#my home is full of elderly male animals that fell on hard times

[luckyspike]

For some people the bathroom is a place of privacy. For Mick it is a place of impending doom that requires soulful gazes

[bakudekuficlibrary]

BakuDeku: Praise Kink

3 Series. 53 Works.

Izuku's Home for Wayward Pets by glamour_weeb  ( E | 44,400+ | 10/? )

Izuku works at the Bureau of Companion Protection as a rehabilitator for abused and abandoned Companions, animal-human hybrids. He’s seen his fair share of cruelty cases and even fostered a few Companions, but he’s never had a Companion of his own, until now. After rescuing Katsuki from a life in an illegal, underground Companion fighting ring, Izuku must take in the wolfdog that no one else can handle.

Eventually, Katsuki comes to love his new home, as well as his new Master.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | PTSD | Past Abuse]

As Fate Would Have It by ScientificallySinful (VampireGaaraCheesepuffs)  ( E | 85,369 | 19/19 )

Katsuki Bakugo had plenty of reasons why he wasn't mated yet, not that he was going to explain why to just anyone. But now, Ground Zero was running out of time. If he didn't find someone soon, he'd lose his position as a Pro-Hero and he'd never get to be #1. So, when he finds out there's a male Omega recently arrested for prostitution that's headed to prison if he too doesn't get a mate…well it must be fate.

Izuku Midoriya doesn't know if he should laugh or cry when his childhood bully shows up in front of his jail cell asking him to be his mate. He also didn't know if it was good or bad that Kacchan didn't seem to recognize him, but fate hasn't been kind to him before so why should it start now? COMPLETE 

Series Part 1 of As Fate Would Have It World Part 1 of A/B/Ohhh ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[Implied/Referenced Suicide | Past Abuse | Past Rape/Non-Con | Past Bullying | Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent]

A Trip Up No-Memory Lane by acernor  ( E | 30,875 | 16/16 )

Midoriya loses his memory to a villain's quirk in senior year and re-meets his classmates for the first time. With 20x the confidence, he takes absolutely 0% of Bakugo's shit, and pushes back when Bakugo tries to push him around.

Bakugo likes it.

Uraraka/Asui is the side pairing.

Series Part 1 of MidoBaku

[Series] The 'BD' in 'BDSM' is for BakuDeku by Skaii ( E | 34,771 | 2 Works | Abandoned )

In the process of rescuing a girl from a villain, Katsuki becomes afflicted by an aphrodisiac quirk. His pride refuses to let him be a victim. But for once, maybe Deku helping him won't be so bad...

In the wake of 'The Incident,' as Deku has taken to calling it, he and Katsuki are left to chart the unfamiliar waters of what they both want: a relationship. (A relationship that happens to involve a lot of kinky shenanigans.)

[Underage | Dissociation | Attempted Rape/Non-Con]

{ Curator’s Note: The attempted rape tag is followed by the tag “(But it’s not the main pairing and nothing really happens)” meaning it does not happen to Bakugou Katsuki or Midoriya Izuku nor are they the ones to make that attempt. }

Grief Counseling by Merrywetherweather  ( E | 48,279 | 19/19 )

Katsuki remembered the first time he had failed to save someone, watched helplessly in horror as an elderly man had been crushed beneath the girth of a thrown car. He had already propelled himself forward to grab a small boy when he noticed, too late, the car fly by overhead. Two other heroes had been on the scene at the time and had assured him.

There was nothing that could have been done.

Most of class 1-A had already gone through a similar experience. The only one left with a clean track record in the rescue department had been Deku.

Well, except for today.

A slowburn fic where Kacchan tries to convince Deku to take advantage of the grief counseling provided for free to heroes experiencing their first failed rescues. Lots of flirting. Healing their relationship comes first. The romantic bit where they fall helplessly and stupidly in love comes after.

[PTSD | Panic Attacks]

bakugou katsuki becomes a power bottom by writedeku  ( E | 3,496 | 1/1 )

It is hard to describe what Izuku is doing to him, the extent of which he’s being — it suddenly occurs to Katsuki when he belatedly realises his nose is buried into his crotch — he’s being used. Him! Bakugou Katsuki, on the track to becoming the best hero in Japan, is being used. He pulls off to catch his breath, tears brimming in his eyes, his throat hoarse —

[Mildly Dubious Consent]

Just Look At Me by Colourcubify  ( E | 42,043 | 11/11 )

Midoriya is completely happy with his life. Nope, not one single regret in his twenty-seven years. He especially doesn't regret running into his old childhood friend/bully after almost ten years, nor does he regret spilling coffee all over his very expensive looking suit. How nice it will be to die with no regrets. ~~~~ AKA the sugar daddy AU I meant to be a one shot, that turned into a full fledged story.

Pure Morning by lalazee  ( E | 1,680 | 1/1 )

Dreamy, morning sex.

Prompt fill for: Bakugou bottoming for the first time, with praise kink.

Sour Silk by BrightEyesEren  ( E | 6,116 | 1/1 )

Midoriya Izuku starts to receive random gifts at his door. Chaos ensues when he realises he has a sugar daddy.

Unhealthy Fixations by Thesis  ( E | 12,522 | 1/1 )

Izuku is an adult who knows better than to crush on his childhood bully. AND YET.

Chapter 31 of Kiwi's bkdk Kinktober Collection 2018 by SecretKiwi  ( E | 2,711 | 1 out of 32 )

Warnings: Omorashi, wetting, dom/sub undertones, humiliation, praise kink

I honestly don't know a ton about this, so I guess I portrayed it in the way that makes the most sense to me! I hope I did it right!

