#firearms academy

[elitenoirepiscataway]

Elite Noire, Inc.

Address: 371 HOES LN STE 200, PISCATAWAY, NJ 08854-4143, USA

Phone: 732-273-9400

Website: https://elite-noire.com/

Business Email: info@elite-noire.com

Elite Noire is a firearms training academy that provides firearms training, firearms instruction, firearms education, firearms safety and firearms concealed carry courses. We create firearms related video content dedicated to the firearms industry and 2A lifestyle. We also review all thing's firearms related and can be found on all of the social media platforms. We participate nationally in USPSA competitions and provide training in action pistol shooting sports. We promote gun safety, gun awareness, advocacy, and outreach.

[professional-bulshitter]

somehow I never really registered Umbrella Academy as an American show and then, then season 4 happened and I saw the number of guns and yes. makes perfect sense actually.

[77dfgunlvr]

[wordshakerofgallifrey]

Chuck and Psych would’ve made a good crossover thank you for coming to my tedtalk

[bcfirearmsacademy]

How to Get Your PAL Through BC Firearms AcademyHow to Get Your PAL Through BC Firearms AcademyObtaining your Possession and Acquisition License (PAL) is an important first step for anyone interested in responsible firearm ownership in Canada. At BC Firearms Academy, we make the process straightforward and accessible, offering both non-restricted and restricted firearms courses at multiple locations across British Columbia. Here’s everything you need to know to start your journey towards your PAL with BC Firearms Academy.1. Comprehensive Course Offerings: Non-Restricted & RestrictedTo get your PAL, you’ll need to complete the Canadian Firearms Safety Course (CFSC) for non-restricted firearms. If you want to handle restricted firearms, you'll also need to take the Canadian Restricted Firearms Safety Course (CRFSC).BC Firearms Academy offers both of these essential courses, ensuring you’re fully prepared to handle firearms safely and responsibly. We provide in-depth instruction across several locations, including Richmond, Vancouver, Langley, Surrey, Burnaby, Abbotsford, and Chilliwack. With convenient locations and professional training, getting your PAL has never been easier!Sign up for our courses here:CFSC/CRFSC Combined Course ScheduleCFSC (Non-Restricted) Course ScheduleCRFSC (Restricted) Course ScheduleEvening and Weekend CFSC/CRFSC Combined Course Schedule2. Free Study Resources to Support Your SuccessPreparing for your firearms safety course is essential, and BC Firearms Academy offers free study materials to help you succeed. Here’s what we provide to help you get a head start on your PAL preparation:

Full Course Manuals: Download our comprehensive Canadian Firearms Safety Course Manual, covering both non-restricted and restricted firearms. This manual includes everything you need to know to feel confident in the classroom and beyond.Online Study Courses: Check out our Firearms Safety Course Online Study Guide, which provides a detailed breakdown of the CFSC and CRFSC material, allowing you to review each section at your own pace.Chapter Quizzes & Flash Cards: Test your knowledge with our PAL Course Chapter Quizzes. These quizzes help reinforce key concepts and give you confidence in your understanding before the exams.Fun, Firearms & Hunting Related Resources: For even more materials and engaging content, visit our Fun Firearms & Hunting Resource Page.3. Why Choose BC Firearms Academy?BC Firearms Academy is your go-to provider for firearms training in BC. Our expert instructors are dedicated to teaching you safe, responsible firearms handling. We’ve crafted our courses and study materials to be user-friendly, thorough, and accessible, making the path to getting your PAL both informative and enjoyable.With locations across BC and free online study resources, we’re committed to helping you achieve your firearms safety goals. Whether you’re looking to start with non-restricted firearms or expand your knowledge with restricted firearms, BC Firearms Academy is here to support your journey every step of the way.Ready to get started? Explore our course options and access free study resources today!

[historyofguns]

The article, authored by Peter Suciu, details a specialized firearms training event at Gunsite Academy, featuring world champion shooter Rob Leatham. The Gunsite Performance Pistol Symposium, held at Gunsite's extensive Paulden, Arizona facility, offers a three-day course for experienced handgun users. Participants will benefit from Leatham's expertise in speed and accuracy, backed by his 24 USPSA National and seven IPSC World Championships. The symposium is guided by proficient instructors, including Gunsite Rangemasters Lew Gosnell and Randy Watt, both with substantial competitive and law enforcement experience. The event emphasizes advanced firearm handling techniques, with prerequisites ensuring attendees possess significant prior expertise. Gunsite Academy, founded by Jeff Cooper in 1976, maintains its status as a leading institute in defensive firearms training. The course promises to elevate participants' skills through rigorous, performance-building drills, underscoring the importance of speed, accuracy, and cognitive engagement in advanced shooting practices.

