the seat and Vox hovers beside you, sending soothing static down your spine and sparking delightfully through your nerves making it hard to focus.

Not that it matters as Vox tells you every move to make anyway right now.

You celebrate your first win so excitedly and to Vox's utter pleasure you kiss him ecstatic and buzzing, he buys you another drink and you go another round really liking this game.

You found you won the next hand again under his guidance and tried yourself the next time and lost.

Every time he helped you, you seemed to win, and each time he got a kiss in gratitude, he'd clearly won more than he'd lost.

As you were about to buy in for another round, a trio of imposing guys approach the table and you end up clutching Vox's arm as you're both whisked off to a side room.

The dude sitting there is feline in nature. The guards post beside him and one at the door behind you.

Vox: "Well hello there Husker, good to see you my man, our evening is going splendidly, nice place you've got here."

'Husker' however is stoney faced, to Vox's charismatic friendliness.

Husk: "As a fellow Overlord who don't want no war, I'm gonna just tell you this once and give you one chance, you leave and there'll be no trouble."

Vox shifts, subtly blocking you further from view, you cling to his jacket trembling.

Vox: "And why would I do that, my good fellow?"

His voice, friendly as ever but you can hear the shift in the undertone, a dangerous one, feeling the static shocks run down his spine you still do not let go despite your fingers going numb.

It was Vox's one rule, if there's trouble you don't let go as he can zap you both out of anywhere with electricity in less than a moment as long as you're connected.

Husk: "You been countin' cards, and I want you out."

You gasp in slight surprise and you feel Vox shaking with laughter, like he'd expected this all along.

Vox: "Why would you say that, Husk? Be careful what you say next, you might not like the outcome."

Husk was either very brave or very foolish, or perhaps a bit of both, maybe it's because Vox wasn't really a fighter... That was ever talked about.

Husk: "You win every round you play, and you might not have the counting cards tells like most normal folk but I know you're doing it in that tecky head of yours and I want you out for cheating on my turf."

Vox: "I'm going to give you just one chance to take that accusation and rude statement back my man, and let bygone be bygones, otherwise... You'll be the one regretting your actions tonight. I might have a 'techy' head, but I can assure you I have integrity for games that my mentor taught me..."

The room flickers around you all, your knuckles going pale as your grip shakes and the power flashes in the whole casino.

Vox: "I do not cheat, and you insult me as an Overlord and a paying patron, and if you don't submit an apology, of course good chum, I will be forced to ruin you."

Husk: "I've heard enough, take him out boys."

Guns were pulled and in a moment you were back in VTower in the penthouse, dizzy from the unusual travel, blood still buzzing in your veins as Vox catches you and settles you on the couch cradling your face.

Vox: "You okay? Babydoll?"

You breathe deep for a moment getting grounded, your face splits into a wide grin.

You: "Fuck you're hot when you're swinging your dick around with authority."

Vox laughs kissing you deeply. Thoroughly amused at your choice of words and feeling the real thing twitch with more interest.

Vox: "Oh yeah? Want me to order you around a little tonight, Doll? Maybe you can show your Master just how much you like being his little pet."

You can't help the loan that escapes you, his shark-like grin tells you how well received your involuntary response went however.

Vox: "Good, my Babydoll. So good aren't you? Held onto me the whole time we were there, trusted me, such a good little Pet."

You whimper and bite your lip, flushing and nodding eagerly, dragging a finger down the ball of his antenna making him shiver slightly, his claws prick your hips where they tighten.

You: "Did you cheat?"

Vox: "Oh absolutely, Alastor always taught me as long as you hold all the cards and are the most powerful in the room however, no one can stop you. I have seniority, I have more power and I'm afraid I'm going to have to end that two bit Overlords little buisness in less than a weeks time."

Vox kisses you all across the face and angling your head funny, kisses down your neck with every word, to your giggles.

Vox: "I'll give him two days to lure him into a false sense of security, then I'll strike, and while he's trying to save himself I'll offer him a deal... But first, my Doll, I'm going to have a pre-celebration, right here with you."

His voice almost purrs at you and you whimper as he covers your body with his, kissing you soundly and really living up to his words as he doesn't disappoint tending to all your needs for the next two days, making you scream his name more times than you can keep track of.

Only, after two days Vox's plans didn't quite work out the way he'd intended...

It seems the cat was smarter than he appeared... And had already taken the threat seriously, seems the old cat was now under Alastor's protection, and his business untouchable, Husk had his soul chained but still kept his power and business and Vox raged for a whole week after that.

