Readers vs Readers, What Really Makes a Reader, a Reader?

Readers vs Readers, What Really Makes a Reader, a Reader?

The GodForsaken City, with its glittering sky-spires wrapped in a net of frost-rimed neon cables, was a shattered cathedral of what the world once had been — gleaming, chaotic, noisy, yet somehow alive in a way the frozen wastes could never be. Here, for a few brief days every year, the three companions dared return to civilisation.

Or, what passed for it.

The bar was a biker dive pressed deep into the lower westside of the city core. A rusted steel placard outside read The Oil Slick, and the front door had been kicked in so many times it no longer closed properly. The stench of sour beer, grease, testosterone, and unwashed leather assaulted the senses like an over-aggressive drunken goat.

Despite all that, BoomFuzzy adored the place.

Maybe because the food was greasy.

Maybe because the Humans were grosser.

Most likely it was just because it gave him excuses to punch people.

BoomFuzzy liked finding excuses to punch people.

Living with Quaraun and GhoulSpawn, both of whom were better suited to sitting around looking pretty, rather then doing any manly pursuits, left BoomFuzzy seeking out other males to pound into a pulp.

BoomFuzzy, had declared the area too hostile for Quaraun and GhoulSpawn, then shoved them into a booth in the back of the bar, with instructions to stay there until he got back. BoomFuzzy then left, without giving them a chance to ask where he was going or when he’d be back.

This was a common thing for BoomFuzzy to do, so Quaraun and GhoulSpawn ordered drinks and a meal and set about to getting their blogging done, as this bar was one of the few places left on the planet with internet access.

Quaraun sat in the farthest booth, draped in layers of pink silk like a god-king pretending to slum it with the mortals. His twitching foot long rabbitty ears jingled the delicate silver chains that ran from their piercings down to his nose rings. He fiddled anxiously with his tablet, the glow of its screen casting rainbow reflections on his many rings.

Beside him sat GhoulSpawn, far too large for the booth, his golden fleece fluffed out around him like a radioactive cloud. He’d built the tablet himself, cobbled together from parts he’d stolen off a crashed satellite.

Quaraun’s blog mostly consisted of poetry, while GhoulSpawn’s was endless notes on his theoretical physics theories.

“Like, man,” GhoulSpawn said, tapping his screen with one oversized hoof-finger. “This thing says the average online reader loses attention after four hundred words. Like, four hundred, dude. That’s not even a full train of thought. That’s, like, one trip to the bathroom and back.”

Quaraun blinked slowly.

“One ought not to be called a reader if one lacks the capacity to read.”

“Yeah,” GhoulSpawn agreed, tugging his gold brocade vest up over his shoulders. “But, like, it’s a real stat, man. Analytics and everything. Articles gotta be under 400 words or the clicky-clicky crowd bails.”

Quaraun scrolled through the article again, brow furrowing.

“Four hundred words. A single paragraph. One might as well read cereal boxes.”

“And, like, they do,” GhoulSpawn said. “Most people online are scrolling for vibes, not ideas. They ain’t readers, they’re, like… vibe-zappers, bro.”

“Humans lack intelligence.”

“True.”

Quaraun’s long-nailed fingers tapped his chin. His bioluminescent jellyfish-hair writhed slightly, disturbed by some private irritation.

“I suppose I think of the word reader to mean ‘one who reads’ so I struggle with a definition that a reader can not read more then a single paragraph. A paragraph being defined as ‘a section of words 200 to 500 words in length focused on a singular thought’ according to every English grammar book in every high school. Because to me reading a single paragraph is simply scanning for information and not reading.

“I think that is why I struggle to wrap my mind out so much of blogger lingo, because most of it goes so far deep end in contradiction of dictionary definition of word meanings. Take short story for example. A short story is defined as ‘a work of fiction no shorter then one thousand words, rarely longer then ten thousand words, but can be as long as up to fifty thousand words. A short story is never non-fiction and never contains fewer then one thousand words’. And yet most writers on Medium define what they write as short stories when most are writing nonfiction of under 500 words.

