#i tried to leave it ambiguous by avoiding gendered language

[stars-obsession-pit]

Jason blinked in surprise at the image that had been added to their groupchat. He recognized that face. In fact, you could say he knew it very intimately now.

After debating for a moment, he sent a reply. “I think I may have found ‘em”

“Do you still have a visual?”

Jason’s gaze flicked to the figure. Still asleep in bed next to him.

“…yes”

[leo-gold-hotchner]

The Sinner -5

Sorry for the late post! But, I’m sure it’s gonna be cliche.. as everyone expected. 

I’m not good at any language, including English. I even struggle with English as you can see from my writing. So I’d be very appreciated if you all tell me there’s any weird sentences. And thanks Google for information on Korean and staff.. The code is based on a historical secret code, didn’t invent it. Too stupid to invent something like those. 

Ordinary part 1 coming soon... yeah can’t wait to post it, but I got 9 assignments which are due next Tues so might sometime to post either fic

Criminal Minds BAU x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 6k

Warning: Description of blood, death, mutilation, torture, swearing etc.

Previous parts: 1 2 3 4

                                                -BAU-

“It is dark under the lamp.” – Korean Proverb 

José tried to pull his arms, but it was useless, the rope only dug into his skin further. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He knew they were dead; they all got an order from the Superbia to lay low for a while after Smith and Olson got killed. This wasn’t Ira, this was the murderer who killed his fellow five members. And he never expected to be this one. 

“José, José, José. You’re shaking. Are you that scared?” 

“You know not only them, but the FBI gonna catch you.” He spat angrily to hide his fear. “I’m part of the Police just like you. They’ll know I’m missing and they’ll know it was you.” He however wasn’t sure how long the FBI gonna take to find the lead. 

“No, the FBI gonna catch me when I let them. Now I have you, I only need to get two more.” 

José frowned despite the pain in every corner of his body, his brain subconsciously calculated the important figures in the organisation. Excluding him, only three members were left. The three members who maintain the organisation and hidden from every other member. 

“Let me tell you as a last gift, José. How can I know who you are? Because Nick was Invidia, dear friend.” The 911 operator looked shocked. “Too bad I can’t really throw you into the snake pit.” Shrugged with a mocking smile, chatting happily.

“F/N, please I, I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me.” José begged pitifully. José’s breath quickened as he smelled burned steel in the dark room. His initial thought was F/N L/N was mad. If F/N was responsible for every murder of the members, then it meant Nick L/N was also killed by his spouse. Mad enough to kill the loved one. 

“Apologise to my Nick when you see him afterlife,” F/N hissed and coldly ironed the man’s skin. As the skin burned, his scream and smell filled the room. His logical thoughts quickly dissipated. 

                                               -BAU-

6th Day 

Prentiss entered the office and touched Reid’s cheek with warm coffee. Reid blinked in surprise and whirled around to see the older woman staring at him. 

“Emily, when did you come in?” 

“Now?” Prentiss handed the coffee to the younger agent who graciously took it. 

“Did you even sleep last night?” It was 8:35 in the morning, no other was present except Reid. She looked over the secret code on the white board. 

“A bit,” Reid shrugged casually. 

“I’m surprised you’re here but Hotch’s not.” 

Right then, Hotch entered the office with two sandwich bags in his hands, raising his brows at Reid’s back and Prentiss. Before he could announce his return, Reid opened his mouth no knowing the Unit Chief had returned. Prentiss tried to stop Reid but he went on, and soon she gave up, just amused as much as Hotch who had a small quirking smile on his lips. 

“He was here. He came exactly,” Reid looked over the clock on the wall, “2 hours 23 minutes 35 seconds ago. Don’t tell him, but I think he gave up solving the code with me. I’m surprised even Hotch has something to give up.” The younger man laughed, though Prentiss smirked with a little shake. 

“No, I was getting breakfast.” Hotch’s deep voice made Reid jump. The genius glared at the brunette who was now laughing merrily. “And this,” he put down the bag and a yellow folder on the table. “I went to the forensic lab in case if they finished the drug test.” 

“It’s not even 9, but they finished?” Reid looked surprised. 

“Apparently, he was threatened to finish the test by this morning by his boss.” Hotch drily explained, remembering the forensic scientist who introduced himself as ‘Eric McKinnon’ grumbling about L/F made him stay whole night. 

Reid picked up the folder and looked through the drugs that were found in the Kim’s household. “Oxycodone, Ketamine, Fentanyl…” He read through the a few lists, his finger moving fast on the paper. “They’re all regulated strictly in the hospital for their substance. If Andersson obtained these drugs from her workplace, she must’ve had help to avoid any detection. We need to search for everyone in the hospital, the drug company, even the delivery service.” 

Prentiss looked at the photo of Kim, then the code, then the photo of Andersson. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, who wrote the code?” 

“Hm?” Reid immediately stopped explanation of drugs to Hotch who was just absent-mindedly nodding as he read through the file. “I believe it was Kim, I compared his writings from notes in his study. Why?” 

“Have you been trying to decipher in English?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Maybe try Korean. Kim has Korean heritage, he might’ve used Korean as base language.” 

“But, I don’t know Korean,” Reid nearly pouted, “you can help me, though.” 

“I don’t speak Korean.” Prentiss furrowed her brows. “I just know a few words. My Russian is much better than Korean.” 

“Reid, I know you can at least learn Korean in a day to decipher the code.” Hotch closed the file. “We’ll find someone who can speak Korean after you decipher the code.” 

Reid and Prentiss watched their Unit Chief leave the room. Reid grabbed the sandwich bag from the table. “Where’re JJ, Rossi and Morgan?” 

“JJ’s coming, and Rossi and Morgan went out to see Dalal for more information.” Prentiss replied as she read through the toxicology file. 

Reid sighed. “Say good luck to me, Emily.” 

“Good luck, boy genius.” 

                                               -BAU-

It was early in the morning for Jack, but Hotch wanted to hear his son’s voice before he goes to school. His feature softened as he listened to his son, for a brief moment forgetting all about the case he was investigating. He put down his phone, looking up at the gloomy sky. Snow fall last night, would there be another snow? Jack wanted to make a snowman with him, he hoped he could finish this case soon and go back to his son. 

The BAU Unit Chief re-entered the station, before he could move aside a person with a large box collided with him. “Fuck,” the person swore as the box swayed dangerously. But the person balanced and stopped from falling. “Sorry, I didn’t see you.” 

“It’s alright, Doctor L/N.” Hotch replied pleasantly as he recognised the voice. 

L/N put down the box and looked at Hotch, mouth forming a little o with a startled look. “Agent Hotchner, I’m so sorry.” 

“Do you need a hand?” Hotch’s eyes scanned the large box on the scientist’s hands. “Thanks, but no. I’m just cleaning my staff in the lab. Were you looking for something?” 

“I, well, you seem to close with your colleagues. Do you know if anyone who could speak Korean? Or even legal translators?” 

“You’ve been working with him this whole time,” the scientist laughed a little. “Leon can speak Korean fluently. Though, why?” 

“We may need his skill,” Hotch replied ambiguously. 

“You shouldn’t trust anyone else, but you can trust Leo, Agent.” As if knowing the reason of Hotch’s ambiguity, L/N smiled with mysterious sadness. “He’s the sort of guy who stands up for any injustice. Even if that’s his friends.” 

Before he could ask what the scientist was implying, Hotch was surprised to see sudden burning hatred in the Forensic’s eyes. An authoritative voice greeted the BAU Unit Chief from his behind. It was a brief moment but Hotch didn’t miss the homicidal glare towards the owner of the voice from the scientist. The agent turned and saw Captain Robertson. His posture was screaming authority with his stoic face, his eyes boring into Hotch’s. Despite Hotch turned away from the Forensic, he could just feel hatred radiating from the scientist. He wondered what wrong the Captain did to the forensic scientist to earn this much of hatred. 

“Agent Hotchner,” Robertson called Hotch in a quiet voice. The Captain was here to demand something, Hotch thought as he quickly analysed the Captain’s posture. “Could I have a quick word?” Robertson was trying to show he had the upper hand than Hotch, a perfect alpha male who was being territorial. 

Hotch didn’t know if the Captain was either blatantly ignoring the scientist or didn’t notice hatred in the scientist’s eyes at all. “Of course.” Hotch replied mildly to insinuate he wasn’t here to challenge the Captain’s authority. Though Hotch would do anything if anything happens to his team. 

Pleased at Hotch’s willingness to talk, Robertson finally gave his attention towards the forensic scientist who wasn’t hiding hate at all. “Doctor L/N.” Finally the man acknowledged the forensic scientist who only looked at the Captain with a cold stare. “I didn’t get any resigning letter.” He said as he looked down at the box. 

“I’ll file something later,” L/N sarcastically said as lifting the box once again, leaving quickly. 

                                               -BAU-

“L/N’s been like that since I couldn’t do anything for Nick’s death.” Robertson explained, but Hotch had an impression that Robertson just said that to avert Hotch’s attention to somewhere else. 

Even though it was morning, the station bustled with officers and civilians. As the men walked through the aisle, several officers greeted the Captain. Hotch could easily see the Captain was being respected by his subordinates. 

Hotch entered Robertson’s office. There were several golden trophies and photos on the shelves. The photos were mostly about himself, but a few were with a woman. Everything was clean and in order except the table. The table was messy with files and papers, pens were laid everywhere. The Captain leaned on the table, crossing his arms as if he was hiding the messy table from the agent. 

