The Morning After a Night of Teaching Wizards To Gather Magic With Cards
A Pink Necromancer Fiction Short
LGBTQAI+ FICTION | The Adventures of Quaraun The Insane | TransMan Main Character | Cozy Fantasy | Poly Romance

The Adventures of Quaraun The Insane - A Pink Necromancer Short Fiction Story 

Domestic Lives of Dangerous Faeries - LGBTQAI+ Queer MPreg Cozy Fantasy Fiction w a F2M Elf Wizard, a Gay Faerie Chef, & a BiSexual Demon Time Traveller, Free To Read Online

Series Trigger Warnings:

 * Polyamorous married gay couple and their live-in lover

 * Intersex main character, who lives as a trans man

 * Furry Yaoi 

 * Characters often drink, swear, use drugs, and smoke hookahs.

 * Transman Mpreg

Not all things appear in all stories. 

Series Heat Level:

 * Short Stories: Sweet, Fluffy, Lime, or Limon

 * Novellas: Lime, Limon, Orange

 * Novels: Orange, Lemon

What is the series about?

It's three god-level, planet destroying, alien invader Space Elf, Space Faerie, Space Demon megalomaniac super villain bumbling wizards, and their ship's crew (The UnSeelie Court) with big global domination plans, whom have invaded 40th century Earth, settled in a lighthouse in Maine, started a zombie apocalypse, are hellbent on destroying all Humans and taking over the planet, but are never getting anything done because they are too busy throwing temper tantrums, having hissy fits, and flinging food, sea slugs, insults, and sexual tension at each other, to ever get around to destroying the planet.

It's slice-of-life survival horror in a post-apocalyptic necromantic dictatorship, told through dysfunctional domestic intimacy between soul-stealing villains who rule the world. Welcome to the spiralling madness of Quaraun’s eldritch, sensory-heavy, character-driven, neurotic, dysfunctional, intimate, sugar-dusted Fae-punk world. This is the hostile, dystopian, necromantic, and hyper-sensory domestic horror of Quaraun’s everyday life with BoomFuzzy (and sometimes GhoulSpawn), in a grim world ruled by undead Faerie warlords where society has collapsed and survival is brutal, intimate, and corrupt, and Humans are often on the menu of UnSeelie Court feasts.

Seen in image: 

- IMAGE 1: The Pink Necromancer, Thullid Infested Moon Elf silk weaver, travelling merchant, & Royal Court Mage of The UnSeelie Court: Quaraun Swanzen on Noodle Beach. With his unhinged temper, his 12 foot long prehensile, venomous jellyfish tentacle hair, his deadly laser wand, and his inability to stay sober long enough to cast a spell properly, he is the most feared being in the known universe. Quaraun is literally a Space JellyFish (A Thullid) whom has taken control of the corpse of a dead Elf.

In the year 2525, a comet struck the Moon. Now, in 40th century Maine, Earth is frozen, the Moon is fractured, and UnDead Lobsters are a serious problem. And then there's Quaraun: The Pink Necromancer. Most feared super villain on Earth. Possibly the galaxy. Maybe ever. But all he wants is tea, silk embroidery, and a calm evening in his lighthouse.

- IMAGE 2: Master Chef Phooka turned Lich King of The UnSeelie Court: King Gwallmaiic aka BoomFuzzy the Unicorn with his 1968 VW Bus Beach Noodle Food Truck. He is king of the entire fucking planet. Defy him and he'll serve you as the main course of the next UnSeelie Court feast. The world's only known Unicorn, in his true form he is a tiny lilac coloured Shetland Pony with a gleaming silver horn. In his Lich form he is a blue crystal skeleton of a Friesian stallion. 

BoomFuzzy, the Unicorn Lich King of the UnSeelie Court, is Quaraun's dead husband. Technically dead. Officially terrifying. Unofficially the best baker left in the apocalypse.

- IMAGE 3: The Satyr-like, mad scientist Sheep Demon: Gremorse Liore aka GhoulSpawn with his 1974 AMC Gremlin time machine. He is Quaraun's apprentice, and fast becoming the most powerful wizard in the universe.