[jose96853]

GEORGIA SHOOTERS FATHER CHARGED WITH MANSLAUGHTER AND OTHER CHARGES—NARRATIVE FALLS APART FOR GUN CONTROLLERS!!!!

Let me write something first before I send the YouTube.com video made by Langley Outdoors to explain it. First this is my opinion only. Here I go…. Gun controller narrative falling apart. It is really something how Democrats only care about children except when they are outside the womb, but use abortion to kill more minority children in the womb. Sick & deranged with these Democrat politicians…

[avis-writeshq]

pairing: pre-seasons!spencer reid x sunshine!fem!reader genre: fluff, roommate au warnings: spencer and reader are roommates !!! reader wears Miss Dior. a/n: so very sorry for not posting in so long! got busy with extracurriculars and uni started up again :( big thank you to @januaryembrs and @hotchfiles for reading through this first !! wc: 1.04k you are on part 1! | part 2 | part 3

Spencer officially joins the BAU late July once he completed his time at the FBI academy. It wasn’t necessarily fair for the other agents who hoped and prayed that they would be the lucky someone who would get to join the extremely elusive Behavioural Analysis Unit upon graduation, especially because he was the one who was chosen by name by the esteemed Jason Gideon. It also wasn’t necessarily fair to get home after four long egregious months of constant movement and firearm training to his roommate.

“You’re home!” 

He grimaces a little bit, dropping his heavy suitcases and bags at the doorway with a heavy sigh. “I’m exhausted.”

“I’d bet! You’ve got more things than you left with!” You’re beaming, taking his new FBI registered duffle bag out of his hands and into the living room. “Your hair is so long now.”

“I feel like a wet dog,” he grumbles, pushing the strands out of his face. “Were you okay with rent? I’ll pay you back and everything–”

You laugh, shaking your head and pulling him to sit on the couch by the wrists. “It’s okay, Spence, relax. One of my friends needed a temporary place to stay, so I really only needed to pay a couple weeks of rent by myself. You’re probably starving, aren’t you? I’ve got pizza on the way.”

His cheeks burn at the contact, his throat going dry and his head almost as if it’s about to explode. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” you repeat, beaming. Your fingers tug at the FBI windbreaker he’s sporting– big on his shoulders and long at the hips. “This is new. You went shopping without me?”

“Gideon insisted I get more FBI uniform,” he explains hurriedly, “he said it’d made me feel more ‘official’. They didn’t have any more in my size.”

“It’s cute! Give us a spin, Walter.” 

He does it half-begrudgingly, rising from the couch pillows and doing an awkward spin. He used to be used to it, before he went away for four months to train at the academy. He’ll need to get re-used to it, he supposes. 

“You look very official,” you say with genuinity, grinning ear to ear. “Got anything else?”

His nose scrunches in distaste as he sits back down. “There’s meant to be more?”

“The uniform isn’t just a jacket, is it?” You ask with furrowed brows. “The bag is a nice touch, though.”

“They said that I should get the polo, but I don’t think I’d ever wear it,” he explains, going through his things. They’d all need a good wash, he decides, throwing his clothes onto the floor. “There isn’t a uniform policy at the BAU, though. Just to be clean and tidy.”

“You’re already a pro at that, aren’t you, Walter?” 

His cheeks glow at your jest and he kicks at the pile of clothes at his feet. “You don’t think I’m weird, do you?”

“Weird for… being clean and tidy?” You blink, poking at his shoulder. “If that’s what weird is, then I hope there are a lot of other guys who are weird.”

“That’s an oxymoron.”

“Exactly.” He catches your smile as you speak. “It’s not a bad thing to be different. You know that, don’t you?”

“In theory,” he responds vaguely.

You huff, “You ought to remember it with that big brain of yours.”

“There’s no significant correlation between brain size and intelligence,” Spencer reminds you again, shrugging his jacket off. “You should remember that, too.”

*** 

It’s an incredibly cold November morning, just a couple of days after Halloween, and Spencer has been tearing up and down the apartment in search of his windbreaker. The team are set for Alaska this time around, and though his sweaters and wool socks provide some warmth, it was nothing compared to the inner pockets of his FBI assigned windbreaker that hold heat warmers. 

“Have you seen it?” He asks hurriedly, rushing through the living room. “I need to leave in three minutes or I’ll miss my train–”

“Seen what?” You ask, frowning as you fill his travel mug with hot coffee and sugar. “What are you looking for?”

“My jacket,” he explains halfheartedly. “You know the one.”