“I heard you asked Lee not to talk about this case with the media.” 

“I did. I don’t want the UnSub to hide away.” 

“Reporters will know about this anytime soon. Do you even have the lead to the killer?” Robertson squinted his eyes. 

“To be frank, no, we don’t have any solid lead.” 

“Dammit.” The Captain suddenly banged the table and started to pace, but Hotch didn’t even blink. “I don’t want this bastard in my community. When you find this bastard, I want you to kill on that spot when you see the chance. I’ll order my men too.” 

“That’s not how I work.” Hotch frowned at the Captain’s growing anxiety. 

“This person killed six people, Agent!” Robertson jabbed the table with his finger as he yelled each word. “The bastard’s fucking crazy. I don’t want any more death from this bastard, do you hear me?” Robertson glared at the FBI agent who didn’t avoid the Captain’s fiery stare. 

Hotch finally broke the silence as Robertson’s breath slowly calmed from his anger. “I’ll do what I can do, Captain.” 

“Good.” 

Hotch exhaled deeply as he left the Captain’s office. Robertson didn’t know he made a mistake. It was a moment of anger and he lost the control. The Captain would, eventually, realise his mistake and might do something to sabotage the investigation. 

“Detective, I need your help,” Hotch called Lee as soon as he saw the detective walked in with a half-eaten sandwich. 

                                               -BAU-

Morgan and Rossi decided to visit and talk to Nurse Dalal once again before lunch. Time does fly fast these days. 

“Do you see what I see?” Rossi asked Morgan as they arrived in front of the hospital. 

“Let’s hope they don’t know about the Seven Sins.” The younger man descended from the SUV after shaking his head a little seeing a broadcasting car. “It’s kinda sad people are finally giving attention after someone in status is dead.” 

“Yes, that’s unfortunate.” 

They entered the hospital building, not seeing any reporter as they went to the same receptionist in the hall. She recognised the agents and greeted them friendlier than the day before. “If you’re here for Nurse Dalal again, she’s not here.” 

“Do you know where she might be?” 

Rossi and Morgan exited the hospital and Morgan clicked the key and both men hopped on the black SUV. Dalal was on leave for a month, apparently Dalal told her colleagues she felt unwell just after the FBI agents visited her and asked for leave. 

“Hey, baby girl,” Morgan smiled broadly as he called his best mate, Garcia. 

“Well, well, well, isn’t this my sweet chocolate thunder? How can I be service today?” Garcia asked in a friendly seductive tone. 

“We need Aria Dalal’s address, she works as a nurse at the Jefferson Hospital.” Not even a minute, Garcia produced the address and Morgan started the SUV and set the navigation. 

“Is that all? You’ve been awfully less demanding recently,” she whined. 

“Yeah, sorry about that, sweet girl. But if you want to keep listen to my voice how can I not comply to your wish?” 

“Can we please go without any double entendre here?” Rossi rolled his eyes from the passenger seat. 

“I guess we need to protect Rossi’s innocence, Penelope,” Morgan barked a loud laugh along with Garcia’s merry laugh. 

 “Children,” Rossi shook his head, but the tips of his lips were up softly. “Can you look for her past? She might’ve known Andersson if she was hiding something.” 

“Alrighto! Give me a sec and I’ll call the others too.” 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, boy genius, you’re also connected with Morgan and Rossi.” Garcia chirped happily. “Now I’ve found something about Andersson and Dalal here. They were friends. It’s hidden, a private post, but I found a photo of Andersson and Dalal together, apparently, they’ve known each other since high school. And Dalal actually worked at the Bethesda Hospital but she transferred here five years ago.” 

“Did she have Andersson as a referee when she transferred?” 

“I’m not sure about that, sweet boy. There’s not much on their SNS, so I can’t find more about their past other than they’ve known each other since high school.” 

“Thanks, baby girl.” 

                                               -BAU-

While Prentiss and JJ were going through case files and photos once again, Reid jot down numbers and Korean on a white board. Under the Korean vowels and consonants, numbers were written with red marker. 

“Would the UnSub operate at own house or other base?” JJ asked as her finger tapped the papers. 

“Can be both,” Prentiss replied. “Remember Joe Smith in Milwaukee? He killed women in his basement in the middle of resident area. No one heard women screaming. I’m just surprised the UnSub might be only one person doing all these killings.” 

“Articulate, intelligent, logical, flexible in time, and anger. With growing anger how one can’t even make a mistake?” 

“Maybe the UnSub is used to clean the mess even if they made a mistake? Like works in similar industry, cleaning.” Prentiss shrugged. 

“Or knows what to clean to look like someone else did it.” JJ and Prentiss locked their eyes as their eyes widened at the possible idea. 

Before the female agents could discuss more about their theory, the door opened and Lee and Hotch entered. Lee looked a bit dishevelled with his sandwich in his hand while Hotch looked very professional comparing to the detective. 

“I see something unusually familiar.” Lee stared at the white board full of messy Korean writings. “I didn’t know joining the FBI requires learning different languages.” 

“Usually they don’t,” Prentiss chuckled. 

“We need some help in Korean, I heard you were great with the language.” Hotch shortly explained what the forensic scientist told him about Lee’s skill. The Unit Chief didn’t miss the glance between JJ and Prentiss when he mentioned the forensic scientist. “Reid.” The young man, however, didn’t answer his boss. “Reid!” Hotch called the younger agent louder than before but Reid was still in his mind, his eyes glued on the white board, his mouth silently moving as his brain working fast. “Spencer!” Reid squeaked in surprise and whirled around, looking like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Hotch?” He looked at the side where JJ was standing who was not hiding her amused smile from him. “JJ, when you did come here?” 

“Ur, like two hours ago?” JJ laughed and she held her hand out towards Prentiss. “I told you he didn’t notice I was even here.” 

“Dammit, I was sure he’d notice you at least if not Hotch.” Prentiss handed 20 bucks to the blonde. 

Hotch thought to reprimand his team because it usually doesn’t leave good impression to authorities when they bet on something. Even though Lee had been friendly towards the BAU as if he knew them all this time, it doesn’t change they have professionalism to manage on behalf of both BAU and FBI. But he saw a genuine smile on the detective and stopped himself from scolding his team. Though, he definitely will talk about this to the team on the plane on way home. 

“Detective Lee can speak Korean. I need to make a call, I’ll return soon.” Hotch nodded to his team and exited the office. As Hotch exited the office, he could sense Captain Robertson’s piercing eyes on him which he pretended he didn’t notice. 

 “So, what are you trying to achieve?” Lee asked friendly. Looking at the Korean consonants and vowels. 

“I tried to decipher the secret code on the Kim’s note in English, but I couldn’t. So, Emily here thought maybe he made the code based on Korean. I think I’m nearly there, but I don’t think it’s even a word even though I can make a syllable.” 

Lee popped the blue marker silently and wrote down Korean consonants and vowels again on the board, but in different order unlike Reid wrote. “Korean consonants and vowels have their own orders too, like Alphabets. And there’re more tensed consonants and vowels. I’m not sure how to call that.” 

“Consonants are tensed, you’re right. Although, for vowels, Korean vowels are categorised in monophthongs and diphthongs rather than tensed.” Reid interjected. He further explained as soon as he saw a confused look on the detective. “As you can see from their prefixes, monophthong is a single vowel that has one sound, and diphthong has two sounds in a syllable. For English it’s hard to categorise monophthongs and diphthongs because there are many varieties in English language.” 

“Right,” Lee nodded, though anyone could see he didn’t understand one bit what Reid said except the doctor himself. “Anyway, this is the order generally used in Korea.” Obviously, his writing was neater than Reid’s whereas Reid’s was more like writing of geometry. “Here.” 

As soon as Reid received the marker from the older man, Reid quickly inspected the new order written by Lee. The other three waited for Reid to act and the younger man soon wrote 2-digit numbers starting with 11 on the first consonants. “I tried various digits, but I think 2-digit numbers are the most plausible code. If you used 1-digit you can’t even make a proper syllable.” Reid rambled as if he read the others’ mind about why 2-digit numbers. “But if you break the numbers into 2-digit numbers and substitute with consonants and vowels,” he used 223415301738 as the first example, breaking into 22, 34, 15, 30, 17, and 38 for others to read. Then with a red marker, he wrote ㅌ, ㅗ, ㅁ, ㅏ, ㅅ, and ㅡ above the broken numbers. “I don’t know what the word mean, of course I can look for dictionary but even for me that’ll take some time to memorise the whole dictionary.” Reid looked at the detective expectantly. “Well, does it mean something?” 

“Yeah, could you decipher other codes too?” Detective stared at the white board, his eyes widened with surprise. 

“What is it?” JJ asked curiously. 

“It’s a name. But, it’s just a given name.” 

“Maybe other codes under that numbers are surnames?” Prentiss suggested. 

“Here, this code was under the L with that codes.” Reid pointed the deciphered codes. 

The Detective read carefully without voicing. “Sorry, in Korean it’s hard to say if that’s L or R in English. But I believe it’s a full name of a man. Thomas Wellington or Werrington. It’s either of ’em.” 

With the cue, Reid immediately started to decipher other numbered codes with silent encouraging from the Detective, JJ looked for if any Thomas Wellington or Werrington were on any files or victims’ associates. And Prentiss quickly dialled the best technical analyst in the world. 

                                              -BAU-

Rossi ended the call from Hotch which Morgan looked at the older man curiously. “You gonna tell me what that was about?” 

