A/N: I've been getting a few messages about how to contact me during this pandemic- my Discord is faultyparagon#8010 if y'all want to chat!

Let me know what to think :)


Scribbles

-spoiling-

Time carried on. Students came and left, missions continued onwards, and the battle for peace against Salem's forces felt unending. There was a dullness to it all, a rhythm that she never could quite accept.

The only time she felt truly at peace was when she was with her students. No matter what batch of kids they were, there was never anything more rewarding than watching those teenagers grow up into strong, independent, capable Huntsmen. And, thankfully, she was able to prevent most life-threatening encounters- nothing was ever on the scale of the major incidents she had witnessed as a student, and for that, she was grateful.

One thing that continued to be a thorn in her side, oddly enough, was a certain Huntsman. After a few years of gallivanting around Vale and the surrounding wilds, Walter Brown finally decided he was going to be her problem. And, with the excuse that he had found more than enough special requests for his personal brand of Grimm hunting and recon work, he had been more than successful in making a good living for himself in Vale. Who was hiring him, she didn't know- but he clearly wasn't hurting for Lien.

It was untenable, the amount of stupidity the man would spew in order to win her affections. She could barely even parse what he said half the time, instead just focusing on reeling back the urge to treat him the way she once had treated James- namely, throwing him out of windows using her Semblance.

He'd just levitate himself back with his own Semblance, she thought bitterly one day as he winked at her for the umpteenth time, seated in a café while she tried to get some marking done. The man had taken it upon himself to inconveniently pop up every time she escaped Beacon's walls to do work. It was unsettling, and ask the years progressed, the unnerving glint in his dark eyes never seemed to fade.

The only thing holding her back from properly telling him off was his connection to James. Over time, the Atlesian man had just settled on the explanation that Walter was simply going to be a good ally. That meant that, as much as Glynda hated it, she couldn't say anything.

Well, she could, but with knowing how much James still hated himself for losing his arm- and the mark that had appeared on his right hand all those years ago- she didn't want him to have to lose anyone else tied to him by fate.

"Walter," James nodded one night upon entering Crow Bar. The staff liked to go for drinks after classes were done every once in a while, especially when staff from other school were visiting. Professor Ozpin always approved- "It builds the moral of the professional community, and we should protect that," he always said. Glynda knew it was just because it gave Ozpin an excuse to have a margarita for once.

Glynda liked going out with the rest of the staff, especially when James was around. It was a little slice of normalcy in an otherwise hectic life. What she didn't like, however, was seeing Walter nursing a beer at the counter every time they walked in.

And without fail, he was just always there.

She didn't mind it as much when James wasn't around- then, she could ignore him easily with nothing binding them together. When James was present, however, she had to play nice, ignoring the winks and the subtle brushes and the pointed questions that always left Walter's lips lingering far too long on her name for her liking.

It took a few years for James to finally pick up on what Walter was doing. When he did, however, Glynda's opinion was set in stone- she had done right by not murdering James the first time they had met. The man clearly still had his uses, besides buying her drinks each time.

"What's wrong, James?" Walter asked once nonchalantly as James inserted himself between Walter and Glynda.

"Nothing. How have you been?" James replied, all politeness and cordial airs. Glynda knew better- his shoulders were tense, posture predatory. He wasn't happy.

She tried to bite back her smile as she sipped her brandy. Walter had been trying to serenade her with tall tales of his hunting exploits, as if she were some civilian to be impressed without war stories of her own. It was silly. The man just couldn't take a hint. Thankfully, James had finally noticed her discomfort and intervened on his own.

"Good! I'm still getting requests for my services, so I can't complain. And, judging by how this tattoo still burns," the shotgun-slinging man chuckled, "you're still doing well, huh? Still tinkering in your labs?"

"I am," the Atlesian replied smoothly. "Although I wouldn't call it tinkering."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Leaning around James, Walter looked at Glynda, winking her way. "And you, little Miss Goodwitch-"

"She's a Huntress, Walter. Address her as such."

There was a coldness in James' tone that surprised even Glynda.

It took Walter aback as well. "You know, James," Walter said at last, "for someone who's supposedly 'tied' to me, you don't seem to be on my side in this. What, I can't talk to Glynda anymore?"

Glynda sat up in her seat upon hearing the edge in Walter's voice. Gone was the usual teasing drawl- now, it sounded almost business-like.

James had picked up on it too. Glynda watched as his gloved prosthetic clenched for one long moment before relaxing again, the man cooling himself down, staying level-headed. "What do you mean by that?" he asked, trying to inject some humour into his voice. It didn't work.

Walter regarded him silently, not breaking eye contact until finally, the easygoing grin was back. "You're too stiff, man. Maybe it's just ol' Atlas," he muttered. "No one likes Atlas Academy."

"What-"

But Walter had already dropped Lien onto the countertop and begun to head out, waving goodbye without looking back at the two. After he had stepped out of Crow Bar completely, Glynda and James were left to parse what had happened amidst the hubbub of drunk professors playing card games all around them, not having noticed anything amiss.

Something's not right. And yet, no matter how much she thought about it, she couldn't come up with a good reason for the other Huntsman to have acted like that.

She sighed, ordering another drink. She'd never understand men.