Creamed by my Monster Stand Mixer: One girl. One mixer. One very sticky situation.

Sweet Rise Bakery - A Kitchen Monster RomCom #1

by Krista LaRae

One girl. One mixer. One very sticky situation.

Abby Dixon is a burned-out baker with a dead industrial mixer, a depressed sourdough starter, a nonexistent love life, and a highly inconvenient crush on her tall, broody, emotionally unavailable boss.

When a mysterious crate arrives at her bakery with a waiver warning of bonding, awakening, and dimensional irregularities.

Abby doesn’t read the fine print and signs it anyway. Because she needs the mixer.

And also because she has an engagement cake to finish, bills to pay, and apparently zero survival instincts when commercial kitchen equipment is involved.

What she gets is Mischen: a possessive, sentient spirit, nonhuman man, who can take a very distracting tentacled form and seems intensely committed to proving he was made to satisfy her every need.

At first, it looks like one wildly inappropriate wish gone sideways. Then Abby discovers their bond isn’t just physical. Her impulsive plea for help has awakened a hidden magical sanctuary and a role Abby absolutely did not apply for.

Apparently, she is the Keystone.

And Mischen is only the first supernatural lover waiting on the other side. What follows is a spicy fantasy romantic comedy filled with enchanted appliances, magical bonds, bakery chaos, found family, and one increasingly complicated love life.

Her life is about to get hotter, stranger, and a lot harder to explain during the morning rush.

Welcome to Sweet Rise Bakery, where enchanted kitchen appliances become possessive monster men, magical bonds refuse to follow health codes, and one baker discovers that a why-choose relationship requires considerably more counter space.

Creamed by My Monster Stand Mixer launches the Sweet Rise Bakery series, an absurd and spicy sentient-object romance for readers who like their fantasy funny, their monsters possessive, and their kitchen equipment alarmingly attentive.

Featuring:

Sentient object / monster romance
Accidental magic and wish-gone-wrong chaos
A slowly expanding enchanted harem, with a new bond each book
A possessive supernatural lover
Grumpy boss slow-burn arc
Found family and chaotic bakery workplace friendships
Light mythology mystery that deepens across the series
Explicit open-door spice
Consent-forward, enthusiastic dynamics
Warm. Explicit. Slightly unhinged. Unexpectedly tender.

A spicy monster-romance series featuring nonhuman heroes, absurd fantasy comedy, found family, magical mysteries, and a love life no ordinary warranty could possibly cover.

Genres: Spicy, Monster Romance, Romance, Paranormal Romance, Fantasy, Fiction, Book Club

222 pages, Kindle Edition

First published January 30, 2026

Reviews

[Stephanie Wax · Rating 1 out of 5]

At no point did I know where this was going. Why was he German? Why were there tentacles? Where did this fever dream of a book come from? Ultimately not for me, but don’t let that stop you. 🤷🏻‍♀️

[Sara · Rating 3 out of 5]

Look at this point there's no saving me. I've gone down the monster romance rabbit hole.

I was however, pleasantly surprised at how well written this is for monster romance smut. There's backstory, there's lore. There's also a fair few plot holes, but I could overlook this because I actually found myself really rooting for Abby and the weird love story she has going on with the mysterious landlord and her, er , German hand mixer (I get where the German thing was coming from with all the pastries, but it still felt like an odd choice). This felt like a light-hearted Needful Things in many respects, and I kind of (?) am ok with it. It was fun.

[Cibally Rivera · Rating 5 out of 5]

When I picked up this book I thought it was going to be another silly read like most sentient object romances, but it ended up being so much more. I laughed. I cried. I felt for the FMC. At the end I just wanted to drive right into book two to learn WTH was happening. I also loved that there was a recipe for croissants at the end. This book had me hooked and I hope anyone reading this review has a great time like I did

[Kelly · Rating 5 out of 5]

I will loudly announce this book ABSOLUTELY hit the spot for me. It sounds like a bit of a wacky premise, but there are LAYERS here. Sex-ay monsters. Mythology. Worldbuilding of the best kind. In other words, I picked this up for a sentient stand mixer finding some romance and ended up going all in on Abby, her monster-man, and whatever is in store for them next. (I've already read book 2 and Eeeeeeeeee. YES! ABBY HAS IT GOING ON!)