“Not yet,” Rossi replied smugly. Morgan rolled his eyes holding his hands in the air. But the younger man didn’t see a concerned look on Rossi. 

They entered a small apartment where Aria Dalal was living. They stopped in front of the green door that had golden house number on the middle of the door. Rossi knocked on the green door but frowned as there were no response at all. It was quiet as if no one was in the other side of the door. Both men looked at each other worriedly, and Rossi knocked again. 

“Ms. Dalal? This is David Rossi from the FBI. We talked yesterday at the hospital.” 

Morgan gestured if he’d break the door as usual, but before Rossi could say anything the door slightly opened but chained. Only her voice was the evident that someone was inside the apartment. “I don’t know anything,” her voice was trembling despite she was trying to conceal her fear from the agents. “Just, please leave me alone.” Even without profiling, anyone could see she was distressed and scared. 

“We can help you, Aria,” Rossi told her gently. “It’s only me and other FBI agent, Derek Morgan. You also saw him yesterday.” 

“No woman?” Dalal asked with a timid voice. 

Rossi raised his brows at Morgan who mirrored the veteran profiler. “No, no woman here.” 

“Show me your credentials.” Rossi and Morgan showed their identifications through the small gap. “Okay, just be quick.” The door shut and opened again after a click. 

The agents entered the cosy looking apartment, but most of things were in mess. A couple of suitcases were laying in the living area, her staff messily pushed into the suitcases. “I don’t know anything about Marian.” 

“Ma’am, we know you two were close since high school.” Morgan told her politely to calm her down. Unlike controlled herself from last time, she was in verge of panicking. Before Morgan could talk more, his phone echoed in the small apartment, making Dalal jump with paled face. “I’m sorry for startling you, excuse me.” Morgan went to a corner to answer his call. 

“You’re scared of Marian’s killer, aren’t you?” Rossi asked directly side glancing at the younger agent. “You know why Marian got killed, Aria. We’re here to catch who killed your friend.”

“She, she was my best friend,” Dalal hugged herself, finally admitting. “She told me to run if something ever happens to her.” Rossi was sure they were more than just friends. 

“Yeah, will take her with us,” Morgan finished his call before he glanced the distressed nurse. “Ma’am, we need you come with us to the station.” He told the nurse who widened her eyes in fear. Rossi asked the younger man a silent question. “The secret code Kim wrote, they cracked it. All those codes are a list of names. And your name was on the front page of the list.”

Despite she was surprised at first, she just nodded. “Was there a name called Wellington?” 

“I’m not sure about that, is that person involved in this?” 

“I,” Dalal shifted uncomfortably. 

“You can tell us anything, Aria,” Rossi said kindly, “we’re not here to judge you. Just to find who did this to Marian.” 

“You know what?” Dalal shook her head defeated. “I’ve thought over and over again since last night, and I think this is my last chance.” Morgan and Rossi frowned. There was no indication that she’d commit suicide, did she hide something underneath? She was just scared of something and then she just flipped her attitude, as if she gave up everything. 

“We can help you, if someone is after you, the FBI can protect you.” 

“No, you can’t. They’ll find me even if I run away to other states. That’s what Tristan told me when Marian asked me to do this with her. Telling me I shouldn’t be involved if I wanted to live long, but I wanted to be with Marian just like we were in high school.” She bit her nails. “Just before I go with you, can I tell you here what I know? I’ll tell everything again if I have to at the station.” 

“If you’re comfortable with it.” They shouldn’t. They shold’ve taken her to the interrogation room and record everything but she wanted to release everything before anything. In case anything happens to her. 

“Thank you.” For the first time, Dalal gave them a little smile. “I’m more like an associate with the organisation. I don’t know the name of the organisation or even has one, and both Tristan and Marian were in kind of higher rank.” Morgan and Rossi nodded, but inside they were bewildered at the proof of an organisation actually existed. “There’re many people like me, they’re probably the list Tristan wrote. He was the one who managed associates whereas Marian trafficked the drugs from the hospital. I wasn’t told about other members, but they told me there were several.” 

“They told you everything they knew?” The agents wondered why they told such important things to Dalal who wasn’t an important figure in the organisation. 

“Mostly,” Dalal shrugged. “Maybe I was their insurance, I don’t know. What I’m trying to say is there are assassins in this organisation. Marian told me they were called Ira, I don’t know what it means. They can kill whoever they’re asked to. Several days ago, Tristan and Marian came to see me secretly. They told me they were being hunted by the leader himself.” 

“So you think it was this Ira who killed both Tristan and Marian?” 

“Yes, who else? The leader must’ve wanted to hide his track and killing everyone who’s involved. Marian said they were female. She never told me how she knew, but she was so sure of that.” 

“Is that why you asked if there was a woman?” She nodded. “Even if there was, it would’ve been a federal agent.” 

“You don’t know that,” she snapped at the younger agent. “Anyone can be this assassin. Even you’re not fully protected from them.” 

                                             -BAU-

All BAU and Lee were looking at the nurse through the one-way glass window who was with Rossi in the interrogation room. Aria Dalal asked for Rossi to be the agent to question her and they’d gone through the same conversation they had in her apartment. Unlike before she seemed to be relaxed than before but still devastated. She, however, perhaps finally convinced herself that the BAU can help her to ease her anxiety. 

“How do you know Wellington?” Rossi asked Dalal with curiosity. “We knew each other, because…” she paused a bit, “I was Marian’s sexual partner whereas Wellington was Tristan’s. I didn’t see him since he moved to another city or something,” she shook her head. “Then, then, Marian came to see me, told me I have to run if something happens to her.” 

Before he leaves the room, Rossi offered if she wanted some food or drink. She smiled a little towards the older man saying she didn’t have any appetite. Rossi returned and joined the team, leaving the nurse in the room alone. 

“Wellington is one of the first names on the list along with Dalal.” Reid said as soon as Rossi entered. “Thomas Wellington was one of the lawyers worked at the Kim’s law firm.” 

“Was?” Morgan raised brows. 

“Wellington moved to another firm, but he died from a car accident three days ago. Just a day after Lewis was killed,” replied Reid, “Not only Wellington, some of people from the Kim’s journal have been dying by accidents since Smith and Olson died.” 

“Not a coincidence is there?” Rossi sighed deeply. “If this Ira, the wrath, is our UnSub, why didn’t they take the list with them? Dalal said it was Kim’s responsibility to manage the associates. They would’ve known Kim had a list of names. I think the UnSub is a third person, not involved in the organisation directly at least.” 

“So, we have to catch this UnSub, Ira, and the ringleader?” Lee blanched. “We don’t have evidence that it was Ira who killed these people on the list.” 

“We don’t know what to look for these Ira, but our UnSub knows who they are.” Hotch said quietly as he stared at the nurse who was keep staring down at the table. “We only have a bit of lead to UnSub only. And we have to act fast.” 

                                             -BAU-

“Hey, Hotch,” JJ called the Unit Chief as soon as the team returned to the operation room. “Emily and I didn’t have any chance to talk this, but we might have some theory who might the UnSub is, if the UnSub is part of the Force.” 

“If they’re maybe they can be one of the forensics.” Prentiss nodded. 

The team didn’t miss something flashed on Hotch’s usual stoic face. He glanced back and saw the Captain was calling in his office with his personal phone. Robertson looked up and both men looked into their eyes, neither avoiding. Hotch moved away as Lee entered the office with paled face, gulping. 

“Dalal’s dead.” 

“What?” Morgan nearly yelled incredulously. 

Hotch was the first to sprint to the room where the nurse sprawled on the table, her eyes and mouth wide open. There was a half-eaten sandwich and coffee on the ground. Poison. 

“Who brought the food?” Hotch demanded, refraining himself from snarling at the officer next to him. 

“I, I did, sir,” the young officer stammered. “There was a woman, she said she got an order to deliver the food to, to, her.” 

“Did you ask who ordered?” Rossi asked, and Hotch didn’t know his mentor and others were behind him. 

“Yes, yes,” the young officer nodded hastily, “she said it was ordered by Agent Hotchner.” The faces of BAU darkened. 

“Where is she? What does she look like?” Hotch growled. 

“She just left, she was wearing a blue cap, a, a red hoodie.” The description was too vague to find the woman. “Pretty, Asian…,” he mumbled as Hotch’s eyes hardened. Morgan asked if he knew where the food is from and the officer shook his head, looking afraid to meet Hotch’s eyes. 

Hotch bolted out from the station, leaving his team who called his name behind. The sky was already darkened, the winter Moon looking down at him. He shouldn’t have run like that, he should’ve stayed with his team. But Hotch looked for the mysterious woman, pushing people aside in the vast city. It was looking for a needle in a haystack, but he had to find the woman. 

His phone buzzed, it was his long time mentor. “Are you out of your mind?” Rossi’s angry voice rang Hotch’s ear. “Where’re you?” Rossi had the right to be angry at him after he told what happened between him and the Captain. 

“I’ll be there, don’t come for me,” his eyes didn’t miss a woman with similar clothes staring at him from the other end of the street. Was she smiling at him? Taunting him? He knew it was a trap. “Rossi, remember what I said, call Garcia if I don’t call you back in ten minutes.” He grabbed his gun and followed the woman to a dark alley. Just so typical and cliché. 

                                             -BAU-

The old profiler nearly threw his phone as the call ended. If he waited for ten minutes for Hotch to call, he was stupid. He wasn’t going to wait. Rossi quickly called Garcia, ignoring worried questions from the younger profilers about Hotch. 