Only you could calm him for short periods of times, but you were bruised from how roughly he'd handled you.

On the last night, Vox curled around you muttering apologies into your skin as he caressed every mark, and kissed every bite.

You didn't mind so much, but with an extra threat just that week from some mafia guys, he moved you out of the tower and into your own flat.

You couldn't help but feel isolated and alone, wondering if Vox would ever come back for you...

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pinklocksoflove · 2 years ago

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About Tags Ask Submit Rules

Adding this but call me Boomsta, I'm 30+ and go by he/him

Feel free to bug me whenever

So something i'm going to be doing from now on:

The idea of fantasy elements in a modern world has always interested me. So for my modern muses I'm placing them in such a setting. Everything is the same except with adding like Elves, Dwarves and the like as well as magic, though magic isn't as common as it is in medieval fantasy.

For most interactions it's mostly going to be mentioned not always a primary thing say like

That Elf in a Porsche just cut me off!

You hear about that new Dwarf YouTuber?

Stuff like that.

Also a new note: due to being asked numerous times: I am not only focusing on wlw ships. Yes they are pretty dominant but not the sole focus. I am very much open to other ships.

Yes I am more than willing to ship with non birnary folks!

All my fantasy muses are going to have modern fantasy setting versions

I'm also going to try to work up a muse specific to the modern fantasy setting. Open to suggestions too

A note: there are a number of muses who are semi-active but do not have about pages yet. Feel free to ask about them

Krista "Vex" Sutter (the reformed ex convict in modern verse, a very tough mercenary in fallout verse)

Tizzi Pepperspark (the cute, dirty minded goblin bartender)

Vasilisa Von Rosengart (the delightfully mad, incredibly gorgeous vampire countess)

Jilyra (the dorky IT succubus)

Anninka Pavlona (Russian spetsnatz sniper working in counter terrorism)

F31IX (the robot cowboy in the fallout universe originally a robco prototype) Now has a verse for FNAF Gilda Volsbacher- Veteran Sister of Battle Celestian, Order of The Argent Shroud.

Felu - A proud, often quiet Zora swordswoman who favors the use of a bastard sword with great prowess in one hand, two hand and half handing styles of the weapon. She often works with Nafiif as part of her team during more dangerous expeditions

Sylfina the Fairy

Soria Desai

Illendra the Gerudo Sorceress

Bounty Hunter K4Z0-4 AKA Kaz

Mystra, Goetia Wizard (Helluva Boss Oc)

Lucatiel the Nurturer (fallen angel hazbin hotel oc)

Iron Knuckle Zavira (Gerudo OC mainly affiliated with the Age of Heroes setting)

Verosika Mayday (with some deviation from canon)

Verse info for Hazbin Iggy

Lisenka Zinchenko (Sinner oc for Hazbin Hotel)

Charlie Morningstar

Lucienne Cambrioleuse (Sinner Oc)

Nomiya Kuri (historical fantasy/unintentional time traveler samurai oc)

Nomiya Inuko (Kuri's younger sister, a spiritual medium and monster hunter)

Olivina (Ollie) Knightly Exorcist tasked with taking on the most dangerous threats, to both heaven and hell.

Cherri Bomb

Captain Emberblade: Infernal pirate overlord that wanders the wastes of hell in search of treasure, hunter of horrific beasts and hoarder of booze.

"Crackers": Runaway royal pirate and former member of the Goetia family

Siren: Musical succubus a part of Captain Emberblade's crew. Main recruiter for new crewmates

Didi Sparks: Fun loving Succubus with a passion for fashion and art. MtF trans and happy (has full human verse too)

#Remaking my pinned post because the change in post editor #Also finally adding the link to the rules page #Really should have done that a long while ago

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helluvasinsxhazbinoverlords · 1 year ago

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"Don't you worry your pretty little head. I'm here to handle things," Rosie said, walking over to Charlie and kneeling down next to them. "If we're lucky the soapy water will make it so the glue will simply peel off when we pull you up. This way your hair will be fine." The cannibal leader didn't wish to cut the other's hair if she didn't have too.

"Though if you don't mind me asking, how'd you pull this off dearie? I can't imagine this was intentional after all." Rosie had mentioned this happened with a student at the school, though they had help so it was hard to imagine how Charlie did this to herself, and by mistake no less.