You let out a breath of a laugh, moving to the bathroom and pulling it off the hook. “Spencer?”

He visibly relaxes, taking it from your hands with a hint of embarrassment. “Oh.”

“You let me borrow it after you picked me up from the Halloween party, don’t you remember?” The corners of your lips quirk upwards in jest as his expression shifts into that of realisation. “I put it behind the door so that you could find it easier. Not that it helped, clearly.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, cheeks pink in the light. “Thank you. See you later.”

“See you later,” you agree, and he’s already out the door, his jacket and travel mug in tow.

*** 

“Good morning,” JJ says, her bright blue eyes drowsy with sleep despite her greeting. “Are you guys ready to go?”

Spencer nods, zipping up the windbreaker and snapping the buttons together. Even in Virginia it’s still freezing. He doesn’t want to imagine how cold it’d be in Alaska. 

“Someone smells nice,” JJ chirps with a grin. “Is that– is that Miss Dior?”

“What?” Spencer sniffs, frowning. “Who?”

“The perfume?” She repeats the name, her brows flushed together. “I’m not crazy.”

“Is that Miss Dior?” Hotch asks in bemusement, sniffing the air. He looks at Jennifer with a mix of appreciation and a nod to say good taste. “Haley used to wear it all through college.”

“I’m not wearing it,” JJ insists, shaking her head with a laugh. “Spence?”

He’s barely paying attention to the conversation, frantically Googling an image of whatever the hell Miss Dior is. He’s met with the familiar rectangular bottle with pink liquid and a bow on the neck, something that he’s seen on your dresser multiple times. 

“My roommate,” he groans, covering his face with the palms of his hands. “She borrowed my jacket a couple days ago.”

“Ooh, a lady friend,” JJ snickers, “and she borrowed your jacket. How gentlemanly of you.”

Spencer sends you a long text message about the importance of not spraying perfume on clothes once he gets off the jet.

reblogs are always appreciated !!

you are on part 1! | part 2 | part 3

[vague-humanoid]

U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) has run a secretive program for years where ICE agents have trained hundreds of civilian volunteers on how to operate multiple types of firearms, conduct investigations and surveillance of immigrants, and use lethal force on human beings.

The program, known as Citizens Academies, includes role-play scenarios for civilians to conduct fictional raids on immigrants and is active in New York and in more than a dozen cities across the country. The program is run by Homeland Security Investigations, the branch of ICE in charge of intelligence, international affairs, and surveillance.

According to thousands of internal documents obtained from ICE via a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request litigation, published on Oct. 1 by a group of civil rights organizations, the program was piloted first in Puerto Rico in 2014 and turned national in 2019.

[arc-misadventures]

The Noblesse Oblige of Humanity

A young boy was laughing as he played in the field, his smile radiated pure innocence as he basked in the suns golden warmth. His golden locks of hair meshed with a the vibrant green hues of the grass he rolled around in. His laugh only heightened in its intensity, and euphoria as a large hand came down, and tussled his hair.

The boy reached up his hands as his father hoisted him in the air, throwing him at he reached the zenith. A flit of laughter escaped the child's lips as he sored the the air like a bird freed from gravity's hindering restraints.

His father caught him with a hearty laugh as he embraced his son who's emerald eyes shined with unrestrained glee as the boys father, and mother took the child away. As they left the playground his helmets optics zoomed out to see a similar occurrences happening throughout the playground.

Children basking in the warm embrace of a family who loved them unconditionally.

He zoomed out further with his helmet until the idealist visage of a happy family life was no more then blobs of movement upon his horizon, Jaune Ara, B Class, Spartan couldn't help, but wonder the idealistic thought that all Spartans had: If he wasn't born with, Aura would he have been just as happy as that child?

Aura, Spartans, and their Noblesse Oblige towards Humanity: A potent cocktail that started from one step onwards towards the next step. A cocktail that held the key to mans salivation, or if it failed, towards it's inevitable extinction.

It all started with, Aura; It possessed a near limitless potential to all humans, and faunas alike to fight the never ending tide of darkness that besieged all those in their way: The Grimm.

Aura the raw embodiment of the soul, a rare power that every human, and faunas had the potential to unlock, and wield against the forces of darkness. However, only one child born of amongst a thousand other souls had the potential to unlock such a power. Because of the rarity of, Aura, and potential lethality of the Grimm's threat to humanity each , and every child that was born was tested for having, Aura of any level. And, if they unlocked this rare gift of, Aura they were immediately taken away to be trained as, Spartans.

