#a single instance of quackbur

[dsmprarepairbb]

i'm very excited for this as a rarepair enjoyer! this is a great thread on the subreddit that might be a good starting point to think of cut-off qualifications: https://www.reddit.com/r/FanFiction/comments/eohtgm/what_exactly_counts_as_a_rarepair/

while i'm very on board with this event, i think trying to say 'anything but dnf' can feel too targeted, and i don't think it's the intention at all, it might make people feel singled out or unwelcome here. for instance, i think karlnapity and quackbur are also ships that are worth disqualifying (and i say this as someone who loves those ships XD).

good luck with putting this together though! i know a lot of work goes into these things <3

I held onto this ask for a long time for a very specific reason: I really enjoy spreadsheets. I wanted to wait until after I had closed the interest check so I could go through all of the submitted ships so I could get some data to back up my reasoning.

And back up my reasoning it did.

A total of 75 ships (including DNF) were listed by people who said they were interested. I took all of these ships and looked them up on AO3. I decided to look at AO3 for this as this is going to be mostly about content creation, and I feel that utilizing the otp:true function helps a lot.

Of the 75 ships, 15 didn't show up on AO3 at all, no matter how much I looked. For the rest, however, I noted down the number of works both in the tag as a whole, and with the otp:true filter. I put this into a spreadsheet and generated a pie chart using the otp:true data that looks like this:

Due to this discrepancy, I feel that it is valid of me to make this current rarepair big bang only exclude DNF. I am retracting prior statements of excluding XDNF, as that ship was lower than I had thought. In the future, the list will be refined, but for now, the only ship excluded is DNF.

Further reasoning below the cut.

So, this is not the only chart that I did. I also did a pie chart of the unfiltered ships as well.

As you can see, this percentage is lower that otp:true, but you can still see that the gap is quite large. No other ship even compares. Also worth noting is that in this view, fics where a poly relationship is present can skew the results, as many chose to tag their fics not only with the poly ship, but also the individual pairings (or smaller groupings) of that ship.

I also generated a bar graph, but due to the amount of ships its very hard to read. The first label, DNF, is even pushed off the view so you can't see it, but I will attach it here anyways as reference.

yeah its...bad lol. Its so hard to read.

I am aware that in the link you put, there are multiple ways to go about this. As I said, in the future this will be changed. I am most likely going to make a tier list of sorts for these ships based on this data. Also, I did not calculate based off of percentage of fics in the fandom itself as so many of these fics are crossovers, and I felt it was a futile effort.

Also, for those curious, I'm going to post the data I collected just for funsies. The ones with a -1 were the 15 that didn't show up at all. They had to be denoted this way to ensure that they were sorted correctly. You can see that Karlnapity (#8) and quackbur (#4) are also listed!

(I also calculated what percentage of ships tagged like that were also true because I'm a nerd who likes writing formulas lmfao)

I love dnf! Its fun! But you gotta admit that its reach is significantly more than other ships'. Also a fun aside from a friend:

#answers

[medium-kat07]

Roulette

Ao3

Chapter 7; Stupid Heroes and Pointless Idols

Pairings: Quackbur (romantic), SBI (family)

AU: Superpowers

TW: Talk of blades, joking about murder, so much cursing, yelling, scars, mentions of insanity, talk of superstitions, sleep deprivation, eavesdropping

Wordcount: 3762 words

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(ALSO BEFORE I FORGET @rynzii419 MADE FANART OF WILBUR FROM THIS AU GO LOOK AT IT IT’S SO PRETTY I LOVE WILBURR SHE’S SUCH A GOOD ARTIST)

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Many things in life are pointless. For instance, artificial sweeteners. Especially aspartame. It tastes like all-purpose cleaner. There are also swords with moon-shaped blades- according to a rant by Technoblade, they do absolutely nothing. Thin Oreos are an abomination (they went the wrong way. They had the right idea with double stuffed.) And last but most certainly not least, Anteaters. Pointless, creepy fucks.

Wilbur had done many pointless things today. Scribbling aimlessly on a paper counted- not because of scribbling in itself, that’s how many artists work, but because Wilbur had scribbled nothing but lyrics to songs he’d never write because the longer he wrote, the more romantic they turned, and then a scarred face flashed in his mind, and he put the pencil down with a huff.

He scrolled every social media he had. He tried to read one of Techno’s books and gave up when he was met with the word “Sesquipedalian.”

And now he walked the halls of the tower to a destination he wouldn’t ever find. He’d probably gone in a few circles by now, someone was bound to get suspicious soon. The fluorescent lights and cheap lemon air freshener really spelled out “Office building,” and the halls that were painted white and blue definitely didn’t help. Each hall looked the same, each door was the same, each room was the same, all except the hero dorms, kitchen, and lobby.