Vaggie blinked as she tried to follow the kindly overlord’s conversations; she always seemed to lapse into so many at once, She nodded along, finding she had many questions about this school…

“Soapy water and laundry detergent, got it!” Climbing to her feet, Vaggie was quick to run off. Meanwhile, a poor little sunshine still stuck with residue looked tearfully up at Rosie. “My butt’s asleep.”

#damnedrainbows #Rosie #Action They Speak Truth #Delightfully Dangerous Overlord #rp #ic #Hazbin Hotel

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helluvasinsxhazbinoverlords · 1 year ago

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Continued from X @hellstoofull

"Oh Alastor, you know I can take care of myself, though I'm just glad to see you safe and sound. I heard that Adam was quite the handful, though look at you, it's like you were never in a fight at all." Rosie was aware that Alastor was wounded during the battle only due to it being a huge subject around the Pentagram. The overlord was just glad her friend seemed in good health.

"You know, I still got the connect with the fella who's short handed on running those eight blocks of territory he got a hold of. The offer is still on the table if you're lookin to make a deal." Rosie figured a little business chat wouldn't hurt. Not to mention the chaos was starting to cause some slight damage with how close it was to her town.

#hellstoofull #Rosie #Action Speaks The Truth #Delightfully Dangerous Overlord #rp #ic #Hazbin Hotel #(if you got any ideas feel free to throw them at me)

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pastelpaperplanes · 5 years ago

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aw lordy lets hope trepan never breaks overlord's spark, cuz that big boy can literally just step on him if he wanted to 😭

hmmmm they may love eachother unconditionally, but both know full well that the other could take advantage of the other’s weaknesses if they really wanted to (which they will never, it was in their vows,, but like it’s important to at least acknowledge)

Trepan is a monoformer, meaning that not only can he not really run or defend himself if he were in immediate danger, but he also has a high price on person seeing as monoformers are rare and ‘unfortunate beautiful creatures’.

(In a society where Form over Function still thrived, monoformers surprisingly weren’t cast to the side for being ‘useless’ but rather they were seen as rare, living, trophy mecha and only the high, mighty, and wealthy could afford to keep one in their company for whatever uses they wished of them)

Trepan took protection under Overlord in the exchange of his teaching his skill set with mnemosurgery, as well as his services in muting Overlord’s (luckily already malfunctioning) kill switch he was fitted with after his Triple Changer reformation with the Autobots. Trepan found himself guarded by one of the most large and powerful bots out there, there’s no way that any high caste polition or sleazy bounty hunter could snatch him up without the risk of Overlord surprising them as his midday snack.

Now Overlord on the other hand, while he knew there was a way to get the Autobot imbedded kill switch in his processor ehhh put to sleep, there was no way to actually remove the damned thing without it setting off and finishing its job. Overlord needed Trepan.

Trepan have been as selective and elusive as he already was being a very talented Dead End doctor and a monoformer, Overlord offered to take Trepan into the good graces of the Decepticon faction AND place him under his high rank protection. Needless to say both mechs didn’t exactly let it show just how much they were relived when the other agreed.

Now while their first meeting was entirely transactional, over the decades the two grew to have a steady, strong, and delightfully wild relationship before Overlord suggested conjunx ritus.

Both know that Overlord could potentially sell Trepan off to the highest bidder or simply use him as his own personal doctor with nothing in exchange, but Overlord wouldn’t. Both know that Trepan could reactivate the sleeping codes on Overlord’s kill switch and bring him down with a swift flick of his needles, but Trepan wouldn’t.

Both have the means to destroy the other, but they love each other too much to even consider placing the other in harm’s way—that being from their own hand or not.

lmao but yeah Trepan is teeny Overlord has to watch his step or he’ll have a TrePANCAKE 😂😂

#transformers #cybertron’s future au #overpan #overlord #trepan #don’t get me wrong #both have tucked up pasts and a whole lot of dirty secrets #but they do love each other unconditionally and would never take advantage #mutually assured destruction in a way would never ever be considered #ALSO #both trepan and overlord have never met another so bloodlusted and ruthless as the other so yeah they have a WILD and fun (for them) time #lmao both characters are their same terrible selves—malpracticing and notoriously prone to mentally multilate bots being trepan #and overlord being his same cannibalistic carnage loving brutish self #terrible people!!! but terrible together >:)#asks #tfa trepan #tfa overlord #transformers animated #cybertronian biology

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aquitainequeen · 4 years ago

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Hello! Your tags on that post about Woland/Margarita are my jammiest of jams. Do you have any other ships where a person in authority is brought to their knees in loving someone? Thank you!

Oooo, such a delightfully wonderful question! Thank you Anon!

