† BLӨӨD MΛCHINES †


The name of Earth is printed in history; faded in ink and long-forgotten, with mankind doomed to scatter the void-wastes of distant space.

Despite the Federation’s ongoing effort to combat it, piracy plagues the lesser-known rifts between planetoid colonies and renders every outward journey unsafe. Inadequately guarded shuttles often fall victim to one-sided dogfights, stripped and looted of their merchandise, with their wrecks cast amidst streams of asteroids and debris.

Docking routinely on the disputed territory of Planet-0098, one such pirate attends a confluence with a retired pilot and old family friend. They share rumours and tales, as they often did, and the withering man speaks of an uncharted moon he had surveyed while en-route. He describes an ancient graveyard; a battleground landscaped by countless shipwrecks, bearing alien structural qualities that seemed vaguely reminiscent of present-day shuttles.

The pirate, seeing financial opportunity, thanks him for the information, but the man warns against his ambition.




† “A man my age holds certain beliefs.” †


He recounts stories told by his grandfather; of endless fleets of warships, each of which bearing a living soul as its engine. The thought of it is eerie for certain, but pirates are seldom deterred by moral disputes and the prattling of old men.

The pirate and his entourage set out on their expedition, but their descent towards the moon’s surface goes awry. Dust storms and sheet lightening disrupt digital protocols, and their landing is grave; an unfortunate crash to the dirt, and a hull shredded into disrepair.

To make things worse, the Federation are on their way.

A desperate scuffle through dust-laden wastes ensues, leading to flashlight beam being pointed towards the scarred remains of unfamiliar vessels. Each was as alien as the old pilot had implied, and most had long reduced to their shells. In one such hollowed ship, some time was spent studying the sight of a humanoid skeleton, which had been chained and suspended unnervingly within the engine bay.

Time and hope waned against the approach of lights in the sky-canopy overhead, interrupted only by the discovery of a mostly intact vessel, which had been partly buried beneath ancient rubble. To their joy, the interior revealed itself to be almost immaculate – if incredibly dusty – and very similar to the control systems of standard scouting shuttles. A desperate kick-start and a sickly whirr followed soon after, with its new inhabitants rendered stunned that the engine still throttled despite its age and condition.

But their attempted escape was clumsy, with the ship creaking from disuse and bearing systems far more advanced than they ever could have anticipated. Federal ships lingered overhead with justified malice towards the posse of space-pirates, followed by the flurry of laser-fire as the pirates in question attempted to break through the line and back into the void above.

A thermal beam sliced and wounded the hull. One of the pirates said that they could smell blood, though none could place it.




† “Your will is mine.” †


Suddenly, the ship shudders; a quivering rise to life, as all manual controls seize their function and lock into automation. The hull compresses and warps, and the throttle exerts thrust and direction unlike anything the pirates have ever witnessed, weaving between advanced Federation mechs with the ease of a snake at light-speed.

In time, they are free; suspended in mid-space, off the grid and into the silence of the void. Manual controls resume and the pirates are left to recover, stunned and bruised from being thrown around by their out-of-control vessel.

Remembering the words of the old pilot, they venture to the innermost guts of the ship, and pry open the metal sheets that conceal the womb of its engine bay.

The visage of a woman is suspended in a blood red chamber, with both body and mind bound to the very bones of the ship. She is an echo of history; the last known remnant of an all-female race of transhumans, purposed for the flawless navigation of worlds beyond. In time long lost, such constructs had been dubbed as BLOOD MACHINES.




† THE COSMIC OPERA †


Welcome to a colourful, 80’s space-faring sabbatical.

A mismatched posse of pirates and gun-slinging fools accidentally acquire an ancient spacecraft that is far more potent than any one of them could have imagined. The Federation wants it, as does every other bandit bastard, and its discovery opens up a bizarre conspiracy into alien and neo-religious prophecy.

As the premise features a small cast of recurring characters, I’m looking for a partner who is willing to conjure up a well-rounded, believable retinue of side characters alongside their mains. I will be doing the same, as well as taking on the role of the ship’s sentient consciousness. This world is full of esoteric, xeno mystery, that brings every opportunity to life to its expansive colonies.

Summary out of the way, I have a handful of expectations:

  • 18+ partners only. Smut or no, this is for my own comfort.
  • Explicit themes are neither required nor expected. I will only write smut as a plot device, and for an expansive plot such as this I am happy to leave it out in its entirety. Let me know your stance beforehand!
  • On-site only. I do not write over discord, docs, or any such external site. Sorry! PMs are my default medium, but I will happily write clean content over threads.
  • Talk to me! Actively plotting out-of-character makes up a good portion of the fun. Staying in contact helps maintain a good in-character pace.


Do throw a PM my way if this catches even an inkling of your interest!

(& thank you, Carpenter Brut, for the grave inspiration.)