So. Abby loves what she does, but she's also skating the line on being overwhelmed while running a bakery that is...it's not struggling exactly, but it is a small business and it's one major appliance failure away from going in the red. So when her mixer fails just before a big order is coming up, Abby sends a wish out into the universe.

And something answers that wish.

Her new mixer is gorgeous, shiny, and speaks with a German accent. Mischen is also terribly lonely and Abby sparks all kinds of things in him he didn't think he'd ever experience again.

On Abby's end, she's pretty accepting of her new stand mixer getting a little frisky with her. Because why not? She's not in any sort of relationship (despite that almost-kiss with her boss) and Mischen is very giving. Very.Giving. Soon the two are bonding, she's getting borderline-menacing visits from the Council (who are so mysterious it's terrifying), and Abby might just realize she's far more than she ever believed she was.

In other words, this series is firmly in the realm of OHHHHH YEAH BRING IT ON!

-Kelly @ Reading the Paranormal

[Read, Run and Rescue · Rating 5 out of 5]

wtf? Why did I love this book so gd much! It was hilarious. The inner dialogues were some of my favorite parts like when the lady wanted a refund on a cinnamon roll that she consumed 96% of, and Howard the Duck and of course Edgar Allen Dough …. I hope the next one is just as good.

[Tiffany · Rating 2 out of 5]

I was expecting 80% spice.

Instead it was 5% spice, 50% magic and weird flashbacks, 25% lusting after another character, and 20% bakery operations.

[Enfys Joy · Rating 2 out of 5]

So. This happened.

I am a handful of these books away from having to avoid every electrical appliance, doors, cleaning supplies…

[Maggie · Rating 4 out of 5]

You had me at tentacle intimacy. Started ironically, stayed for the surprisingly compelling mythology, finished it emotionally invested in a sentient appliance.

[Beth · Rating 2 out of 5]

Without a doubt the weirdest thing I've ever read and I spent a lot of time on Wattpad

I'm very confused by the plot
Also why is he German??

[Jes · Rating 4 out of 5]

Unexpected

I did not expect to enjoy this as much as I did! Abby is delightful. We get it girl and we are so glad you are getting it too. IYKYK. But it’s the mystery that is truly keeping my attention. Exceptional storytelling!

[Emma]

The Transformers except they are kitchen appliances and they have sex with you.

No other words.

[Amber Buckingham · Rating 1 out of 5]

The spelling mistakes and missing words in this book 🤯
The constant talk about Edgar the sour dough starter, Zane who we actually know nothing about, and the constant trails off in the book that are not needed. DNF!

Overuse of the word AND. You have been warned before you read this 💀🙈

[Sandy Williams · Rating 3 out of 5]

Umm

I can't believe I'm saying this but this almost feels like it has a bit to much plot...im used to sentient object books being short hilarious and to the point...still very interested to see where the author is going with this

[Amy Hucker · Rating 5 out of 5]

This started as a joke read...

I legitimately started reading this because it looked like the most ridiculous thing I could ever read. But the plot is actually more than decent, the writing is absolutely excellent, and I loved reading it. I'm excited for the next books!

[Danielle · Rating 2 out of 5]

Was it necessary? No. Am I glad I read it? Also No. Will I read the rest of the series out of morbid curiosity? possibly.

[Ryn Emilee · Rating 4 out of 5]

I went looking for one thing and somehow got emotionally whisked into oblivion by a MONSTER STAND MIXER.

Yes. A mixer. With tentacles. I saw that and said “add to cart immediately, no further questions, your honour.”

From page one this book grabbed me by the frontal lobe and said “we’re doing chaos now” and I simply never recovered.

We’ve got:
• sentient-but-not-sentient vibes
• shifter-but-not-really-shifter energy
• ley lines humming in the background like a demonic KitchenAid soundtrack
• lore that is SO detailed and yet somehow I still feel like I know nothing and everything at the same time

And then there’s Abby. Sweet, adaptable, go-with-the-flow Abby who looks at this… eldritch countertop entity with MULTIPLE APPENDAGES and goes:

“yeah alright, this is my life now.”

Ma’am???? The emotional flexibility??? Olympic level.

Every chapter felt like spinning the “what fresh nonsense is this” wheel and landing on something even more unhinged than before. I was not reading this book. This book was happening TO me.

And just when I thought we were done being feral about it… BAM.

End of book:
Lore bomb dropped
New package introduced (??? HELLO???)
My reverse harem loving heart sat up like it heard a dinner bell

AND THEN. A CLIFFHANGER.