It was seen as a great honour by many to have birthed a child capable of wielding, Aura. But, many mothers saw it as a terrible burden to be placed upon their dear children that often brought many to tears. How else could any mother react to the news that their child would be taken away from them at birth to be raised as child soldiers to fight in an unending war? Children taken from their mothers with scarcely nothing, but a name.

That is what happened to the boy named, Jaune Arc; He was born seventeen years ago to a family of a loving mother, and father, and their seven daughters. But, when he was tested for, Aura he proved to be positive, and carried the burden of having an immense, Aura. So, shortly after his birth he was taken away to be trained, given nothing, but a tearful goodbye, and the first, and last loving embrace of a mother who did not want her child to leave so soon.

That is at least how, Jaune liked to imagine his departure from his parents went. He knew of his family, and their existence, but the plight of becoming a, Spartan made him warry to meet them in the flesh. It was common of those born with, Aura, and trained to be warriors from birth to have a hard time relating, and associating to the common people.

It was agreed long ago by the four kingdoms of, Remnant that the children born with aura should be raised within the tight confines of a specialized learning institution: A Spartan Academy.

Each academy had its own name, and customs that it ingrained in its students. But, there training was all the same: The first few years they were trained on academics, and improving their physical abilities. Then they were taught hand-to-hand combat, the use of a verity of firearms. Each lesson only growing more, and more in its complexity as they grew up up. Their training was once compared to that of an ancient civilization, long lost to the sands of time. A city of warriors that took their young men to be trained as warriors to fight in their wars, these ancient warriors were once called, Spartans. A name that stuck to the, Aura empowered warriors of Remnant.

At the age of twelve most members of a, Spartan Academy started their own personal specialization training. Learning how to master the use of various weapons that best suited to their individuals fighting style, and taste. But sometimes, in a rare few occasions these fighting styles were impacted by something wholly unexpected.

A birthday present.

Jaune Arc remembered his twelfth birthday with crystal clear clarity. He had expected it to be just like any of his other birthdays, one of those rare days off from their rigorous training where he, and his classmates would get to enjoy in a cake. But, this time was different, this time, Jaune had a birthday present.

It was a large white boxed tied with golden ribbons, with a note attached to it. He remembered nervously reaching for the note, and reading it, scared at the possibilities of what laid within it. As he read the letter contents, tears of joy dropped from his eyes. Within it he read a letter from his mother, a woman named, Juniper Arc, telling how she was sad that her lovely baby boy was taken away from her at birth, but she was proud that he would become a warrior of legend that would carry on his great, great grandfathers legacy as a, Spartan. She wrote how she prayed that this gift would serve, and protect him, and others in the future. At the bottom was a list of names; one from his father, another from sisters each written in their own unique way, before reading the last name on the list, a name that was bore deep into his heart as he read the name: 'Love, your mother, Juniper Arc.'

Spartans were trained to suppress their emotions as a means to combat the, Grimm who fed upon their raw negative emotions. Often leading to many, Spartans to become so far detached from normal human emotions that they couldn't understand, nor comprehend them. But, for the first time in, Jaune Arc's life he felt that emotionless mask break, and fall into pieces, and the human boy that long for his mother finally appear. A memory he often fled to when the darkest of times came before him.

Within the box rested a sword of golden hues, bound with blue leather, encased within a sheath of white metal. Jaune slowly pulled out the silver blade, and marveled in it's simplistic elegance. It was a greater shock when he picked up the sheath, and it deployed into a heater shield. Upon it, lay in a field of snow were a pair of golden arch's. When, Jaune asked his instructors what these symbols meant he was told it was his families emblem, that these colours represented his family, and their legacy.

Years had past since then, and despite the fact these old weapons had been improved upon, and made better, Jaune Arc wore it, and his families colours, and emblem proudly upon his armour.

For he was, Jaune Arc, B Class, Spartan, and he would live up to his family legacy, and become a warrior of renown as he fought to save humanity of the scourge that was the, Grimm.

For he was a , Spartan; They were the bastion of humanity against the growing darkness of the, Grimm. It was his, and every, Spartan that ever lived noblesse oblige to fight, and die for the betterment of all of humanity.

A life of a happy little child embraced by their loving parents.

Wasn't that something worth dying for?

///

Okay, this based on an story, based on an idea made by @evenmorefatallyobsessed. Here's a LINK to the post.

This was how I thought to play out this idea. I'll add more to it later on. I've got a few more ideas I want to write out.

Till later then.

[reagent-leon]

GUYS!!! Stop saying Coyle is singing his ABCs wrong!!

"T, P, D, A, T, F, C, I, A, F, B, I, U, S, P, I, S, D, O, D, S, S, S, U, S, A."