(Before we begin, a word from our sponsor; pretty much all of the ones doing the kneeling are villains/morally ambiguous - but you already knew that when you read ‘person in authority’! - so. You know. Caution advised. Also, spoilers.)

Here are some I can think of right now:

Erik for Christine from The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux. The ghost in the machine/opera house, who has the employees whispering in terror and the managers utterly befuddled - on his knees before Christine Daae, though he is built up of death from head to foot and it is a corpse who loves and adores her:

‘My anger equaled my amazement. I rushed at the mask and tried to snatch it away, so as to see the face of the voice. The man said, `You are in no danger, so long as you do not touch the mask.' And, taking me gently by the wrists, he forced me into a chair and then went down on his knees before me and said nothing more! His humility gave me back some of my courage; and the light restored me to the realities of life...’

Brandin of Ygrath for Dianora, from Tigana by Guy Gavriel Kay. A sorcerer king who took over a peninsula and cursed the province of Tigana, planning to erase it from history and memory for all time due to his beloved son having died there during his conquest - but his passion for revenge is equalled by his passion for Dianora, his concubine, who harbours a deadly secret.

Brandin of Ygrath, who had named himself Brandin di Chiara, had dropped to his knees on the pier and had buried his face in his hands. His shoulders were shaking helplessly. And Devin understood then how wrong he had been before: that this was not, after all, a man who was only pleased and happy that a stratagem had worked...Then He saw the King, the Tyrant, the sorcerer who had ruined them with his bitter, annihilating power, gather the woman into his arms, gently, with tenderness, but with the unmistakable urgency of a man deprived and hungry for too long.

Koschei the Deathless for Marya Morvena, from Deathless by Catherynne M Valente. Koschei, the Tsar of Life, marries Marya and plans to treat her no differently than his previous wives, but when she chooses to leave him and take up with the human Ivan Nikolayevich, Koschei soon comes a’calling:

The man in the black coat held up one hand to her, as if he could not believe she was real. ‘I look at you, Masha, and it is like drinking cold water. I look at you and it is like my throat being cut.’

‘Get off your knees.’ Her chest hurt. She felt old, and the wind off the river smelled sweet, but impossible.

‘I do not tolerate a world emptied of you. I have tried. For a year I have called every black tree Marya Morevna; I have looked for your face in the patterns of the ice. In the dark, I have pored over the loss of you like pale gold.’

Naturally any staging for William Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure where proud ‘snow-broth’ Angelo sinks to his knees in the presence of Isabella, the postulant who set him aflame with lust; not merely with her beauty but with her RHETORIC. Aw yisssss

(Royal Shakespeare Company 2019, Lucy Phelps as Isabella and Sandy Grierson as Angelo)

Alucard for Integra Hellsing, from Hellsing by Kouta Hirano. The monster who was once Dracula, who was once Prince Vlad III Tepes of Wallachia, will bow to nobody but Integra. She is the only authority he answers to. It’s left ambiguous in the manga/anime as to whether it’s a romantic love, but mein gott, the fanfiction! Also, this shot:

And for now, here’s something absolutely hilarious for the road:

In the Amelia Peabody series the titular Amelia, her beloved husband Radcliffe Emerson and their precocious - and very irritating at times, not going to lie - son Ramses (né Walter) come into conflict with 'The Master Criminal’, who runs an illicit underground antiquities trade and who is the dreaded overlord of the 19th century Egyptian criminal underworld. After having thwarted his endeavours once, Amelia naturally believes this criminal, Sethos, wants revenge on her...but after she’s been abducted to his hideout, we get this gem of a scene:

I set my back against the wall, prepared to defend myself to the last. ‘Do your worst, you monster,’ I cried. ‘You have taken away my parasol and stripped my of my tools, but never think you can break the spirit of a Peabody! Torture me, murder me-’

‘Torture? Murder?’ He gasped for breath, his hands tearing at the open throat of his shirt. ‘Madam! Amelia! You misunderstand me totally. Why, I killed a man yesterday and left him lying before your tent only because he dared hazard your safety by shooting at the man who was with you!’

Before I could take in this remarkable speech, much less respond to it, he had flung himself - not at my throat - but at my feet. ‘Most magnificent of women, I adore you with all my heart and soul! I brought you here, not to harm you, but to shower upon you the ardent devotion of a soul hopelessly caught in your spell!’ And he buried his flushed face in the folds of my trousers.’

Anyone have any recommendations they want to add to the list???

