WHAT TIME IS IT?!

[AN: New thread! Woohoo! Original prompt at: http://spam-monster.livejournal.com/813.html?thread=2997805#t2997805

Okay so, this isn’t going to be a really cohesive story or something that updates fast, more just scenes that come to me as they come to me. Writing kids is surprisingly hard.]

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Dan is carefully peeling a maplecopter, thumbnails slid into the seam, concentration absolute. They’re useless if you tear them, if you don’t get them exactly in half, and the plant tissue is so delicate, run through with fine veins. If you don’t get it just right-

“You’re gonna stick that on your nose, aren’t you,” Walter deadpans from the next step down, not even looking up to see what his friend is doing. Bony elbows dig into the concrete of the steps, propping him up, and the thin, ragged T-shirt clings to him in the late summer heat.

The ‘copter finally gives, splitting neatly, and Dan thumbs the seed out. “Maybe?” he answers, laughter tingeing his voice, pressing the split seed-leaves into place.

“Makes you look like a bird.”

“Really?” Dan asks, voice nasally and strange as he struggles to get the ‘copter to stay put.

Walter turns, looks up at him; his hair is flat and sweat-streaked. Dan isn’t doing much better. “A really weird bird,” he concludes, and somewhere down the street, someone puts a record on, way too loud – it’s the O’Learys, because Dan can just about hear the stray splatters of years-old housepaint on the speakers, the sound crackly and resonating strangely. Anyway, they only ever play the same six records.

“Good.” Dan pulls himself to his feet, ignoring the imposition the music makes on the fantasy. The heat is too much for water to hold; The ‘copter shears away, flutters to the concrete. “I am Birdman, after all!”

Laughter from below, rough and careless.

“What?”

“Need a better name. That sounds like it’s from a gas-station comic.” Which are, of course, mostly what they have – they only cost a quarter, and for all that his family is comfortable, nine-year-olds are generally kept to a tight allowance. Walter can’t even spare quarters, so he just reads them after Dan is done or, if he’s feeling particularly impatient, perched over his friend’s shoulder.

Cheap and plentiful they may be, but respectable they’re not, not like Superman and Flashman and all the others that the older kids have, dogeared and rolled into their back pockets. It’s an insult, and Dan is momentarily crestfallen. “Hey, at least I got a name, you still haven’t-”

He cuts himself off when he sees Walter sit up straight, perking to some faraway sound. He only ever alerts like that when…

Yes, there it is, the off-key bells, the tune they’ve spent the last two summers memorizing. Dan digs in his pocket, smile fit to burst right off of his face. Pulls out a handful of loose change. “Does Mr. Unnamed Superhero want a bomb pop?” he asks, fishing little bits of twig bark and other foliage from the pile of coins, flicking away pieces of stone.

“You already spent your allowance… bird-man,” Walter mutters, distaste for the name still obvious.

Dan shakes his head. “Uh-uh, this isn’t allowance. Found it all loose in the gravel pit on the other side of the train track. Y’know, where the grass is growing over?” Which makes it free money. And it really should go into the tin bank next to his bed, his dad’s insistent on that, but it’s so hot. “Enough for two,” he adds, and the bells are getting closer, and Dan’s up before Walter can answer, running barefoot over the sharp asphalt to meet the truck in the street.

When he gets back, one pop unwrapped and already dribbling over his hand, the other still sealed, Walter’s shifted on the stoop, knobby bare knees pressed together where he leans over them. He takes the popsicle without a word.

“Superheroes gotta keep up their strength, right?” Dan offers, chomping hard into the ice.

Walter just hrms and peels back the paper, and does his best to keep the red and white and blue from running over his hands.

-------

Though a long time fan and active in other fandoms I seriously just stumbled into Watchmen fandom yesterday morning and have done NOTHING SINCE THEN SERIOUSLY NOTHING but read through this kinkmeme.

Wish all fandoms had this much high-quality fic in all of the 31 flavors of serious to gleeful, glorious crack for newbs like me to dive into right off the bat. Now sifting through in search of possible prompts to fill.

Same idea as the update threads: if you continue a piece here that was started on Kinkmeme 1.0, post a notice and a link to the old and new parts.

Christening the new thread with the first prompt!

