... Okay, granted, a lot of it is Nite Owl/Rorschach slash, which is arguably what anyone with a brain should have been expecting, but still, I'll bet that most of you weren't expecting to see it like THIS!

I trust you're already familiar with Rule 34?

Well, SAY HELLO TO RULE 63!!!

Over on the /co/ Promotions board of plus4chan, a poster who goes by the online handle of "Danielle Dreiberg" (who has identified herself as female in real life) has been making fandom a better place to be through her adorable artwork, which has inspired the creative writing of the posters on this thread:



My heart skips a beat when I notice my front door slightly ajar. I actually freeze in place, afraid. It’s funny, in it’s sick way, Nite-Owl, cowering at the thought of her home being robbed. Well, I have plenty to be afraid of, like my secret being exposed. The last thing I want is to be hounded like Rorschach. Slowly, I push the door open and she’s right there, eating cold beans out of the can, my beans, my partner, Rorschach. “Shorp...lep... Hello Danielle. Got hungry waiting. Helped myself to some beans. Hope you don’t mind.” Her monotone voice always sent a shiver down my spine. She doesn’t frighten me, which probably proves how crazy I must be, but she does make me feel... uncomfortable.

“Rorschach? How do you keep getting in here?” I ask her. She just downs another spoonful and I give up on my last question. “Uhh... that is, no! No, of course I don’t mind... uh... you want me to heat those up for you or anything?”

“No need. Fine like this.” Now that’s disturbing. “Came by to check on you. Worried you might be in trouble.”

“Why’s that? An old bird watcher like me? Who would bother?” She reaches into her coat and drops a button on my kitchen counter. Yellow smiley face with a stain on it. “This little stain, is that bean juice or...”

“That’s right. Human bean juice. Ha ha. Badge belonged to the Comedian. Blood too. She’s dead.”

“Dead? The Comedian? Wow... that... jeez, really? That’s hard too imagine...”

“Beaten to death in her penthouse. Tossed out the window. Big fall. Very messy.”

The image of an old bird like the Comedian turned sidewalk pizza made my stomach turned. Never did like the nasty stuff, always left that for Rorschach, she loved it. “Shit... that’s horrible. Who do you think did it? A mugger?”

“A common mugger kill the Comedian? Impossible. Most likely mask killer.”

“Mask killer? Oh common, don’t be paranoid. She did a lot of wet work for the government, maybe it was a political thing?”

“Assassination by communists? Probable. Still, worried about you. If it is mask killer, you might be next. Afraid I’d never see you again.”

That caught me more off guard than the news about the Comedian. “Hey... I know we used to be partners but I thought you preferred the loner life. That I was just... you know, slowing you down.”

My heart’s beating faster, I think my face is flushing. Damn, I always had these moments back when we were Watchmen but I had a mask to hide behind. It must look really obvious to her now, I’m so embarrassed. “You did. I didn’t mind. You’re a good friend, Danielle. Good partner. You’re still as cute, too.”

“What? No, please, look at me. I’m a decade older and thirty pounds heavier.”

“Always your problem Danielle. Always worried about appearance.” She never did like to beat around the bush. My gaze averts downward, what she said made me feel so shallow. I didn’t see her approach me, surprised me when she cradled my doughy chin between her gloved fingers and pressed her lips to my own. I would lie if I said I never wished for something like this to happen between me and Rorschach but the overpowering smell of cold beans on her breath nearly kills the mood. “Not like me, I know. But worried this might be our last night together. Mask killer might target you next. Want to show you how much I always treasured our friendship.”

This is all so confusing. I always thought she was some kind of extreme right wing enforcer and now she’s... she’s coming on to me. I pull myself away from her, my head’s swimming. “No... this doesn’t... I mean I don’t...”

She laughs as she warps her arms around me from behind. “Same Danielle. As always, needing me to make the first move.”

From behind, she starts to undress me. I should be stopping her but if she really believes there’s someone out there trying to kill us... maybe it’ll help her calm down, maybe even listen to reason. Slowly, I begin undressing myself, carelessly letting my coat and blouse drop to the floor. I can’t help but let my eyes wander south, staring at the fold of flesh protruding out from my mid-section. A gloved hand slips around my waist and gives my fat a firm but gently squeeze. Embarrassed, I try to pull away. “No...”

“No shame, Danielle. Always valued your mind more anyway. Besides, fun to play with.” She laughs again as she shakes my body fat in her hand. The other hand slips under my bra cup and fondles my breast, that rough glove rasping against my nipple makes me gasp out a breath. She starts guiding me down to the floor and I have no will to do anything more than comply. The hand on my stomach now slides into my panties and a finger, a cloth covered finger, runs along the length of my slit. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched by anyone but myself that I shudder. “Hard gloves, soft body. Makes foreplay easier, doesn’t it?”

