[bonemachiine]

#BONEMACHIINE.

ind. original  character  loosely  inspired  by  the  novel   HOUSE   of  Leaves  by  Mark Z. Danielewski,  established  july  2020. a  boy  possessed  by  his   HOUSE.  exploring  themes  of   ---   your  local  loser  drug  dealer,  the  wasted  musical  genius,  addiction,  youth,  generational  trauma,  god  is  a   HOUSE,   and  the  descent  into  complete  madness.  includes  triggering  themes  such  as abuse,  substance  use,  self  harm,  and  suicide.  this  is  a  low  activity  21+  blog  written  by  Nikki  27+  she/her.

CAARD 

[boyblvntzz]

me this summer

[lastnightsghosts]

home.

[xxguerrillaxxoperatorxx]

Nothing // Vertigo Flowers

And I hate Everything you’re saying Anxiety It’s all about me

[bonemachiine]

I'm here but work has just been kicking my ass. gotta love 8 hours of working in 120 degree greenhouses and unloading trucks in the sun all day. by the time I'm home I'm so exhausted I can't even form a thought

[dogheadeds4int]

[femcel-hitler]

[bonemachiine]

remember how I just went through that rottotiller trauma at work? well now the house down the street literally just exploded

[bonemachiine]

saw one of my coworkers legs get pulled into a rottotiller yesterday and I genuinely cannot stop thinking about it

[ledwinged]

[massacr3d]

❝ the fates' already fucked me sideways swinging by my neck from the family tree .

ind horror oc FOREST BARNETT from the infamous barnett family massacre case.

[bonemachiine]

work has been insane because of mother's day but now that it's over I should finally have time to write again so I'll be here and also on forest's blog

[boysofdogtown]

[mauvasty]

i really do go insane three to four times a day

[dogheadeds4int]

[punkzombie]

“Rockstar dream…” he echoes without pretentiousness, shaking his head, cigarette pinched between his fingers. “You really think so?”

The wind tears through the car, tossing Noah’s hair, pulling the smoke sideways, and Kerry glances at him again — quick, sideways, like he’s stealing something he doesn’t want to get caught taking. There’s something about him like this, lit in fragments by passing streetlights, that catches Kerry off guard. Not just the way he looks — though, yeah, that too, the lashes, the mouth, the gap in his teeth that makes his smile feel unpolished in a way Kerry likes more than he should — but the way he is. Unfiltered. Candid in a way that borders on careless, in the way that Kerry likes in a person. It pulls something easy and warm out of Kerry, something that makes him want to keep him talking just to hear what comes out next. 

He shifts gears, the car gliding smoother now as the streets widen, buildings stretching taller, cleaner, all glass and sharp edges catching the city glow. This part of town hums differently — less desperate, more curated — and Kerry feels it settle into him like a costume he knows how to wear. 

“But nah,” he adds, glancing over again when Noah starts picking at himself, at his clothes, that flicker of self-consciousness settling in. Kerry laughs again, lighter this time, like the idea itself is ridiculous.

“Dress code?” He snorts, dragging from his cigarette before speaking around it. “You think I could get into my bloody room if there was a dress code?” He gestures vaguely at himself — the ripped blue denim, the jacket that’s more hole than leather in places, the rings, the piercings, the ink crawling up his hands and disappearing under his sleeves. 

Another glance at Noah, slower this time. Measured. He lets it linger a second too long before looking back at the road. “If anything,” he adds, smirking, “you’re the one they’d let in. All mysterious and shit. People eat that up.” 

It’s half a joke, but there’s something honest tucked underneath it, something he doesn’t quite dress up in humor fast enough. He taps the steering wheel with his thumb, restless energy buzzing under his skin, the coke still singing through his bloodstream — not enough anymore, though. Not quite enough. He can feel the edge of it wearing thin already, that familiar itch starting to creep in behind his eyes, in the back of his throat. He swallows it down, exhales smoke, focuses instead on the road, on the way the skyline opens up ahead of them like a promise he’s still not sure he deserves.