I'd like to see some Comedian/Rorschach where a young, pre!Rorschach Walter is drafted to fight in Vietnam, and the Comedian, after being impressed by his skill on the field, decides to take him under his wing. Does this lead to sexytime? I think so.

Adrian/Dan with little kidlets. Bonus points if you give them a know it all daughter who rambles endlessly.

Finally finished. Sorry for the wait you guys. Have some awkward, angsty sexings.

He couldn’t believe the intensity of his relief when all that perversity was drawn out of him. And it had happened so quickly, not like the long, agonized, sticky dawn hours when he lay in his bed, straining with the effort to do nothing but lie still and stare, unblinking, at the ceiling until his eyes watered. Closer. Closer to being pure like Daniel. All his accumulated depravity broke from him like the foamy, salty, polluted waves in the sound. In its wake he lay splayed, as though he really had just been tossed to shore.

Now he was free to admire and explore Dan’s body without embarrassment. Some morbid part of him tried to whisper envious things to him- why was Daniel free of it? Why not him?- but it seemed to be whispering in a language he didn’t speak fluently. He stroked his partner’s cock, fascinated by its softness, its delicacy. Daniel was making noises now,
familiar noises, the desperate pleas for pleasure that Rorschach himself had made only moments before. But there was a different note to Daniel’s cries. Daniel was free, as no john or back-alley slut he’d ever encountered was free, to truly enjoy the caress. Daniel deserved to make noises like that. Deserved all the pleasure Rorschach could give.

Rorschach sucked gently and steadily on Dan’s cock, enjoying it the way he enjoyed his sugar cubes. He slurped heedlessly, like a greedy child with a popsicle. Drawing his head back a little, Rorschach studied his partner- half admiring, half academic. Dan’s length was obvious, but not obscene. His skin was sleek as that of Rorschach’s own face. The head was smooth and free of the nasty, sliding skin he himself had. Frustrated at Rorschach’s reverie, Dan squirmed and mewled.

“Rorsch- schach- please, please,” the sound of Dan’s voice made him tremble. His partner should never have to beg, not for something he alone deserved, out of the entire city. Rorschach bent his head again, stroking, sucking, prodding the tip of Dan’s dick with his tongue a little too hard for the sensitive flesh. He enveloped Dan’s hot flesh in his hotter mouth until his jaw began to ache. And still it wasn’t enough. He was pleasing Daniel, but not enough. Daniel’s gratification would never result in the sticky, embarrassing filth his own had, but he would receive the profoundest pleasure it was in Rorschach’s power to give. Rorschach knew he would recognize it when it happened, the way he knew just when a blow or kick had finished a would-be assailant. It was the same principle, only in reverse.

It continues! ♥ ilu guys!

Original prompt:
http://plus4chan.org/boards/coq/src/124053414165.jpg

Thread one, parts 1-25:
http://spam-monster.livejournal.com/813.html?thread=1144877#t1144877

Thread two, parts 26-45:
http://spam-monster.livejournal.com/813.html?thread=1861933#t1861933

Also not porn. I would apologise for the puns, but the ones in the original were no better.

What felt like hours later Walter was still walking. He rubbed at his bruised shoulder, which felt worse now than when it had happened and was begining to stiffen up. The sky looked darker than it had and he wasn’t sure if it was nightfall or a thunderstorm. The tang of ozone in the air suggested thunder. He stumbled over a tree root, only just catching himself, and admitted that he was exhausted. Which, given that this was a dream, just wasn’t fair. He shook his head and carried on doggedly, refusing to give into tiredness that was, quite literally, all in his head.

The sound of sobbing drifted through the trees and he angled towards it, not sure if he wanted to meet anybody else but still needing information. He missed being big enough to break people’s fingers. The sound led him to a clearing containing a huge black gryphon with a rope around its neck tied to a stake and a mock turtle, who was the one doing the crying. He had a red mask over his calf-like face.

‘Stop crying,’ said Walter. ‘Masks shouldn’t cry.’

‘That’s what I’ve been telling him,’ said the gryphon in a german accent.

‘I can’t help it,’ sobbed the mock turtle. ‘Nobody needs me now. When I was a real turtle back in the army…’

‘Don’t start that or we’ll be here all day,’ said the gryphon.

‘I don’t mind,’ said Walter. ‘My father was in the army.’