Kind of a follow up to chapter 15 but not necessary to read (but why wouldn't you want to??)

cliff's edge by umbrage  ( E | 3,061 | 1/1 )

Bakugou is sure there's a perfectly alpha-centric explanation to his deviancy.

Or maybe, there isn't, and that's okay, too.

Sick Like Animals by osakakitty  ( E | 3,848 | 1/1 )

Whenever Katsuki Bakugo is struck by his seasonal heat, Izuku Midoriya agrees to help him until it ends. He takes Bakugo into his care, providing him with the stimulation he needs. One morning, after a night of light sex, Bakugo unfortunately finds his heat unquenched.

Fantasy AU in which Katsuki Bakugo is half-beast, and Izuku Midoriya is an alchemist in-training. They both have a mutual understanding and need and for each other. Sex ensues.

Devil in me by Acidiic  ( E | 5,912 | 1/1 )

Izuku just wanted to have a nice time with his close friends. Parties can get crazy, yeah, he knew that. That’s why he tried to stick close to comfort. Never would he imagined his night ending up sobbing and moaning his best friend's name.

[Underage]

Blinding Brilliance by SecretKiwi  ( E | 8,538 | 1/1 )

The fact that Katsuki could even think Izuku looked down on him was mind-blowing. Baffling. He’s only ever looked to Katsuki with stars in his eyes; with a wide-eyed fascination that could only be rivaled by All Might himself.

“Y-you thought of me that way…?” Izuku’s voice is soft, unsure, and honestly? Hurt. He couldn’t see how his constant commendation and devotion could ever be seen as something negative.

_

Deku and Kacchan work out their feelings towards each other, and Izuku proves to him that his admiration was always sincere.

My Canon compliant version of Kacchan v Deku 2 and the day after.

[Underage]

If you give me your hand, I'll surrender my heart by soulstring  ( E | 5,254 | 1/1 )

“We could be fucking. I could be having the greatest sex ever but no! My husband is an idiot and now my dick is about to fall off. Why the fuck did I marry you?”

It’s a rhetorical question but Izuku still answers naively with a, “Because you love me?”

“For tax benefits!” Katsuki wails, raising his hands to the ceiling.

In which Izuku and Katsuki are no longer teenagers but still horny, in love, and a mess.

Series Part 1 of weddings, receptions, and other plans gone awry

you're prettier with your mouth shut by capncapnk  ( E | 3,614 | 1/1 )

He hates how sensitive he is, how he arches up into the touch, how nice it is for Deku to keep running his mouth with whatever sappy, syrupy bullshit comes to his mind, even if he’d rather die than admit he likes this vanilla shit Deku has to offer.

---

In which Deku has a thing for Bakugou's hands and Bakugou has a thing for nice words

crescent fever by umbrage  ( E | 4,116 | 1/1 )

The night before a full moon, a werewolf’s inhibitions are at an all-time low.

It's Gonna Take A Superman To Sweep Me Off My Feet by minzie  ( E | 6,608 | 1/1 )

Deku getting horny with his Ground Zero body pillow, but this time it's the real one - The Sequel

Series Part 2 of Holding A Hero

Unbidden Praise by GreyLiliy  ( T | 6,693 | 3/3 )

Izuku hadn’t been aware that unbidden praise from Kacchan would have such an effect on his composure, but after a compliment or two from Kacchan, he sure knows now! Izuku’s not sure his heart (or self control) can take it if Kacchan keeps being so nice.

Again? Again. by Unoutan  ( E | 3,939 | 1/1 )

Bakugou sleep too early, more early than usual, so he has woken up too early as well. However, that is not his current problem. He's been up for an hour now and he's still not...satisfied. His boyfriend is the only one that can help him...at 4-something in the morning.

Prompt: Vitality

[Series] Only Comes Once a Year by DMMegsie ( E | 17,761+ | 2 Works | On Hiatus )

During their first year, with all the hectic events, birthday celebrations fell to the wayside. However, now in their second year, the class is trying to celebrate everyone's special date.... except for a certain explosive temper student.

Katsuki Bakugou didn't really celebrate his birthday through middle school and never told anyone when the date was.

It was only when some of the class realizes that Izuku Midoriya knows, that trouble starts brewing. It also brings the question to mind of: Why does Katsuki hate his birthday in the first place?

It has been two months.

School and the end of a term has really kept both Izuku and Katsuki apart with the exception for brief moments here and there in private. With their budding relationship a secret, and Izuku's birthday on the horizon, it is only natural they'd want to take things further.

This is a sequel to the fic Birthday Secrets.

[Underage]

The Pocky Game by rekamohcs  ( M | 4,981 | 1/1 )

As if Izuku didn’t have enough trouble keeping his intruding feelings for his unfairly attractive best friend at bay, Ochako had to go and teach him about the Pocky Game. Now here he was, his lips wrapped around one end of a chocolate stick, while Katsuki’s wrapped around the other, faces mere inches apart.

And they were both too stubborn to back down.

Izuku had a feeling he knew where this was headed.

(He made a mental note to remember to thank Ochako later.)

Your Rabbit by KingHugin  ( E | 7,259 | 1/1 )

when Kacchan tells him to wear the costume, Izuku knows exactly whats going to happen.

I Got You, You Got Me by minzie  ( E | 10,533 | 1/1 )

Deku didn’t want anyone to know this Katsuki, didn’t want to share him with anyone else. He held all these things he knew about him very, very dear, wrote them down in his neatest handwriting with little hearts surrounding them, in case he should ever forget them. He knew he wouldn’t, but that didn’t stop him. It made him feel a little more reassured, and, frankly, sometimes also a bit superior.

