Turtle Ashtray Novels & Stories

His skin looked smooth under the warm lighting of the shop. The moment he finished speaking to the barista and started turning his head back toward me, I immediately shifted my gaze out the window, focusing on a passing car. "I just ordered some cake for the both of us," Asher announced, unzipping his backpack. "And don't even think about pulling out your wallet to pay me back like you did that day." Before I could answer, he reached into his bag and pulled out a large, black sketchbook along with a small leather case filled with drawing pencils.

My eyes studied the layout of the house. “We established that I was fine with all of this in the car.” She pushed open a door and we stepped through to Taser’s space. Just like everything about him, this place felt pretentious. Like he probably intended while arranging the room, my eyes zeroed on the watch collection on his desk, right next to the bottles of scents. “Can you believe I bought nineteen out of the twenty-five?” “And let me guess, he has never bought you a thing in his life?”

He grasps his erection, that’s almost punching through his black slacks. Asher pulls up a black stool and grabs one of the guitars perched on the stage. It’s the one that caught my eye when I initially scanned the room. I couldn’t tell you what model it is, but it is a mix of deep purples, blacks, and blues, with a giant wolf paw print. I bet it’s his wolf’s paw print. The silver strings are taut and squeak as he runs his fingers up and down the neck swiftly. He leans over, picking up a black cord, which I now realize is the connection to the speaker I’m sitting on. He plugs the end of the cord into the receiver of his guitar and a gentle humming sensation generates beneath me.

It was hard not to stare at the mountain of cutlery and pots stacked up like a round of Jenga gone wrong, and the used dishes that lined the arms of the sofa, caked with dried-on dirt and cigarette ash. Pretty much everything in the vicinity of the coffee table was a make-shift ashtray; old bottles, coffee lined mugs, empty pie foils and even crisp packets. When Caleb spotted the real ashtray underneath a pile of magazines he saw why; the thing looked like it was last emptied in the arse end of the naughties. He took the tea and moved toward the sofa, shoving aside the papers and guitar that currently occupied the seat space. Just being in this flat made him feel like his skin was crawling w

I sniffed, recognizing the scent as a calming blend that Fluorite sold exclusively to the medical field. There was light in this room and it was a bit bigger than the others with a bathroom and a window large enough to sit in. Sitting against the barred window that looked out to another section of Club Heaven was a young, lithe figure, barefoot and slumped against the window blowing smoke rings with a rolled cigarette in hand. “Hey,” Ashley said, turning towards us. I gasped as the blanket slipped, revealing a flat, smooth chest. Ashley was a man? His face was soft and young. He could have easily passed for a woman, but I couldn’t believe it.

I hope you like my gifts, though I didn't actually buy it with my funds, but it's the thought that counts, right? The ashtray cost a lot, I'm not going to say how much or you might shriek in delirium and incidentally it is very sensitive to heat. Maybe that might help you reduce your intake of that poison you enjoy? And in case you haven't figured out, the studs are for your brow. I don't know why I immediately thought of you when I saw the jewelry on display, that doesn't exactly mean I support your multiple piercings though. This has gone on for too long and I won't be surprised if you skip paragraphs to get to the end, it'll probably bore you out and I don't blame you for it, I'm a boring

“Good. Let them taste fear before they die.” ………………….. In Greta the morning light poured into the palace as Tara met King Asher in the royal gardens. She carried a small, beautifully wrapped candle. “I wanted to thank you for supporting my business,” Tara said, offering the gift. Asher unwrapped it, intrigued. “A candle?” “A special one. A herb scent that eases fatigue. You’ve been working hard, Your Grace. I thought you’d appreciate it.” He brought the candle to his nose, inhaling the subtle, refreshing aroma. His eyes brightened, this candle seemed to be working as he felt his fatigue wearing off.

He places the champagne on the knee-high table in the middle of the room. "I hope you like it," I say with a tiny smile. The roses smell amazing, I inhale them a few times while watching him unwrap his gift. Asher holds up the crystalline bottle shaped like a swan. "It's vodka," I explain. "I wanted to find a goose, but no one makes bottles like that I guess." Laughing as understanding warms his eyes, he turns the bottle in his hands to study it. "Our trip to my cabin really left an impression on you. Your turn." Setting the vodka carefully on the table he plucks a green velvet box from his pocket.

I watched as he walked back to the walk-in and then returned with a square velvet box in his hand. “What is it?” I asked. “I don’t know. She said it’s a gift, and you should wear it to the ceremony,” I frowned and, grabbing the box from him, opened it. My eyes widened at what lay inside. “Oh…of course,” Asher muttered. Inside the box was a stunning silver tiara set with purple stones. The design was intricate vines, all entwining and leading to a crescent moon in the center. It was simply stunning. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered.

She nodded mechanically, offering feigned interest while her mind tirelessly sought an escape plan. Her eyes, now fixated on the windows, contemplated the distance to freedom. The possibility of breaking free loomed tantalizingly close, yet the challenge was formidable. Ashley surreptitiously surveyed the room for any objects that could aid her escape. Her gaze fell upon another small table, adorned with various items – a lamp, a couple of books, and a decorative vase. So he wasn’t a complete psychopath. Leon's voice droned on, a backdrop to Ashley's clandestine efforts. She maintained a façade of attentiveness, her fingers subtly exploring the contents of the small table. A metallic paperwe