Glynda's Bulletin

Once upon a time, Glynda Goodwitch was fed the hell up.

She was sick and tired of all the stupid bullshit taking place at her school. If it wasn't the students, it was the teachers, if it wasn't the teachers it was Ozpin.

If it wasn't Ozpin, it was James or Qrow or the council…

Or Ozpin again.

Dammit!

Why couldn't things just go right? For once?

Ever?

So, Glynda, frustrated and furious, started a newsletter.

It was a simple, modest little thing.

Just some quick blurbs she wanted to release to the people on the Beacon email list. Just… a way to let a few people know what she thought about the actions of certain individuals.

It wasn't as if the Beacon email list was all that huge or anything.

The only recipients were students…faculty…alumni…friends of the institution…council-members, and anyone who signed up on the Beacon website.

So, at most, ten—maybe fifteen-thousand?

No biggie.

At first, it was just going to be a one-time thing. She was angry. And she'd run out of bourbon. So, popping open her email seemed like the thing to do.

Who'd have guessed she'd wind up doing this every week?

Ms. Rose- Stop freaking everyone out with sexual innuendos and pretending you have no idea what you're saying. Honestly, telling your friends, after sparring with Jaune Arc, that you had an "exhausting day testing his penetrating power, but you're satisfied with his improvements…" and then encouraging your sister to hunt him through the school for the next three hours. I get that you want your teammates to understand that you aren't a child. But all you're doing is proving their assumption—and causing $343,690 worth of damage to the school.

Honestly…woman up, take the manchild's v-card. Then you'll be an adult.

Mr. Winchester- Few people liked you before when you were just a racist. Now that we've all seen pictures of your BDSM bunny-girl fetish materials…

Well…what can I say?

I suggest you pick a lane Mr. Winchester. Extreme sex-pervert and racist makes you a little too unique a butterfly

The Original O.Z.- HOW THE HELL DO YOU CHANGE CUSTOM AUTOCORRECT SETTINGS? I SWEAR TO THE DARK GOD, IF MY COMPUTER DOESN'T STOP AUTO CORRECTING YOUR NAME TO THE ORIGINAL O.Z. IM GOING TO FORCE FEED YOU YOUR MUG. THE WHOLE FREAKIN THING. Also, in the past, present, and future…please refrain from poisoning staff members.

Ms. Belladonna- One of your fellow first years, Pesci has been complaining about the way you look at him. He says that you are making him feel uncomfortable to have his fins out. He claims that just the other day you were staring at him like you wanted to skin, gut, and filet him. Please refrain from making our faunus students feel uncomfortable with scathing or disgusted glances.

Honestly, a little more self-denial and a lot more leather you'd be the new Cardin.

Dr. Oobleck- I don't care what The Original O.Z. tells you, or how he tries to convince you. DO NOT. Under any circumstances. Accept any beverages from The Original O.Z. Yes, he'll tell you it's the greatest thing in the world. He'll tell you that you just need to trust him.

Here's the truth.

If it was the greatest thing in the world, it would be in his mug, being drunk and horded. If he's giving it to you it's because it's the most untested thing in the world. Do you really need more caffeine in your diet?

Ms. Nikos This is a tentative admonition, as it is based purely on rumor and—to be frank—I cannot imagine this being true.

There is a rumor going around that you've been…"talking to" girls who approach your partner? "talking to" here meaning, pinning the girl to a wall, glowering like a psychopath, and threatening them with their own floating weapon?

When I tried to get to the bottom of the rumor the girls who it seemed were the supposed victims insisted that you were the nicest and most polite being they had ever met and talking to or even looking at Mr. Arc was a notion that had never even crossed their mind.

I suppose someone else must be the source of these rumors. Watch yourself Ms. Nikos—perhaps you have an enemy.

Qrow- Stop drinking little-girl-liquor.

Professor Peach- WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? I know you're here. I know students take classes under you. BUT WHY HAVEN'T I SEEN YOU. iT'S BEEN MONTHS SINCE I'VE SEEN YOU. IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE. DO YOU LIVE ON CAMPUS OR NOT?

Ms. Xiao-Long- Your puns have proven themselves to be almost as undesirable as Ms. Rose's innuendos. Ms. Schnee has anonymously informed me that you have continued to ignore my command to stop. As Ms. Schnee was well aware when she approached me—off-the-record—there will be consequences.

Ms. Schnee- Snitches get stiches.

Mr. Thrush, Mr. Bronzewing, and Mr. Lark- Your joint request for a new leader has been denied. You stood by him proudly while he was bullying faunus. Stand by him with the same resolve as he does whatever the hell he does with that…. equipment under his bed.

Every.

Single.

Night.

Also, I gave you those nametags for a reason. I need to know whose who. Make sure you're wearing them tomorrow or every time I guess a name wrong, you'll earn an hour in detention.

Mr. Arc- How the hell did you get in this school?

Ms. Fall Perhaps you didn't notice the other day when we bumped shoulders in the hall. I was on my side of the hall. You crossed onto my side and made contact with my left shoulder. You did not apologize or acknowledge that this took place. Perhaps you were preoccupied or lost in thought. Regardless, I await your apology.

After all, that is my bad shoulder.

I over-exerted my rotator cuff thrashing the last fugly to disrespect me.

Miscellaneous- Whoever keeps leaving me these sappy poems, chocolates, cards, and flowers in private locations—such as my bedroom…

Know this.

I will figure out who you are.

And I will break you.