In which Deku and Katsuki once again realize how important they are to each other.

Be Good by Whinyskeleton  ( E | 2,563 | 1/1 )

Katsuki was naked except for the leather collar on his neck and the ropes on his arms, binding them behind his back. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, Izuku between his legs, rubbing his hands up and down Katsuki's thighs reassuringly. His hands were warm, strong, confident. He slowly grabbed a bottle of oil off the bed and began rubbing it over Katsuki's chest while whispering into his ear.

"Are you going to be good for me today?"

Orange Lace by Devasta  ( E | 1,205 | 1/1 )

He'd pressed it in with wet noises and his lips brushing Izuku's ear, promising a good, hard fuck if his kitten kept it in the entire time.

Katsuki definitely isn't a liar.

these things you tell me by kagome_angel  ( E | 3,981 | 1/1 )

“You look really good like this,” Izuku murmurs, and the compliment makes him feel hot all over. “I should have convinced you to let me do this sooner, Kacchan.”

Izuku knows how to get what he wants, and he knows how to give Katsuki what he needs.

Class A Approves BakuDeku by AshidoMyBurritos  ( E | 8,006 | 1/1 )

Thanks to Jirou, the BakuSquad and Class A realize just how perfect Midoriya is for Bakugou.

Heat Check by SecretKiwi  ( E | 979 | 1/1 )

Deku thinks Bakugou's winter suit is a great modification!

[Underage]

Impatience by mynyaas  ( E |  1,274 | 1/1 )

Deku needs to go to the bathroom when Bakugou decides to get in the way and things get kinky

[Underage]

Penché by QueerPinoy  ( E | 1,133 | 1/1 )

Midoriya is supposed to look delicate. The long arch of his back leading into slim legs and pointed toes is supposed to be elegant.

To Bakugou, it’s sexy.

From the darkness of the audience seats, he feels no shame staring blatantly as his ass, the bulge of his dick in his leotard, watches how high his leg can go and oh god, he wants him. He wants to devour the unblemished curve of his neck, break down everything that is graceful about him. He wants to fuck the angel right out of him.

Series Part 7 of bakubowl

[Series] Praise Me by DanaEliza  ( E | 12,873 | 3 Works | WIP )

“Do you think I’m good, Deku?” “Good at what?” Izuku replied confused, but Katsuki just stared at him, waiting on an answer. “Yeah, I think you’re good."

Aka Bakugo liked to be praised, and Midoriya likes to please...

“Can’t get enough of me, can you?”

“I can’t help it,” Izuku whispered. “I think you got me addicted.” ... Aka Midoriya is really craving Bakugo, and knows just what to say to get what he wants. Continuation on "You Are The Best"

“What the hell was your idea with the mirror anyway?” “I just thought you would love to see how strong you look when you bend me over and take me from behind.”

Aka Izuku thinks he has found the perfect thing to add to their sex life, but it doesn't work out the way he had expected it would.

[Underage]

Day of the Dead by JunNoAce  ( E | 10,676 | 1/1 )

There was no worse feeling than believing that you were to weak to protect the person you held most precious to you and living out your life without them. Imagine Bakugou Katsuki's shock when he finds his Deku again half a century after his murder jumping into his arms. .... It's a romantic tragedy with porn. Lol!

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Major Character Death]

you have nothing to hide from me by QueerPinoy  ( E | 2,582 | 1/1 )

Midoriya Izuku is ashamed of who he is. Who… they are? Who she is? He’s still not sure but he sure as hell doesn’t want to think about it right now. He pushes his femininity away like it’s a shameful thing, something to stay hidden, keep to himself. Sometimes he slips, lets a gesture through. Once he even painted his nails and kept them on for a whole day -- black, an acceptable nail color for a boy going through his teenage angst. But this, the Izuku, he saw looking at himself in the dress he had mail-ordered, is his secret. The dress doesn’t quit him quite right -- it drapes where it should be tight, falls too low on his torso, but it’s still precious and he still grins a stilted smile when he looks at himself in the mirror. No one would ever know about this dress. No one would ever know how he felt.

Bakugou Katsuki is the opposite. He could probably be stealth if he wasn’t so bombastic about who he is. He doesn’t even whisper it, doesn’t just tell his friends -- he yells it out. “How the fuck am I more of a fuckin’ man than you?” “I’ve got more balls than you without even fucking having any!” He never bothers hiding. He has no shame. Izuku yearns to know what that’s like.

Series Part 3 of bakubowl

the tides by LordExplodo-Angst (QueerPinoy)  ( E | 13,052 | 7/7 )

It would probably take Midoriya days to list the things he admired about Bakugou. His definition of victory, one of the greatest hero proteges he’d ever heard of, a glorious talent on the battlefield, of course. Beyond the public reasons, which everyone at Yuuei acknowledged, however reluctantly, Midoriya also loved the smaller things about Bakugou -- the tender way he smoothed his hands over his bed after it was made, the internal pep-talk he gave himself every morning in the mirror as he checked himself from all angles, the quiet, strained look he made when he actually managed to stop himself from speaking out of turn. Midoriya loved Bakugou’s diligence, his confidence, his self-assuredness.

He yearned the latter.

----

Midoriya yearns for the self-confidence Bakugou has with his body, his gender, and Bakugou is trying, trying to help him.