“I suppose the issue is I do not have a good working knowledge of American Street Slang, English not being my 1st language, and so I rely heavily on dictionaries to tell me what words mean, but apparently most Americans do not use dictionary definitions for words, which often leaves me confused and not knowing the meaning of their words, even though I know the dictionary meaning of their words.

“And you are right, 400 words does seem to be the sweet spot online, if you want to gain reads, but still, it just feels odd to call them readers, when they are not capable of reading beyond only a single paragraph length of words.

“If 400 words it too much for them, they must have never once in their lives ever enjoyed reading a book. The average CHILDREN’S novel is 70k to 90k words while the average adult’s novel is 120k to 150k words. And then you have volume 7 of Harry Potter at 230k words.

“I am left wondering WHY can so called ‘readers’ online not read beyond a few hundred words, when the typical reader goes through a few tens of thousands of words an hour while reading a book? Part of me wants to think the online ‘readers’ have a serious lack of intelligence, but I do not feel that is correct. Of course they are Humans and their intellect is limited by that fact alone.

“In the end, I think it is simply the word ‘reader’ that is the issue. I think there needs to be a word other then reader to define online “readers” because clearly they are not readers if their brain can not surpass reading a single 400 word paragraph.”

As Quaraun spoke, GhoulSpawn nodded solemnly, making little notes on his tablet, to remember to invent a better word than “reader” for their future blog posts.

Outside, motorcycles rumbled and revved, their echo bouncing through the frost-choked alleyways like distant war drums.

The moment cracked like old bone.

BoomFuzzy kicked open the bar’s entrance, the creaking metal door slamming into the wall like a gunshot. A half-dozen burly biker thugs turned to look, grinning as they spotted him.

The King of the UnSeelie Court stood five-foot-one, barely chest heigh to the Humans in the bar, wrapped in black hakama and a garish purple kilt, spiked purple leather jacket flared out like wings, long grey dreadlocks tangled around his goggles. He sniffed the air and spat. Then strutted toward the bar like a tiny little bantam rooster looking for a cockfight.

“Oi! It’s the wee gobshite again!” one of the bikers barked, slapping his beer onto the counter.

“Who let the Shetland in the fuckin’ bar?”

“Someone fetch the damn step stool before he drowns in his pint!”

BoomFuzzy did not so much as blink. He strutted past the jeering Humans, climbed onto the barstool like a man preparing for execution, and slapped a hand down hard on the counter.

“Barmaid!” he bellowed. “I want a fuckin’ drink stiffer than yer granny’s corpse tits!”

Snickers echoed. The bartender, wisely, ducked behind the counter. She knew what was coming.

One of the bikers, twice BoomFuzzy’s size and half his brain weight, swaggered over.

“Careful, tiny. You might fall in and drown. How ‘bout we get ya a juice box instead, Princess?”

BoomFuzzy turned his head slowly. Very slowly. A snarl curled his lip, gold-plated teeth glinting.

“What did ye just say tae me?”

“You heard me, pipsqueak. This bar’s for men, not pixies who fuck pink-wearing fairy gnomes.”

CRACK!

The bottle smashed over the biker’s head before the sentence finished leaving his mouth. Shards of glass and beer exploded across the counter.

“How dare you insult me pink JellyElf.”

The man stumbled, howled, and reached for BoomFuzzy. That was a mistake.

BoomFuzzy leapt. Like a feral cat crossed with a demon goat, he launched himself into the man’s chest with a flurry of punches, elbows, and wild, swinging dreadlocks. The bar erupted. Chairs flew. Tables overturned. Leather-clad brawlers dove in, shouting curses, drawing knives.

Quaraun sighed, gently folding his tablet.

“Unicorn has started another riot.”

GhoulSpawn ducked as a chair soared over his head.

“Dude, every time. It’s like, literally a law of nature by now.”

BoomFuzzy, cackling wildly, leapt atop the bar, one hand bloody, the other flipping double birdies as he howled.

“Ye want a juice box? I’ll give ye a fuckin’ juice box, ye ball-less sack o’ blubber!”

Then he flung a bottle of hot sauce directly into another biker’s eye. He then turned into a Unicorn and used his horn to skewer the nearest biker.

The Unicorn had gone full feral.

Quaraun delicately reached for his Rainbow Wand.