His eye caught on one of the doors, and before he could convince himself to keep walking, he’d grabbed the handle.

Destination found.

There was one room in the tower that no hero went into unless they were required to: the rankings room. It was where the reporters were escorted when press conferences were held. There were seats lined up in rows facing a podium, like a theater. On the podium was a single microphone, and behind it was the ranking wall.

The ranking wall read the status of every hero in the tower.

There are superstitions that heroes who spend lots of time in this room go insane, or disappear, or die. Most likely, none of them wanted to deal with the reality that is ranking your worth based on the number of lives you save.

The Blade, #1. Angel, #2. Blue, #3. 404, #4. Ram, #5. So on and so forth.

Wilbur thinks there’s a hint of truth to the superstitions. To have your worth laid out on a wall in front of your city… it probably doesn’t do well for your mental health.

Wilbur still remembered the day The Blade took the #1 spot from Angel. Phil hadn’t been upset- or angry, even. He’d been overjoyed that his son was doing so well. Wilbur hated it.

He sat in one of the chairs, glaring up at the wall. Blue, #3.

Blue, #3.

A while ago, Millennium held the fourth slot. Then he disappeared and 404 took his place. 404 was absolutely infuriated that he’d taken the rank, because it meant the agency had given up on Millennium, had stopped looking for him.

Nobody else said anything. Wilbur thought they were too scared.

Deciding he’d had enough thoughts for the day, Wilbur stood and turned to leave the room. But when he looked to the door, he saw someone standing there.

“Techno?”

The hero’s eyes snapped towards Wilbur. He had been staring at the rankings. “Sorry.”

Sorry for what? “What is it?”

“I have a mission soon. Gang leader downtown is running a competition.”

“And?”

Techno winced. “I wanted to know if you could… come with.”

Wilbur paused, studying him. He didn’t seem like he was taunting or kidding. “...why?”

“…Because I’d like some help?”

“Like you need help,” Wilbur grumbled, walking past him into the hall. “What, so I’m doing things right with my assignments, and suddenly you want to do a mission together? That’s what this is?”

“They didn’t let me ask you before.”

“Who’s they?” Before Techno could respond, Wilbur continued. “I’m not going to let you drag me back into your life. I’m busy.”

It was a lie; it was a terrible lie. He had nothing to do, but he’d rather do nothing than go on a mission with his brother.

Anger pierced the air around him. Techno growled, “Why have you been so shitty lately? God, you know, I used to be able to go at least a week without you cursing me out, and now you’re constantly mad for no fucking reason.”

Wilbur snapped. “Don’t you dare make yourself a fucking victim! You aren’t a victim, you’re never the victim! I’m the one who’s hurting, I’m the one who’s having a bad week, and I don’t need you to tell me!”

Techno glared at him. “Why can’t we just have a normal conversation for five minutes,” he said shakily.

“I don’t know why, Technoblade. I really don’t. Maybe if you leave me alone, and use your mind for a split second, you’ll figure it out.”

Techno looked at his brother like the world would collapse if he looked away. And then he did. He turned his back and walked the other direction. The world didn’t collapse, but Wilbur felt like it might have.

It’s not fair to lash out at you because I’m having a hard time. You are the least of my issues right now, and I’m sorry, Wilbur thought at the back of Techno’s head.

Instead of voicing these thoughts, or even continuing that train of thought in general, Wilbur huffed and walked away.

Oh, and arguments. Most arguments, when spurred by unrelated problems, do end up being completely and utterly pointless.

  -

  Wilbur came back to his floor of the tower late in the afternoon. He was immediately pushed to the side by Phil, who was frantically searching for his keys. Tommy sat in front of the TV, eating leftover mac-n-cheese.

“Uh, Wil, you and Tommy have the floor to yourself tonight,” Phil said as he grabbed his bucket hat. It took Wil a moment to realize he was in full costume. “I’ve got a mission.”

“Oh. When will you be back?”

“Probably very late. Techno won’t be back till tomorrow, though.”

Wilbur frowned. “Is his mission that far away?”

Phil blinked. “No, Techno doesn’t have a mission. I’m doing his, he said he needed to blow off some steam in the training room.” He shrugged. “You know how he is. He’ll probably sleep there.”

He only sleeps there because he doesn’t want to face me.

Wilbur tugged at the hem of his sweater absentmindedly. “Right.”

“Do the dishes and- oh, and don’t put blue in Techno’s hair dye, please.”

“Will do.”

Phil paused. “…Are you alright, mate?”