“Penelope here, how can I help you this time?” A cheerful voice answered the call. 

“Garcia, listen carefully,” Rossi lowered his voice, “wait, just listen don’t say anything.” He said quickly to everyone, muting the call as soon as he saw Captain Robertson walking towards the BAU’s temporary office room. 

Robertson opened the door without a knock and observed the room, especially the boards before his eyes meet with the BAU’s. “I heard what happened, where is Agent Hotchner?” 

“He went to after the person who poisoned Dalal. He’s coming back soon.” Rossi replied before anyone could, he could see the younger profilers seething, especially Morgan at the Captain’s insinuation. 

“How can you be sure he’s coming back?” 

“What do you mean by that?” Morgan clenched his teeth, not liking one bit where this was going. 

“The food that was ordered by Agent Hotchner himself killed a witness and now he’s not here. How can you be sure he didn’t run away after killing that poor woman?” 

“I assure you, Captain. Aaron Hotchner is not that kind of person. He’ll return and we’ll find who is responsible for this. Please don’t accuse him of such thing.” Rossi’s voice was calm. But it was calm before the storm. 

“I’ll call FBI and ask for investigation on both this case and the BAU,” the Captain’s eyes glowed dangerously. And Rossi saw a flickering light of victory in his eyes. Rossi wouldn’t let this man ruin his best friend’s life and reputation.

“24 hours, just give us 24 hours. We’ll get your UnSub and prove Agent Hotchner isn’t involved in this.” 

Robertson’s weighed his option, his eyes boring into Rossi’s. “We also have a missing officer and don’t have hands to help the FBI if they come now. I’ll give you only one day to prove and bring the responsible person in front of me, Agent.” 

“That’s all I ask.” Rossi nodded, and Robertson left the office, his smug smile hidden from shadow. 

“Dammit, what was that about?” Morgan smacked the table with his fist. 

“We were called to be chess pawns in the first place.” Rossi’s grip on the back of a chair tightened, his knuckles turning white. He unmuted the call, instantly Garcia’s panicked voice assaulting the BAU. “Penelope, calm down. Hotch already prepared if anything happens to him.” 

“He prepared for this?” Prentiss asked the older man incredulously. 

“This morning, he told me Captain Robertson is involved with this organisation, and he was sure Robertson would plan something. We just never expected he’d act this fast to set a trap like this.” 

“And you didn’t tell us?” Reid frowned, hurt by the two agents’ distrust in them. 

“We did it to protect all of you. What’s done is done. For now, we need to focus on Hotch and find the UnSub, and who killed Dalal.” 

“He isn’t answering,” Morgan swore under his breath. 

“How did he prepare? How can we know he’s safe?” JJ emphasised the last question. Hotch had already gone through so much and she didn’t want Hotch to suffer more. She didn’t want anything happens to him, especially Jack. The boy adored his father, he’ll be devastated. 

“Garcia, could you track his phone?” 

“Give me a second.” Rossi hoped nothing happened to his friend. He didn’t have to become a bait, damn it. 

“Oh no, no, no, no.” Garcia shrieked. 

“Pen, what is it?” Prentiss urged her friend biting her nails, fear creeping everyone. 

“He was moving, and his phone just turned off.” 

                                            -BAU-

As expected, the woman was standing in the middle of the no through small alley. No one was in the alley except him and her. Even the sound of bustling city didn’t reach this deep narrow alley, as if the alley was another world. With only wind howling, pale moonlight creeping above them, her smile looked ominous even to Hotch. 

“Who are you.” 

“Agent Hotchner, you should’ven’t followed me.” Her accent was a bit foreign but not too rough. 

“You’ll come with me and tell who you are and who orders you.” 

“I thought you already knew?” She said in mocking surprise. “I mean, that’s why he told us to help you leave the living world.” She pulled out a small folding knife and started to spin it. “Well, not exactly kill you.”

She used ‘us’, did she have a partner or other members of organisation? He was lackless, yes, but he didn’t want to lose another lead. If anything happens to him, Rossi would be there to solve the case and lead the team. 

“Well, well, Agent Hotchner.” 

The familiar voice. He turned, widened eyes, he heard JJ and Prentiss’ theory just a few minutes ago. Off guard, his head soon smacked with something blunt that was heavy and hard. He dropped his gun, falling, his conscious slowly drifting away from shock and pain. Even with blurring sight, he could clearly see and hear the familiar face and the voice. Don’t trust anyone. That’s what you said.

@evans-dejong

[dustedmagazine]

Dusted’s Decade Picks

Heron Oblivion, still the closest thing to a Dusted consensus pick

Just as, in spring, the young's fancy turns to thoughts of love, at the end of the decade the thoughts of critics and fans naturally tend towards reflection. Sure, time is an arbitrary human division of reality, but it seems to be working out okay for us so far. We're too humble a bunch to offer some sort of itemized list of The Best Of or anything like that, though; a decade is hard enough to wrap your head around when it's just your life, let alone all the music produced during said time. Instead these decade picks are our jumping off points to consider our decades, whether in personal terms, or aesthetic ones, or any other. The records we reflect on here are, to be sure, some of our picks for the best of the 2010s (for more, check back this afternoon), but think of what follows less as anything exhaustive and more as our hand-picked tour to what stuck with us over the course of these ten years, and why.

Brian Eno — The Ship (Warp, 2016)

You don’t need to dig deep to see that our rapidly evolving and hyper-consciously inclusive discourse is taking on the fluidity of its surroundings. In 2016, a year of what I’ll gently call transformation, Brian Eno had his finger on multiple pulses; The Ship resulted. It’s anchored in steady modality, and its melody, once introduced, doesn’t change, but everything else ebbs and flows with the Protean certainty of uncertainty. While the album moves from the watery ambiguities of the title track, through the emotional and textural extremes of “Fickle Sun” toward the gorgeously orchestrated version of “I’m Set Free,” implying some kind of final redemption, the moment-to-moment motion remains wonderfully non-binary. Images of war and of the instants producing its ravaging effects mirror and counterbalance the calmly and increasingly gender-fluid voice as it concludes the titular piece by depicting “wave after wave after wave.” Is it all Salman Rushdie’s numbers marching again? The lyrics embody the movement from “undescribed” through “undefined” and “unrefined’” connoting a journey toward aging, but size, place, chronology and the music encompassing them remain in constant flux, often nearly but never quite recognizable. Genre and sample float in and out of view with the elusive but devastating certainty of tides as the ship travels toward silence, toward that ultimate ambiguity that follows all disillusion, filling the time between cycles. The disconnect between stasis and motion is as disconcerting as these pieces’ relationship to the songform Eno inherited and exploded. The album encapsulates the modernist subtlety and Romantic grace propelling his art and the state of a civilization in the faintly but still glowing borderlands between change and decay.

Marc Medwin

Cate Le Bon — Cyrk (Control Group, 2012)

There's no artist whose work I anticipated more this decade than Cate Le Bon, and no artist who frustrated me more with each release, only to keep reeling me in for the long run. Le Bon's innate talent is for soothing yet oblique folk, soberly psychedelic, which she originally delivered in the Welsh language, and continued into English with rustic reserve.

Except something about her pastoralism seems to bore her, and the four-chord arpeggios are shot through with scorches of noise, or sent haywire with post-punk brittleness. In its present state, her music is built around chattering xylophones and croaking saxophone, even as the lyrics draw deeper into memory and introspection, with ever more haunting payoffs. It's as if Nick Drake shoved his way into the leadership of Pere Ubu. She's taken breaks from music to work on pottery and furniture-making, and retreats to locales like a British cottage and Texas art colony to plumb for new inspirations. She's clearly energized by collaboration and relocation, but there’s a force to her persona that, despite her introverted presence, dominates a session. Rare for our age, she's an artist who gets to follow her muse full time, bouncing between record labels and seeing her name spelled out in the medium typefaces on festival bills.

Cyrk, from 2012, is the record where I fell in, and it captures her at something close to joyous, a half smile. Landing between her earliest folk and later surrealism, it is open to comparison with the Velvet Underground. But not the VU that is archetypical to indie rock – Cyrk is more an echo of the solo work that followed. There’s the sharp compositional order and Welsh lilt of John Cale. Like Lou Reed, she makes a grand electric guitar hook out of the words “you’re making it worse.” The homebound twee of Mo Tucker and forbidding atmosphere of Nico are present in equal parts. Those comparisons are reductive, but they demonstrate how Cyrk feels instantly familiar if you’ve garnered certain listening habits. Songs surround you with woolly keyboard and guitar hooks, and one can forget a song ends with an awkward trumpet coda even after dozens of listens. The awkwardness is what keeps the album fresh.

She lulls, then dowses with cold water. So Cyrk isn't an entirely easy record, even if it is frequently a pretty one. The most epic song here, reaching high with those woolly hums and twang, is "Fold the Cloth.” It bobs along, coiling tight as she reaches into the strange register of female falsetto. Le Bon cranks out a fuzz solo – she's great at extending her sung melodies across instruments. Then the climax chants out, "fold the cloth or cut the cloth.” What is so important about this mundane action? Her mystery lyrics never feel haphazard, like LSD posey. They are out of step with pop grandiose. Maybe when her back is turned, there's a full smile.