GhoulSpawn, their brilliant, baffled companion, fell through time from 1978 and never found the way home. Now he juggles tech repairs, running from zombies, and being madly in love with the two most dangerous men of the apocalypse.

 - Art by Wendy Christine Allen. 

- Not seen here: Toobe: a deceptively innocent looking tiny flying silver metal orb that hoovers around GhoulSpawn, giving science reports and scanning for dangers, Toobe is a sadistically insane sentient AI from thirteen thousand years in the future, who is the real brains behind the plot of global domination.

• The Series Prologue  

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

• Worldbuilding MoonQuakes and Disabled Characters for Fantasy Writers

• Trigger Warnings: To Trigger or not to Trigger, that is the question

The Morning After a Night of Teaching Wizards To Gather Magic With Cards

The next morning arrived sideways, cold, and full of Human regret.

Quaraun woke on a tavern bench that smelled of old ale, damp wool, and panic sweat. The bench reeked of slate-grey, salty, kelp-laced dampness soaked deep into the warped winter wood. Bleakly, Quaraun tasted slate-grey salt in the air and decided the morning was hostile. His jellyfish hair had knotted itself around a chair leg during the night. The chair had opinions about this. The chair creaked and leaned away, its storm-grey leg grinding it's teeth. It refused to let go.

Quaraun tugged.

The chair tugged back.

“Release me,” Quaraun told the cerulean, stubborn chair, voice thin with warning.

His cane clattered. Germs everywhere.

“Everything smells brined,” Quaraun whispered, horrified by the vinegar-grey air.

Filth. Spores. A public floor.

He hissed and wrapped his pink silk tighter, fingers trembling inside his gold prosthetics. The thick, nubby tussar silk felt damp, cold, and faintly salty against his skin.

“This is unacceptable. Unacceptable and unsanitary. Unsanitary and unacceptable.”

Grinning, BoomFuzzy chewed vinegar-drenched pier fries, steam rising blue-grey from the greasy paper cone.

“Mornin’, Love,” BoomFuzzy said.

Quaraun grumbled something in reply, but he was too tired to know what he had said. He remembered the night before in pieces. Fragmentedly, memories surfaced smelling of shrimp grease, blue smoke, and panic.

Gravely, a Human dockhand muttered about a midnight-blue shape moving under slate-grey ice near the pilings.

Painted cards for spell casting.

GhoulSpawn explaining rules with diagrams scratched in chalk.

BoomFuzzy declaring himself a sorcerer of cardboard.

Humans screaming when the first spell went wrong, or right, or both.

Fireballs made of squirrels.

A wall turning into frogs.

Someone yelling about Demons. Someone else fainting. Quaraun fainting too, twice, which did not help.

Now morning. He could tell it was morning despite the lack of sunlight. Because the morning carried briny fog, the room tasted of salt, mildew, and distant tide flats.

Same city.

Same tavern.

Biddeford.

Maine.

A city, he reminded himself bitterly. A Human city. Too many buildings. Buildings full of Humans. Too many ghosts in the walls. Human ghosts.

“It is hell being a Necromancer,” Quaraun snarled as he clamped his gold plated prosthetic hands over his foot long pointed rabbity ears. “The dead never shut up. Human ghosts always wanting me to give messages to their loved ones like i was some fucking postal service. Nag, nag, nag. That's all the dead ever do. Just like the living. I hate Humans. I hate alive Humans. I hate dead Humans. I stay away from cities precisely so I do not have to deal with ghosts clambering for my attention. Are there no Human Necromancers you can go bother?”

Quaraun yelled at ghosts only he could see or hear. The Humans in the room, not seeing or hearing the ghosts, simply presumed The Pink Necromancer to be drunk.

A prostitute sauntered over to his table.

“Fancy a go?”

“No.”

She sat down beside him.

“Are you sure? You look like you could use some cheering up.”

“Madame,” Quaraun shrieked, while flinging open his pink silk robe. “Do I look like I have any use for someone like you?”