Wilbur shrugs. “I’m fine.”

“If there’s anything you need, I can give the mission to 404. I know we haven’t spoken much lately.”

There were plenty of things Wilbur could have told Phil right at that second. He could have tried to tell him about the dream, or about the argument, or his worries about the agency, or about Roulette in general, or about Tommy sneaking out at night.

Wilbur shook his head with a small smile. “You know 404 will just butcher it.”

Phil beamed. “Right. I’ll see you later, mate.”

And with the click of a door, Wilbur was alone in the house with his little brother. Like many nights before.

He turned to face Tommy.

“How’s your day been?” Wilbur tried.

Tommy blinked. “You’re going out, aren’t you?”

“You know me so well.” Wilbur immediately moved to grab a beanie.

“Where you gonna go?”

“Away. I don’t know. I’ve been in the tower all day, if I stay here any longer, I’ll go up in flames.” Wilbur felt like he might spontaneously combust with all the lies he’s been telling lately. They collected in his throat until he could barely breathe.

“Can I put blue in Techno’s hair dye?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Tommy, you’re going to be alone in the tower all night. You can do whatever the fuck you want.”

Tommy grinned. “Awesome. Take your mask with you, it’ll ward off the press. They’ll all think you’re on a mission.”

“Good idea,” Wilbur mumbled, going to his room to grab it. “You’re my favorite.”

“I know,” The teenager said smugly, turning back to the TV screen.

 -

 And so, Wilbur was back under the L’manburg stars.

Somewhere along the line, he’d picked up some food (That poor teenager at the front counter looked way too tired for a hero ordering chicken nuggets at 8pm.) and he probably should have just gone home after that.

But with everything going on in his head, he just really didn’t want to go back to the tower.

There was this buzz in his chest, this drive to find a distraction and something to do with himself, because he spent way too long already trying to make sense of a lot of things and he didn’t want to think anymore.

Thinking made him feel entirely and utterly stupid. He hated the constant shadow of not knowing, not thinking, not seeing. He hated being so stupid all the time. Why does everything seem to just go over my head?

Is the agency broken, or has Roulette made me blind? Are vigilantes okay, or am I imagining things?

Questions like those were Wilbur’s equivalent of Is my whole life a lie, or am I just stupid?

Stupid.

As though the world itself wanted to put a stop to Wilbur’s thoughts, he heard a voice.

“No- Jack, I’m telling you, it was Blue. No, it isn’t a lie.”

Wilbur froze because Holy fucking shit. Not only was that the voice of a vigilante, but it was also the one he’s been having a perpetual panic attack over for two days.

He ducked into an alley.

“Yeah- Yeah! I literally just saw him and walked away. He was taking care of it.”

He realized with a start that Roulette’s voice was coming from above him.

“No, I swear it wasn’t- dude, I didn’t do anything this time. Stop freaking out. Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker. Yeah, I know. No, I didn’t.”

He’s on the phone.

The other voice came through. It sounded a little familiar. “You swear you didn’t help another goddamn hero?”

“I swear, dude. He was literally taking care of it fine, he got Nuclear himself.”

Oh my god, he’s covering for me.

Wilbur knew that Roulette was letting him take the credit, but he honestly had a vivid image in his head of Roulette making fun of Blue to all his vigilante friends. That seemed like the most logical outcome.

“You sure? Because the first time you saw-”

“Shut the fuck up, dude, it was fine, I said I wouldn’t do it again! I just felt bad for him the first time, that was it.”

So, it was pity. Something dark curled in the pit of Wilbur’s stomach.

“Did you find out if they actually managed to hold Nuclear this time?”

“No, Vinyl got him out again.”

Roulette sighed. “Little blonde prick. Tell him I’m gonna beat his ass next time I see him.”

“You won’t, though?”

“No, the kid’s got everyone wrapped around his finger. Niki and Sam would both kill me in cold blood.”

“Yeah, yeah. If it makes you feel any better, I also think he’s a prick.”

“Easy there, I’m wrapped around his finger too.”

Did he call Vinyl a kid?

Wilbur slowly raised his head and walked backwards a bit.

There was Roulette again, framed against the night sky, holding his phone up towards his mouth half-heartedly and scanning the skyline. His scar glowed pale in the moonlight.

Oh.

“Quackity, I don’t think-”

“Ah ah, don’t use my name, asshole, I have you on speaker.”

Wilbur jolted, slapping a hand to his mouth.

Oh my god his name. Why is his name Quackity? Who hated their child so much they named him Quackity? Wilbur felt laughter bubbling in his chest. He struggled to keep it down.

“Oh, come on, it’s not like anyone’ll be listening.”