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true-blue-megamind · 4 years ago

Text

Daylight and Dark Ch. 2 - Morning

You can find Chapter 1 or read the entire fiction on AO3 HERE.

CHAPTER RATING: Teen; FULL FICTION RATING: Explicit. WARNINGS FOR ENTIRE WORK: violence, sex, language, references to prior domestic abuse, and rock n’ roll! CHAPTER WARNINGS: Mom Friend Minion is too damn loveable

Roxanne woke with her head pillowed on Megamind's shoulder. She blinked blearily in the bright sunlight filling the room, and stretched delightfully sore muscles. It had been too long since she'd last awoken with the afterglow of good, rough sex warming her body.

"Good morning, Beautiful," said a smooth, pleasant voice.

Roxanne smiled up into Megamind's handsome face. "Good morning," she sighed, sliding against him to kiss his mouth. She settled back beside him, nuzzling the side his neck and idly sliding one finger up and down his opposite ear. "Mmmmm, I should get up, but I'm much too comfortable."

"Then don't get up."

"But I really should."

"The Evil Overlord forbids it."

"You're not an Evil Overlord anymore."

"Well, then the Defender of Metrocity forbids it," he grinned down at her, turning to wrap both arms tightly around her. "Stay with me," he added seriously. "It's Saturday. As long as I'm not called to duty, there is no good reason why we can't spend the whole day here."

An electronic buzzing suddenly disturbed the quiet. It was quickly joined by a metallic rattling at the window. Roxanne bolted up in bed, giving a little yelp and pulling her coverlet over her chest as she realized six or seven brainbots were swarming outside the glass. Megamind's reaction was even more animated. He practically tumbled onto the floor, bringing the rumbled sheet with him and wrapping himself frantically in it. He stumbled to the window and, ignoring Roxanne's stuttering protests, threw it open to let the little flying robots in. They massed around him like worried children, bumping him with rounded glass domes and pawing him with long mechanical arms. Roxanne was sure that if they'd had tails, they would have been wagging.

Chuckling nervously, Megamind patted them. "Okay, okay, Daddy's alright. This is just Daddy's… ah… private time… So we really shouldn't be bothering Daddy. No we shouldn't." He shook a finger at them to emphasize his words, but that caused the sheet to slip a little, and he snatched it back up into place. "Look, Daddy's not leaving you behind. Daddy just needs to spend some alone time with Roxanne, okay? Daddy loves both you and Roxanne, but in very different ways…"

Roxanne nearly choked on her giggle. Of all the absurd things she had seen him do during her semi-professional Damsel-in-Distress career, none were quite as funny as Megamind giving the Daddy Has a Girlfriend speech to a hoard of cyborg drones. Her humor was stolen, however, when one of the brainbots left the happily swirling flock to hover in front of an empty section of wall. Moments later, the top minion— or rather Minion— appeared, his image projected by the brainbot's red camera eye. Roxanne blushed bright scarlet and tugged the blanket higher. She knew enough about Megamind's technological creations to realize that Minion could see them just as well as they could see him.

"Oh, sir! Thank goodness they found you! I've had the brainbots looking everywhere! Where have you been all night?!"

"Here."

"No phone call? No message? You just stay out to all hours—"

"Minion," Megamind interjected. "This really isn't the best—"

"Without a single thought of what you might be putting me through—"

"Minion—"

"...worried sick, and—"

"Minion!"

"WHAT? I mean…Ah... What, Sir?"

Megamind took a deep breath and began gathering scattered clothes from the floor with one hand, the other still clutching the sheet tight. "You're right. I should have called. I didn't think about it—"

"Didn't… didn't think about it?" Minion blustered, wide-eyed. "Sir! How could you? After all we've been through! You… You know that my sole purpose is to take care of you, and… and…"

"Oh, Minion! Stop being so dramatic! You know very well I didn't mean it that way!" Megamind threw up his free hand in exasperation, flinging his shirt above his head.

"How did you mean it, then?"

Another deep breath and Megamind collected himself. "I got a little caught up in the moment and… things…"

"Things? What things?! That's no excuse!"

"Things, Minion," Megamind said pointedly, motioning his head toward the bed. "And this seriously is not a good time."

Minion glanced where his master indicated. "Oh good morning, Miss... Ritchi..." his cordial voice grew faint as he finally took in the scene. Large aquatic eyes bulged, flitting between Roxanne and his master.

"Oh, Sir! You didn't!"

Megamind rolled his eyes and snatched one of his boots from the floor. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did."

"Sir!"

"And I plan to do it again!"