The prostitute jumped back away from the table and stared at Quaraun’s heavily scarred body.

“I am not a lesbian.” Quaraun re-girdled his robe. Then pointed towards BoomFuzzy. “And I am married to that naked man over there. Why the fuck is he naked? What has he been doing while I was asleep? That naked man over there? He is my husband. I have no breasts because my father was a psychotic king who wanted a son and decided to punish me for committing the sin of being born female. The fact that I look like a male and am better at passing for a male than a female, is something that I would like to live with, without whores like you, flinging their own still attached breasts in my face, to remind me that I no longer have mine.”

The woman ran away. As she did so, the chair beside Quaraun, pounced on a bedbug which was just then crawling up out of a floor board.

“What the hell am I doing in Biddeford?” Quaraun demanded the room. “I am neither a bedbug nor a whore and there is nothing else here.”

The tavern keeper hid behind the bar. Humans did that a lot around him. Quaraun had that effect on Humans. He could hear their hearts. Rabbits. All of them rabbits. Scared as rabbits, as Humans should be.

Quaraun looked down at the sentient chair.

“Let go of me.”

The chair chewed tighter. Coated in stale varnish and greasy fingerprints, the chair leg felt clammy against his tendrils.

“Do not escalate,” Quaraun said, as the chair yanked with squishy, malicious enthusiasm. “Damit give me my hair back or I'll blast you into toothpicks,” Quaraun snarled at the chair as he reached for his Rainbow Wand.

The chair immediately stopped chewing on Quaraun's hair and spit it out.

“Thank you,” Quaraun snapped.

“Fighting with the furniture again, Love?” BoomFuzzy called.

Quaraun turned around to see where BoomFuzzy was.

BoomFuzzy sat at a table piled with cards, boots up, naked from the waist up, polishing a spoon on his sleeve. He was probably naked from the waist down, too, knowing him, but Quaraun couldn't tell from here. Ice crept across the tabletop under his fingers, slow and decorative.

“It was chewing on my hair.”

“Twere doing more'en that while ya was asleep.”

“And I suppose it was beyond your ability to stop it?”

“Aye'yep.”

“Fuck you!”

“And a fucking good mornin’ to you too!”

Casually, BoomFuzzy ate more vinegar pier fries, grease dripping onto the cards.

“Why are we still in this godforsaken hellhole?”

“Because, me wee JellyElf,” BoomFuzzy said. “Ye got drunk on green fairy wine, passed out on the table, and me and Ghouly got to play a right fucking good game of magic gathering cards in fucking dungeons full of dragons fucking, where i were role playing a gambling wizard who were losing at strip poker, while ya pearly white arse slept like a sack o’ fucking haunted purple topped white turnips. Cute as fuck, drooling all over yarself.”

"Do you have to say fuck so much? The sun isn't even up yet. And I have not yet had either my coffee, nor my tea, nor my absinthe yet."

"Sun ain't fucking shown her face in centuries, Love," BoomFuzzy corrected. "And there ain't no coffee in this fucking shite hole worth drinking. I'll have one of me Goblins run out to me food truck and bring ya in a pot."

"You are still obsessively saying fuck for no fucking reason."

“As are you.”

“I am fucking angry. I have every fucking reason to fucking say fuck. You keep saying fuck for no fucking reason. You act like it is a punctuation mark!”

"We in Biddeford, Love. Gotta blend in with the locals."

Just then, as if on cue, two burly Human dock hands thundered through the door, and greeted two other dock hands, already seated, with a slew of "Fuck you, ya bastard," that to the untrained ears sounded like insults, but to anyone used to Biddeford, Maine knew that was just how everyone in the city said good morning to each other.

Quaraun glared at the Humans.

“Fuck you, ya fucking scallywag!” One Human said cheerfully, slapping the other on the back.

“Fuck you right back, ya fucking numb nuts!”

“Fucking fine morning, eh?”

“Fuck yeah it is.”

“How's the fucking fish biting?”

“Ain't no fucking fish fucking biting, on account of that there fucking MerMan is fucking out there fucking up the fucking traps again.”