Who are "Julia" and "Greta,” two mid-album sketches that avoid verse-chorus structure? Julia is represented by a limp waltz, Greta by pulses on keyboards. Shortly after the release, Le Bon followed up with the EP Cyrk II made up of tracks left off the album. To a piece, they’re easier numbers than "Julia" and "Greta.” The cryptic and the scribble are essential to how Cyrk flows, which is to say it flows haltingly.

This approach dampens her acclaim and her potential audience, but that's how she fashions decades-old tropes into fresh art. She’s also quite the band leader. Drummers have a different thud when they play on her stage. Musicians' fills disappear. She brings in a horn solo as often as she lays down a guitar lead. The closer tracks, "Plowing Out Pts 1 & 2," aren't inherently linked numbers. By the second part, the group has worked up to a carnival swirl, frothing like "Sister Ray" yet as sweet as a children's TV show theme. Does that sound sinister? The effect is more like heartbreak fuelling abandon, her forlorn presence informing everyone's playing.

Fuse this album with the excellent Cyrk II tracks, and you can image a deluxe double LP 10th anniversary reissue in a few years. Ha ha no. I expect nothing so garish will happen. It sure wouldn't suit the artist. In a decade where "fan service" became an everyday concept, Le Bon is immune. She's a songwriter who seems like she might walk away from at all without notice, if that’s where her craftsmanship leads. The odd and oddly comfortable chair that is Cyrk doesn't suit any particular decor, but my room would feel bare without it.

Ben Donnelly

Converge — All We Love We Leave Behind (Epitaph)

Here’s the scenario: Heavily tatted guy has some dogs. He really loves his dogs. Heavily tatted guy goes on tour with his band. While he’s on the road, one of his dogs dies. Heavily tatted guy gets really sad. He writes a song about it.  

That should be the set-up for an insufferably maudlin emo record. But instead what you get is Converge’s “All We Love We Leave Behind” and the searing LP that shares the title. The songs dive headlong into the emotional intensities of loss and reflect on the cost of artistic ambition. The enormously talented line-up that recorded All We Love We Leave Behind in 2012 had been playing together for just over a decade, and vocalist Jacob Bannon and guitarist Kurt Ballou had been collaborating for more than twenty years. It shows. The record pummels and roars with remarkable precision, and its songs maniacally twist, and somehow they soar.  

Any number of genre tags have been stuck on (or innovated by) Converge’s music: mathcore, metalcore, post-hardcore. It’s fun to split sonic hairs. But All We Love… is most notable for its exhilarating fury and naked heart, musical qualities that no subgenre can entirely claim. Few bands can couple such carefully crafted artifice with such raw intensity. And few records of the decade can match the compositional wit and palpable passion of All We Love…, which never lets itself slip into shallow romanticism. It hurts. And it ruthlessly rocks.  

Jonathan Shaw

EMA — The Future’s Void (City Slang, 2014)

When trying to narrow down to whatever my own most important records of the decade are, I tried to keep it to one per artist (as I do with individual years, although it’s a lot easier there). Out of everyone, though, EMA came by far the closest to having two records on that list, and this could have been 2017’s Exile in the Outer Ring, which along with The Future’s Void comes terrifyingly close to unpacking an awful lot of what’s going wrong, and has been going wrong, with the world we live in for a while now. The Future’s Void focuses more on the technological end of our particular dystopia, shuddering both emotionally and sonically through the dead end of the Cold War all the way to us refreshing our preferred social media site when somebody dies. EMA is right there with us, too; this isn’t judgment, it’s just reporting from the front line. And it must be said, very few things from this decade ripped like “Cthulu” rips.

Ian Mathers

The Field — Looping State of Mind (Kompakt, 2011)

Looping State of Mind by The Field

On Looping State of Mind, Swedish producer Axel Willner builds his music with seamlessly jointed loops of synths, beats, guitars and voice to create warm cushions of sound that envelop the ears, nod the head and move the body. Willner is a master of texture and atmosphere, in lesser hands this may have produced mere comfort food but there is spice in the details that elevates this record as he accretes iotas of elements, withholding release to heighten anticipation. Although this is essentially deep house built on almost exclusively motorik 4/4 beats, Willner also plays with ambient, post-punk and shoegaze dynamics. From the slow piano dub of “Then It’s White,” which wouldn’t be out of place on a Labradford or Pan American album, to the ecstatic shuffling lope of “Arpeggiated Love” and “Is This Power” with its hint of a truncated Gang of Four-like bass riff, Looping State of Mind is a deeply satisfying smorgasbord of delicacies and a highlight of The Field’s four album output during the 2010s.

Andrew Forell

Gang Gang Dance — “Glass Jar” (4AD, 2011)

Instead of telling you my favorite album of the decade — I made my case for it the first year we moved to Tumblr, help yourself — it feels more fitting to tell you a story from my friend Will about my favorite piece of music from the last 10 years, a song that arrived just before the rise of streaming, which flattened “the album experience” to oppressive uniformity and rendered it an increasingly joyless, rudderless routine of force-fed jams and AI/VC-directed mixes catering to a listener that exists in username only. The first four seconds of “Glass Jar” told you everything you needed to know about what lie ahead, but here’s the kind of thing that could happen before everything was all the time:

I took eight hours of coursework in five weeks in order to get caught up on classes and be in a friend's wedding at the end of June. Finishing a week earlier than the usual summer session meant I had to give my end-of-class presentations and turn in my end-of-class papers in a single day, which in turn meant that I was well into the 60-70 hour range without sleep by the time I got to the airport for an early-morning flight. (Partly my fault for insisting that I needed to stay up and make a “wedding night” mix for the couple — real virgin bride included — and even more my fault for insisting that it be a single, perfectly crossfaded track). I was fuelled only by lingering adrenaline fumes and whatever herbal gunpowder shit I had been mixing with my coffee — piracetam, rhodiola, bacopa or DMAE depending on the combination we had at the time. At any rate, eyes burning, skull heavy, joints stiff with dry rot, I still had my wits enough to refuse the backscatter machine at the TSA checkpoint; instead of the usual begrudging pat-down, I got pulled into a separate room. Anyway, it was a weird psychic setback at that particular time, but nothing came of it. Having arrived at my gate, I popped on the iPod with a brand new set of studio headphones and finally got around to listening to the Gang Gang Dance I had downloaded months before. "Glass Jar," at that moment, was the most religious experience I’d had in four years. I was literally weeping with joy.

Point being: It is worth it to stay up for a few days just to listen to ‘Glass Jar’ the way it was meant to be heard.

Patrick Masterson

Heron Oblivion — Heron Oblivion (Sub Pop, 2016)

Heron Oblivion by Heron Oblivion

Heron Oblivion’s self-titled first album fused unholy guitar racket with a limpid serenity. It was loud and cathartic but also pure beauty, floating drummer Meg Baird’s unearthly vocals over a sound that was as turbulent and majestic as nature itself, now roiled in storm, now glistening with dewy clarity. The band convened four storied guitarists—Baird from Espers, Ethan Miller and Noel Harmonson from Comets on Fire and Charlie Sauffley—then relegated two of them to other instruments (Baird on drums and Miller on bass). The sound drew on the full flared wail and scree of Hendrix and Acid Mothers Temple, the misty romance of Pentangle and Fairport Convention. It was a record out of time and could have happened in any year from about 1963 onward, or it could have not happened at all. We were so glad it did at Dusted; Heron Oblivion’s eponymous was closer to a consensus pick than any record before or since, and if you want to define a decade, how about the careening riffs of “Oriar” breaking for Baird’s dream-like chants?

Jennifer Kelly

The Jacka — What Happened to the World (The Artist, 2014)

Probably the most prophetic rap album of the 2010s. The Jacka was the king of Bay rap since he started MOB movement. He was always generous with his time, and clique albums were pouring out of The Jacka and his disciples every few months. Even some of his own albums resembled at times collective efforts. This generosity made some of the albums unfocused and disjointed, yet what it really shows is that even in the times when dreams of collective living were abandoned The Jacka still had hopes for Utopia and collective struggles. It was about the riches, but he saw the riches in people first and foremost.

This final album before he was gunned down in the early 2014 is full of predictions about what’s going to happen to him. Maybe this explains why it’s focused as never before and even Jacka’s leaned-out voice has doomed overtones. This music is the only possible answer to the question the album’s title poses: everything is wrong with the world where artists are murdered over music.

Ray Garraty

John Maus — We Must Become Pitiless Censors of Ourselves (Upset The Rhythm, 2011)

We Must Become the Pitiless Censors of Ourselves by John Maus

Minnesota polymath John Maus’ quest for the perfect pop song found its apotheosis on his third album We Must Become Pitiless Censors of Ourselves in 2011. On the surface an homage to 1980s synth pop, Maus’ album reveals its depth with repeated listens. Over expertly constructed layers of vintage keyboards, Maus’ oft-stentorian baritone alternately intones and croons deceptively simple couplets that blur the line between sincerity and provocation. Lurking beneath the smooth surface Maus uses Baroque musical tropes that give the record a liturgical atmosphere that reinforces the Gregorian repetition of his lyrics. The tension between the radical ironic banality of the words and the deeply serious nature of the music and voice makes We Must Become Pitiless Censors of Ourselves an oddly compelling collection that interrogates the very notion of taste and serves an apt soundtrack to the post-truth age.