You KNOW how I feel about cliffhangers. I was pacing. I was staring into the void. The void was holding a whisk attachment.


Will I read the next one?

Unfortunately yes. I need answers. I need chaos. I need to know what that appliance is planning next.

[Lauren Beaver · Rating 2 out of 5]

Found this book on tiktok and it became such a joke with friends that I had to read it. It’s for the bit. Moving on.

In a normal non-monster romantasy, this magic system and lore would hit so hard. Like I’m angry that it is the romance it is because I want to read this but not like this.

My first and only monster romance. The bit is now finished. Also I do not like tentacles in my romance. Let’s all forget you saw this review on your Goodreads homepage.

[lana · Rating 1 out of 5]

Spelling mistakes throughout, missing words randomly, INSANE overuse of the word ‘and’. Zero understanding of why he’s German, FMC lusting after some other character who we actually know nothing about, constant flash backs that add zero to the story. Was expecting a book full of spice, instead I now know how to prepare a sourdough starter and make croissants

[Janet · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book was so much more than I expected it to be. Yes it was unhinged shifter smut, but it has a compelling plot with mystery and a whole world unfolding full of magical rules and beaurocracies. I did not expect to NEED to keep reading to the next book, but I was HOOKED, pun intended.

[Angel]

pensando seriamente comprar el segundo si no logro encontrar pronto donde descargarlo...

[Maddi Smith · Rating 3 out of 5]

3 🌶️
3 stars 🌟
I mean come on , this is what i expected and also not what i expected all at once , i had a few laughs and definitely a few tingles over a stand mixer 🤣 read at your own risk of wanting to buy a stand mixer xoxo

[Kevin the Chicken Chaser · Rating 1 out of 5]

I regret this. Can I have my memory wiped

[Kimbot the Destroyer]

Gave me vibes. Not in a good way, in the way your heart sinks like a stone in your ribcage when the radiator clanks again in the shabby apartment you share with your ex, Marcus. IYKYK

[P. Money · Rating 1 out of 5]

0.5 and that's generous.

[Sheila K · Rating 4 out of 5]

This book has absolutely no business getting this many stars based on the title and cover art but it has more plot than you’d think. It’s a quick funny read with a little weird spice.

[April · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book was just one big trust fall. Funny, weird, and I'm going to read the next one to see what happens...

[Abby · Rating 4 out of 5]

What. The. Fuck.

And why did I honestly enjoy it

[Rachel Wilson · Rating 3 out of 5]

I did not expect to enjoy this as much as I did.

Too much plot. Not enough filth. But I will be reading the rest of the series.

[Jessica · Rating 1 out of 5]

DNF @ 30% i’m sorry i can’t do it

[Galateea · Rating 5 out of 5]

I will start by saying that this book has A Content Warning page.

My question is... why?

Everything in this book suggests that we will have some debatable smut involving a kitchen appliance that might or might not be a monster shifter. I think all of us knew what we were getting into before we got this book and opened the first page.

Because if any of you are going to tell me that you came all the way here, saw the cover, saw the title, saw the synopsis, saw the reviews, and had any other expectations than the very obvious ones, then



No sentient creature would ever think that this is a recipe book.

None.

If you did, you have brought shame and dishonor to your race and brain cells.

However, we do get a freebie: a croissant recipe, so there's that.

The novella introduces us to Abby, who apparently has a severe allergy to ironing.

I pulled on a T-shirt from college and jeans that were so soft they were disintegrating. The shirt had been worn so often that the hole- to-fabric ratio is still on the side of the fabric, but not by much. Month by month, the holes are gaining traction.

My grandmother would not have approved of the shirt.

Or the jeans.

Or the holes or wrinkles.

My grandmother is from a generation that believed in ironing. Jeans, bras, pillowcases. In her religious hierarchy, wrinkles counted as a sin. I made the mistake once of asking her why she ironed her dish towels, and she looked at me as if I’d suggested we eat dinner off the floor. “Because it’s
wrinkled, Abigail.” Abigail. Not Abby. That’s how you know it’s serious.

As if wrinkled dish towels were the first domino in the collapse of Western civilization. Me? I don’t own an iron. One of my life goals is to iron as little as possible.

Well, to the ironing part. I do own an iron, and I do use it for suits and other necessary evils. I'm not a complete heathen.

