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Part sixty-six of my RWBY series "Pollination: The Bumblebee and White Rose".

Blake is trying to sleep. Yang is trying to read. One of them can't do it. Hilarity ensues.

I don’t normally dream. Growing up in a terrorist cell leaves one a little on edge, and sleep is normally sparse, with dreams being rarer. That really doesn’t change when one leaves the terrorist cell. So, when I finally do get to dream, I get very agitated when it’s interrupted.

It’s a sudden smack, right on my left arm, the one I seem to have left draped by Yang’s side when I drifted off to sleep. The warmth of her scroll’s battery radiated into my face, and it was all very calming. Until now, when she seems to have decided to become a domestic abuser.

Jolted awake, I hiss, “You had better have a good reason for doing that.”

Hushed, Yang has dropped her scroll and is tending to me. In the dark, she fumbles more than anything. “Blake, I’m sososo sorry!” she exclaims in a whisper, careful not to wake Ruby and Weiss, who are clearly having a nice slumber together.

Sitting up, I grunt, “I know you want to try biting and stuff, but what’s your problem?”

“I was just frustrated!” she apologizes, holding me tight and burying her face into my bosom. “It was an accident, I swear. Your arm got in my way, I’ll cut mine off as a replacement!”

Sighing, I gently comb through her fuzzy hair. “What ails you?”

Pulling me back down, I smoosh my face into her left boob. Or rather, she pushes me into her boob. Either way, she’s trying. “I just... I was reading fanfiction.”

Huffing, I ask, “Why were you-”

“It’s just a thing I do for feels and when I’m horny or lonely,” she admits. “That’s a mute point. You enjoy reading, right?”

Pausing, I feel like it’s one of those easy questions in Oobleck’s history class. You know what the answer is, but it just can’t be, because it’s obviously a trick.

“So, doesn’t it make you mad when a writer does something trite and stuff?” she goes on, nullifying all of my difficult thinking.

Staring into the darkness with her, I offer, “I guess? I don’t normally read bad writing.”

“I love it,” she giggles. “But then I don’t, when it gets bad for the wrong reasons. Like, I was reading fanfiction of ‘Achieve Men’, right?”

“You’re a co-writer on the show. You own twenty-five percent of it. Why would you-”

“It’s just something I like to do, okay?” she huffs. “Anyways, I found this site that has some of it, and there are actually about sixty thousand posts on it. Naturally, I sort by most popular, right? Guess what comes up.”

Pausing, I think about Yang’s darkest fears. “Someone figured out how to end the Burnie/Ashley relationship without a sexy intern love affair?”

Gripping me with intent to kill, Yang draws a sharp breath. “I don’t feel so bad about hitting you now.”

Giggling, I reach up and kiss her cheek. “I’m sure your ego will grow back. Tell me what bugs you about the fanfiction.”

Popping her neck with a satisfied grunt, she gets comfy. “I search for the most popular, and the top pick reads, ‘I’m recovering from a Grimm wound suffered in the Emerald Forest, when suddenly I’m transported into the Poultry Biter office! Can I work my way up the corporate ladder and get back to my own time? Can I save Burnie’s first marriage? Can I save his second?! Can I revive his kids’ respect for him as a father figure?!?!’ and yeah, it’s almost a million words long.”

“What’s wrong with self-insert?” I ask.

“It’s so uninspiring!” Yang whispers a little too loudly. I hear Weiss’ breathing shift. Yang hears it too and quiets down. “This guy didn’t even come up with an edgy oh-see. He just flat out transports himself into this fantasy world for no rhyme or reason. It’s just wish-fulfillment.”

“Isn’t that the core of all art?” I ask.

Yang falls silent. “But this is a dumb core. He doesn’t even change up the plot, he just makes all of the guys fall in love with him for-”

“Oh, okay, that’s different,” I correct myself. “If you had told me it was some kind of harem fic-”

“Oh, there are plenty of those too,” Yang adds. “I sorted by character. Almost a third of them star Arryn, and she just goes around getting hit on by all the guys, and she has sex with all of them.”