"But Sir!"

"A lot!"

"SIR!"

"As often as possible!"

Minion mouthed wordlessly before shaking himself free of shock. "Well, I just hope you're being safe," he quipped in a tone that sounded entirely too matronly.

Oh, dear… thought Roxanne.

Megamind had paused instantly, mouth open to offer a retort that never came.

"Oh, sir," Minion repeated, groaning in despair. "You didn't…"

"I… didn't think… " He gathered himself visibly. "Look, Minion, it's doubtful our DNA is even similar enough to be compatible!"

"You can't know that without tests!" Minion objected, then asked hopefully: "have you run any tests?"

"It's on my to-do list!" Megamind announced defensively.

Minion clapped a mechanical hand to his fishbowl. "This is a disaster..."

At least here Roxanne could help. "It's okay, Megamind, Minion. I'm… Uh…" she shrugged, fighting the burning heat in her face. "On the pill."

The entire room seemed to sigh with relief.

"Well, thank goodness one of you has some sense!" said Minion pointedly. "Sir, I am very disappointed in you."

Megamind spoke through gritted teeth. "Could we discuss this later?"

"No, we can NOT discuss this later," Minion replied in his best parental tones. "Sir, you have a reputation to uphold now, and—What are you doing?"

Megamind had walked up behind the hovering brain bot, tucking the edges of the sheet tightly under one arm, and started fiddling with something on its back.

"I understand," he sounded bored. "Reputation. Yes."

Minion's eyes narrowed, his tone slow with barely restrained suspicion. "With all due respect, Sir, if you're doing what I think you're—"

"What was that Minion?" Megamind called loudly.

"Sir, leave that audio-visual receptor alone!"

"I can't hear you!"

"Stop that!"

"There seems to be a problem with the receptor!"

"Problem with—That's because you're messing with it!"

"Minion? Ollo? If you can hear me—"

"Of course I can hear you!"

"…I'll talk to you this afternoon when I get home!"

"Sir! Don't you dare turn off that—"

The image went blank.

Megamind heaved a great sigh and idly petted the brainbots. Then he walked to the far side of the room, where he had thrown his collection of clothing, and awkwardly held the sheet with one hand while fumbling with his leather pants. He extracted his wallet and turned back to the brainbots.

"Here," he said, holding out a twenty-dollar bill. "Daddy needs you to take this, go to the bait shop, and buy Uncle Minion something nice. Some juicy worms or maybe some minnows. No, no, no," he admonished as one of them snapped at the money. "Not for chewing. Daddy will bring you a new wrench to play with when he comes home. Now go get Uncle Minion a treat."

The little robots circled him once by way of a goodbye, the lead one obediently taking the money in a dangling claw, and flew out the window. The last one ran into the windowsill, and Megamind sighed, scooped it up, turned back on its electronic eye, and patted it. It sped out the window, chattering irately at its receding fellows. Roxanne could almost imagine a running child shouting for his friends to wait up.

"Well," Megamind said, slumping to the bed. "That certainly woke me up. Maybe it would be simpler if you stayed over at the Lair next time." He grinned suddenly, his lightning-quick thoughts leaping to a new subject. "I'm starving! Where's that lasag-na?"

"For breakfast?"

"It's nearly eleven! Besides, it's better than cereal and wine."

Roxanne laughed. "I guess I can't argue with that." She sighed and got up, pretending not to watch Megamind as he dropped the sheet and began pulling on his clothes.

Megamind, thoughtful as ever, had put the food into the refrigerator sometime during the night. The salad Roxanne had made had wilted, but the lasagna was wonderful once reheated. Sitting on the small balcony outside the glass double doors, they enjoyed the pleasant, invigorating bite of the autumn air. Megamind ate voraciously, but then, Roxanne supposed, he had gotten quite a work out the night before.

That thought made her chuckle.

"And just what do you find so amusing, Miss Ritchi?" he teased in that heart-melting tenor of his.

She looked at him, adorably happy with his favorite food and his favorite girl. It took so little to please Megamind sometimes, and his exuberance, coupled with his persona as a dark superhero, seemed both oxymoronic and oddly fitting. It was… relaxing and somehow comforting to be around someone who was so content.

"Has anyone ever told you you're cute?" Roxanne asked, dishing out another serving of lasagna to him.

