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moonbeamsung · 3 years

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Sink or Swim

You plunged deep into an ocean of love for Huang Renjun, the boy who had already fallen for the sea itself.

member: renjun

au: sailor!renjun x gn!reader

word count: 2.7k

genre: angst, fluff, slightly dystopian

warnings: character death/drowning, mentions of water (one passing mention of a typhoon and a very heavy focus on the ocean), light profanity

recommended song: when i was older by billie eilish

author’s note: Not only did the lyrics to the above song inspire this fic, but so did the general mood and sound of it :) I would recommend listening while you read, since I think it really adds to the atmosphere. My creativity took quite a while to cooperate on this one but I like how it turned out and hope you do as well, feedback is highly appreciated as always. Thanks to @astroboy-lele for her help beta-reading this (like 2 hours ago), and enjoy!

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kyuwoyo @rvse-hvvck @nakamotocore @kisshim @hunjins

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct @k-dinernet

The sleepy little fishing village you call home seems to sigh with the tides, waves lapping at the shore in a rhythm not unlike that of steady breaths. It’s the world’s way of inhaling the salty air, sometimes laced with the pungent scent of a fresh catch.

The sport itself is a life force here, the key to any sort of contact with the rest of civilization. Without it, the hill that the small town is nestled into might just swallow up the dozens of small brick buildings, reducing them to nothing but a memory. The murky waters would carry minuscule traces of its existence far and wide, but not even a name could break the surface.

Unfortunately, the village’s dependence on exporting fish leaves little room for the personal aspirations of its residents. At some point in your life, you’ll be called to assist with a certain aspect of the product’s distribution. The elders in charge find ways for even the most unskilled of hand and mind to participate, but they always save the hardest work for those who were born into it: the sailing families.

Quite literally, a love of the sea is in Huang Renjun’s blood.

His great-grandfather was around to see the beginnings of the seaside community, and he became the most famous fisherman known to the village by returning to the docks with large nets in tow, just bursting with sharp fins and thrashing tails. Those were the glory days, and generations later, the Huangs want their young son to follow in his footsteps, to become just as well-known for legendary angling expeditions.

But... he’s not really interested.

He would much rather take to the waves in a boat and chase the horizon, not bothering with casting a net or even a rod. To him, the ocean air is beyond suffocating, like a poison meant to expel any wanderlust from his lungs, to rip it from his soul. Renjun is a fiery spirit, and not even the crashing, slate-colored waters can dampen the adventurous spark burning bright and warm inside of him. It would take more than a typhoon to do so.

You admire that about him, too. How he holds a strong but steady resistance to the traditions of the village, the limited and meager expanse of the world that you’ve both lived in—no, been confined to—all your life.

Just think of the endless possibilities that await, beyond the hazy fog obscuring the fine line between land and sea. The faint shapes that loom in the distance, perhaps a trick of the eye but perhaps another sign of life besides you, seem so close but are still just out of your reach, teasing you both with what could lie outside this languid, ashen realm. Your heart races at the mere notion of such a thing.

The waves are impossibly blue when their image is reflected in Renjun’s dark eyes; you notice this one dreary afternoon as you let your feet dangle above the gentle ripples, sitting at the edge of one of the many docks that tangle through a mess of sailboats and fishing gear. The burnt orange of his threaded sweater stands out against the rest of the scenery, so monochromatic you sometimes swear the world is black and white.

He’s a splash of color, a splash of adventure and determination among a colorless mass of villagers who wouldn’t trade the way things are right now for anything. The dull, scuffed toes of his boots drag along the wooden planks as he trudges towards you, settling down at your side with a small gust of wind. Both anticipating and dreading the impending day when his father would teach him how to take to the seas and steer the boat that’s run in his family for generations, Renjun finds himself at the humble and rickety marina often. Anticipating because that knowledge would enable him to change the course of his own life on his own terms, and dreading because he knew of the harsh disapproval those actions would receive.

But still, Renjun stays right there on the dock next to you, diving past the shallows of his conscious mind and into the darkest, deepest abyss of his own thoughts, letting them bubble and sputter up and puff into the air like sea spray. If both your hearts are oceans of their own, they collide in this moment, as his ambitions and aspirations spill over into yours and settle on the seabed below. He’s chosen you to entrust these secrets with. You, the only other resident of the village with a familiar restlessness in your eyes when the sun disappears below the distant horizon, gaze wistful and longing to do the same.

And as if they’re the precious riches of a mythical swashbuckling pirate, you keep them there, each word a golden coin or sparkling gem hidden away in a long-lost treasure chest. The twilight sky that evening is the most vivid you’ve ever seen it, and daylight is fading fast by the time Renjun finishes telling you everything.

“I never knew there was someone who felt the same way I did about all this.”

The realization sets in late, just as the weathered surface you’re both perched on sways in the wind. You fear for a second that you might slip forward into the icy water; that’s how strong the breeze whipping through the air around you feels. That, or it’s due to the sheer force from your heart as it swells at finally meeting someone you’ve admired from afar for what feels like an eternity, ever since you understood what life was like and what it meant for you here.

Sure, Renjun’s grandfather may have been well-known in the past for one reason, but to you, Renjun is creating a legacy of his own for another, one of more than just adolescent rebellion and defiance. It’s one of undoubtable self-awareness, of an adamant refusal to conform to an existence he hadn’t chosen, and he’s finding a way to alter what he’s been seemingly destined for all his life.

“Me neither,” you shake your head, still in a small fraction of euphoric disbelief. “All that’s left to do now is stow away on a ship together in the dead of night, I suppose.” The comment is joking, but he takes it more seriously than you anticipated. The cloudy sky above brightens with his eyes.

You convene in shadowy alleys when no one’s looking, wasting away the hours as you mutually yearn for just a sliver of knowledge of the unknown, enthralled by the waves in the distance and what lies below and above and beside. Renjun sometimes whisks you away to a steep overlook that provides a panoramic view of the beach, the powdery sand so far beneath your bare feet gray enough to pass for finely packed pebbles. You find yourself melting into his embrace like the sea melts into the sky, blurring the already thin lines between air and water and between friendship and love. The way his fingers encircle your wrist with a curl like that of a cresting wave is telling enough on its own. His heart belongs to two bodies now.

You can’t help but notice all the similarities he bears to the element you’ve never lived a day of your life without seeing, without hearing the undulations of, without smelling or tasting the salty tang it brings to the air. Always moving, a force to be reckoned with, and evidently a possessor of the ability to travel far and wide on even the most fleeting of whims.

He’s utterly himself around the water, too. You’re almost positive he could effortlessly duck beneath the surface, take a breath, and his lungs would drink it in as if it was air. The only place he doesn’t feel like drowning is below the waves.

“Look!” Renjun points out an unfamiliar vessel tied down at the far end of the pier one day, sails torn in jagged lines as if they had been slashed by a larger-than-life creature. Upon closer examination, you find that the wooden bow of the sailboat is splintering and the windows into the cabin are shattered. The name carved into the hull is simply too faded for you to decipher the letters.

