Quaraun's Candle Business
A Long Pink Necromancer Fiction Short {TW: MPreg}

Quaraun’s Candle Business

1.1:

Quaraun sat at his worktable, the dim glow of candlelight flickering off the dark stone walls of the Black Tower, the lighthouse, known two thousand years ago as Portland Headlight, and now painted black. His silver hair pooled around him, tentacles curling across the smooth wooden surface as his gold-plated fingers delicately trimmed the wick of a freshly cooled beeswax candle.

The rich scent of honey mixed with the salty bite of the sea air drifting through the cracked window.

Outside, the icy wind howled against the lighthouse’s weathered frame, but inside, the quiet crackle of burning wicks filled the room with warmth.

A row of completed candles lined the shelves behind him, their carefully blended colours — soft pinks, pearlescent whites, streaks of gold — catching the light in an iridescent shimmer. He pressed a hand to his lower back and shifted in his seat, wincing as his leg throbbed under the strain of sitting too long.

Pregnancy strained his already fragile body, and standing too long made his joints ache.

Still, he worked, determined to finish this order.

BoomFuzzy entered the room, his soft tread almost masked by the storm outside. He carried a small tray — a bowl of steamed rice and thinly sliced seared tuna, garnished with pickled radish and a drizzle of sesame oil. The sharp tang of vinegar teased Quaraun’s nose, and his stomach clenched with unexpected hunger.

“Love, ya’re wearin’ yerself thin again.” BoomFuzzy set the tray down beside him and crouched to Quaraun’s level, the lines around his silver eyes tightening. “Ya need t’ stop pushin’ yerself.”

“I cannot afford to rest,” Quaraun replied, setting down the trimmed wick. His long sleeves fell over his hands, masking the golden fingers beneath. “The festival approaches. I promised twenty crates of candles.”

“An’ ya’ll get them done — after ya eat.” BoomFuzzy lifted a spoonful of rice to Quaraun’s mouth.

“That is a spoon.”

“Aye.”

“You know I eat with chopsticks.”

“Aye, but if I leaves ya to eat on ya own ya’ll let it get cold and then be complaining it no good, so I feeding ya like the wee baby is is.”

Quaraun stiffened but let BoomFuzzy feed him. His sharp tongue usually bristled at being treated like an invalid, but the taste of the food melted his resistance. Warmth and salt and the soft bite of vinegar and fish slid over his tongue.

“Your food is amazing.”

“Aye. I didn’t become the world greatest chef for cooking slop, now did I?”

“You value perfection as much as I do. I like that.”

“Aye, well, ya take a break from crafting perfect candles and eat me perfect food, while I give ya a back rub.”

BoomFuzzy stroked Quaraun’s cheek with the back of his fingers.

“Eat now, finish later. I’ll help with th’ next batch.”

“I do not require help,” Quaraun replied, but his tone softened. He leaned into BoomFuzzy’s touch, silver lashes fluttering shut.

“Aye, ya don’t need it,” BoomFuzzy murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “But ya’ll take it anyway. It’ll get done faster with us both working on it.”

Quaraun sighed, letting BoomFuzzy guide him to the floor.

“The candles can wait another hour.”

1.2:

Quaraun’s hands were trembling as he adjusted the wick inside the candle mould. His fingers, stiff from years of handling his wand and battling the cold Maine winds, struggled against the smooth wax. He paused and wiped his forehead, feeling the sting of the cold air seeping in through the walls of the Black Tower.

The smell of beeswax filled the small room, mixing with the faint scent of lilac.

It soothed him. Not that he would admit to needing comfort.

The candles had to be perfect.

There was no room for error.

Not in Quaraun’s mind.

Not in a world where light meant survival.

And he was very particular about his creations.

The wax had to be pure, the scent strong but not overpowering, and the flame… the flame had to burn with a steadiness that mirrored the calm he so often lacked.

The Fractured Moon outside cast a pale glow, but it could not compare to the flicker of the firelight that danced across Quaraun’s face. He allowed himself a brief moment of peace, his cold fingers weaving through his silver hair. He glanced to the side where the stacks of pink candles sat neatly, ready to be packaged and sent off to festivals, markets, and to anyone desperate enough to trade for one of his signature items.