The mock turtle looked at him and actually smiled, while the gryphon yawned and buried its head under its wing. Walter sat down in the clearing, wrapping his arms around his knees. They seemed friendly enough, at least by Wonderland standards, and he needed the rest.

‘When I was in the army our drill sargeant was an old narwhal,’ began the mock turtle. ‘He had a nose for drilling. He taught all of us to swim in formation. Turtles are good at that, turtle formation has been famous since the romans. Although we didn’t just have turtles in the army. We had all sorts of marine life, mostly fish. All fish were allowed to join the army except pike.’

‘Why not pike?’ asked Walter.

‘Only a very old fashioned army would allow use of a pike nowadays,’ said the mock turtle. ‘Swordfish swear by the old weapons, but they’re no use at all against a fish in a tank. Now, aside from pike, the army accepted all sorts of creatures. Even jellyfish and squids, and both of them are spineless.’

Walter yawned and missed the next few sentences, something about yellow bellied sliders he thought.

‘There,’ said the gryphon from under its wing. ‘I told you it was boring.’

‘I’m just tired,’ said Walter. ‘I didn’t know you could get tired in dreams.’

‘Go to sleep then,’ said the mock turtle. ‘We’ll keep watch for you.’

Walter nodded, they seemed trustworthy and he wasn’t sure he could go any further without sleep. He curled into a tight ball on the forest floor and drifted into unconsciousness. He dreamt that he was somewhere warm and bright, and someone was calling him. He tried to open his eyes, but couldn’t move at all no matter how he struggled. It was almost a relief to find himself back in Wonderland, and at least able to sit up. He rubbed at his eyes sleepily.

‘Feeling better?’ asked the gryphon.

‘Yes. Less tired, anyway.’ Walter stood up. ‘Do either of you know where the exit is?’

The mock turtle and the gryphon exchanged a look which spoke indecipherable volumes.

‘In the Queen of Heart’s palace,’ said the mock turtle. ‘But you don’t want to go there.’

‘I’ve been told to avoid the Queen of Hearts,’ said Walter.

‘You should,’ replied the gryphon. ‘Since the King of Hearts left no one has been safe. You should stay here, forget about leaving.’

Walter shook his head. He had given up Rorschach to get this far, now he had nothing left worth losing. ‘I need to get out of here. Can you tell me the way to the palace?’

They looked at each other again, and the mock turtle looked away refusing to answer. But the gryphon pointed with one huge paw.

‘Take care,’ it said. ‘Try not to be seen by any playing cards.’

‘I will,’ said Walter. ‘Thank you.’

And he set off towards a palace owned by a mad queen. He glanced back to see that the gryphon now had its wing around the mock turtle’s shoulders, and the mock turtle was sobbing again.

I'd love some Jon/Janey fic.

Either:
1. First time sex after Jon's accident. Does she jump his newly-blued bones, or is she nervous and need some convincing?

2. The two of them experimenting with Jon's new powers in bed. Multiplying, size changing, seeing the future, teleportation. Work it into sex, anon.

We've had a couple fics where Rorschach stumbles in on Dan masturbating and secretly watches. How about Dan discovering Rorschach masturbating?

Dan/Ror, established relationship. Dan likes it that Rorschach wears elevator shoes. He wants to see Ror try on some sexy pumps or stilettos. In the bedroom. This can be a fantasy he keeps to himself or one that he shares.

Rorschach/Laurie, mutual Mommy/Daddy kink - as in, she sees him as a replacement father figure, and despite their age difference, he still looks to her for motherly love.

Their parental issues have been used to emotionally scar and damage them in canon - let's see it lead to some good old-fashioned porn, anon!

I'm a crack addict. No prompt necessary for me to OD on my lovely CRACK.

It had been three days since Rorschach had been to his house, and Dan was starting to worry. Three days wasn’t really long enough for him to be legitimately concerned about his partner, but under the present circumstances…. Dan really wished his partner would come.

Three nights earlier, Dan hadn’t even felt a hit. No strange rays or needle sticks or chemical sprays. He’d gone home feeling no worse than usual and only realized something was wrong when he woke drowning in his own pajamas two hours later. Waking up in his bed and having his bed be the size of an Olympic pool, totally naked but suffocating under the weight of his cotton pj bottoms and bald eagle t-shirt had been more disorienting than anything in Dan’s life. He flailed around the bed, tripping like someone trying to run through rough surf, and finally curled up, panting, in the middle of his pillow.