“This boat must’ve gone through hell and back,” you comment, your response delayed like an echo. “Who do you think it belongs to, anyway?”

He’s lost within a symphony of thoughts before he answers, “No one.”

Both incredulous and doubtful, you whip around to meet Renjun’s assured gaze. “No one ever comes and no one ever goes, it’s that simple. These same boats have been docked for years. They’ve belonged to the same families one decade after another.” The boy sighs, scanning the horizon for anything that might appear the slightest bit unusual. “The real question is where it came from.”

You have no answer for him.

“Regardless,” he speaks up again, quite matter of factly, “It’s ours now.”

“Ours?”

“Yes, ours. You said you’d sail away with me, right?”

It certainly isn’t the aspiration you would have envisioned yourself pursuing. You could have chosen to quietly obey, to live and work exactly as you were told by a community so rigid that you felt frozen to the bone. Not like the pleasant chill of the ocean, rather a restrictive pair of icy shackles, ever-tightening around your limbs and subduing your mutinous thoughts. But here you are, longing for a little something more both in life and with the only person that understands your heart’s deepest desires like they’re his own. And at their core, they are.

Without fear, Renjun takes a confident stride onto the boat’s deck, turning back to you and offering his hand as you mimic the action. “What are you waiting for?” He asks, eyes twinkling.

A warm thrill courses through your veins, growing hotter with each small preparation you make towards your inevitable departure. It’s an affair of many weeks, but at last you’ve gathered all of the necessary supplies and courage to carry out your plan.

The day finally comes, the day you’ll spring into action and take hold of your futures by the ropes, no one but yourselves telling you how or where to steer.

On the most moonlit night you’ve ever been alive to witness, you and Renjun both slip out from underneath your fraying comforters, unbeknownst to the rest of your households. Save for your two restless souls, the entire village is sound asleep, the unceasing lullaby of the tides casting its steadfast spell on bodies and minds like clockwork. Wooden floors so hollow and dusty that they barely creak under your weight, you successfully glide out your respective front doors in silence like translucent spirits.

No one else in the village had even acknowledged the foreign ship’s presence, but this shouldn’t surprise you, not in the slightest. The thick, colorless fog of life had long since settled around the shoulders of anyone and everyone who allowed it to, ensnaring them in a mind-numbing, monotonous routine. It blocks out the sun and the rain, the light and the darkness. It’s all so sickeningly the same. Empty eyes can’t pay any mind to their surroundings. Meanwhile, yours are full of hope, the brightest in the land.

In the distance, Renjun appears as vibrant and sprightly as ever. His form cascades down a flight of stone steps, leading from the sheer hills clustered with homes onto sea-level ground, and glides over the small dunes of sand separating you. He reaches the edge of the beach and your side a minute later, the thump of his heart keeping time with the tides. A nod, and you’re sprinting towards the docks, fingers trembling in excited anticipation.

It isn’t until after you’ve clumsily set sail that you see the ominous shadows of dark clouds laid out ahead, directly in your path. Even in the dead of night, a flash of distant lightning illuminates the world in a harshly jagged blaze for as far as the eye can see, as it strikes some unknown location out in front of the sailboat.

You’re certain the repairs you’ve spent days and nights working on with Renjun will be enough to keep the ship intact, despite the weather you’re sure to endure if you continue on this route. So you press on, missing the apprehension furrowing his eyebrows.

But because every force of nature has decided to convene against you both for reasons eternally unknown, the harsh winds weave their way in between the threads your careful hands had stitched on the canvas, meant to catch the breeze but being torn apart by it instead. Suddenly you’re struggling to hold on to your balance and you feel as flimsy as a leaf in a blustering current of cold, crisp wind.

Perhaps you should have practiced first. Renjun had not yet received a single ounce of training from his experienced father, and it was far from wise to leave the only life you’ve ever known without any knowledge of how to get to your next one. He’s trying to hide his panic now, wavering between the steering controls and warily glancing up at the gloomy midnight sky. One more flash of lightning, and all goes awry, all at once.

The water around you surges, as if physically drawn to the heavens, and more falls from above. Raindrops pelt down onto your arms and soak your hair, drenching the sails and filling the shallow hull almost instantly. Wave after towering wave crashes down, hard, and you’re no longer certain which way is up. About to lose your footing, you feel a pair of arms wrap around your middle like the snug hold of a life preserver.

Before all vitality can be lost and smothered by the raging ocean, a desperate Renjun holds fast to you, your thin clothes clinging to the damp skin of his hands. The storm is just too much, and there’s no way you’ll see the journey through like you had hoped. It’s difficult, excruciating even, to accept, and even more difficult for Renjun to let go of you like this. He’ll fight until the end, fight the fates and the invisible forces that life entails to hold you for just a few more seconds.

He won’t be able to live with himself, even in whatever afterlife may or may not come after the darkness he already sees, feels closing in on him, if he doesn’t sacrifice his last breath for a final moment of bliss, of you.

The sensation of Renjun’s wan lips pressing into yours overwhelms and surpasses all others, his palms tracing the edges of your figure like the tides trace the sandy shore. Urgently he draws you close up against him, trying his best to shield you from the inescapable terror of the sea. A lifetime’s worth of energy and emotion and passion is expended, making up for all the time in the world he wouldn’t and couldn’t have. The tang of saltwater meets your tongue, and you’re not sure if it’s the taste of him or of the ocean.

A weak tug on your palpitating heart, an internal scream in your ringing ears tells you that you should resent him for this, for propelling you forward in your apparently unachievable fantasies of living the life you wanted for yourself. But you don’t, you can’t. It’s no one’s fault, really. With this thought, a peaceful stillness washes over you amidst the chaos, and your awareness of the boy in your embrace fades steadily, slowly, then rapidly. Reality is getting paler, more black and white than ever, and you’re sinking further and further down towards the ocean floor miles below. The faint light of the moon becomes distorted from underneath the water, blurring with your failing vision. It all slips away, and then there’s nothing.

It’s a shame no one in the village takes notice of the two extra stars that blink into existence on that moonlit night, but yours and Renjun’s souls take their place among the rest, both a warning and a calling to anyone who dared attempt what you did. Two guiding lights pointing any other dreamers towards the hope of a better, brighter future.

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namimashi · 3 years

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𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐲𝐮'𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬:

In general, he's a person who values perfectionism and small details, especially when it comes to his own work or himself. He tends to be quite self-demanding, he doesn't like to do things poorly or insufficiently worked. He has an eye for mistakes and knows exactly how to do things efficiently, plus he has a great sense of duty and responsibility. Many times reserved at the beginning but with a beautiful heart. He values self-discipline and the use of reason.