[Transphobic Language | Homophobic Language | Panic Attacks | Mentions of Past Suicide Attempt]

Demanded Praise by GreyLiliy  ( E | 5,793 | 1/1 )

Since his debut as a Pro Hero, Izuku receives praise from almost everyone he meets. His mentor, his mother, his friends, and his fans all hold nothing back when they tell Izuku how far he’s come and how much he’s done for the world as a Hero.

But there’s only one person Izuku wants to hear praise from at night and dragging it out of that man’s lips takes some work (but it’s always worth it).

[Mildly Dubious Consent]

[On Hiatus] Gifted with a Curse by JunNoAce  ( E | 29,731+ | 5/? )

Updated to Explicit for future chapters. There will be sex and some possible deaths and possible trolling to readers. Main ship is KatsuDeku, some others may be present.

~~~~~~~~ 19 year old Izuku and his mother moves in a new village in the country side. Izuku has the strange hobby of studying and learning about the mysteries behind magic, curses, and so on. He meets Shoto a traveler who seems to have been on many adventures. Izuku is very curious about what stories the boy may have to tell but feels embarrassed by how nice the other treats him. One day his mother leaves to visit a shop in their old town and doesn't make it back home on time. Izuku worried goes to search for her and comes across an old castle. Here is where he meets him, a cursed Lord Katsuki filled with rage and with the appearance of a beast.

Equals by shotodoki  ( E | 3,878 | 1/1 )

While on house arrest for fighting after the provisional hero license exam, Bakugo gives a strange request to Midoriya.

[Underage]

Give Me Strength by CounterKnight291543  ( E | 2,230 | 1/1 )

Seeing how much Midoriya has grown is making Bakugo feel weak. Thankfully, his childhood friend is on hand to change that.

Inspired by the amazing work of @reallycorking, god bless you and your art :3

A BakuDeku smut one-shot. Enjoy!

A Hero Awakens by Love_Ignition  ( E | 34,022+ | 6/? )

Katsuki's entire life up until this point had basically been a lie. He'd learned to be a master of deception, never letting anyone get too close, never letting anyone know his true self. Everything had been focused on one goal, graduating from high school and finally becoming the number one hero he knew he was destined to be. But his future was balanced on a knife's edge, thanks to the one person who always managed to find a way to get under his skin. He was the itch Katsuki just couldn't scratch, and no matter how hard he tried to deny it, Deku was always on his mind.

Don't want the world to see me by undertake_r  ( M | 4,167+ | 2/? )

Katsuki doesn’t really think of himself as a good person. He never has, he knows he isn’t.

He supposes this was just karma coming back to bite him in the ass.

His dull red eyes stare up at the grey sky, blurry with the rain falling from the clouds above as it mingles with the blood from his weeping shoulder and probably broken nose. The dull throb from the slice in his arm felt warm as his natural healing closed the wound slower than normal.

He’s going to have to use his last packet of blood on this bullshit. Fuck.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

At Midnight by Emikumaa  ( E | 4,281 | 1/1 )

Bakugou's finally come to terms with what he wants in life, after two years of running from his problems he's going to face them tonight. As the clock counts down to midnight, he seizes his chance and confesses to Midoriya.

Dear Santa, I Can Explain... by greatcloudninja  ( E | 2,070 | 1/1 )

Izuku agrees to cover for a co-worker for the agency's annual Christmas tradition of visiting the children's hospital, but things don't go as expected when the costume isn't exactly what Izuku had in mind...

Vietnamese translation available! https://bakudekuvn.home.blog/2018/12/25/fanfic-dich-ma-gui-ong-gia-noel-tui-co-the-giai-thich-greatcloudninja/

oh, kuso! by dolldeku  ( E | 619 | 1/1 )

never give your mother a key to your apartment.

Dinner is Served by GreyDayMoon  ( E | 2,173 | 1/1 )

Izuku comes home late from a day of hero work to find Katsuki already making dinner. He's tired, but seeing Katsuki there makes him renewed with energy and boldness. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) lol

Series Part 2 of Married Pros: Broccoli and Dandelion

With Passion by TheQueen  ( E | 3,142 | 1/1 )

Both as kids and as teens mending a broken friendship, Katsuki had a hard time accepting Deku's sincerity. It was hard to accept the fact that every compliment and awe-inspired rant that fell so easily from Deku's lips was entirely genuine. It isn’t until they start dating and, even later, when they started experimenting in the bedroom that Katsuki begins to believe that Deku does not say things lightly. Only then does Katsuki start to believe in Deku's love.

Two Guys and Lots of Fries by hottamale  ( E | 3,101 | 1/1 )

“Ten Guys! I wanna go to Ten Guys; they have the best french fries,” he smiled while looking at Katsuki expectantly.

Katsuki frowned. “We just passed it though.”

“So turn around.”

“And waste my gas? Shits expensive Deku.”

Izuku breathed in, held his breath for a moment, and let it back out. He put a hand on Katsuki’s bicep and blinked up at him, bottom lip jutting out into a pout. “Please? I’ll make it up to you.”

Series Part 24 of It's a Concept

Look at me, I'm begging for more by Yunael  ( E | 2,081 | 1/1 )

INKTOBER 2018 JOUR 2 - SUPPLICATIONS

« S-s’il te plaît… S’il te plaît, Kacchan… J’en ai besoin… J’ai besoin d’aide… - Et pourquoi je devrais t’aider ? - Parce que… Il n’y a que toi qui sois en mesure de me faire me sentir aussi bien… »

Series Part 2 of Inktober 2018

[queenslasharchive]

For so many years have gone, though I'm older but a year

Freddie reincarnated AU, with snippets of once Poly!Queen. :D (Just as trashy and horribly sad as it sounds). Features Queen’s ‘39.

 Chapter 1: For my life still ahead, pity me.

“Don’t you hear my call though you’re many years away Don’t you hear me calling you Write your letters in the sand For the day I take your hand In the land that our grandchildren knew…" 