“Damn fucking shame.”

“Ain't no fucking MerMan ya fucking iiget.”

“I seen it,” one dockhand said loudly, voice shaking like frozen rope. “I swear I fucking did.”

“Blue eyes,” another dockhand snapped. “Bluest fucking eyes ya ever did fucking see. Too many fucking teeth, no fucking tail.”

“See?” BoomFuzzy said. “Told ya. The more ya say fuck, the more ya blend in with the locals on these here parts.”

“Why do we keep coming to Biddeford?”

“Love, in case ya hadna noticed, I be the King, and that there big red brick building across the river, that be me palace…”

“That is the ruins of a blanket factory.”

“Aye.”

“It is a mill, powered by that damn.”

“And ya being the master weaver, ya should love it what with all them looms in there needing ya commands.”

“Those are industrial looms, I weave on a twenty inch rigid heddle loom and a thirty two inch bottom weighted tapestry loom.”

“Suit yourself. But I happen to like Pepper Valley.”

“Why do you keep calling it Pepper Valley? This is Biddeford.”

“Aye'yep. And I renamed it. Pepperrell Mill was named after a Human, I decided to update the name for us Faeries…”

“I am an Elf.”

“Married to the King of the Fae.”

“Who thinks a demolished factory made of crumbling red bricks is a palace…”

“Love, it started out in life as a fort for the biggest war in American history.”

“It is brick ruins from 18th century Human society.”

“Where I was quite content to live for two thousand fucking years before marrying you. The lighthouse is yours…”

“It is a wizard's tower.”

“It is a lighthouse, that a crazy wizard, you, lives in. The lighthouse is yours. The palace is mine…”

“That is not a palace! It is the ruins of a mill in Maine…”

“That I was living in, as King of The UnSeelie Court, for a thousand years before you was even born. We live in your lighthouse half the year, and my palace the other half the year, that is our arrangement, you agreed to it.”

“Why must we hangout here with drunken fishermen?”

“Love, ya be married to a fucking fisherman, and yis drink more than all the fucking fisherman in this city combined.”

“You are the King, you do not have to fish…”

“I were a fisherman in Shetland before the apocalypse happened and I were a reality TV chef, with the most watched TV show in history, and I am the owner of more Michelin stars then any restaurant owner in history. I gots awards and plaques and certificates and keys to cities all with the title of ‘World's Greatest Chef” on them. I was a fisherman, who became the world's greatest chef, and I were the only man with enough balls to stand up and keep at least one civilization running when a comet hit the moon and civilization died. I haven't got one drop of royal blood in me ‘tire body, now do I? If ya wanted to marry royalty, ya shouldn't a married a fisherman who became a TV chef, and still spends 90% of me days fishing in the Saco River and cooking in me food truck, eh?”

Quaraun sighed.

“I hate Biddeford.”

“Say is right, Love,” BoomFuzzy corrected. “Ya fucking hate fucking Biddeford.”

Quaraun dramatically slammed his face down on the table. The chair immediately returned to chewing on his hair.

“Will you stop that!” Quaraun shrieked at the chair.

The chair ran away and hid behind the table.

GhoulSpawn stood nearby, his gold pleco omega pupils eyes red-rimmed, DnD character charts scattered across the floor. Dice scattered about. Probability trees. Mana curves. THACO graphs. Scribbled notes reading THIS IS NOT HOW STATISTICS WORK. He looked exhausted in the way only a genius could look after being ignored. He has spent the entire evening trying to calculate ways of playing Dungeons and Dragons without BoomFuzzy turning it into a bloodbath.

Methodically, GhoulSpawn adjusted his orange cotton caftan, the fabric smelling faintly of damp salt air, as did everything in this tavern, which was perched precariously on the edge of Saco Bay, threatening to throw itself into the Atlantic Ocean. The air carried crab-shell brine, vinegar tang, and cold lilac soap from nearby washing lines. Quaraun both loved it and hated it all at once.

“It turns out,” GhoulSpawn muttered. “Teaching real wizards how to play Human tabletop games about pretending to be wizards, is far more dangerous than I had anticipated.”