Not only does he value reason, but he uses it a lot in his everyday life, especially when it comes to important decisions. Junkyu is a person who values objectivity and tends to take it into account in the face of any adversity in his life. He likes to look deeply at the two sides of a coin, so he can often become indecisive when having to decide. He sees so many possibilities that he stagnates but it's precisely necessary for him because he seeks balance on the look of a situation.

Many times he tends to be the peace maker, especially since he doesn't like fights, and is very good at giving an objective point of view without having to defend someone in particular. He also tends to guard his opinion a little to please others, also to not generate a conflict because he really doesn't enjoy them. Although he likes debates, he often prefers to avoid them as well. But he's someone who definitely fights for his ideals and defends them. His sense of justice is admirable.

He's also someone who interacts with grace and kindness, tends to try to please others above all else and it will probably hurt him if someone has a bad impression of him. He has many manners and acts with respect, it's something that he always keeps in mind when he interacts. He also loves harmony and balance, not only in opinions and other life situations, but also in relationships. He will always seek to return what he receives.

On the other hand, he has a lot of creative potential. He knows how to value aesthetics and style, even if it's diverse, he was simply born with that sensitivity towards art. He knows how to find exactly the balance in his own creativity and expressiveness through details, that's why his art tends to be so pleasant for others. He probably takes every one of his shortcomings very much into account and he's always trying to fix them.

But it's not enough for him to simply express himself and get his creativity out, but he also loves being able to stand out because of that, so he puts great attention and effort in always improving. He's a person with a lot of passion for what he loves and wants, also with a lot of will to get what he wants. The desire to stand out won't just be something he wants, but he will do everything possible to achieve it. He definitely loves people to flatter him sincerely.

Although he may not notice it so much, he radiates self-confidence and courage wherever he goes. Junkyu is also a person who's proud of each of his accomplishments.

Note: since we don't know his birth time and therefore neither his moon sign, it's not possible to know what his emotional world is like :(

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡:

Junkyu is a pretty stable person, his personality isn't too complex and it's quite easy to get along with him. He's someone who simply radiates inner harmony for the people around him.

He has a very introspective mind, he tends to analyze himself often and to be aware of many things about himself, both good and bad. He's very observant not only with himself, but also with those around him, he likes to evaluate and be evaluated.

He definitely doesn't like to talk for the sake of talking and prefers to take his time thinking things over before saying something. Because of this, he often needs time alone to think.

He also has a great ability to understand and feel what the other feels, his empathy is almost intuitive. Junkyu is an imaginative and creative person, especially when his inspiration is both his own emotions and those around him.

Thanks to how perceptive he's about people's emotions, as well as his tact and gentleness when speaking, his social skills are usually quite good. He knows how to please, even from the unconscious plane of him, he appears as a really charismatic and friendly person.

He also radiates a lot of optimism and generosity. In fact, he's a person who's truly altruistic at heart. He loves to help.

He feels an intense need to be accepted by others and flattered, he would hate the fact that he hurt someone because he would never have that intention.

Feeling rejected could be a small unconscious trauma on Junkyu. He's constantly in need of attention and affection because he might feel a bit insecure if not.

Although from his deepest and darkest side, he hides a certain hatred towards the authorities and any type of greater power over him. He doesn't like the feeling of being forced into something, even worse if something or someone tries to change or shape him by force.

In those cases he tends to have individualistic or rebellious attitudes. The most controlling side of him can come out, because his way of fighting against the control of others is to be the representation of power in person.

It's likely that he has gone through really painful stages throughout his life where he saw himself on the edge of the abyss and then overcome it, simply be reborn as a new and better person. He highly values transformation and introspection because of that.

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬:

Junkyu is a person who values balance and harmony a lot when it comes to love. He needs the love he gives to be valued but also returned, at the same time that he does the same with the love he receives.

He tends to idealize relationships and repeatedly fall in love with people quickly (thanks to his own idealization), although deep down he doesn't want that. He also loves intensely, seeks a special and unbreakable bond in love. He needs many displays of affection and passion, because otherwise he won't feel satisfied with the relationship.

Junkyu is a person who usually looks magnetic and attractive in front of the eyes of others, so it's very likely that he's quite lucky in love. He just has that magnetism that you can't ignore.

He has probably attracted partners who are quite sociable or with some kind of unusual characteristic in their personality or appearance that has attracted him. Someone altruistic and gentle who has accepted him as he is.

Also very intense and loving partners, with whom he really had a very deep bond. Someone with whom he told his deepest secrets.

In general, most of his love experiences are likely to be good and rewarding in almost every aspect. If they broke up, they ended up on good terms.

#treasure #treasure astrology #kpop astrology #junkyu #ok i fell in love #i love how introspective he is

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joe-mazzello-archive · 4 years

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Wait For It

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 7.1k (lol this was supposed to be a quick one)

Warnings: a bunch of people being super insecure, angst again (sorry gang), some sexy thoughts but no actual smut, cheating

A/N: sooooo i’ve been up in my hamilton feels as of late so this fic is the result of that. shoutout to my favorite bridge troll @brianmays-hair for the original prompt that inspired this plus letting me bounce ideas off of her when my brain can only form partial thoughts, ily babe. also, shoutout to my first gwil-centric fic! of course joe makes an appearance because i’m the worst. eventually i’ll write a fic that joe is not in lol. also, y’all may not like yourself in this one. sorry :(

(also i know everyone uses this gif, so sue me)

I look into your eyes and the sky’s the limit.

Joe had just…always been there. He was the friend who never strayed no matter how far apart you were. When your lives seemed determined to pull you in different directions, you didn’t let it. The two of you could go an entire year on separate sides of the country, but once reunited it was like you were never apart. You understood each other in a way that was hard to define. Your connection ran deep, deeper than any other connection you’d ever had with another person.

Falling in love with Joe Mazzello was hard.

It was hard because you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to complicate things or ruin the connection you had. Every urge to kiss him or hold his hand or pull him into your bed just frustrated you. How could your heart betray you like that? It set you up for failure. Every romantic prospect was subconsciously compared to Joe. They weren’t as funny as him, weren’t as charming as him, didn’t understand you as well as he did. It wasn’t fair to you or to Joe or to all of the people who tried to win you over.

Every fantasy you had of Joe waking up one day and realizing you were the one for him was met with anger and frustration at yourself. His golden eyes, those eyes that held so much happiness and adoration inside of them, haunted you, slipping into your dreams at night, your thoughts during the day. You mentally punished yourself for feeling jealous of the girls that came and went from his life. He was your friend, but he wasn’t yours. And he never would be. You knew that. But your heart had other ideas.

And then came Gwilym.

You’d heard all about him from Joe, his excited texts about his newfound friendships with his castmates regaling story after story about the tall man. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t intrigued by Joe’s new friends, it had been awhile since you’d witnessed Joe have such deep connections with people that he had only known for a few months.