“Whaaat’s wrong with that?” I hesitantly, innocently ask.

Sighing, Yang smooches my forehead. “You’re a good person at heart, Blake. But we all know why you write and voice Arryn to be just like you.”

“I’m very good in bed,” I counter.

“And that’s why I’m not kicking you off the team,” Yang chuckles. “That’s not even the worst of it, though. At least half the fandom likes Arryn. Or maybe it’s more like forty percent? Anyways, it’s the stupid transport fics that really bug me.”

“Yang,” I calmly murmur, “We came up with a very rich fantasy world. Waking up in the early morning hours, not to fight for your life, but to go to a mundane job and do simple tasks until five o’clock? And then do nothing on the weekend? It’s such a cool, exotic world. It’s so foreign, interesting, it’s so alien. Of course people want to put themselves and their poorly-written oh-sees into it.”

Grunting, Yang counters, “But what about when they take away that setting and terraform the whole situation to suit some dumb fandom niche?”

I gasp. “You don’t mean-”

“The Battle AU,” she does, sincerely, mean.

“Okay, that one does make me mad,” I acknowledge. We built that really exotic world. Why would someone decide to rip it all down and throw the character into our own, boring world? Like, I get it, we all go to the battle at some point. We grew up with a battle in every city, almost around every corner. Even Velvet’s gone to a battle with her friends, and she doesn’t even like battles. She’s more of a skirmisher girl.”

“You remember that coffeeshop scene?” Yang prompts.

Smiling, I nod into her bosom. I recall with great pride how I solved the Gavin/Dan romance that the fandom desperately wanted: by having Gavin spill a mystical, non-combat drug “coffee” onto Dan’s groin, thus permanently preventing them from having intercourse.

“That coffeeshop scene was legitimately interesting,” Yang compliments. “We don’t have anything like that in our world. A recreational drug? That doesn’t enhance your combat prowess? That’s an interesting spin on a mundane thing in our mundane world. When was the last time you were fascinated by me shooting up crystal dust before charging into a battle?”

Snorting, I remark, “It might be interesting to see how you’d get torn up by a horde of Grimm without our combat drugs.”

Huffing exactly once, Yang assured me, “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

Lacing my legs with hers under the sheets, I ask, “Who says I want to?”

Yang pauses. “That prompt you gave about my meeting my untimely demise?”

Groaning, I explain, “I was trying to be cute.” For that, I get a kiss.

“But yeah,” Yang gets back on topic. “You would not believe it. Thousands, literally thousands of individual writers independently think, ‘I can make the most mundane setting in our world, a battle, the most routine thing we have in our daily lives, an interesting setting by having the loved protagonists meet in a battle and get to know each other as they strike different orders of hot justice against Grimm’. Like, what am I supposed to think of it?!”

Weiss throws a pillow into our bed, smacking Yang in the face. “You aren’t supposed to think!” she colorfully clarifies. “It’s just stupid, pointless fun! You wanna know what they do?! They take what they know and run with it! Maybe it’s not original! Maybe it’s not inspiring! But it doesn’t have to be! It’s just fun! Stupid, pointless fun that we all want to have before we get torn apart by Grimm! Don’t belittle people for having fun, Yang! And don’t do it at four in the morning! And don’t do it when I’M in earshot! Shut up and go back to sleep!”

“Weiss, I’m scared,” Ruby peeps from under her covers. Clearly she was aware of Weiss’ rising ire long before I was.

“Don’t worry, Ruby,” Weiss assures her as she bundles back up under their covers. “Yang’s ego can’t hurt you anymore.”

“That’s... exactly what I meant,” she decides as Weiss calms down.

“I kind of like it when Weiss leads,” I whisper to Yang.

Yang gives me an eery look, her forehead crinkling as she raises her eyebrow high. “Goodnight, Blake,” she decides with a smooch.

Smooching her back, I huddle up next to her. “Night, Yang.”