He's not singing his ABCs he's just using the same tune, they're all acronyms

TPD = ?*

ATF = Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives

CIA = Central Intelligence Agency, 

FBI = Federal Bureau of Investigation, 

USPIS = United States Postal Inspection Service,

DOD = United States Department of Defense,  

SSS = Selective Service System, 

USA = United States of America

Okay? So let's all stop saying he's uneducated or illiterate because he's definitely not. Pre-Sinyala Coyle kept "obsessively complete notes" according to Clyde Perry's account, and furthermore just look at his pretty handwriting on the evidence boxes, that's not an uneducated scrawl. Coyle is willfully ignorant, but he's not lacking in basic literacy skills.

"But Leon, why did he misspell Guilty as Giltee on the Scapegoat?"

Well, friend, I don't entirely know. But as he's spelt it correctly in other places, he probably did it on purpose, matching his dialect to emphasise his point. Maybe he just forgot about the U and by the time he'd started carving the L he knew he needed to commit to his fuck up.

*Sooo I have some theories as to what TPD could stand for.

Total Permanent Disability. In one of Coyles' dialogues, he mentions his Father losing his foot in the Battle of Hürtgen Forest. That injury would likely see him permanently disabled and unable to work as he had before (it's implied that Coyles' parents were cattle ranchers), therefore he would be entitled to welfare checks.

Tulsa Police Department. Tulsa and Blackwell are within 2 hours drive of each other and it's very possible that Coyle completed his training at the Tulsa Police Academy before going on to work for the Blackwell Police Department. Tulsa also has history of violent racism, which would appeal to Coyle.

Tactical PSYOPS Detachment/United States Psychological Operations. There was extensive use of psychological operations in World War II, and given everything that the Outlast Trials are about I think this is a worthy contender.

Tobacco Products Directive. This was the only other thing I could think of that would make sense in conjunction with Coyle, but it's a European Union directive, and therefore I think it's unlikely this is what Coyle is referring to, but I still thought it was worth mentioning.

If you have any better ideas please feel free to share them!

A big big thank you to my friends in the Coyle Crew: @misa-bun @soggy-bean and @mortisdeth for their help in researching, theorising and giving me moral support when I thought I was about to lose it

[blackownersseekingsuccess]

Remembering Bayard Rustin: The Unsung Hero of the Civil Rights Movement

written by Levi Wise Kenneth Catoe Jr.

August 1, 2024 - Growing up as a Black boy in Paterson, NJ, and attending Roman and Irish Catholic Parochial schools, Black history was not very familiar to me. I grew up in a religious Southern Baptist family and participated in the church choir. In this context, Martin Luther King, Jr., was all that I knew about Black history until I became a teenage Madonna fanatic. Ironically, Madonna made me aware of Black activists and radicals such as Nina Simone, Jean-Michel Basquiat, James Baldwin, and Bayard Rustin. Bayard Rustin was an African American activist who believed in civil disobedience. Rustin felt that Black people should deliberately break unjust laws but do it non-violently to bring about change and this would play a key role in the Civil Rights movement. He also advocated for LGBTQ rights. Rustin moved to Harlem in 1937 and began studying at City College of New York. It’s interesting to note that at the time CCNY was an all-male college once regarded as ‘Jewish Harvard’ which did not accept Black men—Rustin was an unusual exception. While Rustin was at CCNY he became involved in efforts to defend and free the Scottsboro Boys, nine young black men in Alabama who were accused of raping two white women. Activism for Rustin was something that came naturally. He later became a mentor to Martin Luther King.

Rustin is one of my all-time idols. I have been enamored of him since I learned about him, so I was excited to attend an event dedicated to his life and legacy at the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, “Between the Lines: Bayard Rustin, A Legacy of Protest and Politics.” The event was a conversation between Michael G. Long and Jafari Allen, who edited the book of the same name. Their exchange sparked many revelations and I left the event more aware than when I entered. I felt so much pity for the life that Rustin had to live, including the attack on his character that was rallied against him by other Black people and the distance that Martin Luther King placed between himself and Rustin out of fear of people assuming that he was also gay. I also learned that it was Coretta Scott King who introduced King to Rustin. Scott-King met Rustin during her college years as a fellow activist who practiced civil disobedience. She would ultimately introduce her husband King to civil disobedience tactics. Rustin recalled that his first time meeting King he was strapped with a handgun and that he never traveled without his gun. It was Rustin who told King that if he represented civil disobedience he would have to be willing to put away his firearm, which eventually he did. Nevertheless, this raises the question, who was King really? The “I Have A Dream” pacifist or the “Beyond Vietnam” radical? We will never truly know.