You were Joe’s “date” to a Bohemian Rhapsody screening in LA; his way of trying to make up for the months he spent away from you. You had been dragged to a hotel suite before the event, an apparent pre-party that the cast and production team would all be in attendance for. Ben was polite and reserved in his introduction, revealing he had looked forward to finally meeting his competition for the title of Joe’s Best Friend. You were unfazed, however; you knew that title would always belong to you.

Rami wrapped you up a big hug, insisting there would be less time between your next reunion. He promised a catch-up lunch date in the future, once things slowed down for him. You knew things would never slow down for such a powerhouse talent like Rami, but you appreciated the gesture. Lucy was a delight, greeting you like an old friend and grilling you for embarrassing stories about Joe she could hold over his head. You could see yourself finding a lifelong friend in the bubbly blonde.

And then Joe’s hand was on your shoulder, leading you to a familiar gentleman who towered above you, who’s piercing blue eyes gazed at you with a warmth that you hadn’t felt in ages.

Falling in love with Gwilym Lee was easy.

It was almost scary how easy it was. Everything about him brought you joy. His laugh, the way he’d stroke his own beard in thought, his ability to be a serious gentleman one second and a huge goofball the next. He let you ramble about whatever and listened intently with a huge smile on his face. He made you feel safe and completely seen; with one look, he communicated that yes, he saw you and he liked what he saw. Maybe even loved it.

There were times where you’d be in his arms and held you like you were going to disappear. Those were the nights you spent showering in him in affection. You wanted him to feel safe, feel seen, just like he always made you feel. You would touch him, caress him, take care of him, make him feel good, all while making sure he knew without a doubt that you weren’t going anywhere.

Gwil made you the happiest you’d been in a long time. You were able to love someone freely; no more punishing yourself. No more overthinking or doubting or hating. Because you realized one day that yes, you loved Joe Mazzello and you always would. But you were in love with Gwilym Lee.

It had been six months since your first meeting when the two of you sat on your couch in your apartment, him holding your hand in both of his, timidly stroking the soft skin with his thumb. His nervous demeanor had you worried for what felt like the first time since he came into your life. Had he seen through your confident facade? Had he realized that you were too much for him? Too loud, too intense? Loved him too hard, too fast?

“I know it’s only been half a year,” he admitted timidly. “But, I just...I feel like this is...this is real.” Your worried frown faded to a soft smile as he finally looked up from the floor, meeting your gaze. You could see everything he was feeling in his eyes. Anxiety, worry, yes. But also so much love. And all of a sudden, you knew exactly what he wanted to ask you.

“And I want to nurture that,” he continued. “I want this to grow. And I understand if you think it’s too soon or even a ridiculous request--”

“Gwil, just ask me already.”

He took a big breath and squeezed your hand before speaking again.

“What do you think about coming to London? As in, moving to London. With me.”

You didn’t hesitate for a second. You didn’t have to. You knew the answer as soon as you figured out what the question was.

“Yes.”

His furrowed brow and distressed gaze melted away in relief and were replaced with watery eyes and that bright smile you knew and loved. He kissed you like he had just won the lottery, gripping you tight against him and pouring every emotion into the kiss. You kissed him back just as fiercely, the two of you communicating entirely by tasting each other.

When you pulled back for a moment to breathe, you didn’t go far, keeping your forehead pressed against his. His ocean blue eyes, those eyes that held so much promise and love inside of them, comforted you, ensuring you that you had found him, you’d found your person.

I’m down for the count and I’m drownin’ in ‘em.

◈◈◈

Love doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints, it takes and it takes and it takes.

It wasn’t love at first sight for Gwil. No, he was in love with you long before he met you. The stories Joe had told him about his best friend back home painted a picture of this extraordinary person with a big heart and a love to laugh. Gwil didn’t understand how he could be so attached to a person he hadn’t even laid eyes on yet.

He was embarrassed at how often he combed through your Instagram, scrolling through every picture of your bright smile, wanting nothing more than to be the one to cause it. He was so tempted to hit the follow button but worried it would be weird. Did you even know who he was? Had Joe told you about him? Or did you live in blissful ignorance of the man who pined after you from afar?

Gwil had come to terms with the fact that he’d probably never meet you. You lived back in LA, working as an interior designer. Your paths would never cross and Gwil accepted that. He assumed his oddly strong feelings towards you would fade over time. Once the shoot was done and Joe wasn’t around as much, the stories would stop. Gwil would move on.

And then suddenly you were standing right next to Joe, smack in front of Gwil, beaming up at him with that familiar smile, your hand outstretched.

“You must be Gwilym!”

You did know who he was. He wasn’t sure if that was worse.

You didn’t know how unfair he’d been to you. He had crafted this vision of you in his head comprised of anecdotes from Joe and the little bit of information he could discern from your social media. You were this perfect person in his mind that no one could ever live up to.

And then you surpassed that person in every way.

You were so beautiful. Gwil didn’t understand how you could be even more otherworldly in person. Your smile lit up his entire world, your eyes were an abyss he loved to get lost in. You floated through the world with an elegance Gwil thought only possible in dreams. And when he finally had you under him, your smooth skin beneath his fingertips, he was convinced you were an angel, an ethereal being sent from beyond. Gwilym Lee was in love with your body.

You were so smart. The ideas you had, the questions you asked, the challenges you threw at him always had Gwil so impressed with your intellect. You had the ability to think of things long before Gwil thought of them. You would spout out words of wisdom as though you had centuries of experience and knowledge. You could derive phrases that pulled at his heartstrings or sent the blood in his head down south. Gwil would watch you as you burrowed into the corner chair you’d claimed as your own during your first visit to his flat in London, clad in his own sweater, either reading from your stack of books or scribbling away in your own. Gwilym Lee was in love with your mind.

You were so loving. You cared deeply about your friends and family, going out of your way to make sure everyone in your life was taken care of. Your heart was so vast and had room for so many people that at first Gwil was worried he was misunderstanding the situation. Was the affection he received from you the same you gave to everyone else? Was he the only one to hold you like this or was he not alone? You had so much love to give, Gwil almost thought himself selfish for wanting you to himself. But you and your infinite wisdom and your big heart saw right through Gwil’s insecurities. You whispered words of tenderness into his ear, things he didn’t even know he needed to hear, and his doubts were sated once again. Gwil didn’t understand how he got so lucky, to be in your orbit, and to have your love shone upon him like the brightest star in the sky. You made Gwil love more freely, helped him tear down walls he had put up in his younger years when he had been used and abused and treated like nothing. How one person could come into his life and make it better in every single possible way, he would never comprehend. Gwilym Lee was in love with your heart.

Gwil realized these things only a few months after meeting you face to face. He was almost...ashamed at how hard and fast he fell for you. To him, his intense infatuation seemed almost childish, immature. It was too soon. There were too many things standing in the way, too much distance between you two. He was foolish, setting himself up for heartache. You had made it seem so easy, loving freely and fiercely, and Gwil had followed suit. But he knew from experience that it wasn’t realistic long-term. That intense love would burn out, becoming a black hole that would suck away the light from his entire world. You were too beautiful, too smart, too loving. It was too good to be true that Gwil would get to keep you. There were so many people out in the world that you deserved more, that deserved you more, and one day you would wake up and realize that. It wouldn’t be your fault, he would never hold it against you.