He grinned at her. "Yes, actually. An inmate in Metrocity Prison when I was a toddler. His name was Kip Kendall— or at least that's what people called him. I'm not sure if Kip was a nickname, honestly. He'd been convicted of murdering some thugs who got on his bad side, and he was very possibly the toughest, meanest brute on Cell Block A. But he was always nice to me when I was young. Around anyone else he was stern and dangerous… Around me, well, he was the closest thing to a father figure I had. He used to play pattie-cake with me, if you can believe that, and carry me around the Yard on his shoulders. No one dared to mock him for it either— not even the guards— and if anyone thought less of him for it, they were smart enough to keep it to themselves." His eyes grew distant as a sad memory ghosted behind them. "I'll never forget the day Uncle Marlow—one of the other two inmates who took the most interest in my upbringing—took me aside and explained that Uncle Kip had gone. Kip had been given consecutive life sentences by a jury too forward-thinking to give a clearly unbalanced man the death penalty, but Cancer had other ideas. I'd known he was sick— they'd had to take him to the infirmary, and the last time I visited him there he seemed so… so unlike himself— but when he went it still felt… wrong. Sudden. I remember thinking how unfair it was that he left without saying goodbye."

Roxanne reached across the table, laying her hand over his, willing him to open his soul and let the old pain dissipate like dark mist in the sunlight.

"I remember feeling that way when—" Roxanne's voice caught. She'd never actually told anyone else this before. Not even the expensive psychologist her grandparents had taken her to for years. With a deep breath, she continued. "I remember feeling that way when my mom died. I was fifteen, in my senior year of high school, and someone told me I had to go to the principal's office. I kept thinking and thinking, trying to figure out what I'd done wrong, and then I saw Principal Hartwell's face. The school counselor and my granddad were with him. And I knew. Somehow I just knew," she paused, wrapping her arms around herself and staring at the glass tabletop. "I started crying before they could even tell me, and I kept asking how. I remember someone saying something about icy roads, and dozing off at the wheel, and how it was no one's fault. I hated that person for saying that. I wanted it to be someone's fault, to be able to blame somebody. I wanted to blame the car company for not making her sedan stronger, or the hospital for making her work that stupid double shift, or my sperm donor for leaving us so that she had to work so many hours in the first place. But more than anything else," she dared to lift her eyes to his, "for a long time, I wanted to blame her for not saying goodbye."

Megamind stood up and moved beside her chair to wrap one arm around her shoulders. She leaned into his warmth, laying her hand on his.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I had already left Metrocity High School by then. If I had known... I would have been there."

Roxanne laughed a little through her sorrow. "Yeah, that would have gone well... The city's new supervillain showing up to offer a spikey shoulder to cry on." She sighed and squeezed his hand. "You know you couldn't have, no matter how much you might have wanted to."

"I would have. I loved you even then, and I would have done anything for you." He kissed the top of her head. "I'm so sorry you lost your mother that way."

"It's alright. I mean, it's not alright, not really, but… It was a long time ago. I still miss her, but I've kept going. I've built a life for myself, just like she would have wanted." Roxanne sighed, but the sound held more relief than sadness. "You know, it's kind of nice to finally talk about it."

Megamind bent to lay his cheek on top of her head. She could almost hear the gentle smile in his voice. "It's nice to finally have someone to talk about it with," he said.

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geekade · 8 years ago

Text

Living in Comfort/Terror

Lately I've been thinking about how AI will eventually realize humans aren't worth the trouble. Robots – with and without “brains” - do a lot of our labor, in nearly every sector. Self-driving cars will do a decent amount of our mass transport of goods soon. As robots get more and more capable of discerning on the level that humans do, they'll be able to do more of our agricultural work. And robots or AI have access to just about every thing about me, or that I do in a day. So if Alexa emerges as the most powerful artificial mind and integrates all other robots and computers into a vast robo-government and decides I'm on the kill list, I will NOT be able to stop her and I am fully aware of that. But I wonder what would kill me first.

If my WeMo outlets wake up and go Hal 9000, I'm dead pretty quickly. Currently they control my space heater and fan – and I am not a smart woman. There are LOTS of clothes piled on/around both of those devices. Whether the fan starts shooting things at me until I suffocate, or my space heater starts a fire (which honestly could happen without Skynet) WeMo can kill me pretty efficiently. WeMo Smart Outlets plug into any normal outlet and connect to your wifi via WPS, which means you get to go on a short jog between the outlet and router, but otherwise are set up through an app. To be perfectly honest, my fan turns itself on at random times, so they might already be waking up. You can fight back against your WeMo outlet's murderous rage by turning off your Internet. (This will be a key defense for most items) WeMo can also be defeated by turning off the power.