Description
Part sixty-six of my RWBY series "Pollination: The Bumblebee and White Rose".

Blake is trying to sleep. Yang is trying to read. One of them can't do it. Hilarity ensues.

I don’t normally dream. Growing up in a terrorist cell leaves one a little on edge, and sleep is normally sparse, with dreams being rarer. That really doesn’t change when one leaves the terrorist cell. So, when I finally do get to dream, I get very agitated when it’s interrupted.

It’s a sudden smack, right on my left arm, the one I seem to have left draped by Yang’s side when I drifted off to sleep. The warmth of her scroll’s battery radiated into my face, and it was all very calming. Until now, when she seems to have decided to become a domestic abuser.

Jolted awake, I hiss, “You had better have a good reason for doing that.”

Hushed, Yang has dropped her scroll and is tending to me. In the dark, she fumbles more than anything. “Blake, I’m sososo sorry!” she exclaims in a whisper, careful not to wake Ruby and Weiss, who are clearly having a nice slumber together.

Sitting up, I grunt, “I know you want to try biting and stuff, but what’s your problem?”

“I was just frustrated!” she apologizes, holding me tight and burying her face into my bosom. “It was an accident, I swear. Your arm got in my way, I’ll cut mine off as a replacement!”

Sighing, I gently comb through her fuzzy hair. “What ails you?”

Pulling me back down, I smoosh my face into her left boob. Or rather, she pushes me into her boob. Either way, she’s trying. “I just... I was reading fanfiction.”

Huffing, I ask, “Why were you-”

“It’s just a thing I do for feels and when I’m horny or lonely,” she admits. “That’s a mute point. You enjoy reading, right?”

Pausing, I feel like it’s one of those easy questions in Oobleck’s history class. You know what the answer is, but it just can’t be, because it’s obviously a trick.

“So, doesn’t it make you mad when a writer does something trite and stuff?” she goes on, nullifying all of my difficult thinking.

Staring into the darkness with her, I offer, “I guess? I don’t normally read bad writing.”

“I love it,” she giggles. “But then I don’t, when it gets bad for the wrong reasons. Like, I was reading fanfiction of ‘Achieve Men’, right?”

“You’re a co-writer on the show. You own twenty-five percent of it. Why would you-”

“It’s just something I like to do, okay?” she huffs. “Anyways, I found this site that has some of it, and there are actually about sixty thousand posts on it. Naturally, I sort by most popular, right? Guess what comes up.”

Pausing, I think about Yang’s darkest fears. “Someone figured out how to end the Burnie/Ashley relationship without a sexy intern love affair?”

Gripping me with intent to kill, Yang draws a sharp breath. “I don’t feel so bad about hitting you now.”

Giggling, I reach up and kiss her cheek. “I’m sure your ego will grow back. Tell me what bugs you about the fanfiction.”

Popping her neck with a satisfied grunt, she gets comfy. “I search for the most popular, and the top pick reads, ‘I’m recovering from a Grimm wound suffered in the Emerald Forest, when suddenly I’m transported into the Poultry Biter office! Can I work my way up the corporate ladder and get back to my own time? Can I save Burnie’s first marriage? Can I save his second?! Can I revive his kids’ respect for him as a father figure?!?!’ and yeah, it’s almost a million words long.”

“What’s wrong with self-insert?” I ask.

“It’s so uninspiring!” Yang whispers a little too loudly. I hear Weiss’ breathing shift. Yang hears it too and quiets down. “This guy didn’t even come up with an edgy oh-see. He just flat out transports himself into this fantasy world for no rhyme or reason. It’s just wish-fulfillment.”

“Isn’t that the core of all art?” I ask.

Yang falls silent. “But this is a dumb core. He doesn’t even change up the plot, he just makes all of the guys fall in love with him for-”

“Oh, okay, that’s different,” I correct myself. “If you had told me it was some kind of harem fic-”

“Oh, there are plenty of those too,” Yang adds. “I sorted by character. Almost a third of them star Arryn, and she just goes around getting hit on by all the guys, and she has sex with all of them.”