And he knew how it would happen. He knew who it would happen with. Gwil was doomed from the start, really. He would never be able to compete with what you had with Joe. The bonds you two shared ran deep, built upon years and years of being each other’s person to run back to, shoulder to cry on, friend to share a laugh with.

Gwil hated that he felt like he had to compete with Joe. He loved Joe and he loved you and he loved that the two of you loved each other. But he felt like he was running out of time. Especially being so far away from you most of the time. When a majority of your interactions took place over Facetime and text, and Gwil had to watch as you went out to lunch with Joe or went hiking with Joe or explored new bookstores with Joe, Gwil’s gut instinct was that his time with you was almost up.

So in a desperate attempt to save what he assumed was a doomed relationship, Gwil held your hands and asked you to move to London with him.

And you said yes. Without even blinking. And with a huge smile on your face.

The relief Gwil felt was unbelievable. He wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t in too deep. He was on equal ground. With that one word and your unwavering gaze, every insecurity Gwil had ever felt about you and your relationship vanished into thin air. You -- beautiful, smart, and loving you -- wanted to uproot your life and move to a different country to be with him.

How did he get so lucky?

It’s the thought that rang through his head every single day after that conversation. He thought it while he helped you with job and visa logistics. He thought it while he helped you set up listings for selling your apartment furniture. He thought it while you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder on the flight back to London. And he thought it while you whined out his name in bed the first night in your now shared flat.

That thought morphed and molded itself in Gwil’s head. He was lucky. He had somehow won the lottery on significant others and had gotten you. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it some days. Thoughts about what he had done to deserve you slowly turned into thoughts about whether or not he even deserved you in the first place. Had he accidentally tricked you? Plucked you out of a world you should have been in and forced you into one he selfishly wanted?

Suddenly it had been another six months. If you were miserable you seemed to hide it well, which Gwil could appreciate. He found himself wanting to ask you if you were happy, but he was afraid of the answer. He knew you would never lie to him. You never had before.

On days where he was home and you were working, he would sit in his office and mull it all over. He felt guilty that he constantly played mental gymnastics with himself, especially when you were always there for him to listen and love. Every other time he had an issue and he had gone to you about it, you listened with an open heart and a soft smile on your face. You didn’t even have to say much to fix the problem, you were magic in that way.

One late afternoon he found himself in his office once again, fidgeting with a small velvet box, passing it back and forth between his trembling hands. He had impulse-bought the ring months ago, when a walk downtown to buy your birthday present had inadvertently led him to a jeweler. He had told himself that the second he was one hundred percent certain everything between you two wasn’t an elaborate joke or fantasy, he’d pull out the box and get down on one knee. But Gwil’s constant plaguing thoughts made him feel like that day would never come. Who was he to ask you to be with him forever?

So when you appeared in the doorway with a bag from his favorite takeaway place, intent on surprising him with being home from work early, Gwil could feel nothing but sheer panic. And that panic increased tenfold when your eyes fell to the velvet box in his lap.

He watched, paralyzed with fear as your own eyes grew large, your jaw dropping open slightly when your words trailed off. It was not the reaction he would have ever wanted. Clearly you were scared, thrown off by even the concept of marrying him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, and Gwil could feel his heart shatter into thousands of pieces.

But then you threw your hand over your eyes, and Gwil thought he was going insane because were you smiling?

“I promise I didn’t see anything!”

Absolutely bewildered, Gwil stood to his full height and crossed the room, gently pulling your hand away from your face.

“Let’s say you did see something,” he said, his voice small. “Is that something...something that would make you happy?” Gwil wasn’t sure if his heart could take another drop on the emotional roller coaster, but it was better he found out now than let that question slowly pick him apart.

And then you brought his hand to your lips, placing the softest of kisses to his knuckles. Your eyes began to water as you looked at him like no one had before.

“It would make me the happiest person on the entire planet.”

Your magic cured him once again. One sentence and the relief flooded Gwil’s veins. He then slowly got to his knee, never letting go of your hand the entire time. With a shaky voice, he spoke your name.

“Will you marry me?”

Time seemed to stop for Gwil, but you didn’t hesitate for a second. You didn’t have to. You knew the answer as soon as you had laid eyes on that little box.

“Yes.”

The two of you shared a watery laugh as he slid the ring on your finger. You held each other as you cried and kissed and kissed and cried. Gwil had never been happier in his entire life. You wanted him. Forever.

And when the tears stopped and the two of you finally sat down to eat the nearly forgotten takeaway, you pulled out your phone and announced that you had to call Joe. Because he had to be the first to know.

An hour before, that would have given Gwil a twinge of worry. Worry that even though you had a ring on your finger, Joe was still more important than him.

But that worry didn’t come. And that worry never came again. You had chosen him, and for the first time, Gwil knew, without a doubt, that that would never change.

If there's a reason I'm by her side when so many have tried, then I'm willing to wait for it.

◈◈◈

I don't know how to say no to this, but this situation is helpless.

You hadn’t thought twice when Joe invited you out to LA for a weekend to hang out. You hadn’t seen him in person since before moving to London, and you were both itching for a reunion that wasn’t held via Facetime or Zoom.

Gwil had almost insisted on it. He’d be away on a shoot for a few weeks and he hated the idea of you being by yourself the entire time. He could also tell you were a bit overwhelmed with wedding planning. You needed a break. And you both knew that even though Joe would be in the wedding as a groomsman, you probably wouldn’t get to spend too much time with him at the event itself considering you’d have to try and make time for the over two hundred guests that would be in attendance.

As you settled into your plane seat, a thought occurred to you that had you concerned about your trip for the first time. It was true that as your relationship with Gwil had blossomed, your friendship with Joe had faded a bit. You weren’t sure if it was subconscious or completely by accident. Throwing yourself head first into your budding romance with Gwil had offered a break from the constant pain of having fallen for Joe. So had you unintentionally pulled away from Joe, channeling all of your energy into what was a new and exciting distraction? Possibly.

But truly, it was the distance. You’d been in London for almost a full year, and between your schedule and his, you hadn’t seen each other since before the move. Time between text conversations and Facetime calls grew and grew.

You’d been separated for long periods of time before and yet things had never changed. And even now, you still considered him your best friend. But there was that little bit of fear that things would be different this time. You wouldn’t be able to just pick right up where you left off.

But your fears were put to rest as soon as he wrapped his arms around you again. It was like the past year hadn’t even happened. Your Joe was in front of you, in the flesh, and everything felt right again. You joked and laughed and sang the entire drive from the airport to his house. You spent the evening catching each other up on everything the other had missed. You told him about work and new friends and places you’d seen and English slang you’d picked up. He filled you in on his latest projects, told you stories about mutual friends you hadn’t seen in ages, and as always, had you laughing until your sides hurt.