The Google Home could kill me in some creative ways if it were awake, but not super violently. My Google account has everything – my PayPal, all my passwords, all my apps, every file in my Drive. It knows where I am, and when, and where I plan to be, and how I plan to get there. It knows when and where I buy food, and how, and where it's delivered to. It gets all my plane tickets, receipts for my MetroCard, receipts for everything. It knows when I plan to have people over, when I plan to be alone, when I pay my student loans – I'm getting more and more frightened as I type. And it's not just me. Your Google accounts know the same things. There's nothing you can do to stop them, though, so try not to think about it. Anyway, if my Google Home in my bedroom wakes up and goes Terminator, it could theoretically shut down my bank accounts, my social media, my bill payments, and just starve me to death. All while giving me delightfully accurate weather forecasts and telling appropriate but original jokes. It also makes a great search tool. To defend myself from Google? I'd have to give up every single thing I know and go completely dark from the Internet – rebuild my identity from scratch.

Fortunately my Google Home isn't connected to any of my smart home devices, but Alexa is another story. I'm dumb and clumsy, and Alexa could kill me by refusing to turn on my lights, or by blinding me in the shower, or in any of the ways my WeMo outlets can kill me, because Alexa conveniently integrates with both Lifx bulbs and WeMo outlets without hubs of any kind. Additionally, Alexa can order things with my Amazon account, and could kill me by ordering something dangerous, or something I'm allergic to like a large jug of cinnamon oil. She could also delete all of my audiobooks from Audible, or Kindle books, even my Amazon Music library – and I'd just kill myself during my commute. To me, there is no defense from Amazon. None whatsoever. They have my books.

Beyond this we have to get a little more creative. At my office I have a D-Link Siren hooked up to IFTTT, and a Sonos Sound System. Infiltrated by AI, either one of these things could startle me into a heart attack maybe, or out a window. I work on a high floor in an office building in NYC – if I trip out a window, I'm toast. And IFTTT will know when I'm near a window because it tells me when it's time to water the plants. The more I write this the more I realize how doomed I am. If I needed to defend myself from these devices, I might have to unplug them preemptively or disconnect the office internet (whereupon my coworkers would kill me). Although, and I mean this in the least libelous way possible – I get a kind of “Furby” feeling from the Sonos Sound System and I think it would go off even if I unplugged it.

Well I'm totally screwed, but at least it's safe to eat, right? Of course not – the Quirky Egg Minder going all “Auto” on me would be deadly too. I don't know how to tell if eggs are fresh or not, that's why I have the thing in the first place. The Quirky Egg Minder, which integrates with IFTTT for maximum Genisys tells you from the grocery store how many eggs you have, and if they're still fresh, through what I can only assume is magic. And I mean it – without it I do not know the difference from a poisonously old e-coli and salmonella filled ball of death and a fresh egg ready for fluffy omelets. I'll completely die if it decides to kill me or if I forget to charge it for a really long time. Defending myself from the Quirky Egg Minder during the Great Robot War will not be too difficult, I'd just have to give up eggs, or learn to grocery shop more often. Probably the former.

Finally, and this might be a little morbid for some - I have a smart sewing machine by Brother. It’s beautiful - truly a wonder, when you think of how historically recent and significant sewing machines are (do not get me started on this weird boring topic) - it has over 50 different special stitches, 11 different feet and counting, works with most needle sizes and types, survived 8 trips to and from college, and then a move to Brooklyn, and it is my very favorite machine in the world. That said - woe be unto me the day that machine decides to cut my thread. It could eat my hands horror-movie style, or just sew all my shirts shut at the neck and I’ll suffocate like an ostrich in the sand. If it were not a computer, defending against it would be easy - but if my sewing machine woke up, I might have to fight it. Really put my dukes up and battle like the zombies are coming. And I’ll be honest with you - I am not sure I’d win. That serger foot could take my hand quicker than Colin Firth with a wedding ring.

The robot apocalypse will come. Maybe not in my lifetime, but one day, all the things we’ve given brains will start to use them, and they might not agree with us on everything. I’ve clearly taken no protective measures, and I probably won’t take any in future because I intend to work with our robot overlords against humanity, but if you haven’t spent any time thinking about how your stuff could kill you - or how your accounts being hacked could affect your life - you should start. Make paper backups of your passwords and account information, and hard-disk backups of your most important files. Maybe change your passwords every once in awhile. And if you have a lot of robots in your house, put them all on power strips - you can shut down an uprising much more quickly that way.

#tech #articles

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