BoomFuzzy had been busy, as always, in the kitchen with his Goblins, creating yet another feast for their caravan. Preparing the meals for the long river trip. He’d left Quaraun alone, knowing well enough that the Elven wizard liked to work in solitude. But the sound of footsteps behind him stirred Quaraun from his focused thoughts.

BoomFuzzy’s gruff voice came from the doorway.

“Ya still at it, eh, JellyElf?”

Quaraun nodded without looking up.

“The candles must be flawless, Unicorn. You know this.”

BoomFuzzy didn’t reply, but Quaraun could feel his presence linger in the room, the warmth of it contrasting with the cold that had settled into the stone walls. He felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. No matter how far they ventured from the Black Tower, no matter the chaos of their travels, BoomFuzzy would always be there.

“The Goblins are loading the next batch into crates,” BoomFuzzy said. “If yer ready, we can ship ’em off to the boat and be done with it. Get some sleep. Don’t want ya frettin’ ‘bout these any longer.”

Quaraun didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he poured the final layer of wax into the mould and watched it settle, forming a clean, smooth surface. He blew out a breath and turned to face his husband.

“A moment longer,” Quaraun said quietly. “I want to be sure.”

BoomFuzzy nodded.

“Take yer time, Love. But rest.”

“I must be there when they load The Blue Monkey.”

“Love — “

“I must.”

“Fine. Then we load the crates in the morning. Not tonight. I’ll not have ya pregnant arse waddling up the gangplanks in the dark.”

1.3:

Quaraun reclined against a mound of embroidered cushions inside the pink silk tent. His silver hair cascaded over the rose-hued carpet, jellyfish tendrils curling around the edges of the low wooden table.

A stack of parchment lay before him, each sheet covered in precise sketches of booth layouts and display arrangements. Thin lines of gold ink mapped out where each candle would sit — colour-coded patterns designed to draw the eye.

“Maybe if you put the blue ones in front?” GhoulSpawn knelt beside him, his golden fleece shimmering under the dim lantern light. He held a half-empty bottle of Moxie in one hand and a licorice stick in the other. “Blue’s calming, yeah? Makes people wanna stay longer.”

“I want them to buy, not linger,” Quaraun said, tapping his gloved finger against his lip. “Blues and greens to the side. Pink and gold in the centre. Draw them in.”

GhoulSpawn grinned.

“You think of everything, huh?”

Quaraun’s gaze narrowed.

“Do you doubt me?”

“Nah, man.” GhoulSpawn tipped the bottle to his lips. “Just impressed. Your candles already sell out faster than anything else at these festivals.”

Quaraun traced a long silver strand of hair between his fingers.

“The product alone is not enough. Presentation matters.”

GhoulSpawn smirked.

“You’ve got it all under control.”

A gust of wind rattled the tent’s frame. The canvas flapped, and GhoulSpawn’s long floppy lamb ears twitched.

“Storm’s picking up.”

Quaraun’s hand slid over his swollen stomach. The weight of it pressed against his spine. His head tilted back against the cushions.

“You okay?” GhoulSpawn’s brow furrowed.

“I am merely… tired.”

GhoulSpawn slid closer, resting his arm across Quaraun’s shoulders.

“BoomFuzzy’s gonna kill me if I let you work yourself to death.”

Quaraun’s lips twitched.

“You are not capable of stopping me.”

“Yeah, but he is.” GhoulSpawn grinned. “And you know he’s gonna put you on bed rest if you don’t take a break.”

Quaraun sighed.

“Ten minutes.”

“Thirty.”

Quaraun’s glare sharpened.

GhoulSpawn’s grin widened.

“Thirty. I’d rather listen to you bitching like a whinny annoying brat, then have BoomFuzzy beat the crap out of my ass for not forcing you to take a break.”

1.4:

The hum of the Blue Monkey’s engines was a constant thrum beneath Quaraun’s feet as he carefully supervised the loading of candles into the cargo hold.

The Goblins had arrived early, their small hands frantically moving crates of candles, making sure everything was packed tightly for the journey ahead. Quaraun stood at the edge of the ramp, observing the process, his sharp eyes catching every small detail.