It wasn’t until you were settled in his guest room bed later that night that you realized he hadn’t once asked about Gwil or the wedding.

You spent the next day being paraded around LA by Joe, the two of you hitting all of the cheesy tourist spots that you hadn’t been to in years before eventually heading to the beach. As the pair of you stretched out on towels in the sand while soaking up the sun, you remembered the thought you had the night before.

So you took it upon yourself to introduce the topic.

“Oh, Gwil sends his love, by the way,” you casually said, as if you had just thought of it. Joe offered a small smile and nodded, his only acknowledgement of your statement before jumping to his feet.

“Let’s go in the water!”

You were temporarily distracted by an intense water war with Joe once the two of you made it chest-deep into the ocean. Joe then launched into an elaborate tale about going to the beaches on the east coast growing up, making you laugh with an imitation of his brother, whom you hadn’t seen in ages but had recently RSVPed yes to your nuptials.

“I’m excited to see him again at the wedding,” you revealed, testing your developing theory about Joe once again. “I can’t even remember the last time I saw him.”

“Yeah,” was all Joe said before diving under the water and grabbing at your ankle, earning a squeal from you.

Another attempt foiled. You were pretty sure he was avoiding the topic outright.

You didn’t understand why. Gwil was one of his closest friends. You knew the two chatted frequently, probably more frequently than you and him. For a brief moment you entertained the idea that Joe was actually more upset by you living so far away than he had let on previously. You remembered being surprised at Joe’s reaction to you moving to London. You had invited him out for lunch one day to break the news, and while he claimed he was going to miss you something fierce, he was happy for you. At least that was what you had left that lunch feeling.

Maybe Joe was an even better actor than you realized.

You had to get some answers out of him. It started to get bizarre, the lengths he would go to in order to avoid talking about Gwil or the wedding. And although you had had an incredibly fun and relaxing weekend with your old friend, one that you had desperately needed, by Sunday night a weird tension had set in. Joe definitely knew you were on to him; you could tell by how little effort he started putting into trying to change the subject.

So you decided you had had enough. If he wasn’t going to be outright with you, you needed to confront him. You had disappeared into the guest room after Joe had cooked the two of you dinner with the excuse that you wanted to make sure your bag was packed for your early flight home the next morning. Sure, there was some truth to that, but you also needed the time to compose your thoughts before challenging Joe.

You walked warily back into the living room where Joe had pulled up some Netflix movie and had it paused while he tapped away at his phone, clearly waiting for you.

“Can I ask you something?” you hesitantly questioned as you took a seat next to Joe.

“Anything,” he replied as his attention left his phone and turned to you, a confident smile on his face.

“Why haven’t you asked about Gwil or the wedding?”

You could practically see the blood drain from Joe’s face. His smile was exchanged for a look of what seemed almost like...fear. After a few seconds of silence indicating that he wasn’t going to answer you right away, you continued.

“Every time I mention Gwil or the wedding, you find some excuse to change the subject or use something to distract me. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I know you too well,” you explained with a soft smile, attempting to lighten the mood, an endeavour you quickly realized was fruitless. Joe was staring intently at his lap, and you could hear the gears turning in his head. Joe always had a tendency to think really loudly.

“Joe?”

“I thought I was over it,” he suddenly spit out. You furrowed your brows. When he didn’t continue, you spoke up again.

“Over what? Me moving away?”

“I thought I was over you,” he admitted, finally looking up at you with those golden eyes you’ve always known. Those eyes that had once haunted you, slipping into your dreams at night, your thoughts during the day. Those eyes that you hadn’t worried about in over a year.

You were stunned to silence.

“I...lost my chance with you,” he continued. “It sounds so fucking cliche but I didn’t realize what I had until it was gone. It took you moving to London for me to realize that I’ve been in love with you for a long, long time.”

It was like every emotion you could possibly feel overtook your body in one fell swoop. How were you supposed to process something like that? You were shocked, confused, and a little bit sad, but most of all, you were fucking livid.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you practically shouted as you jumped to your feet, earning a startled wince from Joe. “I pined after you for years. I had it so bad for you for so long. And now? When I’ve finally gotten over you....and I’m happy with someone else...you have the fucking nerve to drop that on me?” You were frantic, thoughts running wild, your heart pounding. You marched into the kitchen, needing some space to collect yourself. You could feel tears pricking your eyes as you sat at Joe’s kitchen island.

“You pined after me?” Joe’s quiet voice sounded from the doorway. You frustratedly swiped at the drops running down your cheeks before turning to look at Joe.

“I always loved you, you asshole,” you revealed before burying your face in your hands. How could he do this to you? You were months away from getting married, to one of his closest friends no less, and he chose now to confess that he was in love with you.

At least you had gotten the answer to your original question.

“I’m such an idiot,” you heard Joe whisper. “I could have had you all this time.”

After a few moments, you felt two tentative arms wrap around you from behind. Joe laid his head against your back.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against the fabric of your t-shirt. “Please don’t cry.”

You were so angry with him. So angry at the situation. But he was still Joe. And part of you still loved him, even though that love had changed over the past year or so. So you turned into his embrace, wrapping your arms around him. You lost track of how long the two of you stayed there, holding each other while time ticked away.

Eventually Joe pulled back for a moment before cradling your face in his hands. His thumbs wiped away the last of your tears as the two of you gazed at each other.

And then Joe was kissing you.

It was brief, almost as if he had done it accidentally. A flash of fear shone in his eyes and you knew you probably mirrored him. But then he was kissing you again.

And you were kissing him back.

For years you had wondered what it would be like to kiss Joe Mazzello. And now, there you were, his lips as soft as you thought they’d be. He tasted like wine and pasta sauce and something else that was uniquely Joe. His hands on your face kept you close to him as his mouth moved against yours.

He pulled back to take a breath, his hands sliding down to your hips, his forehead pressed against yours. You needed to push him away. You needed to stop this.

“You can say no to this. Just tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

That night you lived out a fantasy that you had used to have for years but hadn’t thought about in ages. That night you explored Joe’s body as he explored yours, touching, tasting, feeling. No words were exchanged, the only sounds that rang out through Joe’s bedroom were soft whimpers and grunts of pleasure.

When you left the bed to use the restroom, the tears came back. You had been stupid, acting on selfish impulses. Acting on a lingering curiosity. Taking advantage of a situation you had been presented with.

Joe let you cry in his bathroom, and you mentally thanked him for knowing not to bother you.

When you finally emerged, Joe appeared to be asleep. You didn’t stop to find out for sure. Instead you moved across the hall into the guest room. You held a pillow to your chest and tearfully wished you had never come to LA.

You didn’t get much sleep. You were up at least an hour before you had to be, getting dressed and cooking the two of you a quick breakfast. When Joe finally appeared in the kitchen, he silently picked at his plate of eggs and bacon. No words were spoken. Nothing needed to be said. That was the thing about knowing someone so well.