I feel a hot breath brush against my neck just before her wet tongue runs against my collar bone. It’s slimy, her spittle feels thick on my skin and my breathing begins to get labored. “Y..yes...”

Rorschach guides me down until I’m flat on my back. She slides down my bottom and exposes the orifice she was playing with not too long ago. I can’t see past the back part of her coat as it dangles between her legs but I can hear her spit. Can’t help but tense when I feel it splash against my lower lips. Of course, that was nothing compared to what she did next. Without warning, she slapped her glove hand right down on my cunt and forced a scream out of me. “Sensitive girl.” She lowers her head and laps her tongue against my clitoris the same way a kitten laps her milk from a bowl. This goes on for a full minute while I was powerless to do nothing more than squirm underneath her. She stops but only to slurp up the trail of pre-cum her teasing has aroused out of me. “Hurm, salty sweet.”

“Must... ah... be all that... sugar in... coffee...” Before I could get my bearings again, Rorschach had already shifted her position, now looking down at me face to... er... mask. I reach up, hoping I could peel it away to see her freckled face but she holds my hand steady. “Please...”

“No. Face stays on,” she tells me before guiding my hand behind her belt. I can feel the coarse, curly hairs of her womanhood twirl and grasp around my fingers as I slowly feel around for her entrance. She groans softly as I rub her and she in turns behinds to rub mine with that gloved hand of her’s. In tandem, we fondle one another, our breathing becomes heavy, her chest heaves under her thick coat, what little of her face that I can see becomes flushed. I can only imagine how I must look, I can feel beads of cold sweat forming quickly on my forehead, sliding down across my flesh. She merely pants but I moan and groan like some teenager giving it up for the first time. She’s good, she’s amazing and me? I can barely keep up for five minutes before jizzing out all over her hand and onto my thighs. Slowly, she removes her sticky fingers from my person and pulls my hand off from her’s as I weakly pant in the afterglow. Callously, she cleans the mess off by wiping her hand against her coat and promptly stands up. “Same Danielle, same problem. No staying power.”

She walks for the door and I barely have enough composure to rise back to my feet. “No... please, don’t go. I don’t see you for so long and we share this amazing moment and... and you’re just going to leave?”

I spy her pocketing a handful of my sugar cubes before opening the door. “Mask killer still out there. Only came by to warn you. Make my peace with you. Maybe we could have had something special together but you quit. Leaving now. Going to see Dr. Manhattan. See what she knows.”

Her words cut deep, make me so mad I want to grab a knife and stab her! But I know better, she’d break my hand no problem just for principal if I did that. Also, as insensitive as she is, I still love her more than I should. “A... alright. But try to stay out of tro... out of jail anyway.”

“Hurm, we’ll see.” And then, she was gone. Psychopath, vigilante, partner, friend, and for a few beautiful moments, lover. I really hope she doesn’t explode in the arctic or something.

This story, in turn, inspired Danielle Dreiberg to produce even more fan art, both work-safe and non, which I'm happy to share here with all of you:

Nite Owl, Rorschach, Silk Spectre and Ozymandias, gender-reversed and lookin' HOT:



Nite Owl and Rorschach, the inevitable (fem)slash:



Nite Owl goes solo:



Silk Spectre, gender-reversed; by himself, bickering with Rorschach, and seducing Nite Owl:



How about THE ORIGINAL MINUTEMEN, gender-reversed?



And the Golden Age slash couple, Captain Metropolis and Hooded Justice, goes femslash:



Let's shine the spotlight on Captain Metropolis:



And last but not least, the Comedian, on her own and with the gender-reversed version of Sally Jupiter:



That last pic offered a far more light-hearted version of the following story, posted on that same thread, retelling one of the pivotal moments of Watchmen from a compellingly gender-reversed perspective:

It’s 1939, and Sammy Jupiter is swapping the Spectre’s costume for clothes that will allow him to take a cab to Holly’s like a normal person, humming softly to himself when she comes in.

“Hi.”

“Edie, what the hell are you doing? I’m trying to change, here.” He laughs, but does feel a little exposed, hiding behind the slacks he’s holding.

“Yeah, I’m really offending your delicate boy modesty.” She advances on him like a great cat, eyes gleaming through her mask. “You announced it loud enough.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

She steps right up to him, and her gloves are cold as she takes his arms. “C’mon, we’re all in this for some sick reason. Let a girl help you out.” One hand slides down and cups him through his boxers, squeezing too hard and making him jump and wince. She grins, hard and ruthless. “They think only girls can be easy.”

He backs up. A man might lose face, backing down in front of a girl, but Edie isn’t like other girls. She’s as dangerous and beautiful as a tropical storm, and even though he has dreams about her that leave him wet and twisted in the sheets, he doesn’t like the way she’s looking at him now.

“Think only girls can ask for it.” She follows him. Stalks him.

“I’m not asking for anything.” He swallows, eyes darting around as he looks for escape routes.