He thought about reaching for the phone to call someone, but abandoned the idea as ludicrous. There was only one person he would trust to see him like this, and he’d never give Dan his phone number- if he had one. Also, Dan was still giddy and lacked the courage to venture off the pillow, across the bed and over the gap between bed and nightstand to reach the phone.

Dan gave himself a series of genuine pinches on the leg. When he didn’t wake up, he curled up in a ball and pressed his palms firmly over his eyes. Dan focused on his breathing and tried to remember any of the prayers he’d learned in Hebrew school. He was sure there wasn’t a prayer for being restored to normal human-size, but he wasn’t going to discount it. Things had gotten weird enough already that having prayers answered would seem like business as usual.

When he was still six inches tall when he awoke, Dan had something like hysterics. He rolled around on the rumpled sheets, kicking his feet like a two-year old. Only when he shrieked at the top of his voice, and realized that the echoing shrieks were nowhere near the right volume did he pull himself together. The precarious trip off the bed, down the hall to the stairs, down the stairs and into the kitchen left him exhausted and rug burned in places he didn’t like to think about. It had taken nearly all morning and still left him sore, hungry, panicky and without a route up onto the table.

Getting to the top of the table was the extent of his plan. Rorschach had left the bag of sugar cubes out the night before and Dan intended to sit there, where his partner couldn’t possibly miss him, until Rorschach reappeared. He’d had a brief, terrifying vision of Rorschach slipping in and out with his usual feline speed and silence, while Dan tried to shimmy down the stairs before he left.

In the end, he compromised. He couldn’t spend three days in the same spot, but he did stay in the kitchen. For three long, disorienting, boring days. Dan couldn’t read anything, he couldn’t get the type the right distance away from his eyes to make it focus and fit it all into his range of vision. He crouched on the window over the sink, watching the passersby, hoping, in the wee hours, to see a familiar trench-coated figure. But Rorschach didn’t come, and Dan worried that someone would see a tiny, naked man sitting on the window, worried that whoever had done this to him would come. He slept on a dishtowel folded into a sleeping bag (glad he had set his thermostat to 74 even though he hadn't planned on running around naked for an extended period) and anxiously bided his time.

I want more OT3, and I want Dan and Laurie conspiring to see how far they can push Walter in terms of normal public displays of affection. Just seeing what they can get away with, pushing his limits, even though it's all very innocuous - a peck on the cheek, taking his arm, squeezing a shoulder, etc. Trying to get him comfortable with it, but also kind of enjoying rattling his cage.

Ridiculously cracky idea came to me while perusing the marvelous Adrian/Bowie fanmix that someone came up with.

It's Halloween at Studio 54. Ozymandias and Bowie, by prior arrangement, show up dressed as EACH OTHER. Discuss.

where has captcha gone? can we have captcha back? we need captcha for captcha fics. This is wery important.

[Continuation from http://spam-monster.livejournal.com/813.html?thread=2884653#t2884653. spam_monster, thanks for getting the new post up and running so fast. ^_^

*

Laurie can't quite bring herself to cut her hair. Instead, she bleaches it blond and puts it up in Heidi braids. A very popular style with high-school girls, and the pink-framed sunglasses she affects complete the image. Dan bleaches his hair as well, and pulls it back with a bandanna folded into a headband - technically a gang style, but commonplace enough on the streets. Rorschach harrumphes and mutters something about necessity in desperate times. Laurie laughs when she sees it, and ruffles his hair, and he blushes and says at least she kept her good looks. They both go wandering the streets, one at a time on planned routes, and nobody so much as looks at them funny. It works.

Eddie can't really hide his scar. He's starting to go stir-crazy. He spends his days pacing around and around the Owlship, waking up Laurie and Dan. Rorschach has taken to vanishing back to, presumably, his daylight identity. His real face. Well, it's not like he's wanted by the police. Or the CIA.

*

"All this farting around," Eddie announces over dinner one morning. (Curry from an all-night restaurant, his treat. They're almost through the cash he brought with him, and he'll - no, someone else will have to go raid one of his stashes.) "S'all very well to be getting back to our roots, but we havn't had a big heist in weeks."

"Need information," Rorschach mutters, between bites. He's getting panang curry sauce all over his cheeks. "Can only do so much on the spur of the moment."