BoomFuzzy had already been to the kitchen to make sure the preparations for their next meal were underway. But Quaraun was focused on the business side of things, as always. The cargo hold had to be perfect. The candles, in particular, had to be packed securely, for one misstep and the delicate products would break, ruining hours of work.

Quaraun wasn’t about to let that happen.

“Watch those crates, Goblins!” Quaraun called out, his voice calm but stern. “Handle them with care. The candles cannot be shattered!”

One of the Goblins glanced up at him, nodding quickly before rushing to adjust a crate that had been jostled too much. Quaraun smiled faintly, pleased with the efficiency of his crew, though he would never let it show.

BoomFuzzy arrived behind him, tapping him lightly on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Ya stress too much, Love. The Goblins know what they’re doin’. Let them handle it.”

Quaraun didn’t turn to face him.

“I must ensure the quality of my goods. I cannot afford to be careless.”

BoomFuzzy’s voice softened, and Quaraun could feel the warmth of his presence behind him.

“I know, Love. I know.”

Quaraun stood on the deck of the Blue Monkey, watching as Goblins hauled crates of candles into the hold.

The riverboat’s paddlewheel churned the icy black water, sending ripples across the glassy surface. Mist clung to the riverbanks, grey and cold.

“Careful with that!” Quaraun’s voice cut through the noise of the dock. A Goblin stumbled under the weight of a crate. “If you drop it — “

“Relax, Love.” BoomFuzzy leaned against the railing, arms crossed over his chest. His grey dreadlocks spilled over his shoulders. “They know what they’re doin’.”

Quaraun’s eyes narrowed.

“I do not trust them.”

“Ya don’t trust anyone.” BoomFuzzy’s lips curled. “That’s why ya’re still alive.”

Quaraun’s fingers tightened around the railing.

“If one crate is damaged — “

“I’ll dock their pay. Don’t worry yerself.”

“I am responsible for these candles.” Quaraun’s voice sharpened.

“Aye. But you ain’t responsible for the shiploadin’.” BoomFuzzy’s gaze softened as he crossed the deck to stand beside Quaraun. “Ya need t’ learn to let go a little.”

“I cannot.”

BoomFuzzy slipped an arm around his waist, leaning his head against Quaraun’s shoulder.

“Ya’re carryin’ too much, Love.” His hand drifted down, pressing against the curve of Quaraun’s stomach. “Ya’re gonna wear yerself out.”

Quaraun’s shoulders stiffened.

“I am not fragile.”

“Nah, ya’re stronger than anyone I know.” BoomFuzzy pressed a kiss to Quaraun’s shoulder. “But strength ain’t about doin’ it all yerself.”

Quaraun’s lips parted, but BoomFuzzy’s arms tightened.

The Goblins finished loading the last crate, securing the hold with iron bolts. The ship’s engine rumbled beneath their feet.

“See?” BoomFuzzy whispered. “Nothin’ broke. Ya’re good.”

Quaraun sighed. “If anything happens — “

“It won’t. Love.” BoomFuzzy’s hand tightened around his. “And if it does, I’ll fix it. Trust me.”

Quaraun relaxed into BoomFuzzy’s arms.

The candles were safe. For now, that was enough.

Quaraun finally let out a long breath, feeling the tension of the day slowly leave his shoulders. He turned to face BoomFuzzy, the solid little figure grounding him in the moment.

“You should take a break,” BoomFuzzy insisted, pulling Quaraun’s hand toward him gently. “Leave the Goblins to their work. I will keep an eye on things.”

“You are blind.”

“Ya knows what I mean.”

Quaraun allowed himself to be pulled away, though his mind remained on the candles.

His candles.

His business.

And yet, in BoomFuzzy’s presence, there was a moment of calm, a fleeting sense of peace that allowed him to breathe a little easier.

1.5:

Quaraun could feel the sun’s feeble rays pushing through the cracks in the booth’s awning fabric, though it was barely enough to warm the chilled air.

The market was bustling outside, voices and footsteps echoing in the distance. Quaraun carefully placed a row of candles on the folding table, each one glowing softly in the pale light that made its way inside. His booth, though small, was well arranged. His candles — each a piece of art — were lined up in neat rows, their different colors and delicate fragrances wafting through the space.