Beauregard LaCroix walked out to meet-and-greet the guests after the second act, still dressed as The Sugar Plum Fairy.

An oddly androgynous Sugar Plum Fairy.

It was the end of Nutcracker season, Hell-incarnate for the Royal Ballet. Beau was one of the only principal dancers not out on injury and the show must go on, even if that meant trussing up a baby-faced androgynous boy like a pink sweets fairy and having him dance the pas de deux with a pretty male soloist on pointe. Then so be it. (It wasn’t desperation, they were just being ‘inclusive’.)

Inclusive, his ass. Beau was just the youngest, smallest and the only male principal who could go up on pointe without it being a joke. Ergo, the only one who could easily pass for a girl with long blonde ringlets.

“The Sugar Plum Fairy? …From the Land of Sweets, I presume?”

Beau turned with his stage persona mega-wattage smile already in place, expecting to see the children that the warm voice had been humoring. He wasn’t disappointed by the sight of an elderly man with two small children, a boy and a girl. Both at the age that made hiding behind trouser legs the perfect disguise.

He bent down with a little bow.

“Why yes, ’tis I! Who do I have the honor of speaking with?”

“I’m Alexander.” The little boy spoke softly, a thumb trying to inch its way back into his mouth. “She’s Freddie. This is our Grandpa.”

He was cut off by his sister with a, “Are you a real fairy? Like Tinkerbell?”

Beau had no qualms about nodding, allowing her to swipe some glitter from his cheeks, calling it fairy dust. She squinted at the back of his sparkly costume to see if she could see his wings, he told her they were invisible while he was tall. (When he was Tinkerbell-sized, they were enormous.) She and Alexander were transfixed, believing every falsehood that came out of his mouth.

“Do fairies believe in space? My Grandpa studies it.” Alexander sounded so proud, as Beau assured him that oh yes, how else could fairies fly home to Neverland? They needed the second star to the right to guide them and the planets to mark their way.

When Beau raised his big blue eyes to look up at the beloved Grandpa in question, he spied a familiar smile in that head of incorrigible snowy white curls. He knew that beautiful face once, before the lines took over, knew that body and those incongruous warm hands. Before age softened his middle and jawline and those liver spots stole the property of freckles on his skin. Beau knew that nose, those eyes, the quirk of those caterpillar eyebrows.

For the first time in his life, nineteen-year-old Beau LaCroix looked into the face of Dr. Brian May: astrophysicist and former guitarist of Queen.

For the first time in twenty-five years, Freddie Mercury looked into the face of the best-friend and lover he’d left behind.

They just so happened to be one and the same.

-X-

Beau was a fussy baby.

His fathers’ had already raised up three rough-and-tumble little boys before him, yet their youngest was on a different level of difficulty. He was forever unhappy.

Not even the screaming sort of unhappy, that they could’ve dealt with. No, Beau’s was the kind of unhappy that left him sniffling and crying into his stuffed animals at night. As if he was forever looking around for someone or something that wasn’t there. It was a deep visceral sadness that clung to him.

Even after he grew into a sweet little boy with 3c blonde curls and fair skin, covered in so many big moles and birthmarks that the other kids in kindergarten called him a dalmatian, the sadness stayed. He would run and play and laugh with his brothers, but there was always an aura of age around him. Wisdom and sadness that oozed from him beyond all else. Even when he was smiling, with that quirk of covering up his mouth with his hand, the smiles never reached his eyes.

It scared his poor fathers something awful, but what could they do?

Beau was just an odd little boy.

A child with a man’s eyes. Who could lie on the carpet and color with fat wax crayons for hours on end. Drawing out snatches of beautiful scenery and people they’d never met, with skills not often attributed to children his age. They just assumed he was talented and imaginative.

He would vividly describe places that he had never been, like a lovely place in Switzerland called Montreux or a tiny studio in Munich, Germany. They just assumed those drawings and stories were the product of far too many hours of children’s programing. Beau couldn’t possibly be remembering a life he’d never lived. 

(Even if he did wake up with these horrible night terrors, screaming about how he couldn’t breathe. Or his inability to be alone in the dark or in small confined spaces. Once his brothers zipped him up in a sleeping bag as a joke, the poor little boy was so shaken up afterwards that he didn’t speak coherently for days, just staring straight ahead and warbling in an odd language that none of them knew).

The small family moved to New Orleans when Beau was six, it was where Adamien (Beau’s Papa) had grown up, and where there was a big extended family waiting around every corner of the French Quarter.

Kit (Adamien’s husband and Beau’s Daddy) had been apprehensive at first, but the boys seemed to enjoy the new haunts and change of scenery, all things seemed to be going to plan. Damie’s family could finally meet the kids and they could grow up as warm and loved as Damie had. In a beautiful, burgeoning multicultural society. (Where the birthmarks and moles on Beau’s body were the least of everyone’s concerns).

The kids: Charlie, fifteen and far too smart for his own good, Baptiste, thirteen and the family’s sensitive little peacemaker, Henri, the then ten-year-old demon he was, and Beau, six and as shy as could be, flourished like flowers reaching for the sun. Damie’s family enveloped the tiny clan with all the joy and acceptance in the world. An endless clutch of cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents charging into their lives with open arms.

The matriarch of their large loving family, Mama Delia, was a Voodoo Queen, one of the most well-known in New Orleans. She took one look at her youngest grandchild and understood.