All in all what I did learn was that according to Rustin, King had no idea how to organize an event. Instead, it was Rustin who developed the blueprint for King’s early Civil Rights movement, at least until the day that King removed Rustin from his inner circle.

Nevertheless, Rustin returned to organize the March on Washington, despite everything leveled against him by Adam Clayton Powel and Roy Wilkins. Someone noted during the discussion that “it’s funny how karma works given the fact that nobody remembers Wilkins's legacy in comparison to the sudden interest in Rustin.'' If I remember correctly, the comment was made by the moderator, NYU professor Dr. Jarafi Allen, based on the fact that the venue was standing room only, or that the Hollywood lens is now fixated on Rustin’s story, with an Academy Award-nominated movie based upon his life currently in theaters. Wilkins has not received the same interest from Hollywood, perhaps indicating that he is less marketable in the mainstream. Meanwhile, Rustin’s role as an activist for the LGTBQ community is also important for newer generations. Until recently, this legacy and all that he accomplished was invisible, but he has since become a symbol of the “others” and most notably the “forgotten others”. While in his lifetime he was shunned, rallied against, and betrayed by those that he benefitted, history has allowed his legacy the final word.

[reidsrambles]

Something More and Second Chances

Chapter 1

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader // Second chance

Description: You're stunned when your former friends with benefits shows up at your new job—and nearly a decade after you ghosted him. It turns out, he works in the same building, and he definitely hasn't forgotten about you. Will your apologies be enough? What happens if he does forgive you? Does time truly heal all wounds? (Content/Warnings below the cut)

Content/Warnings: [18+ MDNI], smut, friends with benefits, oral sex (F receiving), PIV sex, condomless sex, IUD birth control, mention of abortion (in the context of being on the same page prior to sex), riding, soft dom M, praise kink F.

This fic is quite emotionally heavy, and both Spencer and Reader delve deep into past traumas. None is current. If any of these topics may be triggering or upsetting to you, please skip this one: child abuse, child abandonment, attachment issues, foster care, adoption, CPS, bullying, trust issues, mental health issues, misunderstandings, ghosting, and Reader mentions that she possibly committed emotional infidelity in the past, thinking about Spencer while with another partner.

A/N: This is my (very late) fic for @imagining-in-the-margins's FWB challenge! Life's been a bit crazy lately. Your girl now has a boyfriend who takes up a lot of her time. 🥹👉👈

Names used: Baby, good girl

Words (this chapter): 1,706

Words (total): 12,462

There’s only one person you had hoped to never face again in this lifetime, and he’s standing a mere twenty feet in front of you.

You hear him before you see him. His laugh echoes off the walls of the large, airy library, and the normal hushed murmur goes silent in response. Working the front desk today, you have nowhere to hide. 

A flush sweeps across his cheeks as he scans the room. A few people at tables nearby lift their heads but lower them just as quickly. Nobody can be bothered to care. Nobody except you.

As you wait for his gaze to fall upon your face, time lags to a snail’s pace. An inescapable cataclysm of fate. 

This must be punishment for some unspeakable crime committed in a past lifetime. Or maybe this is just karma biting you in the ass? It has to be. How else could he be here? This place is locked down like Fort Knox. 

He bounces on his feet, looking at the floor. Left, right, left, right. He was never that good at staying still, especially when nervous. An FBI badge dangling from his belt loop catches your attention as he shifts. A firearm is holstered at his hip on the other side of his body.

He belongs here. 

“Okay, Garcia. Well, I just got down here, so I’ll call you back once I find it,” he says quietly. 

Realization crosses his face as soon as his eyes land on you. The thump of the kick drum in your chest rattles your body, and everything in your peripheral fades until all that exists is him.

He presses his lips together and slides his cell phone into his pocket.

The last time you saw those lips, you traced the crease of his dimple with your finger, without hurry. Early morning sun. His sleepy smile. He was so happy. The soft, thin cotton bed sheet draped over your naked bodies, and Spencer looked at you like you were his everything; his worshipping stare turned you translucent. 

The light caught his face, and the blue-green of his eyes glistened with an auric sheen. As you watched the dance of color, a vice grip tightened around your rib cage. In that one brief moment, something clicked within you. 

How hadn’t you seen it before? 

A newfound clarity painted him maroon. A flag waved in warning. That was the morning you left without another word. That was the morning you had to accept that, for his sake and yours, you’d never be able to see Spencer Reid again.

This has to be some sick joke. 