“Ya'll really think ya could teach a Faerie how to gather magic?” BoomFuzzy asked.

“Dude,” GhoulSpawn said gently. “We gotta talk about spell literalism. It's a game. You PRETEND to be a mage. These are metaphorical representations. Symbolic game mechanics. You do not actually summon Goblins.”

“Goat, ye gotta understand...”

“I'm a Sheep.”

“Aye. And I'm the King of the UnSeelie Court, and I have dozens of Goblins in my employ. The card told me to summon Goblins and that is what I did. They were just waiting outside for orders, so I summoned them and gave them the orders the card told me to give them.”

“That’s not how RPGs work. It's pretending. Its not real. Its a game.”

Quaraun sniffed.

“Unicorn is correct,” Quaraun snapped. “Goblins exist. Cards do not lie. Humans lie. Cards are honest rectangles.”

BoomFuzzy barked laughter.

“Aye, listen to him. Rectanglar magic. That the good stuff. None o’ that shite where numbers tell ye what to do. Numbers is liars.”

GhoulSpawn rubbed his face.

“The deck probabilities are destroyed. Completely trashed. Cheating introduces noise into the system. Noise ruins prediction. This is basic entropy management.”

“Hold that,” BoomFuzzy said, shoving vinegar pier fries into GhoulSpawn's mouth.

BoomFuzzy leaned over and flicked a card into the air. It burst into glitter and a rain of shrimp. The tavern floor scuttled. When shrimp rained down, the stench of hot shell brine and ocean rot slapped the room hard. Planks shrieked in terror, sprouted arms, pulled themselves up from the floor and ran, grey boards scrambling away from the shrimp. A chair galloped by and began eating the shrimp while snarling at the other furniture.

“Why are there so many mimics in this place?” Quaraun asked, exasperated.

“Ya was drunk, last night, Love,” BoomFuzzy said cheerfully.

“And you did not try to stop me?”

“Love, as ya loves to keep saying, yis The Pink Necromancer, Sacred Pink Jellyfish, Wizard of the DiJinn Order. I'm just a Lich, what don't want to become unlichified by the only mage what has the power to unlichify Liches.”

Quaraun scowled.

“Why are your clothes on the floor? I thought you two were playing a game.”

“Aye. Strip poker rules,” BoomFuzzy declared. “Best rules. Ye win faster when no one else is stripping. I learned that in Shetland. Or maybe Tuesday.”

“So you are losing? Everyone else has their clothes on.”

“Aye. I be losing on purpose.”

“Why?”

“When ya a body as beautiful as mine, ya gots to show it off, eh?”

"Could you at least wrap your kilt around your waist."

Quaraun leaned his chair back to look under BoomFuzzy’s table.

Yep.

He WAS naked from the waist down too.

Quaraun stared. His eyes reflected pale sapphire frost and far too much naked skin.

Lust crept in, unwanted, insistent. BoomFuzzy’s glorious dark chocolate brown skin gleamed with faint blue Lich light. Frost etched his ribs like cathedral windows. Quaraun clutched his garland of flowers, panic and desire tangling.

Focus. Focus.

Germs first. Lust later.

Always germs first.

His chair tottered backwards, then flipped over, sending Quaraun sprawling on the floor.

BoomFuzzy laughed.

"If ya want a better look, Love, I can stand on the table." Abruptly, he paused to shove more vinegar-soaked pier fries into his mouth, crunch echoing wetly.

“Put on some clothing,” Quaraun snapped. “There are Humans shedding. Shedding is hazardous.”

BoomFuzzy grinned and leaned over to blow a kiss towards Quaraun. The kiss smelled of vinegar, brine, and hot French fry grease. Cold lips. Safe lips. Lust burned in Quaraun's heart.

“Later, Love. Let me win this hand first.”

Quaraun pulled his pink velvet cushioned gold plated, ruby encrusted throne out of his pink beaded heart shaped bag of holding. The throne politely waited for the old Moon Elf to sit down, and then trotted across the room, carrying Quaraun to sit beside BoomFuzzy.