“You’ll see,” he says, tone shifting again — brighter now, a little theatrical, like he’s stepping into a role he knows well. “It’s insane. Whole place is like… I dunno, like someone built a palace and it has no rules.” He grins, glancing over again, and this time there’s something almost boyish about it, something eager. “Open bar all night. People you’ve never seen before acting like they’ve known you forever. Musicians, actors, fuckin’ weird art people just… hovering around like ghosts.” He drums his fingers against the wheel. 

“There’s this lounge that looks like a goddamn opera house. Chandeliers and velvet and all that shit. Feels fake in the best way.”

He flicks the cigarette out finally, rolling the window down a little more to let the last of the smoke escape, then leans back into his seat, one arm draped loose as he drives. “Band’s holed up there for a bit,” he adds, more casually, like it’s not something he’s still getting used to saying out loud.

“We’ve got a couple shows lined up, press, all that garbage.” A pause. Then, quieter, almost like he’s letting Noah in on something he doesn’t offer up to everyone: “I wanted to show you it, though.” His mouth twitches into a crooked smile, eyes flicking over again. “The whole stupid circus of it. While we’re in town.”

The car slows as they pull up toward brighter streets, the hotel coming into view — all glass and gold-lit edges, towering and pristine in a way that feels almost obscene compared to where they started. 

“C’mon,” he says, easing the car toward the entrance. “You can just lean on me, kid.”

[bonemachiine]

it was true - the state of kerry's clothing looked just as fucked as his but somehow he wore it with a purpose, as if there was something breathing behind every tear and burn. even now he looked like someone out of a goddamn movie, cigarette perched from his lips, smoke curling around him like clouds in a summer storm, the passing headlights carving out his features like the flashes of its lightening. noah would be lying in saying he wasn't taken by him, always had been really. he can still remember the first time he saw him playing at some greasy house party, tearing up the room like a rain wrapped tornado, willing everyone to be as rageful and destructive as himself. he made it look so easy and noah watched from the back of the room fevered and sick to his stomach with something he just couldn't place. admiration? jealousy? he wasn't sure, but he was certain of one thing, he could never be like that. noah existed in a space with as much meaning as a shadow, quietly darkening its corners - and his music never left those rotten walls of his house, it simply reverberated in its loneliness until it faded into silence. noah thought it was better that way.

and so when kerry aims the word mysterious in his direction he can't help but roll his eyes and swallow down a laugh that itched at his throat. depressing was a much better description. shifting in his seat again, noah follows the others lead and digs around in the pocket of his jeans, fishing out a pack of cigarettes and balancing one between his lips. he leans down, head near his knees as he lights it, keeping the flame from the rushing wind. he returns upright with a long inhale, head tilting back as he breathes the smoke back out into the dark, letting the rush of nicotine calm his anxious skin. his hollowed eyes return to kerry, watching him as he speaks of chandeliers and velvet, trying to picture himself there among those musicians and actors, people with eagerness and desire, but comes up with a nagging emptiness. it's washed away with more nicotine, lips pursing with a silent fluster over kerry's confession of wanting to show it to him. he couldn't for the life of him begin to understand why and it sits queasy in his stomach.

noah's immediate reaction is to become defensive, especially when the word kid was thrown his way. what was he? some sort of charity case? noah grits his teeth, resisting the split-second urge to punch kerry in the mouth, however, just as quickly as his temper flares it settles back down and he gives kerry another roll of his eyes instead, the word "fucker." mumbled around his cigarette before he's flicking it out the window. with his hands now free, noah pulls that baggie of coke from earlier back out of his pocket, desperate to get out of his head and away from those violently shifting emotions of his and what better way than to get absolutely fucked up. a small pile is tapped into the crook of his hand and breathed in as if it were second nature. it burns on the way up to his brain, a shudder of pained pleasure nipping at his spine. noah looks at kerry now, eyes all lidded and unreadable. he leans in close towards him, a devious sort of smirk playing at his lips. noah knows what he's doing, knows he's trying to push at kerry's buttons. he wants answers as to why he was really here and he lifts a flirtatious brow in search of it, brown eyes seeking his blue as he places that bag of coke on kerry's upper thigh, fingers lingering a moment too long. "lead the way..." he hums like a dare before moving back to his seat, the air almost too heavy to breathe.

[allunderthesamesky]