Wilbur snorted.

Quackity straightened and frantically looked down. Within a split second, The hero and the vigilante locked eyes.

Quackity stared at Wilbur. Wilbur stared right back. Neither of them blinked.

“…Quackity?”

Quackity (oh my fucking god) spared a glance towards his phone and then said, “Jack, I’m going to kill you one day,” and then ended the call.

Wilbur burst into laughter.

“You fucking prick,” Quackity said. “How long have you been there?”

“Quackity? Is your name Quackity??” Wilbur could barely breathe. “What was wrong with your parents?”

“Your brother’s name is Technoblade!”

“At least that sounds cool! Yours is just- Quackity! What the fuck?”

Quackity pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes tight as though he could think away the entire situation. Wilbur just cackled.

“Quackity. Quackity, Quackity, Quackity. Holy shit.”

“I’m going to strangle you.”

“I love it. I love that, Quackity, that’s so cool.”

Quackity scrutinized him from the rooftop. “What are you even doing here?”

“Just taking a walk!”

“Just taking a walk, my ass- with your mask on?”

“Well, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Patrolling, dumbass!”

“Oh my god,” Wilbur breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“How did you even find me?”

“I was walking and- and I heard you speaking-“

“So, you decided to eavesdrop?”

“I decided to duck into an alley to avoid you, until I realized the voice was from above me- Why the hell are you always on a rooftop?”

“It’s called stealth, asshole! You almost never consider that the person you’re after is above you. You’re exactly the kind of dumbass I can avoid.”

“Yeah, well, good job avoiding me this time, dickhead.”

“Do NOT make me come down there and beat the shit out of you.”

Wilbur felt the annoyance and frustration sparking in the air, even though he was smiling- both Wilbur and Quackity were grinning like they enjoyed the fight. And, well, maybe he did. He’d wanted a distraction from Roulette, and it seemed ironic that the distraction he needed was the very thing he’d been running from. This was a terrible, terrible thing, and it felt like the best thing to happen to him all night.

“I have to get going, Blue. I hope you have your head out of your ass by the next time we speak.”

Panic twinged in Wilbur’s chest, and before he even registered the words out of his own mouth, “Wait, wait.”

Quackity stopped to glare at him expectantly.

Well, fuck. I didn’t expect to actually say things.

“Can I…” Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck everything. “Come with you?”

“… I’m sorry?”

Wilbur wanted to crawl into a dark pit and die.

“Can I come with you on patrol?”

Quackity stared at him for what was probably a million years before raising his eyebrows and saying, “Can I ask why?”

Wilbur visibly winced. “Uh. Heroes don’t really patrol, usually, but… it’s been brought to my attention that all we do is sit around and- well, and wait to be assigned a mission. Patrolling is a better way to help the city, isn’t it?”

“You could just do it by yourself, couldn’t you?”

Wilbur withered because he literally hadn’t meant to say anything in the first place and he was making a fool of himself and, and- and now Quackity was laughing.

“You don’t- fuck off! You don’t get to laugh at me! Your name is Quackity!”

The vigilante just laughed harder. (Seltzer water.) “You- fuck, dude. Fine! You can like- tag along or whatever, I don’t fucking know. You clearly aren’t going to arrest me yet- just don’t be annoying.”

 -

  Wilbur wasn’t sure how, exactly, he got here.

He was standing outside his home’s front door.

He’d taken the elevator, thankfully not having to answer any questions from Tina, and had his hand on the door handle when the events of the night caught up with his mind.

He’s gone on patrol… with a vigilante. With Roulette, (Quackity, I know his name, I know his name, I know his fucking name) nonetheless. And they’d talked like normal human beings.

Because we are normal human beings, Wilbur thought breathlessly, In the same city, even though it feels like we’re on opposite sides of the planet.

Time went by so fucking fast, and it was midnight. Quackity had laughed as he said goodbye (Soda bubbles, again), telling Wilbur he’d drop dead if he walked any longer. It felt like the world had tilted just a little. It felt like they were kind of friends.

Wilbur really, really hoped they were friends now.

This was so very against the rules. It occurred to him that he had enough information to find the vigilante and arrest him now- that he had Quackity’s name (look me in the eyes and tell me there’s another person in the city named Quackity, of all things) and enough general information to find a citizen file.

He found that he really, really, really didn’t want to. The vigilante wasn’t hurting anyone, and Wilbur certainly wasn’t going to be the one to put him behind bars.

For the first time in a long, long time, he didn’t care what the rules said, or the trouble he could get in.

If he could remain in this little bubble with this vigilante, he wasn’t sure he cared about anything.