The Humans backed away as the cards slapped themselves into place. The deck growled. It did not like being handled by amateurs. One card crawled toward Quaraun and bit his shoe. Quaraun slapped it. The card bared its fangs.

“Stop biting me!”

“It's just playing, Love. It like ya.”

GhoulSpawn tried again.

“Okay. New day. Reset. Today we play it properly. No casting. Just tapping mana.” GhoulSpawn turned a swamp card sideways. “See? Tap the card to show you are casting a spell.”

“That is not tapping,” Quaraun said.

“Yes it is…”

Quaraun pulled out his Rainbow Wand.

Quaraun tapped the card with his wand. Pink light flared. The ceiling groaned. A spectral rose burst from the hearth and tried to eat a barstool. Several Humans ran screaming from the tavern. The barstool ran after them. The rose ran after it.

“That is tapping,” Quaraun said. “I tapped it. You do not flip cards sideways to tap them. You tap them with your wand."

"Dude, it's a game. You're not supposed to use real magic or real wands. You're supposed to just PRETEND to be a wizard. You PRETEND to attack the other players."

"I am a real wizard. I am The Pink Necromancer, Sacred Pink Jellyfish, Wizard of the DiJinn Order, royal court mage and advisor to King Gwallmaiic, Elf Eater of Pepper Valley, Lich Lord of Fire Mountain, King of the UnSeelie Court. I do not pretend at magic. I do not gather magic in cards. I am magic."

“No, man,” GhoulSpawn said. “Not like that. That is eldritch overkill. You gotta conceptualize abstraction.”

“I do not conceptualize abstraction. Abstraction gives me collywobbles.”

BoomFuzzy cackled.

“Hear that? Abstracshun got him all kerflooey.”

A Human whispered, too loud, “I wish they would leave.”

The air twisted. The wish heard itself. Quaraun shrieked.

“No no no no no. That is improper grammar. Did you not hear me just telling you I am a Wizard of the DiJinn Order. Words come to life around me when you start sentences with 'i wish'. You must never say 'i wish' in the presence of a DiJinn Wizard. Wishes require specificity. You did not specify who or what it was you desired to leave, now something or someone is going to leave at random. Wishing spells require exact and precise proper wording.”

The door tried to leave instead. It ripped itself from the wall and sprinted screaming down the street. The Humans screamed louder.

Quaraun sagged, breath hitching. Overwhelmed, by the smells of slate dust, cold iron, brine pressed tight against his lungs, and the stress of yelling at Humans for misswording wishes. His leg burned. The ghosts crowded close, whispering in his skull about children lost to coughs and rot and cold floors. His vision tunnelled.

BoomFuzzy caught him before he hit the boards, scooped him up like spun glass. The Phooka smelled of vinegar fries, cold wool, and faint ocean spray clinging to skin. Quaraun loved the smell of BoomFuzzy and quickly forgot about the stress of Humans.

“Easy now, me resplendent disaster. I got ye.”

GhoulSpawn shoved the cards into a sack that immediately tried to escape.

“Okay. New plan. We pack up. We sell food. No games. No wishes. No cardboard rectangles.”

BoomFuzzy snapped his fingers. The frost withdrew. The rose sulked back into the hearth. He tugged on a shirt. Still naked from the waist down, Quaraun noted, lustfully. Damn he is gorgous. 

“Aye. Time for commerce. Humans like commerce. Makes them forget terror.”

Outside, the robin egg blue 1968 VW Kombi Bus food truck squatted beside the tavern like a cheerful parasite. Brightly, the cerulean paint hurt Quaraun’s eyes against the grey slush. BoomFuzzy rang a bell. The smell of gingerbread and hot sugar cut through fear. Humans crept closer despite themselves.

Quaraun still sat on his throne, pontificating despite exhaustion. The gold plated pink chair sauntered around dramatically so Quaraun did not have to.

“There was much gloom,” he said. “Gloom and doom. Doom and gloom.”

BoomFuzzy slapped his bahookie against the truck and laughed.

“Him be dooming and glooming again. Cute as sin. Ghouly, get the motor started.”