Andrew Forell

Joshua Abrams & Natural Information Society — Mandatory Reality (Eremite, 2019)

Mandatory Reality by Joshua Abrams & Natural Information Society

Any one of the albums that Joshua Abrams has made under the Natural Information Society banner could have made this list. While each has a particular character, they share common essences of sound and spirit. Abrams made his bones playing bass with Nicole Mitchell, Matana Roberts, Mike Reed, Fred Anderson, Chad Taylor, and many others, but in the Society his main instrument is the guimbri, a three-stringed bass lute from Morocco. He uses it to braid melody, groove, and tone into complex strands of sound that feel like they might never end. Mandatory Reality is the album where he delivers on the promise of that sound. Its centerpiece is “Finite,” a forty-minute long performance by an eight-person, all-acoustic version of Natural Information Society. It has become the main and often sole piece that the Society plays. Put the needle down and at first it sounds like you are hearing some ensemble that Don Cherry might have convened negotiating a lost Steve Reich composition. But as the music winds patiently onwards, strings, drums, horns, and harmonium rise in turn to the surface. These aren’t solos in the jazz sense so much as individual invitations for the audience to ease deeper into the sonic entirety. The music doesn’t end when the record does, but keeps manifesting with each performance. Mandatory Reality is a nodal point in an endless stream of sound that courses through the collective unconscious, periodically surfacing in order to engage new listeners and take them to the source.

Bill Meyer

Mansions — Doom Loop (Clifton Motel, 2013)

I knew nothing about Mansions when I first heard about this record; I can’t even remember how I heard about this record. But I liked the name of the album and the album art, so I listened to it. Sometimes the most important records in your decade have as much to do with you as with them. I’d been frantically looking for a job for nearly two years at that point, the severance and my access Ontario’s Employment Insurance program (basically, you pay in every paycheck, and then have ~8 months of support if you’re unemployed) had both ran out. I was living with a friend in Toronto sponsoring my American wife into the country (fun fact: they don’t care if you have an income when you do that), feeling the walls close in a little each day, sure I was going to wind up one of those kids who had to move back to the small town I’d left and a parent’s house. There were multiple days I’d send out 10+ applications and then walk around my neighbourhood blasting “Climbers” and “Out for Blood” through my earbuds, cueing up “La Dentista” again and dreaming of revenge… on what? Capitalism? There was no more proximate target in view. That’s not to say that Doom Loop is necessarily about being poor or about the shit hand my generation (I fit, just barely) got in the job market, or anything like that; but for me it is about the almost literal doom loop of that worst six months, and I still can’t listen to “The Economist” without my blood pressure spiking a little.

Ian Mathers

Protomartyr — Under Colour of Official Right (Hardly Art, 2014)

Under Color of Official Right by Protomartyr

By my count, Protomartyr made not one but four great albums in the 2010s, racking up a string of rhythmically unstoppable, intellectually challenging discs with absolute commitment and intent. I caught whiff of the band in 2012, while helping out with editing the old Dusted. Jon Treneff’s review of All Passion No Technique told a story of exhilarant discovery; I read it and immediately wanted in. The conversion event, though, came two years later, with the stupendous Under Color of Official Right, all Wire-y rampage and Fall-spittled-bile, a rattletrap construction of every sort of punk rock held together by the preening contempt of black-suited Joe Casey. Doug Mosurock reviewed it for us, concluding, “Poppier than expected, but still covered in burrs, and adeptly analyzing the pain and suffering of their city and this year’s edition of the society that judges it, Protomartyr has raised the bar high enough for any bands to follow, so high that most won’t even know it’s there.” Except here’s the thing: Protomartyr jumped that bar two more times this decade, and there’s no reason to believe that they won’t do it again. The industry turned on the kind of bands with four working class dudes who can play a while ago, but this is the band of the 2010s anyway.

Jennifer Kelly

Tau Ceti IV — Satan, You’re the God of This Age, but Your Reign Is Ending (Cold Vomit, 2018)

Satan, You're The God of This Age But Your Reign is Ending by Tau Ceti IV

This decade was full of takes on American primitive guitar. Some were pretty good, a few were great, many were forgettable, and then there was this overlooked gem from Jordan Darby of Uranium Orchard. Satan, You’re the God of This Age, but Your Reign Is Ending is an antidote to bland genre exercises. Like John Fahey, Darby has a distinct voice and style, as well as a sense of humor. Also like Fahey, his playing incorporates diverse influences in subtle but pronounced ways. American primitive itself isn’t a staid template. Though there are also plenty of beautiful, dare I say pastoral moments, which still stand out for being genuinely evocative.

Darby’s background in aggressive electric guitar music partly explains his approach. (Not sure if he’s the only ex-hardcore guy to go in this direction, but there can’t be many.) His playing is heavier than one might expect, but it feels natural, not like he’s just playing metal riffs on an acoustic guitar. But heaviness isn’t the only difference. Like his other projects, Satan is wonderfully off-kilter. This album’s strangeness isn’t reducible to component parts, but here are two representative examples: “The Wind Cries Mary” gradually encroaches on the last track, and throughout, the microphone picks up more string noise than most would consider tasteful. It all works, or at least it’s never boring.

Ethan Milititisky

Z-Ro — The Crown (Rap-a-Lot, 2014)

When singing in rap was outsourced to pop singers and Auto Tune, Z-Ro remained true to his self, singing even more than he ever did. He did his hooks and his verses himself, and no singing could harm his image as a hustler moonlighting as a rapper. He can’t be copied exactly because of his gift, to combine singing soft and rapping hard. It’s a sort of common wisdom that he recorded his best material in the previous decade, yet quite apart from hundreds of artists that continued to capitalize on their fame he re-invented himself all the past decade, making songs that didn’t sound like each other out of the same raw material. The Crown is a tough pick because since his post-prison output he made solid discs one after each other.

Ray Garraty

[holaafrica]

There’s even an Akan song that reminds us that asa boni nkum asaase – dirty dancing doesn’t hurt the earth so just do it. When she held my hand a little longer than was comfortable as we walked, I reminded myself that among Ghanaian men and women handholding does not necessarily indicate romantic interest. But when she asked the photographer to take a picture of us in the quintessential “prom pose” – her in front with her high heels, which made her five inches taller than me, my arms awkwardly wrapped around her waist, I had no more of a cultural context with which to make sense of what was happening. http://holaafrica.org/2017/09/10/we-do-not-want-her-kind-here-finding-queer-belonging-in-a-ghanaian-immigrant-community/

“We do not want her kind here” – Finding queer belonging in a Ghanaian immigrant community

By Anima Adjepong / @amankrado

“Is this one of your daughter’s friends?” I overheard a woman I did not know ask in a language I only vaguely understand. To the woman’s relief, her interlocutor, let’s call her Auntie Ama, responded no. “Good, because we do not want her kind here,” she said.

This exchange was about me and “my kind” was queer – gender nonconforming dread lock rasta failed embodiment of black masculinity. My apparent queerness, according to this woman who presumed to speak for a certain “we” was an unwanted presence at the Independence Day celebration in the community of Ghanaians in Texas. These words about “my kind” reiterated one way in which certain immigrant communities insist on their composition as middle-class Christian heterosexual people. This woman did not have to elaborate or speak in a language I had a better grasp of for me to get it. My presence at this celebration was indeed a queer presence. Tonight it was bringing out the ghosts of other people’s suppressed sexual desires. But because queerness was written on my body, it was “my kind” that could be singled out and ejected.

For about an hour before that exchange I had been trying to makes sense of what was going on between Auntie Ama and me. She seemed to sidle up a little too close when she pulled me out of my seat to dance with her; but some people like to dirty dance so I tried to make nothing of it. There’s even an Akan song that reminds us that asa boni nkum asaase – dirty dancing doesn’t hurt the earth so just do it. When she held my hand a little longer than was comfortable as we walked, I reminded myself that among Ghanaian men and women handholding does not necessarily indicate romantic interest. But when she asked the photographer to take a picture of us in the quintessential “prom pose” – her in front with her high heels, which made her five inches taller than me, my arms awkwardly wrapped around her waist, I had no more of a cultural context with which to make sense of what was happening. It seemed to me that Auntie Ama was differently invested in our evening together than I was. At the end of the night she walked me to my car and tried to kiss me on the lips. At that point, there was no honest interpretation that would deem our interactions non-sexual.

Despite this turn of events, it was my body and my presence that was marked as unwanted. After all, Auntie Ama was a respected member of the community. That evening, she wore the colorful formal kaba and slit skirt appropriate for a woman approaching fifty. Her hair was tightly cornrowed and piled on top of her head, her make-up subtly highlighting her cheekbones and her eyebrows were sharply arched. I on the other hand, in my black jeans, red Nike Jordan’s and plaid button-down shirt, my shoulder length locs pulled back in a ponytail, looked at best like a teenage boy and at worst like a dyke. They did not want my kind here.

I will admit that until Auntie Ama tried to kiss me, I had considered the whole affair with distanced amusement. To breach the ambiguity of the evening by attempting to kiss me on the lips, was to break the code of silence that characterizes same-sex sexuality among Ghanaians. Ghanaian sexuality scholar Serena Dankwa has suggested that this “silent trade” in subtle and ambiguous gestures allows for women to fulfill their desires for same-sex sexual experiences in ways that avoid public attention and the castigation that may come with it. Additionally, as she points out, there is a way in which this silence can cause unequal and even dangerous relationships between women. In my case, with Auntie Ama, the ambiguity of her actions offered no room for me to wholly consent to or refuse her advances. My obvious queerness may have emboldened her to act on her desires. But for me, that obvious queerness meant that my place in the community was not without contention – they “did not want my kind here.”