What I did have was an ad for a stand mixer. “Professional-grade mixers for serious bakers.” Delete. Then another: “80% off for new customers. Delivery within 24 hours.” I stared at that last one longer than I should have. The algorithm was getting aggressive. I deleted it and kept scrolling.

I feel you. I speak near my phone about something, and the next thing I know, my entire week is compromised with relentless ads about the thing I just whispered about; kudos to my slim, nosy gadget with an apple on it...

...the little spying shit.

My other close friend, Meg, had twins. And that was the end of spending time with Meg. Motherhood swallowed her whole. From my non-maternal viewpoint, motherhood resembles an occupation by demanding little dictators. I think Meg is still in there, a prisoner of war, sending coded messages when the guards aren’t looking. The last one was a blurry photo of spit-up on her shirt, no
caption, no context.

My phone buzzed. Another text. “Premium mixers. Free shipping.”

Girl... I think the universe is trying to tell you something. Just saying.



Next thing we know, Bertha is dead.

Just to be clear here, Bertha is the mixer, because obviously we have to name the kitchen appliances.

“Bertha still dead?”
“Yep. Stone cold. She’s ascended to appliance heaven, where she can grind and shudder for all eternity.” I wiped my hands on my apron. “We’re stuck with that pathetic hand mixer I dragged out of the basement.”
Jess eyed the harvest-gold monstrosity on the counter. “That relic? It looks like it barely survived disco.”
“I know. But for now, it’s what we’ve got.”
“Soooo, my arms are about to be shredded? Fire. I’m down for a little tricep bicep definition,” she said.
“Hey, speaking of Bertha, want to hold a wake? Share your fond memories before I yeet her into the trash?”
“Sweet. I’m in.” She tied on her apron.

Now Bertha is having a funeral because obviously we need to have a funeral for deceased kitchen appliances.

Gods, I hope Ed will survive that kitchen.

“By the way, Jordan will be late. He says he left you a message. Something about his cat and a plant.”
“Which plant?”
“Charlotte.”
Jordan has fourteen plants, and they all have names. Charlotte is the spider plant. There’s also Dolly the pothos, Greg the monstera, and a succulent called The Situation.

On second thought, naming the kitchen appliances is way better than naming your plants and running late to work because of one. But that's just me.

And who the fuck names their plant Charlotte? Which Charlotte? Charlotte as in Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz? Charlotte as in Charlotte Christine of Brunswick-Lüneburg? Charlotte as in Charlotte, Landgravine of Hesse-Kassel? Charlotte as in Charlotte Aglaé d'Orléans? Which one is it? I need to know. And why such a royal name for the spider plant specifically?

I need answers.

I won't even ask about The Situation.

“Biscuit knocked her over,” Jess said. “He sounded upset.”
“Is Charlotte okay?”
“Unclear. Biscuit ate part of her.”

Oh well... Rest in piece, Charlotte.

And yes, the pun was intended. It seems a lot of things keep on dying in this book and I'm barely on page 17.

My phone buzzed in my apron pocket. I glanced at it while Mrs. Patterson gathered her muffin bag and purse. Another mixer ad. “Still mixing by hand? There’s a better way.” I deleted it. The algorithm was getting pushy.

Man... at this point... just... get the damn mixer, OK? You need to finish that lemon lavender cake for Mrs. Huang and her daughter's wedding.

I grabbed the bottle. He lowered me slowly and his thumbs brushed the undersides of my breasts through my shirt as I came down. Slight. But it was enough. Every nerve ending from my ribs to my hips lit up like a switchboard. Even more than the pizza delivery guy. I made a sound. Small. A whimper. And I couldn’t take it back.
He stopped moving.
Hands still on my waist. I was on the floor now, but neither of us stepped away. I could feel him breathing. The lights were buzzing. The refrigerator humming. All of it too loud.
“Abby.”
Not Dixon. Abby.
His hand moved from my waist to my jaw. Cupped it. Tilted my face up. His thumb on my cheekbone.
He leaned down.
I leaned up.
The space between us getting smaller until I could feel the warmth of his mouth.
The bell over the front door jingled.

Well, that fucking escalated quickly. I thought we were selling sourbread up until 2 seconds ago and decorating Mrs. Huang's cake with elderflower buttercream. Now we're suddenly climbing the boss?

"I finished the cake by two. Mrs. Huang called at three. The engagement was off. She paid the balance and told me to trash the cake. The groom had run off with the best man. Unfortunately, these things happen."