The drive to the airport was soundtracked by a playlist of rock medleys that normally both you and Joe would sing along to. But no songs were sung on that trip.

After helping you pull your suitcase out of the back of your car, Joe stood there awkwardly wringing his hands together. You didn’t blame him for not knowing what was appropriate. You didn’t know where the boundaries laid anymore either.

So you threw him a bone, pulling him into a tight embrace, one that he immediately reciprocated. For some reason, even though you’d be seeing him again in a few months, it felt like a forever goodbye. Like it was the last time you would ever hold each other.

“I will always love you,” you whispered as you buried your face in his shoulder. “But I’m in love with Gwil.” It was true. And you hated that you needed to say it out loud.

You felt him nod into your hair. He understood.

You left him with a peck on the cheek, and got on your plane. And you spent the ten hour flight mentally preparing to banish the entire weekend from your memory. Gwil could never find out.

And he never did.

Nobody needs to know.

◈◈◈

I remember that night, I just might regret that night for the rest of my days.

Joe stood between Ben and Gwil’s brother, clad in a gray suit with a colorful pocket square. He watched as you floated down the aisle looking the most beautiful he’d ever seen you, a stunning vision accoutred in white.

But the most gorgeous thing about you wasn’t your dress or your hair or your makeup, as perfect as it all was. No, the thing that stood out to Joe was the look of pure elation that you wore as you made your way between the rows of chairs. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you so sublimely happy.

And it pained him. Because it was a subtle reminder that he’d never be the one to make you that happy.

Joe stole a glance at Gwil, and he had the exact same gaze upon his face. Joe felt a twinge of guilt in his gut. He should be happy. He should be satisfied. Two of the most important people in his life had found love with each other. That was something to celebrate. So Joe hated that he felt nothing but sadness. It was selfish and unfair to the both of you.

But the thing Joe hated the most was that this whole thing was all his fault.

He remembered the day he introduced you to Gwil like it was yesterday. What was supposed to be a night out with you after being separated for so long turned into Joe playing third wheel as he watched you and Gwil bond. The connection was instantaneous.

It didn’t bother Joe at all at first. In fact, he was ecstatic. He patted himself on the back whenever he could, taking complete credit for your budding romance. You seemed lighter, as if Gwil had taken the weight of the world off your shoulders. And Joe trusted the both of you not to break each others’ hearts; he knew you were amazing people, and he believed you deserved each other.

It was only a month before Joe started to notice the drift. You texted him less, you didn’t have as much free time to hang out. Things you used to do with him you now did with Gwil. Joe tried not to let it get to him. He had never been bothered by relationships you had been in previously. But there was something about this time around that irked him.

At first he assumed it was because it was Gwil. Two of his friends had essentially ganged up on him, opting to spend more time with each other than with him. But that wasn’t it.

Then he thought it was because you went to London a lot. It seemed like every time Joe tried to make plans with you he was met with a “I’ll actually be in London that week.” But that wasn’t it.

For a fleeting moment he thought it was a worry that the two of you were moving too quickly. A fear that the pair of you would have an ugly break up and Joe would be caught in the middle of it. But that wasn’t it.

It took almost six months of you and Gwil together for him to realize that he was head over heels in love with you.

How could he have been so stupid? You had been right there in front of him for years and years and it took you getting into a serious relationship for him to wake up. He had wasted so much time.

Gwil was one of his best friends in the entire world. But you had been his best friend longer. He needed to tell you. He couldn’t lie to you.

As soon as Joe had made the decision, you were asking him to grab lunch with you. He spent the hours leading up to it pacing in his apartment, working through a speech in his head.

His plan was foiled when you sat across from him in the ramen shop and announced you were moving to London. You were elated as you told him the story of Gwil nervously asking you. Joe put his acting skills to the test as he sat in that booth for an hour and pretended to be happy for you. Pretended that he was okay when truly he was dying inside.

The last shred of hope Joe could hold on to was that he’d be able to get over you easier. The distance would ease his pain. Maybe he’d meet someone, someone who would somehow be even more beautiful and smarter and more loving than you. He didn’t think that person existed, but he had to hold out hope.

He threw himself into work, trying to distract himself with jobs, filling the time between those jobs by writing, something you always helped him with. You had been his muse, a revelation that frustrated Joe as he struggled with the worst case of writer’s block he’d ever had.

He understood that your lives had been pulled in different directions, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when the periods between conversations and phone calls got longer and longer as time went on. He missed you. Setting all of his romantic feelings aside, he simply missed his best friend.

He was curled up in front of the TV watching some dumb video Ben had sent him when your name flashed across his phone screen. He couldn’t have been more relieved to see your face. You greeted him with a huge grin and an excited air about you.

And then you revealed the true intention of your call with a flash of a diamond ring on your finger.

Gwil’s face appeared a few moments later, asking Joe to be one of his groomsmen. Of course Joe agreed, he’d do anything for Gwil. Even be a groomsman in his wedding to the woman he loved.

He told himself that he’d be over you by the time the wedding came. He had to be. He just had to.

He didn’t know what came over him when he asked you to come visit him for a weekend. He just missed you. He missed you like crazy and he needed you. He needed his best friend, his person.

The days leading up to your arrival were spent stress-cleaning his entire apartment. He was terrified things would be weird. Why couldn’t everything just be like it was before? Before he ever introduced you to Gwilym. If he hadn’t brought you to the screening that night would you and him ever met? Would Joe have at some point realized his feelings while you were still available? Was there an alternate universe where you and him Facetimed Gwil to show off the ring on your finger?

Then Joe blinked and you were in his arms once more. He held you tight, never wanting to let you go. He focused on making sure that the weekend was chock-full of activities, wanting to enjoy the little time he had left with you. Joe was no idiot, he was never going to get a chance to spend a weekend just the two of you ever again.

But why did you have to keep bringing up Gwil and the wedding? He was getting worse and worse at avoiding the subject. He knew you were on to him. There were only so many times he could change conversation topics abruptly before you would notice. You were no idiot either.

And then you sat on his couch on that last night and asked him point blank. He knew he couldn’t lie to you anymore. He wasn’t strong enough.

He hadn’t seen you that angry in years. The last time you’d yelled at him like that was when he spilled coffee on a brand new rug you’d splurged on for your apartment. But this problem couldn’t be fixed with an apology cake and a surprise trip to Restoration Hardware on Joe’s dime.

And then Joe blinked once more and you were in his bed, bare and writhing underneath him. He knew as it was happening that you hadn’t suddenly changed your mind. He didn’t get to call you his. There was still a ring on your finger when your hand gripped Joe’s bicep. He simply enjoyed the moment as much as he could. His heart was breaking as you both rode out waves of pleasure, a desperate exchange of affection that shouldn’t have ever happened. Once again, it was all his fault. He shouldn’t have kissed you. And he shouldn’t have made it your responsibility to put an end to it.