You snap out of your daze and look at the new Academy recruit standing in front of the desk, still patiently waiting for an answer to his question. “I’m so sorry about that. I had completely lost my train of thought,” you laugh, trying to maintain your professionalism. 

“So, on the lower level,” you continue briskly, “is the law library. That’s where you’ll find law books, periodicals, and any government documents. Those have to be used in-library, though, and you can’t check them out. Older, more sensitive documents—and anything requiring special authorization—are kept in climate-controlled, locked storage, so you’d have to inquire with one of us regarding any of those items. The 2nd floor is where we keep any books designated for leisure reading. Other than that, if you need help to locate anything, you can come ask me or any of my colleagues.” 

Wow. Practicing that little spiel in the mirror like the dweeb you are did actually help.

You beam a smile at the kid, no older than his early-20s. To your relief, he thanks you and walks away. 

You don’t have to wonder if Spencer recognizes you. He hasn’t looked away yet.

The library’s front desk is a stocky, rectangular enclosure, dwarfed by the grandeur of the sunlight-soaked atrium. The large skylights battle it out with the building’s air-conditioning, and even though it’s a cool fall day, you have to continuously blot the dampness from your forehead to save your makeup. Suddenly, you’re far too warm for your usual blazer, though. You stand and drape the jacket over your office chair.

Still warm as an oven, you pass behind your coworker, Sarah, the other librarian working the front desk with you today, and place a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m going to be right back. Can you cover for me for a few?” you whisper. 

“Only if you cover for me later so I can get an extra smoke break in,” she says, not bothering to look away from the email she’s writing.

You shake your head. “Sure, whatever. Fine.” 

A half door built-in to the large, rectangular desk is all that separates you from the rest of the library. You walk, but Spencer remains parked until you look at him, finally acknowledging him. You jerk your head to the side, gesturing for him to follow you, and his feet finally start. 

Ironically, you met Spencer in a library. Loving parents funded your English Lit degree and living expenses—not that you ever lived anything but frugally. All through undergrad, you worked in the university’s library, pushing your little book cart around and putting things back where they belonged. All your paychecks went straight into a savings account. Your parents would eventually tire of you, and you’d be left high and dry, you’d assumed, though you never let that thought escape your subconscious.

“Who’s the lanky nerd in the corner?” your new 18-year-old, first-year coworker whispered far too loudly. She had a bad habit of being extremely blunt, you’d quickly learned. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “He’s been here most days either working or reading. Doesn’t seem to have any friends. Joann said he’s some freaky genius on his 3rd PhD, but he always puts his own books back, so I’ve never had to deal with him.” You grabbed another book and returned it to its home on the shelf, hoping that if you didn’t look her way, she’d drop the conversation. Quietly escaping into your own thoughts while shelving was your respite. It was serenity… Until she showed up.

“Hey, freaky genius guy,” she whisper-yelled, somehow getting his attention, “my coworker thinks you’re cute!” 

Yeah, she only lasted two weeks in that position before the librarians had enough of her antics.

You mouthed an angry and confused “What the fuck?” to her before going to apologize. He was so awkward, but he did try to keep the conversation going. An enigma. Maybe the loner didn’t want to be so lonely? In regular chats, you learned a bit more about the guy. Though, on the surface, you had very little in common, you and Spencer ended up being better matched than previously thought, and you became fast friends. 

The conversation shifted from classic literature to niche science topics that shouldn’t have interested you, but his passion was infectious enough to capture you. He taught you how to play chess, and you’d sneak over to his table mid-shift to get a few turns in at a time. You always lost to him, but you liked the challenge and started skimming chess books at the library for different plays. One day, he related something in the conversation to Star Wars. When you admitted to never having seen any of them, it led to the first of many movie nights at your place. He showed up with his personal copy of A New Hope and a big bag of popcorn.  

Those horrid two weeks of babysitting the coworker were good for something, at least. It was strange, but nice, to have a friend.

Beep, the card reader chimes. The green light flashes, and you push into an empty conference room of the library. Spencer follows you inside, putting a solid five-feet of distance between you.

“Hi,” is all you say. The forced chirpiness of your customer service voice is on its last legs, only a single word into this conversation. A trip to the gynecologist for a pap smear would be more fun than a conversation with a man whose heart you smashed into a million pieces like a fucking coward. 

Spencer gestures to the badge on your lanyard with a flick of his head. “You, uh—work here?”

Taking the badge between your fingers, you quickly examine it. Your mugshot-esque headshot and the required stone-cold expression are in direct contrast to the radiant smile and cheery disposition you paint on while at work. You’ve seen FBI badges on TV and in the movies, and even though yours signifies you belong to the Library and Information Services department, it still feels odd to be wearing it.