“Liar.” And then she’s pinning him to the table, and he can’t push her off. He tries, not wanting to hurt her, then tries a lot harder when it doesn’t faze her in the slightest. With a colossal effort he hurls her off. She staggers, and the hurt in her eyes when she looks up at him through a curtain of dark hair makes him pause for one fatal second.

“Edie?” He hates how small his voice sounds, and he’s already skidding backward when she comes up and backhands him across the face, splitting his lip and knocking him for a loop. There’s no time to do anything before she plants a knee in his gut, knocking the wind out of him with a sickening crack that makes him think it might be permanent this time. He’s hard when she throws him to the floor, stiff with terror more than anything else. He doesn’t want this, and no one is going to believe him. Not the way he flirts with everything that moves, Edie especially and in particular.

He tries to scramble out from under her, and she batters him with the same ferocity she uses down on the waterfront, her beautiful face a rictus of fury. She plants one hand on his face, shoving his head back against the floor so she doesn’t have to look at him as she tears his boxers off. He’s begging her not to, begging her to leave him alone and hating himself for being so weak. She slides down onto him, slapping him across the face and snarling that he must have wanted it after all, calling him a liar again. He can barely feel her, lying quietly and waiting for it to be over, already in light shock.

And then HJ is there, battering Edie into the floor with her usual violence. He can hear Edie taunting her about the girls, which is the only thing that makes her finally stop, and hurl Edie away so she can stagger out with threats of vengeance, mopping ineffectually at the blood pouring from her nose. Sammy hauls himself up onto his elbows, hurting all over and feeling like he’s going to vomit. He looks up at HJ to see her staring down at him. He’s gotten enough practice at reading her expression through the hood to see that she’s disgusted, and the tone of her voice proves it out.

“Get up. And for God’s sake, cover yourself.” She turns on her heel and walks out. Sammy curls into a ball, and when he’s sure she’s gone he starts crying, unable to hold it back any longer. His sobs make his ribs hurt as he struggles into his clothes, staining them with blood.

It’s Holly who comes back for him, of course. Holly has always been the sweetest, and despite being an Owl, her voice is as soft as a dove’s coo as she helps him up, calling him sweetheart, honey, and lamb as she helps him limp to their infirmary. Her hands are so gentle that he doesn’t flinch from her touch, just shivers and cries a little more, hating himself. Holly says it’s all right.

---

It’s a decade later when he sees Edie again, standing at the door like any other old friend dropping by. The sight of her sends him into a paroxysm of rage. He trembles with it, and he can hear the blood pounding in his ears. “You bitch!” He screams after a long moment of stunned silence. “Get the hell off of my porch!” His voice is raw with unshed tears, and his ribs ache with phantom bruises. The real ones had been black and had taken months to fade completely. The nightmares had taken longer to go away. He tells her both of these things in a flood of vicious invective, punctuated with long-lost Polish curses, waving his arms and boiling over with fury.

She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t look away, either. She knows she deserves far worse than this, and it’s that knowledge in her eyes that makes him finally run out of steam. She looks like a little girl lost, and he can’t stay angry with her. Because he’s always been a soft-hearted fool, he lets her in. Fixes her a drink and has one himself. Since she’s there anyway, he asks how she’s been keeping. Later he won’t even remember how they wind up in the bedroom; just that it doesn’t matter that the sheets smell like Laura. That’s part of a different world, and they both know it.

They don’t say much, but Edie gets the important things across. “Sorry” she murmurs, her calloused hands cupping his face as her lips ghost across his cheek. “So sorry, baby. Nothing you don’t want, I swear to God.” He shivers, and lets out a little mewling sound that he hates. It sounds weak and girlish, but his knees are shaking and she’s so strong that he can lean on her, cling to her and catch his breath. Only it doesn’t seem to want to be caught, and then it doesn’t matter because she’s kissing him now, so slow and so deep that he’s humping her leg like a goddamned teenager. He always has wanted it. Just on these sweet, soft terms. He knows that Edie is the only woman he’s ever really loved, no matter how many terrible things she’s done and will yet do. The two of them together is some sick kind of miracle, and this time he feels everything.

... Goddamn. From the ridiculous to the sublime.

When I started typing this post, I was all set to make some smartass remark about how Alan Moore was going to start hiring hit squads to go after the fans created by the movie version of Watchmen, as a result of fan works like this, but you know what? Even in jest, that's unfair, because however much this stuff might be inspired by another author's works, and however much it might run counter to the intent or sensibilities of the author in question, it still stands up as artistic in its own right.

There's been no shortage of occasions when I've found myself making excuses for my fellow fans, but this is one of the times when I can proudly point to the talent and passion that exist in fandom. This stuff is both clever and heartfelt, and no, it's no Watchmen, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it gives me genuine joy nonetheless, and there's been far too little of that in fandom as a whole lately.

So, good job, gang.