Dan flushes. He used to be the information go-to guy, but he hasn't gotten all his systems up and running here. "We've been doing useful work," he says, waving his hands defensively. "Every little bit helps. And between the Royal Isabella and those three truck convoys, we're still putting a dent in the drug trade - "

"Shut it, kid, you sound like Nelly." Eddie leans back and blows a smoke ring from his cigarette. "You know what I mean. We didn't go rouge to do NYPD's work for them."

There's an uncomfortable silence. Laurie is suddenly aware that it's for Dan's sake that hey've been so careful about the no-killing rule. Rorschach thinks that letting scum live is soft. Eddie is a war vet, and gleefully brutal, and thinks of deaths as a hazard of the trade. And she - somehow she's picked up Jon's indifference toward life. She doesn't know how or when, and it scares her. She doesn't want to kill. But the idea no longer repulses her.

Collateral damage. Sometimes she thinks of taking Dan by the shoulders and telling him, go back. Retire. Ask Ozymandias for a favor, and I bet you could get the charges killed. You have a life left. You could be a normal person.

We can't.

"If you've got something in mind, say so," Laurie says aloud, and sets her fork down. "We'll back you up. You know it."

"Don't have something specific in mind. But I have a hell of a lot of dirt on the CIA, and some documents that could mess up Nixon bad." Eddie shrugs, as if this was a perfectly normal thing to have. "We could work something out. Hell, what're we here for if we don't make life difficult for people?"

She thinks of Jon's hands tingling on her skin, of his calm voice. They come to recognize that I am not uder their control. "Government people? Sure. Sounds good. Nobody else will."

Dan is holding Rorscach's elbow, clutching it like a kid trying to hide behind his mother. She wonders what about that exchange scared him so badly. Rorschach's expression is as always unreadable, but he doesn't seem to be struggling.

Laurie realizes she and Eddie are grinning in just the same way.

Original thread here: http://spam-monster.livejournal.com/813.html?thread=2536749#t2536749

The flush on his skin that had begun to recede returned with a vengeance, as if she’d suggested something unbelievably filthy. She held up her hands.

“I’m not trying to get into your…er…brains. I don’t think that’s even possible. It’s the best solution we’ve got – if you let yourself stay this exhausted and Dan does need help, you’ll be useless. Do you want to leave Dan without back-up?”

“Shameless ploy,” he muttered. “Keep pop psychology to self.”

He ruined the hard-man affect by yawning through the final word. Laurie raised one eyebrow, unconsciously imitating her mother’s Pert Expression #4 (For When Male Lead Is Veering Off Script), and peeled away the synthskin covering the jack in her left wrist. “Hook me in before you pass out,” she demanded.

Kovacs growled but reached into the mess on his floor without looking and produced a length of cable. He jabbed one end into her wrist without touching her skin, and Laurie shivered at the brief shock of static electricity that shot up to her elbow. She reluctantly pictured the delicate filaments along her own nerves, designed to capture and enhance sensation – the exact opposite of Kovacs’ virtual armor. No heroics in cyberspace, she reminded herself sternly. Out there, she was nothing but bait on a hook.

She couldn’t imagine how her mother had ever endured it, leaping in to fight the bad guys completely exposed, with every nerve lit up like Christmas and recording. Sure, she’d had Hollis and the rest at her back, but one good blast…

Kovacs changed some settings through the datapad on his temple and visibly steeled himself before sliding the cable into the base of his skull. Laurie gritted her teeth, tasting copper, and shuddered while the snap of connection worked through her bones.

“Ooooooh, that’s unpleasant,” she murmured.

Kovacs grunted and refrained from pointing out the lack of a checkered blanket and basket of al fresco edibles on his end of the wire. Laurie mentally edged away from the edge of his thought and focused on her own projection, making it tight and impermeable. Hardware wasn’t really designed to be used by more than one person – it was physically possible for any number of techs to port in, but uncomfortable. Laurie felt like Kovacs was looking over her shoulder, breathing down her neck, while she did the same to him, and behind them another Kovacs and another Laurie and another Kovacs, an infinite chain of too-damn-closeness.

Laurie clamped down on the thought that Kovacs must be suffering from an advanced case of man-love, if this cheek-to-cheek smash-up was preferable to possibly missing a message from Drieberg. She suspected a little trickled through anyway, as Kovacs stiffened and moved as far away as the cable would allow.

