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[amedia]

First of all, the icon was inspired by the same episode ("Secret Island") of 77 Sunset Strip that inspired an earlier post on the general theme of "slash is everywhere." Plus the picture was just too pretty to resist.

Second, a dear friend of mine, Keikokin, has begun writing copious and delightful Harry/Draco stories. ETA: They can be found here: http://www.adultfanfic.net Hubby and I were away earlier this week and she kindly gave our son a ride to and from school. Now, he knows what slash is and he's read the Very Secret Diaries, but I was still surprised to learn that not only did my friend tell him she was writing Harry/Draco, but he thought it was great and has been GIVING HER STORY SUGGESTIONS! Engorgement charms gone awry, magically invisible underwear... my innocent darling!

What could a mother do??? What else! He hadn't read any actual stories yet - so I gave him a copy of In Flamingo Delicto
by Amedia


"We got him!" Ron Harris crowed, leading a mild-looking middle-aged man into the 12th Precinct squadroom. His partner in the investigation, Arthur Dietrich, followed them in, grinning broadly.
"Hey!" Wojciehowicz said, looking up from his desk. "You got the Flamingo Kid?"
Yemana peered over the top of his Racing Form. "That's our ornamental outlaw?"
"In the flesh," Harris said proudly. "We nabbed him setting up a whole flock of his feathered friends outside a bar on Lexington."
"You might say we caught him pink-handed," put in Dietrich.
The other detectives groaned.
The suspect laughed. Dietrich cut him off. "Hey," he said firmly, pointing to the chair by Harris' desk. "Go to roost. Right there."
"What's going to happen to me?" the man asked nervously as he settled himself in the chair.
"I don't know the exact penalty offhand," Dietrich said. "But I doubt that dismemberment is involved."
"Oh, that's very comforting," the suspect replied sarcastically.
Harris laughed. "It's a misdemeanor. I'm going to give you a Desk Appearance Ticket and turn you loose for now. First, though, I need to get some information." He rolled a report form into the typewriter.
Across the room, Wojo looked thoughtful.

Barney came out of his office later that morning with Harris' report on the flamingoes. "Harris, about the number of flamingoes that were confiscated? You can't put 'dozen' in on these forms. It doesn't fit in the computer."
"The inadequacies of contemporary technology are not my problem, Barney," Harris said.
The captain glared at him. "Look, just white it out and fill in 'twelve,' okay?"
"Wait," Wojo said, pointing to a huge dusty volume lying open on his desk. "This falls under a special law. We need to have an exact count."
"Why?" Barney asked, suppressing a groan. Wojo's dutiful research, while commendable, usually wound up creating more work for everyone involved.
"There was a city ordinance enacted a few years ago, when there was a rash of lawn ornament abuse."
"Lawn… ornament… abuse?" Barney repeated. "Sounds like a city councilman had too much time on his hands."
"It's right here, Barn," Wojo went on patiently. "Eleven flamingoes or fewer constitute a misdemeanor, but twelve or more flamingoes constitute a felony."
"Let me see that," Harris said, moving over to Wojo's desk. Wojo pointed to a spot on the page and Harris read a few lines. "Huh. What do you know."
"You sure there were twelve?" Barney asked Harris.
"I don't know, I didn't get an exact count. They kept falling over."
"My great-grandfather had a saying," Yemana broke in. "He used to say, 'you count one giant plastic lawn flamingo, you've counted them all.'"
Dietrich ambled over to Yemana's desk and looked down at him. "Nick," he said reprovingly, "didn't your great-grandfather die in 1931?"
"Yeah. So?"
"Plastic flamingoes were first manufactured in 1957," Dietrich said.
Yemana shrugged. "So he was clairvoyant. I thought he was just enigmatic."
Harris chuckled. Barney fixed him with his best no-nonsense look. "I want an exact count, Harris. Go on down to the evidence room."
"Oh, all right," Harris said grouchily.
Barney balanced the righteousness of making Harris redo a sloppy job with the nuisance of having Harris whine for the rest of the afternoon, and decided that on the whole, he preferred a peaceful life to a righteous one. "Dietrich," he added, "why don't you give him a hand? It's not really a one-person job."
"Sure, Captain," Dietrich said. "C'mon, Harris, let's enumerate some artificial avians." He headed out toward the back stairs.
Harris followed him part way, then turned melodramatically to the others as Dietrich continued down the stairs. "Kinda makes you miss the days when I was the resident intellectual, doesn't it?"
"Definitely," said Wojo. "One of you was easier to put up with than two of you."
Harris harrumphed, turned on his heel, and left.

The evidence room wasn't much bigger than a walk-in closet; the working space was further reduced by the shelves set into three of the walls. Too large for the shelves, the flamingoes were propped leaning against the wall behind the door. Harris unlocked the door and pushed it open to let himself and Dietrich in, then closed the door behind them.
With the door open, there would have been no room to work at all; even with it closed, they were in very tight quarters. Dietrich pulled the first flamingo forward. "One," he said. "Should we move them to a different corner as we count each one?"
"I don't think there's room," Harris said dubiously.
"Oh," said Dietrich, "I think you'd be amazed what we could find room for."
Harris was suddenly conscious of just how close they were standing, and just how long it had been since .… "Is that a challenge, Arthur?"
Dietrich smiled. "I thought you'd never ask."

Twenty minutes later Barney came out of his office again. "Where are Harris and Dietrich?"
"They're still counting flamingoes," Wojo said.
"Oh, is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Yemana asked.
"Nick!"
"Sorry, Barney," said Yemana with an unrepentant grin.
"What do you—hey, I think they're coming now," Wojo interrupted his own question.
The footsteps on the stairs grew louder, and the two detectives emerged from the back stairwell. "Took you guys long enough," Wojo groused.
"We, um, kept losing count," Dietrich said.
Barney held his hand out and Harris dropped the key into it. "So, was it a misdemeanor or a felony?" Barney asked.
"That's a very personal question, Captain," Dietrich said, sounding affronted.
"I meant," Barney said, exasperated, "what was your final total? How many flamingoes were there?"
Harris and Dietrich looked at each other. There was a moment of silence. "Oops," Dietrich finally said.
"We got so wrapped up in what we were doing, Barney, that we, uh, forgot to write the number down," Harris explained, grabbing the key again. "We'll be right back."
The others were left to stare at each other. Yemana chuckled. "Birds of a feather…." he intoned, and went back behind his newspaper.
Wojo sighed. "I'm not even gonna ask."


He pronounced it "demented," which if I understand him correctly is high praise indeed. :-)

I have often seen discussed the question of the correct age to introduce one's children to slash. In this case, it was seventeen and a half. This is not, however, intended to reflect in any way on other people's decisions about their own children, all of whom mature differently with respect to different issues.

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[amedia.livejournal.com]

engorgement charms gone awry! go Emrys!

Yup! That's my boy!