Admittedly, one woman’s claims to speaking for the collective are simply that – one woman’s claims. However, when an immigrant community (or any community for that matter) claims middle-class Christian heterosexuality as its defining characteristic, people must make difficult decision in order to find belonging and maintain social ties. Unfortunately, this definition of who makes up the Ghanaian community can mean that “my kind”, visibly queer people (however that may be determined), as well as not so visibly queer people who have same-sex sexual desires, are either aggressively excluded from the community or have to resort to a silent painful trade in order to find belonging.

Submit your writing, photos or anything else to HOLAA! email: holaafricaonline@gmail.com

*leave a comment on the post, you can write it under a different name and your email will not be published.*

For another awesome piece from Anima on sexuality and the Ghanaian context check out this piece Doing Supi or something else to be. Or this on on being queer and Ghanaian and in love. 

[gyakutengagotoku]

GSvsAA - Dual Destinies - Character Profiles

In line with the AJ one, here’s the next in the line up. Check the master post more more of the GSvsAA translation project.

It’s worth noting that while Mr. Takumi is known to have some very obvious or random inspirations for his name puns, there are times when it’s tricky to figure out because of his choice of punny origins. Meanwhile, Mr. Yamazaki & co. tend to follow suit with the obvious, but their puns are often very straightforward and easy to deduce. Sometimes, a name has multiple layers of puns and chances are good that plenty of those puns make their way into the character’s design.

I don’t think it’s lazy design, since simplifying a character’s role in a plot means more care can be taken for the actual mystery, but sometimes it leaves something about the character to be desired. Then again, there are plenty of characters from the first four games in the series that aren’t so memorable.

I’m just obsessed with this series so I know them all. Ha.

Edit: SoJ profiles posted.

Spoilers below.

Main cast

Athena Cykes - Kidzuki Kokone (希月 心音) kidzuki means “awareness” (kinda following how Trucy is named Minuki) and the second kanji in her surname is “moon”. The kanji in her given name, when pronounced shin’on, means “heartbeat”. It can also be translated literally as “heart sound” to refer to her ability to hear people’s voices of their hearts.

Simon Blackquill - Yuugami Jin (夕神 迅) yugami means “distortion” or “twist”, referring to his epithet, “The Twisted Samurai”. The kanji form a phrase meaning “god of dusk”. jin, written as 刃, is “blade”; while the kanji in his name means “swift”. It’s analogous to Edgeworth’s name, Mitsurugi, which is the name of a noble blade of legend. Trivia: He refers to the chief in person using the term danna, a title reserved for Lords and noblemen back during the days of samurai. Since this couldn’t be replicated in English without sounding drastically out of place, it’s been tamed down to a plain “sir”. (Imo, he could very well have gone with “sire” and it’d be just the right amount of tradition and respect, but I guess it doesn’t quite sound Japanese enough.) Incidentally, Taka is Gin, which can mean “silver”, or possibly like the English word (but it’s pronounced with a hard G).

Bobby Fulbright - Ban Gouzou (番 轟三) The ban in his name may refer to a “guard”, though being written as 万 means “many”. Combined with his first name, which consists of “booming” and “three” (like in “two’s company, three’s a crowd”), you get a whole lot of bombastic in one guy. Trivia: His catchphrase is shouting “JUSTICE!!!” in English at the top of his lungs and laughing triumphantly. Imo, the localization's “In Justice We Trust!” has a certain nuance to it that really makes it pop when you realize just who he is, though.

Yep, that’s it. That’s the game. These three right here.

Episode 1

Gaspen Payne - Auchi Fumitake (亜内 文武) “Auchi” is simply “ouch”. His first name is the same as his brother’s but flipped. fumi (文) is “literature”; take (武) is “martial”. I suppose both of them are warriors of words, but I really think their parents the devs just ran out of ideas.

Juniper Woods - Morizumi Shinobu (森澄 しのぶ) mori (森) is “forest” or “woods”; shinobu means “to hide”. Meanwhile, the kanji for zumi (澄) used in the verb sumasu becomes “to look prim” or “to listen carefully”. These two definitions better relate to her from Episode 3, though. Trivia: In the Japanese version of this episode, the crime scene shows in English letters: “S I N O B U”. Since Japanese is typed using romaji, し can be either shi or si. Either way, it’s still pronounced the same. If it weren’t obvious enough from the intro, this spelling would have easily given away the real killer.

Ted Tonate - Barashima Shingo (馬等島 晋吾) barasu can mean a few things: “to expose”, “to take apart”, or “to kill”. He already covers the latter two in the first case, but the first definition doesn’t quite play in until the last one. The last syllable of his first name ties into his first name to make mashingo, or “machine language”; hence the keyboard.

Candice Arme - Kaku Hozumi (賀来 ほずみ) Her full name can be written as 確保済み, meaning “in custody”. kaku may refer to “square”/”cube”; probably referring to how she’s been hit. Her surname and the first syllable of her first name make kakuho, or “guarantee”, which seems to play into her English name.

Edit: Well, I totally screwed up this entry. My bad.

Episode 2

Jinxie Tenma - Tenma Yumemi (天馬 ゆめみ) Her surname as written here refers to the “heavenly horse” Pegasus. yumemiru means “to dream”. More on Tenma below.

Damian Tenma - Tenma Deemon (天馬 出右衛門) His first name comes from “demon”. Tenma, which is also the name of the village, is written as 天魔. It refers to the yokai of the Buddhist sixth heaven in the realm of desire who haunts people and deceives them into avoiding good. According to legend, Tenma tried (and ultimately failed) to lure the young Siddhartha away from enlightenment with earthly desires. Tenma Taro from this game is based on this Tenma. In Japanese folklore, he's described to have a bird-like appearance, hence we have jangly-cackling-bird-demon. 

The Great Nine-Tails - Great Kyuubi (グレート 九尾) He’s based on the Nine-tailed fox of Japanese legend, a yokai of immense power and influence and sometimes disastrous consequences. You know the one.

Rex Kyubi - Kyuubi Ginji (九尾 銀次) His last name is the same as the Nine-Tails. The gin (銀) in his name refers to his silver hair and to the Nine-tailed fox of legend, which is often portrayed as silver. ginjiru also means “to chant” or “to recite”.

Phineas Filch - Zeniarai Kumabee (銭洗 熊兵衛) zeni, as written above, is “money”. (This is what Capcom’s fictional currency zenny is based on.) His last name is a reference to the azukiarai, “The Bean Washer”, a yokai who resembles a small boy that keeps people up at night with the sound of washing beans. Filch here claims that he’s the grandson of an infamous thief who once kept people up by the sounds of his money-washing. His first name is made of bears: kuma (熊) and “bear”; yet he’s frequently called a tanuki instead, especially for his swindling ways.

Edit: Got that the other way around.

Florent L’Belle - Biyouin Shuuichi (美葉院 秀一) biyouin is “beauty parlor” and shuuichinichi is “once a week”. The kanji in his first name come to “excellence” and “[number] one”.

Episode 3

Aristotle Means - Ichiro Shinji (一路 真二) The kanji in his name together mean “one road, two truths”. ichiro, with the same kanji, means “straight” or “directly”, and shinjiru means “to believe”.

Constance Courte - Michiba Masayo (道葉 正世) michibata is “roadside” and masa (正) is “right” or “just”, to parallel Means’ name above.

Hugh O’Conner - Shizuya Rei (静矢 零) His name is most likely picked for the convenience of the recording that’s played during trial. In Japanese, the muffled recording sounds like it’s saying “Koroshite yare!”, which is Japanese for “I’ll kill you!” Thanks to Athena’s efforts, she reveals it’s actually supposed to say “Kora! Shizuya Rei!”, or a scolding “Hey! Shizuya Rei!” The kanji of his last name are “quiet” and “arrow”. His first name can also mean “zero”.

Edit: This one I made a mistake due to mistaken memory. It’s actually kinda hard to make out the te sound in the recording, so I assumed it was excluded.

Robin Newman - Atsui Chishio (厚井 知潮) atsui is “hot”; it can also mean “hot-tempered” or “passionate”. chishio is “blood circulation”, usually referring to hot-headedness. It also doubles over as a gender-ambiguous name.

Myriam Scuttlebutt - Uwasa Atsume (宇和佐 集芽) uwasa is “rumor” and atsumeru is “to gather”; thus, her full name comes to “gather gossip”. Trivia: Producer Eshiro is a huge MGS fan; hence Myriam’s M.O. of traveling under the cover of a box.

Episode 4-5

Solomon Starbuck - Hoshinari Taiyou (星成 太陽) His name comes from the phrase “hoshi ni naritai yo”, which means “I wish to become a star”. taiyou, as written above, means “sun”.

Clay Terran - Aoi Daichi (葵 大地) aoi is the color “blue”. daichi is “ground” or “earth”; also refers to the planet itself. His relative calm and the color blue was chosen specifically to pair with Apollo’s bright and passionate red. (In fact, it may very well have been the localization’s choice to name Odoroki as Apollo that led to the development of this game’s space theme. I don’t remember if it was mentioned in an interview or not, but I’m sure it played some role.)

Yuri Cosmos - Oogawara Uchuu (大河原 有忠) His last name means “bank of the great river”, which is a reference to the Milky Way. It’s known as “The Great River” in several cultures, including Japanese. uchuu, written as 宇宙, means “space” or “universe”.