“He remembers, poor bébé.” She crooned, Beau curled up in her lap asleep, as she rocked them back and forth in her creaky old patio rocking chair. Her grown son had simply looked confused. “What do you mean, Mama?”

“Those reborn never remember their pasts, maybe they keep a few quirks after a traumatic death, but your poor bébé… he remembers all of his. He will have a very hard life, mon chou.” A very hard life.

Little Beau slept on in her honeysuckle grip, flyaway curls falling in front of his closed pacific eyes. Dreaming of a life that ended a long time ago, a life that he never really forgot.

-X-

Beau screamed the first time he got into Kit’s record collection and happened to pick up Queen’s News of the World album. Really and truly screamed.

The young father assumed it was because the robot on the front must have looked scary to those soft seven-year-old eyes.

But his poor tiny son was just sobbing his little heart out, running his fingers over the characters in the robot’s hands. Still dressed in his sweaty leotard from ballet class, tears smeared across his flushed pockmarked cheeks.

Kit gingerly scooped up his heartbroken little boy, pressing a halo of kisses into his youngest son’s sweat-dampened fairy blonde curls. “Oh, angel. It’s alright. Those are just the band members. That’s—“ He was about to list them, but Beau cut him off, softly.

“I know, Daddy. Roggie’s on the back, Deaky’s on the bottom of the front bit, but me and Bri are still in the robot’s hand. I died first…” His thumb rubbed over the cherry-red blood stain splattered across Freddie Mercury’s chest. Warm, fat tears fell and slid off the cardboard cover in rivulets.

Kit froze, eyes wide as his distraught son curled up into his neck.

“I miss them… Daddy, why did I have to die first?”

The eyes of a dead man looked up from his child’s round splotchy face and Kit felt his heart stutter in his chest.

-X-

When Beau sang, it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest.

It hurt, in a way nothing had ever hurt before.

Even the time he jumped off the school swing-set at Henri’s urging and broke his ankle.

When he sang, (because of all the things to carry over to his next life, it would be his voice), the pain in his chest was worse than the normal sort of pain. It felt like he was being smothered with a handkerchief full of chloroform, having it shoved it down his throat to torch chemical burns down his esophagus. When he sang, his pacific-blue eyes closed and he was back to being fully himself again. He was back playing at the Rainbow in ’74. Twirling on stage at Live Aid in ’85. Looking to the side to see Deaky bopping about, brunet head tossed back with bliss.

Roger opening his mouth to let out that dog whistle pitch, a challenge that was only evident when they jammed together, him rutting and jiving with Roggie’s drum kit. Making the blonde imp laugh and mimic his frantic movements with equal gusto.

Then trusty Brian on Red, looking at him like he was something truly special. One of a kind. Their Freddie. (He had never loved being anything more).

It was always awful when he opened up his eyes again, to look in the mirror and see a lost little child with Shirley Temple pin curls and chipped black-lacquered fingernails on one hand, skin dotted in the dozens of birthmarks and moles he hated. A mockery of the man he used to be.

Who was he supposed to be now?

His first life was over.

And his second was only a pale imitation.

-X-

He remembered his own death.

-X-

He studied cosmology and astronomy for Brian.

It sounded silly, he knew.

But there was just something about looking up into the sky and seeing all those stars beam back down at him, that made him feel anchored to this new life. Freddie Mercury had never had a head for numbers. So Beau didn’t either, but he still remembered Brian taking them out with a shitty telescope at Ridge Farm as he was writing that space song of his.

Whenever Beau struggled, whenever it all felt too much. That was what he remembered, what he used to guide him. His polaris.

He heard Brian’s warm soft-spoken voice in his head. Thick and creamy as pancake batter, the ones his Papa could make from scratch.

‘That’s Argo Navis. It’s Jason’s ship, the one from Greek mythology.’

He had hummed, curling into Brian’s bicep and holding on like a limpet. ‘Jason and the Argonauts’. Yes, he knew about mythology, even back then. (He had named himself Mercury after the god, after all).

There was an asteroid named after him.

17473 Freddiemercury.

He’d cried when he found out. Cried until he was blue in the face and drowning in his own body all over again. Oh Maggie, why?

When all I ever did was ruin your life?

Darling, I can never apologize enough for what I did to you.

To everyone I ever said I loved.

-X-

Once he had a spot at the Royal Ballet, he started visiting Jim’s grave quite frequently.

Leaving little parcels and trinkets behind, flowers too. All his husband’s favorites. He never allowed himself to stay too long. He wouldn’t sully his husband’s grave with his presence, not the way he had once sullied his life.

He knew what Jim would say to such thoughts. His sweet, long-suffering Jim, who had always accepted his every idiosyncrasy and oddity. His every mistake. Including the one that he’d bloody passed on.

‘Freddie, love, stop. You didn’t know, there’s nothing you could have done. I had a long, happy life. Go out, live your own.’

As if he wasn’t in purgatory.

As if this wasn’t a new form of Hell.

Living in a world that remembered him. With his friends getting on in age, Brian and Roger were still touring, the two old queens still rocking away. But they didn’t know him with this face, this body. He was a stranger. And if he told them? If he tracked them down and bared his soul like a lamb to the slaughter? They would never believe. He would simply hurt them in an entirely new way this time. And it would be all his selfishness to blame. Just the same as the first time.

His sister was still alive, with babies and grand-babies of her very own, his little Kash. He ached to hold her in his arms again, just one more time, but he knew such dreams were lost on the wings of butterflies. Lost to the sands of time. Just as he should have been. Oh, how he wished he’d just stayed dead.