GhoulSpawn fed a handful of stolen spoons into the Science Machine. It burped and spat out a booster pack.

GhoulSpawn sighed.

“Dude. It followed us.”

“What did?”

“The game.”

He held up the booster pack.

Quaraun eyed the pack suspiciously.

“Burn it.”

The pack opened itself. Inside waited a card depicting a pink jellyfish god.

Quaraun fainted.

Loot Acquired
• One haunted booster pack
• Three silver spoons
• A door, temporarily missing
• Gingerbread crumbs of questionable origin

Achievements Unlocked
• Cardboard Apocalypse Averted
• Strip Poker Without Consent of Physics
• Rectangle Magic Misunderstanding
• Biddeford Still Standing, Somehow

Quaraun and BoomFuzzy

---

Not sure which story to start with?

These here are good places to start, to get a good introduction to the three main characters:

• Absinthe Slushies: An Ode to Frozen Green Fairy Wine

• Bone Dice

• BoomFuzzy's Chowder Dilemma

• The Cellar's Forgotten Treasure

• Chaos in The Lighthouse - Shattered Panes, Shattered Minds

• The Cliff-Side Temple

• Control or Protection?

• A Dark and Stormy Night

• Drying Herbs

• Excited For The New Baby

• Five Ways To Save Money in Las Vegas

• The Golden Dragon Keys

• Herons in the Dunes

• If your ass ain’t freezing or your brains ain’t scrambled, you’re ain’t really trying

• Kiss Me Fuckin' Arse - Just Another Day in the Ice-Laced Ruins of The GodForsaken City

• Lens and Light Maintenance

• Macaroni and Cheese: A Creamy Pasta Dish Drenched in Melted Cheese, Often Topped with Breadcrumbs- It's Never That Easy

• A Map Worth More Than Gold

• Necromancer of the Parched Sands in the Desert of Diona

• Necromancy-A Day in the Life of a Bumbling Necromancer-Again

• Nightmare Nook

• Paddlewheel Maintenance

• The Phooka's Dragon School

• The Red Hakama

• Springtime by the River

• Sticky Rice, Bare Fingers, and Slippery Chopsticks

• The Sweet and Sour of Lemons

• The Terror Bird

• 3 Perspectives on an Apple

• The Valuable Mystery of the Talking Saloon Door and How We Nearly Got Shot Over Stale Tacos

• Vendetta over Vittles

• A Very Important Clump of Grass

• Wagers and Wiles in the Godforsaken City

• The Washer Woman & The Fae

• Weather Forecasting Stones

• You Never Know What Info You Might Pick Up in the Afterlife aka Quaraun's Near Death Experience (A NDE Fiction)

---

• On writing a Trans main character and the use of deadnames & old pronouns

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

GhoulSpawn and BoomFuzzy

GhoulSpawn

GhoulSpawn and 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. 🌸🦄🌸

• 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

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Index of the Quaraun short stories on GumRoad

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

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Index of the Quaraun short stories on Vocal

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Index of the Quaraun Merch on Zazzle

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If you have any information about my son’s murderer, please call FBI Agent Andy Drewer at 207–774–9322

• Everything we are allowed to publicly release about The FBI Investigation Can Be Found Here

If you encounter a page which asks for a password, no, you can not request access. There are over 2k pages of this website set to password access, due to the ongoing FBI investigation into my son's murder. If you are a police officer authorized access these pages but do not have the passwords, let me know, I will deliver the passwords to the specific pages you are allowed to access, to you via the Portland FBI office and you can pick them up from the FBI agent in charge of the murder investigation.

Pages where you can find out more information on that:

• How did the FBI get involved?

• Never Forget my son was murdered

• Do you know who this woman is? And no 146 Portland Ave is not for sale.

• Who is Tod Murphy and why does this woman arrive to yell the name Tod Murphey at me on the anniversary of my son's murder every year since 2021?

• Receiving death threats over a septic tank and a little brown log cabin, but I own neither a septic tank nor a little brown log cabin... what even are these thugs talking about?