Aura Blackquill - Yuugami Kaguya (夕神 かぐや) Kaguya is a reference to a famous Japanese folktale from the 10th century, Tale of the Bamboo Cutter. The main character’s name is Kaguya-hime, or Princess Kaguya, who was one of a mysterious people living on the Moon but was sent down to Earth and raised by an old bamboo cutter. I’m not too sure if this tale inspired her English name, but when Princess Kaguya was discovered as a baby, she was described to be the size of a thumb and glowing with brilliant light. The Moon people were weird. (I can also draw the parallel to Simon’s Taka, since Aura may come from the Latin root aurum for “gold”.)

Ponco & Clonco - Ponko & Ponta (ポンコ＆ポンタ) ko and ta are common endings to boys’ and girls’ names, respectively. Aura also likes to call Clonco “Ponkotsu”, referring both to how he’s basically “Ponco #2″ and ponkotsu, “junk”.

Metis Cykes - Kidzuki Mari (希月 真理) Her first name can also be pronounced shinri, meaning “truth”. In turn, shinri, when written as 心理, means “psychology”.

DLC Episode

Sasha Buckler - Umino Shouko (羽美野 翔子) umi is “sea”, and shouko, written as 証拠, is “evidence”. Thus, her full name becomes “evidence from the sea”. The first kanji in both first and last name have to do with “feathers” and “flight”. She’s quite a flighty personality for sure.

Ora "Orla" Shipley - Arafune Elle / Ale (荒船エル / エール) Her last name is made of the kanji for “wild” and “ship”. Her name is Ale, as a shortened form of “whale”, but it doubles as the alcoholic drink too. Actually, it triples as “air”, to complement her trainer. Her supposed real name is actually her sister’s name, and it seems it was just picked to sound similar.

Jack Shipley - Arafune Ryouji (荒船 良治) ryouji as 療治 means “treatment”/“cure”, possibly referring to how he saved two precious orcas and returned them to health.

Norma DePlume - Uratori Reika (浦鳥 麗華) uratori refers to “gathering evidence” as for a news story. reika as 冷夏 becomes “cool summer”. It can even be written as 零下 to mean "sub-zero". She’s quite the contrast to the rest of the sunny crew.

Edit: Note to self: simplify.

Marlon Rimes - Itsuka Ikuya (伊塚 育也) itsuka means “someday”; the kanji iku (育) means “raise”, as in pets or children. In other words, he’ll “become a real trainer someday”. His name may have been chosen for its easy rhyme as well.

Rifle (ライフル) She was named for her dangerous temper, and probably as a shout-out to Mr. Takumi’s naming of Missile. Her daughter Sniper also keeps the same name.

Herman Crab - Sugomori Gaku (巣古森 学) His last name may be referring to su-komori, or “nest-babysitter”, since he keeps li’l Sniper up there. Even the first kanji in his last name is the right one for “nest”. gaku as above is “learning” or “study of” a subject.

Azura Summers - Natsukaze Suzumi (夏風 邪涼海) natsukaze means “a summer cold”, but it can also literally mean “summer wind”. It was picked probably as a stark contrast to Norma’s Japanese name. suzumi is “cooling off”, like outdoors in the breeze.

[poetryofchrist]

Assumptions

This has been written over several days while working on moving an office and Exodus 29 (to come soon) and getting a rats nest and dead babies and shredded mother out of my car. (Ugh). It may be a bit rambling. To add or infer prepositions, that is one question among many. Is something in apposition, or is a preposition implied by the verb when the preposition is lacking the the text? Every jot and tittle in the translation is an interpretation according to the biases of the method and the executioner of the text. (Ha, ha, ha - that was a joke, for surely, like the young bull, the text is also butchered by the translator.) It is clear in verse Exodus 29:11 for instance that there is no preposition in the text of the second colon, and there is no preposition implied by the verb that would carry over past the caesura to the second colon. Is then the bull = the door? Why not? Then another sacrifice can have the I am the door attributed to him by inference. וְשָׁחַטְתָּ֥ אֶת־הַפָּ֖ר לִפְנֵ֣י יְהוָ֑ה פֶּ֖תַח אֹ֥הֶל מוֹעֵֽד And you will butcher the young bull in the presence of Yahweh, the door of the tent of engagement. So what are my assumptions? Personally, I have been a part of Anglican Christian tradition in Canada as a choral musician since I was 8 years old. This began in 1953-54 in a brutal school modeled on all the worst implications of the King James translation. I did learn some music. But translations have been used to justify all sorts of egregious wrong and hurtful behaviour. Incidentally, hurt, רע, is derived from evil, רעע, so wherever the Hebrew is רע I have for some random reason, not necessarily made its root רעע. So where I have evil, you could substitute harm, hurt without compromise.  Harm and hurt are evil, and evil is done when harm or hurt are done. The word רעה is ambiguous and may resolve to a number of different roots and glosses. Here are the instances so far. Even friend and shepherd can be confused. רע harm(1), hurt(4), hurting(1), thought(1) רעה grazes(1), shepherd(11), tend(1), tending(1), tends(1) רעע evil(69) Note how often evil occurs in this form. רעה. The word for evil never occurs in its root form. There is too much data to see easily, but I was wondering how often I have resolved the word to a form of evil or injury rather than harm or hurt. Note the ambiguity of the Hebrew word by itself. Also I see that I have resolved רע to רעע more often than not. Why even call something a tri-literal root when it never occurs? It's a geminate. And it has to do with a linguistic lengthening of sound. Since it rarely (if ever) occurs with a double ayin I will let it stand but remove the distinction between these two, because my decisions are arbitrary.

Root Word Form (may be with prefix) My Glosses with prepositions and pronouns stripped רעע רע bad(1), evil(89), injury(2) רע רע dejected(2), dejection(2), harm(1), hurtful(1), thought(2) רעע מּרע evil(14) רעע בּרע evil(3) רעע לרע evil(3) רעה כּרע friend(1) רעה בּרע friend(1) רעה רע friend(1) רע בּרע grimace(1), harm(1) רע לרע hurt(2) רע מּרע hurtful(4)

What though do I know about language that I should undertake such a project as this? I don't know the answer to this question, but I assume that language has some power in it, and I wish to examine it with a degree of shrewdness (aka wisdom). I expect to be surprised. And its easy to become discouraged. But, hey, you learn as you go and you correct what you can. I assume the earliest writers made creative use of language, metaphor, play, coinage, and so on. Story informs more than regulation. But I read with rather fixed rules that are mediated by algorithms. So I am regulating the language I use in an odd way. I avoid using the same English gloss for two different Hebrew roots. I have just over 220 exceptions, but I know what they are if they haven't escaped the software net that I have written. I do not know if language and story work this way but so far I have not been stymied, but I have often been discouraged. I am reducing the number of different roots in the standard Hebrew glossaries. I may find based on word forms and usage that I can tease out the distinctions again when the reduced glossary is complete. I also hope to see word families emerge. What about religious assumptions? Do I have to be some type of Christian, hold some class of views on atonement or penal substitution or whatever? Emphatically not. While I know the work of Jesus and I take incarnation seriously, I am appalled by the history of Christendom and its prejudice against its own roots. It is steeped in the evil we call abuse of power. Having been weighed in the balance and been found wanting, it has lost its authority. I still hear sermons, but most of them are pretty hard to take. What about marriage of divorced persons? Or female-male equality? Or gay-straight relations? Funny how all these contemporary problems are related to sex.  And I thought the 19th century was prudish. Does sex and gender inform my translation? Yes. The screen writer of a relatively recent mystery (Grantchester season 2) joked that God was not interested in what goes on in the bedroom (in much less polite language). I concur with Pierre Elliot Trudeau, who quipped that 'the state has no business in the bedrooms of the nation', but such cannot be so quipped of God. One must be careful of some words in a sentence. Whatever one's tradition, it is clear that the body is in the presence of a holy mystery, not a comedic one (though context is everything). While the state has no business in some ways, violence, exploitation, and hurt are its business and they frequently accompany this issue. My short conclusion is that most religious traditions are ambiguous, confused, and often wrong. So where are our deep questions that go beyond regulation, necessary though that may be? So if you must have a name for my opinions, I am egalitarian with respect to my humanity. I am opposed to what hurts another. Faithfulness finds a binding that heals rather than separates. This leaves me with plenty of difficulty. If you have read my e-novel, Seen from the Street, you will find my biases plain. (I have little financial interest to speak of with this e-book. I gave it to an unemployed Brahman priest in India. He pays me if he sees fit. Whether it is well written or not, I have written what I thought was my truth in it.) Having with anguish and pain put Christendom to one side, (but I have not put aside Jesus or his work, and how he and his work relate to the Old Testament), what other religious assumptions are there? Why is this work of literature in the Biblical canon so important for three religious traditions? What other book do we read this way? Even if I read critically, I am still faced with the enormous love exhibited by the copyists. Why would anyone treat a text with such diligence and tenderness over such an extended time-period? But equally, if we really want to be right, we have to do more than defer to a text. What about political assumptions? I have no bias toward the divine right of monarchs. We are all sovereign, but what will we do with such a responsibility? Where will we get the power to live as we ought? And what does such an ethical word do to us? It's not a matter of morality but of justice, and of care, as I have noted before. How can we govern ourselves with care for others and with justice? The Psalms promise that Yahweh will judge us accordingly and it is supposed to be and is good news. Seeking such equity is a serious hope. It is not achieved by exploitation, enforced conformity, or violence. God help us. from Blogger http://ift.tt/2ujwLvF via IFTTT