Well, this is a rollercoaster, and I haven't even reached the monster fucking part. Or even the middle part.

I stopped by Edgar Allan Dough on my way out.
“So what do you think, Ed? Should I trust him?”
He bubbled a little, and I decided to interpret that as solidarity.

Oh thank the Lord! Ed is fine! He's still alive. We're good, people. He didn't follow Bertha.

Howard watched from the ceiling. Silent. Here’s the deal with
Howard. He’s a duck. A duck that drinks beer and wears a leather jacket. In the movie, he got ripped out of his own universe by a random laser beam and dropped into this one. Wrong place, wrong
time, wrong species. Nothing made sense to him. Everyone looked at him as if he were crazy. And then there was the Dark Overlord, which, as a kid, I thought was the scariest creature I’d ever seen.
Giant scorpion demon trying to take over the world. Howard had to deal with that. Howard, a duck, had to save the planet from an inter- dimensional evil.

Lady... what did you tape to your ceiling?

Downstairs, a hum started. Not quite mechanical. Not Dark Overlord ominous, but a low-grade unsettling hum that makes you wonder if you should investigate or if ignorance really is bliss.
...
Howard stared at me from the ceiling. I stared back.
“You’re right,” I told him.
The duck and I were on the same page. We voted for ignorance.

Well, I, for one, am happy that the Duck's opinion was factored into this equation. Everyone should have a voice. Even Ducks on the ceiling.

The next day we subtly move on to more customer service and raging Karens. I've worked in an airport for almost a decade, and I can tell you without a single shred of doubt that most people are quite honestly, well...



It is a fact. They forget how to read. They forget how to speak. They forget how to think, and they only have demands and expect everyone to cater to them and their precious issues. And some nationalities, well... are statistically more entitled than others:

This is a thing that happens in America. I don't know if it happens in other countries. I suspect it does not. I suspect that in Germany, if you eat an entire pastry and then complain about it, a very efficient man in a uniform shows up and asks you to explain yourself, and then you are fined, and that fine goes toward maintaining the autobahn.

Abby is indeed right. That really does happen almost exclusively in America.

Underneath the packing peanuts was a mixer. Had Zane ordered it? If so, he hadn’t mentioned it. Or had I done it? Accidentally. Maybe when I was deleting one of the dozens of spam texts I’d received about mixers, I’d mistakenly bought one instead. Or, was it
that wish. Had I manifested a fucking mixer? Had the universe been listening after all?
The mixer was beautiful.
Metal polished to a mirror. Smooth curves. It looked expensive. And heavy. No way I was hoisting that onto the counter solo without pulling a muscle.
I walked around it. The bowl was huge. Twice the size of Bertha’s. Poor Bertha. She’d put in years of loyal service before her motor seized and screamed its death rattle. This new machine looked as if it had never made a messy or undignified sound in its entire life. Unlike me, who had made several undignified sounds already today.
I should give you a name, I thought.
And then, clear as anything, a word dropped into my head. Just showed up out of the blue, uninvited.
Mischen.

Oh sweet Geezus on a cracker. She not only named the mixer but made it German. I cannot at this point. German quality it is. If they can make great cars, they can make great mixers. So be it.

Aaaannddd now the mixer is vibrating. While being warm. And beautiful with "swells of polished steel". Oh gurl... you need to get laid so badly if you're fantasizing about the new stand mixer. I cannot even make Sahara and cobweb jokes at this point; it's simply that bad.

You are lonely.

Andddd now the mixer is talking. Telepathically. I'm not even surprised. I'm only surprised it took this long.

You are touch-starved. I can feel it radiating from you like heat from an
oven. A pause. I could help, if you wanted.
“Help how?”
I could give you what you were imagining. The release you need. The voice dropped lower. I could make you feel sensations you have never felt before, but only if you say yes.

Someone stop the planet, I wanna get off.

Sometimes I wonder where I even get the mental strength to just power on through stuff like this.

Heh. Power on.

I slumped against the counter, shaking, and thought, I have to work today. Jess will be here soon. I have to make bread and stand in this kitchen and act normal. How am I supposed to do that? I’d just had the best orgasm of my life. The kind of orgasm I hadn’t even known was possible. In my kitchen. From a mixer that arrived on a truck with a mysterious wheat logo, delivered by a man who didn’t seem quite… human. A mixer that had told me its name, in a German accent, and asked permission first. A mixer who had waited for my yes.
A fucking mixer I’d signed a dimensional irregularities waiver for. And now I understood why.
How could this even happen?
And more importantly, how could I make it happen again?