It was better than continuing on as he was.

John, oh Deaky. (Did he even deserve to use that name anymore, after all he’d done?)

He had stolen Deaky’s passion. The thrum of a bass had been in that boy’s devil heart long before Freddie, long before Queen. But with his loss, the world had lost the sound of John Deacon’s fabulous strumming heart. And Freddie would never forgive himself. Beau would never forgive himself.

Sometimes he wondered where Freddie stopped and Beau was meant to begin.

-X-

He tried to kill himself once. (Well, he’d thought about it).

He was going to do it too.

Didn’t see a point anymore, living a shade of another life.

Stared at that bottle of pills until the long scientific name blurred in front of his eyes. (Roger would have known what it was, Roggie, his Rog. Beau had watched those interviews, the ones about how Rog had been driving, almost there. Poor Phoebe had broken the news to him behind the wheel of a car. …Roger breaking down every time he talked about it).

Beau didn’t do it.

This life was his penance.

He deserved to hurt.

Just like he’d hurt them.

-X-

Brian came back again, to the Ballet.

Just as Beau was finishing up a performance of Swan Lake, still dressed as Odile. The Black Swan. Yet another female character he’d found himself playing. Dressed in all black garb, a feathered tunic that flared out at the bottom, black nails on one hand (his own constant addition), and a pair of dying black pointe shoes that he’d torn to pieces. His dark gnarled crown crested above his curls and he was allowed to wear his spots without the makeup he so often used to cover them. He felt naked.

Even more so when he found Brian waiting for him.

“Hello, Sugar Plum Fairy. Or shall I say Odile? Mr. Black Swan?”

“Beau is fine. Beauregard LaCroix.” Freddie. Brian, it’s me. “I suppose we didn’t have a proper introduction last time, Dr. May?”

“You know my name?” Honestly surprised. Humble Bri. Beau made sure to pour more New Orleans into his words, careful to not slip into the British intonation he’d always preferred.

“Doesn’t everyone? Where are the children?” His eyes searched out the familiar round faces. Yet couldn’t locate them in the crowd. A flush climbed those lined cheeks he once knew so well. Oh.

“I came alone, actually.”

“Ah. Well, why wouldn’t you? I’m quite the show stopper, if I do say so myself.” A put-upon showman’s grin twitching to life on his painted lips. “But dear, I can get you free tickets. You needn’t go broke trying to see me. In fact, would you like my number? Maybe we can have coffee sometime.”

What are you doing? The voice in his head screamed. He isn’t yours anymore.

Brian’s smile was like a breath of fresh air. Oh how he’d missed that lovely smile.

“I’d like that very much.”

-X-

“For the earth is old and grey, little darling we’ll away But my love this cannot be For so many years have gone though I’m older but a year Your mother’s eyes from your eyes cry to me…”

Comment: Ohmylooord, this is only the introduction and it’s already the best ever! It has so many ‘openings’ to new dimensions and storylines, there are so many little hints and details as to what happened and what will happen next, and I can’t wait to read the rest of it! It’s briliant like we’re used to from @waywardrunawaycherryblossom ^^

[thefaeriereview]

Title: Eye of the Beholder

Author: Thomas Grant Bruso

Publisher: NineStar Press

Release Date: November 16, 2020

Heat Level: 2 - Fade to Black Sex

Pairing: Male/Male

Length: 41900

Genre: Paranormal, LGBTQIA+, established couple, evil spirits, businessman, law enforcement, mental illness, horror

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Synopsis

In the middle of a psychic session with Madame Petri, David hears a ghostly voice calling his name. But he is not sure if it’s the elderly fortuneteller exaggerating the reading or bizarre grumblings coming from a mysterious old man in a painting hanging in the psychic’s foyer.

When Madame Petri disappears in a ball of flames, David rushes home, terrified. From that moment on, David and his policeman boyfriend, Zane, find themselves trying to solve the series of murders and mayhem that begin to haunt David.

 Rating & Review

5 out of 5

Eye of the Beholder is chilling. Wow what an opening! My heart was racing, and I was on the edge of my seat right from the start. David and Zane are just perfect together, even if the circumstances they find themselves thrust into are less so. I positively had chills reading this, and if you're looking for a good thrill, read this on a dark, stormy night.

Excerpt

Eye of the Beholder Thomas Grant Bruso © 2020 All Rights Reserved

Chapter One “What do you see?” I asked.

I was sitting across from Madame Petri at the oval-shaped table in the dimly lit backroom of her business, Spiritual Crossings.

The devil-white glow in the medium’s iron-gray eyes pierced through me. “A dead body,” she said. Her bloodred nails were sharp and pointy like talons and wrapped around the cloudy white edges of the crystal ball.

I bit back the sour taste of Cote Rotie from an art exhibit event I had hosted earlier in the evening. All I wanted was a reading of my future, I had told myself after closing the gallery and walking three blocks to Madame Petri’s Spiritual Crossings. Now, I turned to the neighborhood medium and shuddered, my gut clutching.

Some of my art friends had recommended her to me.

“You’ll like her,” one of them had said. “She’s colorful and full of spirit.”

“Go in with an open mind,” somebody else had told me.

Maybe I need new friends.

Clenching the border of the velvet-soft tablecloth, I leaned forward to see if I could glimpse what she had seen in her crystal ball.

There was a bright light in her gaze when she noticed me rising off my seat a few inches to get a better look at the dead body in the cloudy glass ball. But I was drawn back to my chair with a hand clutching my shoulder from behind and pushing me back into my seat.