The festival was bustling with activity, and Quaraun’s booth was one of the most coveted spots, especially for those who appreciated a fine, handcrafted candle. Quaraun had plans to expand, to show off more of his wares, and maybe even bring in some of the rare rose-petal candles that only he knew how to make.

BoomFuzzy stood beside him, as ever, protective and patient, his hands gripping the corner of the stall as he inspected the displays.

GhoulSpawn was nearby too, his lanky form a silhouette against the crowds, easily spotted as he juggled a few extra crates of candles that needed to be brought in.

The chaos of the festival made Quaraun tense, but BoomFuzzy’s calming presence was enough to still his nerves.

“Not bad, JellyElf,” BoomFuzzy said with a wink. “Ya know what yer doing, aye?”

Quaraun smiled faintly, a rare show of approval.

“The candles must be as perfect as the ones in the Black Tower.”

BoomFuzzy laughed softly.

“There’s no Tower ‘round here, Love. We miles from the lighthouse.”

“I know,” Quaraun sighed. “But I strive for perfection. It is important.”

GhoulSpawn approached with a crate of candles and handed them off to Quaraun, who took them and added them to the display with precision.

“Hey, um… are these the right ones?” GhoulSpawn asked, pointing at a stack of candles that didn’t quite match the rest.

Quaraun’s brow furrowed as he examined the ones in question.

“These are… acceptable,” he said, though his voice was tight with mild displeasure. “But they must be fixed. The wax quality is too rough.”

GhoulSpawn raised his hands in mock surrender.

“I didn’t make ’em. Was just told to bring them, y’know?”

Quaraun nodded absently, already deep in thought as he began setting aside the imperfect ones for later.

“Why did you pack them if you were just gonna sit here at the festival repairing them?”

Quaraun glanced briefly at GhoulSpawn and then returned to fussing over the candles.

BoomFuzzy gave GhoulSpawn a pointed look.

“Take note, Ghouly. Quaraun’s candles ain’t something to be messed about with. They’re works of art.”

The Pink Necromancer, Moon Elf silk weaver & merchant: Quaraun on Noodle Beach. His master chef Phooka turned Lich husband: BoomFuzzy with his 1968 VW Bus Beach Noodle Food Truck. And their on again/off again mad scientist Sheep Demon lover: GhoulSpawn with his 1974 AMC Gremlin time machine. Time Travel setting swings back and forth between 40th century Maine after a comet hit the moon decimating the planet, and the 1970s, Maine. Quaraun in the main character, he and BoomFuzzy are a married gay couple. GhoulSpawn is their shared live-in lover. Art by Wendy Christine Allen.

BoomFuzzy

Quaraun

Faeries vs Elves (In The Quaraun Series) A Pink Necromancer World Lore Post

The Pink Necromancer: The Adventures of Quaraun The Insane aka The Twighlight Manor Series

🌸🦄🌸 Furry Yaoi Fiction about Elves and Faeries and Satyrs and Demons and Unicorns and Technomancer Wizards and Liches living in a Lighthouse and surviving as Travelling Merchants and Food Truck Chefs in Cyberpunk Dystopian 40th Century Maine, and Zombie Apocalypse and Time Travel but it’s Slice of Life Vignettes of Mundane Daily Lives of The UnSeelie Court’s Royal Family trying to survive after a comet hit the moon and turned the Earth into a CyberPunk Ice-Age. 🌸🦄🌸

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This page was written by Wendy Christine Allen of 146 Portland Ave, Old Orchard Beach, Maine. All Rights Reserved.

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• Picking The Perfect Pickle

Includes the following stories: Picking the Perfect Pickle BoomFuzzy’s Hearth The Phooka's Dragon School Sea Glass & Silken Worries A Quiet Night on The River The Cursed Grimoire Ignoramus — An Utterly Ignorant Crowd of Humans The Littlest Keeper of the Lantern Excited For The New Baby Quaraun's Candle Business The Sacred Pink Secret There Are a Million Reasons to Be Grateful A Thousand Little Kicks The Sun was Shining, a Rare Thing in This Dystopian Ice Age Morning Sickness at The Shattered Stein A Night for Spoons Pink Silk and Soup The Book of Tortured Souls I Need To Feel Safe Cakes for a Kingdom

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