“Whaaat’s wrong with that?” I hesitantly, innocently ask.

Sighing, Yang smooches my forehead. “You’re a good person at heart, Blake. But we all know why you write and voice Arryn to be just like you.”

“I’m very good in bed,” I counter.

“And that’s why I’m not kicking you off the team,” Yang chuckles. “That’s not even the worst of it, though. At least half the fandom likes Arryn. Or maybe it’s more like forty percent? Anyways, it’s the stupid transport fics that really bug me.”

“Yang,” I calmly murmur, “We came up with a very rich fantasy world. Waking up in the early morning hours, not to fight for your life, but to go to a mundane job and do simple tasks until five o’clock? And then do nothing on the weekend? It’s such a cool, exotic world. It’s so foreign, interesting, it’s so alien. Of course people want to put themselves and their poorly-written oh-sees into it.”

Grunting, Yang counters, “But what about when they take away that setting and terraform the whole situation to suit some dumb fandom niche?”

I gasp. “You don’t mean-”

“The Battle AU,” she does, sincerely, mean.

“Okay, that one does make me mad,” I acknowledge. We built that really exotic world. Why would someone decide to rip it all down and throw the character into our own, boring world? Like, I get it, we all go to the battle at some point. We grew up with a battle in every city, almost around every corner. Even Velvet’s gone to a battle with her friends, and she doesn’t even like battles. She’s more of a skirmisher girl.”

“You remember that coffeeshop scene?” Yang prompts.

Smiling, I nod into her bosom. I recall with great pride how I solved the Gavin/Dan romance that the fandom desperately wanted: by having Gavin spill a mystical, non-combat drug “coffee” onto Dan’s groin, thus permanently preventing them from having intercourse.

“That coffeeshop scene was legitimately interesting,” Yang compliments. “We don’t have anything like that in our world. A recreational drug? That doesn’t enhance your combat prowess? That’s an interesting spin on a mundane thing in our mundane world. When was the last time you were fascinated by me shooting up crystal dust before charging into a battle?”

Snorting, I remark, “It might be interesting to see how you’d get torn up by a horde of Grimm without our combat drugs.”

Huffing exactly once, Yang assured me, “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

Lacing my legs with hers under the sheets, I ask, “Who says I want to?”

Yang pauses. “That prompt you gave about my meeting my untimely demise?”

Groaning, I explain, “I was trying to be cute.” For that, I get a kiss.

“But yeah,” Yang gets back on topic. “You would not believe it. Thousands, literally thousands of individual writers independently think, ‘I can make the most mundane setting in our world, a battle, the most routine thing we have in our daily lives, an interesting setting by having the loved protagonists meet in a battle and get to know each other as they strike different orders of hot justice against Grimm’. Like, what am I supposed to think of it?!”

Weiss throws a pillow into our bed, smacking Yang in the face. “You aren’t supposed to think!” she colorfully clarifies. “It’s just stupid, pointless fun! You wanna know what they do?! They take what they know and run with it! Maybe it’s not original! Maybe it’s not inspiring! But it doesn’t have to be! It’s just fun! Stupid, pointless fun that we all want to have before we get torn apart by Grimm! Don’t belittle people for having fun, Yang! And don’t do it at four in the morning! And don’t do it when I’M in earshot! Shut up and go back to sleep!”

“Weiss, I’m scared,” Ruby peeps from under her covers. Clearly she was aware of Weiss’ rising ire long before I was.

“Don’t worry, Ruby,” Weiss assures her as she bundles back up under their covers. “Yang’s ego can’t hurt you anymore.”

“That’s... exactly what I meant,” she decides as Weiss calms down.

“I kind of like it when Weiss leads,” I whisper to Yang.

Yang gives me an eery look, her forehead crinkling as she raises her eyebrow high. “Goodnight, Blake,” she decides with a smooch.

Smooching her back, I huddle up next to her. “Night, Yang.”