Blackness swallowed the light in her eyes as if a switch had been turned off inside her, and her gaze fell back to the crystal ball, which was dimming like the low lights in the room.

A steely silence engulfed us.

Balls of sleet smacked against the front glass window in the outer foyer, and the soft sound of thunder rumbled around us. Lights flickered overhead, and a cold draft snuffed out some of the burning incense candles in the dark alcove behind me. A murmur of fear climbed the back of my throat, and I let out a mousy squeal.

When I looked up at Madame Petri’s waxy face, her expression froze.

I clenched my teeth, biting down hard on the cloying taste of cigarettes in my mouth.

Over Madame Petri’s shoulders, I noticed shadowy movements in the other room, and beyond the half-open velvet curtains, the drifting clouds of smoky incense danced like ghosts in the pallid light.

A pale, narrow face stared back at me from the inky blackness: decrepit, deathly white.

I shouted and rose from my chair, breaking the medium’s stern concentration.

Madame Petri stared up at me, her firm grip on the white glass ball unmoving. Her eyes were wide and frightened.

I sucked in short, tight breaths, glancing behind Madame Petri to the outer room, to the far wall where an abstract painting of a haunted face of an old man glared back at me.

David.

I heard my name and froze. Looked around. Let out a deep, shaky breath.

Nothing there.

A trick of the light, that’s all it was, I thought. I adjusted my eyes to the dense grayness and took my seat across from Madame Petri.

“I’m sorry,” I said, wiping my clammy palms on my jeans. “I thought I saw something.”

“You saw it too,” Madame Petri said. The lights in the room dimmed and died and came back.

My mouth was cotton dry, and I shook my head, staring into the still deadness of the medium’s eighty-year-old eyes, thick and hazy with cataracts.

“Saw what?” I stared over her shoulder again at the dark slashes of color in the evocative painting hanging askew in the foyer. It looked like one of the paintings hanging on the walls of my art gallery.

“Death,” Madame Petri said, a crackle in her voice. She raised a jewel-encrusted finger and pointed at me. “Somebody is going to die.”

I rubbed my arms to ward off a chill and heard the harsh warnings of my partner in the corridors of my mind, ridiculing me for shelling out a day’s worth of work to talk to a psychic. How much did it cost you this time to have your future predicted by that phony would-be clairvoyant?

Then the sound of somebody whispering evoked a troubling memory of dead voices. Their small screams floated in the dark like distressed spirits.

“What was that?” I asked, clenching the arm of the chair.

Madame Petri looked around the room and then over at me, a web of wrinkles bracketing the edge of her small mouth. Her tangerine-orange lips stretched into a wide, clownish smile. “The spirits, dear. They’re coming.”

I rose to leave. As I pulled out two twenties from my wallet, Madame Petri reached across the table for my hand. Her fingers were dead cold, and I felt a tremor of electricity when she touched me. “Be careful,” she said, flipping over the Death card from the pile of her tarot cards and tapping it with a black, pointy fingernail. “He who opens the gate must shut it.”

I jerked my hand away and tucked my wallet back into my pants pocket.

The lights flickered again and went out.

Panicking, I stayed still in the dark, calling out for Madame Petri, and hearing movement ten feet from where I stood behind my chair.

“Madame Petri,” I said. “Are you there?”

The heightened smell of decay and burnt flesh and cigarettes aggravated my senses, and a spark of strong pain ignited in the back of my mind.

David.

I heard movement at the other end of the room, somebody bumping into something, and a vase falling and crashing to the floor. Glass shattered.

When I called out Madame Petri’s name again, there was no answer.

I navigated in the dark to the foyer, staying close to the edge of the room and reaching out for the wall to help guide me to the front door.

At the opening to the velvet curtains, lights flashed and turned on in the adjoining rooms. My heart was pounding, my breath short and raspy.

I went to the rain-smattered front door and pushed it open, turning around once at the sound of a door creaking open behind me down the hall, its hinges squawking in protest. I called out Madame Petri’s name, but there was no response. I couldn’t see her anywhere in the semidark hallway through the hazy tendrils of smoke from the blown-out incense candles, but my gaze drifted to the far wall where the painting of the decrepit face of an old man was mounted.

“Madame Petri,” I called out. I reached into my back pocket for my half-smoked pack of Salem’s and my Bic lighter. Flicked it a few times, my hand shaking hard, my heart pounding.

Nothing.

A cold, wet rain blasted me on the back of the neck, and I shivered from the early evening chill.

I lit the end of my cigarette, barely managing to work the lighter, and inhaled a lungful of smoke before shoving the pack of smokes and the cigarette lighter back in my pants pocket.

Then quickly, as if a bolt of lightning flashed through my jumbled thoughts and illuminated my worst nightmares, I glimpsed the haunted painting again to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. The man in the painting was gone, the canvas blank.

Animalistic, ghostly murmurings in throaty growls awakened down the hall.

I ran.

Purchase

NineStar Press | Books2Read Universal Link

Meet the Author

Thomas Grant Bruso knew at an early age he wanted to be a writer. He has been a voracious reader of genre fiction since he was a kid.

His literary inspirations are Dean Koontz, Stephen King, Ellen Hart, Jim Grimsley, Karin Fossum, Sam J. Miller, Joyce Carol Oates, and John Connolly.

Bruso loves animals, book-reading, writing fiction, prefers Sudoku to crossword puzzles.

In another life, he was a freelance writer and wrote for magazines and newspapers. In college, he was a winner for the Hermon H. Doh Sonnet Competition. Now, he writes book reviews for his hometown newspaper, The Press Republican.

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