Abby here apparently has her priorities straight.... as well as the vibration settings on the mixer if you catch my drift.

The mixer’s bowl caught the overhead light. There was a residue in it. What the fuck? Was that… batter?

A side effect. Apologies. I will clean it.

SWEET BABY JESUS AND MOTHER MARY AND ALL THE OTHER SAINTS, WHICHEVER THEY ARE, HOW DID WE EVEN GET HERE? Cause I know how I got here, and let me tell you, it was a quest for my Comic Con squad, and those people better pay me in mochi and matcha for putting this review into words.

The damn poltergeist mixer is now moving around, and I know for sure that Abby, Jess, or Jordan don't know enough Latin like I do to perform an honest exorcism for that mixer and its home crate.

What's next? I'm half expecting the damn thing to turn into a Decepticon or something. Cause I've been on Wattpad, Ao3, and fanfiction.net, and I've seen what a teenager with an internet connection can do, and let me tell you, there are no limits or moral constraints to what stories have been given birth there.

I plugged it in. Mischen. Not it. Mischen, the mixer. Then I flipped on the power switch.
It sounded nothing like Bertha. Bertha was a banshee. This was… deep, smooth. The Barry White of mixers.
The metal got warmer. And then it started glowing.
The swirls on the housing, the ones I’d thought were design elements, were lighting up. Gold at first, then brighter.
The lights flickered. All of them at once. The overheads. The exit sign. The clock.
The counter stretched.
I saw it happen with my own two eyes, and it was not a carbon monoxide hallucination. It was not fucking ergot poisoning. The steel went soft, and then it flowed outward, the surface got longer by
two or three feet, and then it was solid again.
Cabinet doors swung open, and inside there were items I’d never seen before and had never purchased. Fruits I didn’t recognize. Spices in jars with labels I couldn’t read. An amber glow shone from the top shelf. The ovens came on next, but not my electric ovens. There were flames behind the glass, in shifting shades of orange and blue. The overhead lights dimmed again, then steadied.
The door was right behind me. I could leave. Go upstairs. Get back in bed.
Instead, I took a step toward the mixer.
As clearly as if someone stood right behind me and whispered it in my ear, I heard it.
Bake.
The air got thick and sweet and warm. Vanilla. Sugar. Ginger. And underneath all of it, the unmistakable smell of sex. Which is not what I expected to smell in my own bakery at midnight.

I have no words. At this point, I would probably be praying for it to be carbon monoxide poisoning because I have not been ordained as a priest, not trained as an exorcist, not battle-ready for a decepticon encounter, and definitely not mentally sane enough to deal with this shit.

The room shifted. Warped. And then I wasn’t in the bakery anymore.
Torchlight on stone walls. Bodies. A lot of bodies moving in shadows. Underground, somewhere. I couldn’t tell exactly how many people or what specifically was happening, but context clues
pointed in a clear direction, and that direction was orgy. The orgy vibe was strong.
There was a woman at the center of it all, veiled, flickering between solid and spectral. Demeter? Persephone? Someone Greek and important with excellent posture. I took an art history elective in
college. Retained approximately nothing except that ancient people had two main hobbies: rituals and not wearing clothes.
From death comes life. From seed comes harvest.
The words appeared in my head. I didn’t think them.
The vision faded.
The windows had fogged over. Condensation ran down the glass as if the whole building was sweating.

Well, color me surprised. There's actual world-building in this. Huh. Who knew monster smut with kitchen appliances had it in it.

Compatibility: 97.2%
Note: Scores above 95% are rare. Please confirm accuracy with bound partner before proceeding.
...
TERMS OF AGREEMENT
By initiating this bond, User (“Participant,” “Vessel,” “The Willing Party”) acknowledges the following:
BONDED Inc. bears no liability for emotional attachment, behavioral fixation, or spiritual
entanglement resulting from successful bonds. Users proceed at their own discretion.
Bound spirits may exhibit attachment behaviors, including but not limited to: territorial conduct,
resource accumulation on User’s behalf, and aggressive gift-giving (definition varies by culture, era, and spirit classification).

Annndddd now homegirl got bonded to a sexy German mixer and apparently even signed a contract with it.

You can't make this shit up. 10 out of 10.