He briefly recalled a conversation they’d had.

 …

 “I have a question, if I may.”

Quackity did not look at him when he replied. “Shoot.”

“In your opinion,” He began, “Is it possible for a vigilante to be friends with a hero?”

The vigilante paused. “…hypothetically, under certain circumstances. But why would they want to be friends?”

“Well, we’ll say they’re both interesting people, and they like to be near the other. Could they be friends?”

“Maybe. If the hero is willing to give up some of the things he’s been taught, they could be friends.”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes. “Okay… what if the vigilante needed to give up some of the things he’s been taught?”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because unlike the hero, the vigilante is right.”

Wilbur huffs. “Okay, fine. What if neither of them need to change?”

Quackity still wasn’t looking at him. It was a little infuriating. “Doubtful.”

“If they both just agree to… ignore their jobs, and put aside their beliefs and talk like human beings, could that work?”

Quackity rolled his eyes. “If they’re both very good at ignoring obvious rifts, yeah.”

There was a small silence, Wilbur trying desperately to think, Quackity trying desperately to go on with his job.

“…What if both of them change, then?”

This time, Quackity was silent.

“Maybe the hero can give up just a little of what he’s learned, and the Vigilante can give up just a little, and they can meet in the middle. Would that be possible?”

Quackity stared at him blankly for a moment. Wilbur shifted on his feet. Had he said something wrong?

Then the vigilante’s expression changed, and his lips quirked into a small smile. “Blue, is this your weird little way of asking if we can be friends? What is this, elementary school?”

“Fuck off, you’ll make me blush.”

Quackity laughed again, pressing a hand to his face (why does he always have to hide it?) “You’re insane, Blue.”

“Maybe a little.” The hero beamed nervously. “But the hero has… done a little thinking, and a lot of things about the agency don’t make much sense anymore.”

Quackity’s expression changed to something thoughtful. “Is the hero changing his mind?”

Wilbur shrugged. “Is the vigilante?”

“You’re weird.”

“I know.”

“Well- no, I meant- what I was trying to say was- um.” He facepalmed. Wilbur chuckled

“Look,” Quackity breathed, trying to speak as clearly as possible. “You… are very, very weird- strange in the way where you’re actually good. I’ve spent... what, three years as a vigilante? Trying to convince myself everyone was out to get me. And that every hero I saw was some- some terrible awful person who was just putting on a mask for the public. I thought you were evil, and then I met you, and then you weren’t. So, Blue, you’re just-” He sighed. “You’re weird.”

I thought you were evil, and then I met you, and then you weren’t.

By God, if that didn’t sound stupidly familiar.

“It’s… basically the same for me.”

“I’m sure.” Quackity rolled his eyes and kept walking.

 …

 That conversation had to mean something, didn’t it?

Or was it pointless?

Wilbur felt terribly lightheaded.

He turned the doorknob and stepped into his home.

The kitchen light was still on, nobody had done the dishes like Phil asked. The TV was still running, playing some cartoon Wilbur forgot the name of. It cast a bright blue light over the couch in the living room, where Tommy lay sleeping with a half-eaten bowl of popcorn.

Wilbur took his mask off and turned off the kitchen light, then moving to grab the remote and turn off the TV.

“Tommy,” he whispered, pushing the teen’s shoulder. “Wake up.”

The teen grumbled and held the bowl closer to him as though it were a teddy bear, popcorn promptly spilling all over the cushions.

“Tommy,” Wilbur tried in a sing-song voice, grabbing a pillow, “If you don’t wake up, I’ll smother you with this pillow!”

Tommy growled, “Bitch,” and reached up weakly to grab at the pillow.

Wilbur took hold of his hand instead and pulled him off the couch. “Don’t make me drag you to bed.”

“This is my bed now. Fuck off.”

“This is the couch.”

“I don’t see anyone sitting on it.”

“Your eyes are fucking closed.”

Tommy blinked his eyes open and immediately hissed at the television screen.

Wilbur chuckled as Tommy rolled off the couch and stood up, setting his bowl on the coffee table. “I’ll kill you, bitch,” the blonde threatened.

“I know. Go to bed.”

“Fuck you,” Tommy said drowsily, before stretching and walking towards his room. “Phil isn’t back yet, by the way,” He called. “Neither’s Techno.”

“I know,” Wilbur said quietly. “Goodnight, Tommy.”

“G’night, arsehole,” Tommy replied, and disappeared into the hall.

Wilbur sat on the couch with a sigh. He then promptly took the pillow he was going to smother Tommy with and screamed into it.

Another night he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep. And he still had to do the dishes. It’s pointless, anyway- the dishwasher always does a shit job.

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