“I shall petrify the floor. They shall slip and fall.”

GhoulSpawn grinned.

“Ice rink bar fight? Groovy.”

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 King Gwallmaiic aka BoomFuzzy the Unicorn: Quaraun's husband, BoomFuzzy aka King Gwallmaiic, a Scottish Phooka, who is King of The UnSeelie Court. Quaraun is his court mage and advisor, as well as the only Elf in The UnSeelie Court. BoomFuzzy is a "classic fantasy type" Necromancer who uses sorcery to raise the dead. Being a Faerie he is also an illusionist and master of trickster magic. By profession, he is a Master Chef, owning the global monopoly on restaurants, taverns, pubs, and food trucks. Until his death, BoomFuzzy was regarded as the world's most powerful wizard. He is now a Lich. BoomFuzzy is also half-Human. His mother was a Mongolian/Chinese Human, which is why he wears distinctively Asian outfits, along with a great kilt worn as a cape. Known as BoomFuzzy the Unicorn, he often takes the form of a purple Unicorn. BoomFuzzy's exact age is unknown, though he was well over two thousand years old at the time of his death, and Quaraun resurrected him as a Lich around 500+ years ago, making him close to 3,000 years old. In his BlackBird form he is fifteen thousand years old. Art by Wendy Christine Allen

Quaraun Quaraun the Insane aka The Pink Necromancer: The F2M transgender Persian Moon Elf main character: The Pink Necromancer, Quaraun The Insane, with BoomFuzzy the Unicorn. F2M for those unaware = Quaraun was biologically born female, but transitioned to live as a male; this is why there are stories where Quaraun is sometimes pregnant, in spite of being male and using he/him male pronouns. Quaraun is a Necromancer by the actual dictionary definition of the word, meaning he is a psychic medium who sees and hears ghosts, and uses tarot, spirit boards, and seances to communicate with the dead. By profession he is a silk weaver/tailor/silk merchant. Quaraun is an Elder God JellyFish who takes the form of an Elf to blend in with society. His 12 foot long hair is made out of venomous, stinging jellyfish tentacles. Quaraun is BoomFuzzy's apprentice and regarded as the world's most powerful still living wizard. Quaraun's exact age is unknown, but he is somewhere around 750 years old. In his SunTa form he is twelve thousand years old. The Scared Pink JellyFish that lives in him, is stated to being over two million years old. Art by Wendy Christine Allen

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. 🌸🦄🌸

• eBook Editions from this series can be found on: GumRoad

• Kindle, eBook, Print Paperback, & full colour illustrated Hardcover Editions from this series can be found on: Amazon

Main characters: The Pink Necromancer, Quaraun (A Moon Elf) and his husband King Gwallmaiic aka BoomFuzzy aka The Elf Eater of Pepper Valley, Lich King of Fire Mountain (A Phooka/Faerie).

BoomFuzzy is King of The UnSeelie Court;

Quaraun is his Court Mage;

GhoulSpawn (not pictured) is Quaraun’s apprentice.

They are the world’s three most evil super villains, though they do not see themselves as evil. They own the world’s only functioning BioDome and thus hold the world’s monopoly on crops, food, livestock, and fabric, holding the Human population at their sadistic mercy.

These stories are told from their point of view.

 — — Art by Wendy Christine Allen

Meet The Characters

Books By Wendy Christine Allen
Currently Available on Amazon Kindle:

Index of the Quaraun novels, novellas, & short story collections on Amazon

And GumRoad:

Index of the Quaraun short stories on GumRoad

On Medium:

An Index of the more than TWO THOUSAND Quaraun Short Stories on Medium

(NOTE: a $5 or $15 per month paid subscription required to access stories on Medium)

On Vocal:

Index of the Quaraun short stories on Vocal

On Notd:

Index of the Quaraun Short Stories on Notd

On OnlyFans:

Index of the Quaraun Short Stories on OnlyFans

Pink Necromancer Merch: On CafePress:

An Index of the Quaraun Merch on CafePress

Pink Necromancer Merch: On Zazzle:

Index of the Quaraun Merch on Zazzle

Not Quaraun:

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

All Rights Reserved.