Projecting was tricky. It was best to come in with a mission, stay focused, and get out as soon as you’d completed it and your mind started to drift to what you wanted for lunch. If you lingered, the best disaster you could hope for was discovering your projection had changed to a giant banana; at worst, you’d find legmen for the megacorp you just burned waiting for you at the produce stand you’d decided to patronise. The human consciousness was just…leaky.

“Does Mason speak to you?” Kovacs asked, the words resonating, bizarrely, up through her arm. Of course, he wouldn’t bother vocalising when there was a quicker way.

“I don’t know,” she replied, surprised. “I’ve never tried. He’s, you know, dead, and I’ve mourned, and talking to what’s left of him…I just can’t make myself do it.”

“Try.”

There was a fleeting sensation of her hand grabbing itself, her own lips twisting in disgust. Laurie split her attention between cyberspace and the real world (the first Thou Shalt Not every cowboy learned and Kovacs’ standard operating procedure) and self-consciously stuck her tongue out. Her nerves reported both the slide of saliva along her lips and the clenched teeth that made a raspberry impossible. She held her hand in front of her face and waggled her fingers, but even as she stared at them she was simultaneously sure her eyes were rolling toward the ceiling.

“Miss Isham…”

She dropped her hand and focused on the pixelated world inside her eyelids. They were staring at a small box. It hummed to itself.

“Oh,” Laurie replied. “Um. Okay. What do I do?”

Her shoulders shrugged. “Daniel knocks.”

“Brrrr. Can you stop twitching me around like a puppet? It’s giving me the willies.” Not half as much as the living grave in front of them, though. She nodded (the gesture cutting off abruptly as Kovacs shifted the nanometre or so away from her that was the limits of their shared mental space), shivered, and touched the box.

“Hollis? Uncle Hollis? It’s Laurie.”

Nothing. The box vibrated sickeningly underneath her hands, as if it was stuffed full of bees.

A sigh gusted in her ear, and they were abruptly elsewhere, another stretch of identical formless nothingness that was nonetheless obviously different, and far away, and her stomach wanted to turn inside-out and be worn as a shoe before it would take any more of this.

Laurie really hated cyberspace.

“Only keyed to Daniel,” Kovacs said thoughtfully. “Suspected as much. Inconvenient, but safer from tampering.”

“Hmm,” Laurie replied, focused on not puking. “If you say so. It’s still creepy. Echoing around cyberspace forever, no body to ever return to.”

“It’s perfect,” Kovacs shot back, then fell abruptly silent, and Laurie suspected he hadn’t meant to reply.

“Where are we now?”

“Safe here,” he said. “Usual message drop. Disused Veidt-Ashpool server.”

He hesitated, and Laurie briefly felt like her own teeth were gritting together before Kovacs remembered himself and forced out, “Daniel may also make contact here – ” they stretched together, limbs thinning to filaments “– or here,” the filaments looped, and Laurie nearly lost the struggle with her belly. “But most likely here. Can watch all three simultaneously.”

He pulled as far away as he was able, and Laurie opened her eyes to watch him slither out of both jackets, careful not to disturb their connection, and awkwardly drape them over his torso.

“It helps to lie down,” she vocalised, the words slow as refrigerated syrup.

“Hurm,” he muttered and cleared a space on the floor. He turned and wriggled until Laurie was ready to scream in annoyance, trying to find a position that didn’t rest on his neck jack or strangle him with the short cable.

Laurie crawled over to the small window, dragging the cord behind her, and lit up another cigarette. She suspected no amount of blowing would keep the smoke off her new shades, but it was the only distraction at hand to prevent her braining her partner with the closest blunt object. Which happened to be Blake’s little Russian death trap, so she’d not only be down her only available hardware but destroy their best avenue of investigation into the bastard’s death.

Woah dear. My lady parts are all a tingle. I really, really hope that there is more of this comeing from you. Cause hot damn.

For the sake of cohesiveness?

parts 1-20:
http://spam-monster.livejournal.com/813.html?thread=168493#t16849

parts 21-22:
http://spam-monster.livejournal.com/813.html?thread=3099181#t3099181

In which Rorschach writes about growing affection for Dan in his journal.

First half is here:
http://spam-monster.livejournal.com/813.html?thread=2779949#t2779949