“I do, yeah. Just started two weeks ago, actually.”

He nods, rocking back and forth on his heels. Your performative amiability slips from your grasp. False pleasantries won’t work with Spencer.

“Look,” you add, “we don’t have to interact after this, if you don’t want to. One of the other librarians can help you or check you out when you stop by, if that makes you more comfortable.”

“You’re a librarian?” he asks; less like a question and more like a stunning realization. 

After you left Spencer’s apartment a decade ago, you packed up the essentials and drove eight hours home. You took leave from school, but you’re sure classmates and acquaintance assumed that you dropped out, and with only a few months left of your degree. You didn’t just cut contact with Spencer; You cut contact with everyone. 

“No,” he continues, “it’s not that. It’s just… I have so much I want to say and no idea how to say it all. I obviously wasn’t expecting to run into you.”

You keep your focus directed at the sting of your nails pressing into your palm as you attempt to steady your breathing. Work isn’t an ideal place to be crying, attempting to apologize for all the pain you caused. 

“Do you want to grab a coffee sometime and talk?” you ask sheepishly. 

“I happen to be free tonight after work, if that’s good for you?”

“Yeah, I think I can make that work,” you nod, flashing him a shy smile.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

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[liver-f4ilure]

2023 Prague Shootings

(NOTE: I’m working on the Academy Maniacs post I promise!)

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David Kozák was born August 12th 1999 in Hostouň, Czech Republic. Little is known about his early life.

After graduating high school Kozák started studying at the Charles University in Prague, specifically studying the history of Poland. He graduated with a bachelor’s degree and successfully defended his thesis, earning an excellent grade from his professor, František Stellner.

—

According to Czech police chief, Martin Vondrášek, Kozák had a gun license and owned 8 firearms at the time of the shooting. In the Czech Republic in order to obtain a gun license one must get a medical examination, amongst other things. Kozák’s friend, only named ‘Alice’, had become concerned with Kozáks mental state in summer of 2022. Due to this, Kozák underwent 4 psychiatric visits. During which he stated his suicidal tendencies before later stating his murderous thoughts aimed towards his parents and unassuming people. By the Psychiatrists advisory, Kozák visited the Psychologist once in December of 2022. In Czech Republic, psychiatrists must forward their reports to the patients general practitioner, if it is known to them, however Kozák did not disclose it, so no report was issued.

With this lack of knowledge, Kozák was able to obtain a gun license with the only rule being that he must wear glasses.

Police stated that Kozák had been planning the shooting for a while. On his search history was research about mass killers, including the ‘Forest Killer’ a spree killer in Prague who killed 3 people. He had also researched the teaching schedules of classes on the fourth floor and downloaded the schools layout and other surrounding buildings. Lastly, he made note about the possible amount of students in each classroom.

Kozák had told multiple friends about his gun purchases, especially Alice whom he told about undergoing shooting practices and his plans to start exercising saying that he’ll need to lift heavy bags in 2-3 months. Kozák also received a gift of CZK 300,000 (13,000 USD) from his grandmother and withdrew CZK 400,000 (17,000 USD) from his savings account. Both of which he used to purchase ammunition and other related equipment.

—

On December 15th 2023, Kozák was believed to have murdered a 32-year-old man and his 2 month old daughter in the Klánovice forest. He was one of many suspects in the case but it has not been confirmed.

On December 21st 2023 Kozák murdered his father, Stanislav Kozák, at their home in Hostouň, accomplishing his ideas of murdering his parents. Kozák then drove to Faculty of Arts, Charles University. He entered the main building and began shooting at students and teachers, he killed 14 people and wounded 22 others. Kozák also fired at police and bystanders from the fourth floors balcony, like he had planned. The attack lasted 20 minutes before Kozák shot and killed himself on the balcony.

His (used) weapons were 9mm semiautomatic pistol (Klánovice forest) .380 ACP Škorpion semi automatic pistol (Hostouň) 9mm Glock 47 semiautomatic pistol, Sig Sauer semi automatic pistol (classrooms) .308 ZEV AR-10 semiautomatic rifle (balcony) and a 12 gauge Francolin Guardian pump action shotgun (suicide/balcony)

—

In the aftermath, Kozáks home was searched and there police found a letter confessing to the murders in the forest, as well as improvised explosives. In a post- Mortem examination Kozáks personality was found to be “schizoid with narcissistic and antisocial traits and a very solid IQ”. Police determined the motive was simply that he felt misunderstood and that the attack was revenge to society.

—

As of today the shooting has been the deadliest shooting in Czech history.

—

-Vivi