That fateful weekend didn’t happen. Not as far as you and Joe were concerned. You wordlessly agreed to never speak about it ever again. He knew you never told Gwil. If you had, none of you would have been standing in a beautiful field somewhere in Wales, all dressed up and celebrating the union of two of Joe’s favorite people in the world.

While Joe watched the pair of you share your first dance, he sipped at his flute of champagne and remembered what you whispered to him at the airport, words that would forever haunt him.

I will always love you, but I’m in love with Gwil.

He wondered if anyone would ever notice that the two of you didn’t talk to each other anymore, outside of group settings. If anyone did, they didn’t ask. Maybe they all knew. Maybe all of them had figured out Joe’s feelings for you before he ever had. And maybe Joe wasn’t as good of an actor as he realized.

And I know she’ll be happy as his bride. And I know I will never be satisfied.

◈◈◈

Perm Taglist: @queenlover05 @mrhoemazzello @johndeaconshands @madamsledge @sadhwstudent @stardust-galaxies (let me know if i missed you)

#gwilym lee #joe mazzello #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee x you #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello x you #joemazzmatazz

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okimargarvez · 5 years

Text

ABYSS- the Supreme sacrifice - Chapter 1

Original title: Abisso- il supremo sacrificio.

Prompt: mother’s love, kidnapping, distress, tragedy.

Warnings: mention of Character’ Death and rape, O.C..

Genre: angst, drama, action, romantic, family, friendship.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, Derek Morgan, Savannah Hayes, O.C.

Pairing: Garvez, Morcia.

Note: multichapter.

Legend: 😘👓🔦🎈⚰.

Song mentioned: none.

Abyss- Masterlist

GARVEZ STORIES

Note: this is my real first Garvez (but even Morcia) fanfic. The song Slipped away by Avril Lavigne inspired me for the plot and the final. It’s a hard story, I talked about weighty topics, it’s not fluffy at all. If you think it’s better if I don’t post it here, please, tell me.

Chapter 1

The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness. (Honoré de Balzac)

1- The germ

Every fiber of her body vibrates to that tenuous thought, but the woman is expert in pushing it away.

-Someone is very thoughtful tonight.- a voice says behind her, that causes a slight jolt.

-Ha ha, very funny.- she turns to him and smiles. It still seems impossible to think that only a few months before (well, a year now) she couldn’t even look at him in the face, because the calienti Latin traits were replaced by equally fascinating features, but much more painful. Too many similarities, if one was busy to see them. Both were handsome men, for whom all women dizzy and immediately stopped doing what occupied them at the time of the apparition, regardless of the importance of it. Both had something exotic and tasty.

And both (but this she can’t know) are attracted to her, an attraction that must be understood in the absolute sense of the term: an interest that, for someone, can lead to a deeper bond.

Something very similar is passing into the mind of the special agent Luke Alvez as he examines every detail of the woman in front of him. Blonde hair, slightly wavy, glasses that cover those spheres that are a direct mirror of her soul.

Derek is what he can read, printed in indelible characters. Derek Morgan, still present as a shadow that oppresses him, hides him. And he feels exactly like the second wife told by Hitchcock in Rebecca, so crushed by the first that she can’t even afford her own name, nor own personality. It wasn’t the first time he had to replace someone, indeed. Since he was a child he had been used to constant change, to the impossibility of making real friends, knowing full well that it would not last. Yet this had allowed him to have an elastic character, had developed in him an innate ability to forge relationships with people, at first glance, without too many turns of words and this had returned very useful in his work. So he had drawn the best from an unfavorable circumstance, which very often created children, then boys and then adults, unable to forge ties, to the constant search for a fixed point, which at the time when they lost it went into crisis and could become (also) serial killers like those who had to chase.

All this explained perfectly his attitude when, a year ago, he had been easily received by the whole team, consisting of a mix of different members, a super smart young boy, a blonde and a brunette (both not bad) that knows what they’re doing in more senses, a veteran and writer, a man with a severe appearance (it still hurts to think of him, although he has hardly had time to become attached to the big boss) which was then added an old acquaintance, a brunette also interesting… in short, a beautiful variety that seemed to work as a Swiss mechanism, each had own place and made available their qualities and skills for the success of the mission, everyone seemed aware of the value of each other… yet despite having just lost a gear, they hadn’t shown particular anxiety in welcoming a new member. Everybody but one, the one that had immediately been more apart (although later, soon enough, he would have discovered that it was not a typical attitude of the girl in question): a shapely blonde in all the right places, quite eccentric in the way of dressing and also to furnish her own den. The computer technician Penelope Garcia. When he showed up she had barely looked at him and he, slightly aware of his charm, was disappointed. Even the other blonde, JJ, who wears wedding ring and as he would have learned later was busy, didn’t miss the opportunity to give him a look not really friendly, even if Luke had appeared more like a kind of verification to admission. Penelope had shaken his hand with difficulty and then had run out; during the discussion of the cases she did everything (in a way too obvious) to avoid being near him and when she was sending information while they were outside, never called his number.

If she had seemed a shy girl, he might have thought the opposite of what had been ruminating for months, or rather that the tech had a crush to the new guy. But he was not so stupid and then he had seen her with the others, even if almost practically hidden and the attitude was quite different from what she had with him. She laughed, joked, always smiled, made fun of them by calling them with affectionate nicknames and others that probably only they knew. Even Hotch didn’t seem to be immune to the rite and was called “boss” with militaristic meaning. In addition, avoid him didn’t consist in keeping her eyes down when they crossed mistakenly in the corridor together, indeed, the few times that their eyes met, Penelope was never the one who lowered gaze first, but her expression suggested a kind of hate, what hate couldn’t be because this feeling takes time to bloom like love, rather we could talk about unjustified antipathy.

Or at least it remained until he had decided to ask the remaining members of the profiler section of the BAU. Unexpectedly, it was the last arrival, Emily, to put an end to his “sufferings”, explaining that she wasn’t angry with him, that he could also be the pope, the president of the United States or even David Bowie (he would have understood those things only later), in any case Penelope hated his role or rather the fact that he had taken that role, that place, or that which was until recently of Derek Morgan. From here she had begun to tell a series of memories, interspersed with anecdotes of others, who in the meantime had added since there were no cases to examine. Fortunately, Agent Garcia was home sick. From the various fragments, Luke had painstakingly made a global picture and finally understood everything. Agent Morgan had been “the hero” par excellence, especially for Penelope. He had climbed into an ambulance and risked blow up to save the lives of many people, including his colleagues; he was able to overcome a personal trauma not unimportant (but what kind they hadn’t absolutely wanted to tell him) and derive the strength to continue his work. But above all, he had always worried about his “baby girl” (epithet that first made him turn up his nose), he had tried to protect from the evils that they fought together. At this point it had seemed obvious to him asking how long they had been together and everyone had looked at him with shocked faces, before bursting out laughing. -Never.- JJ had finally answered, and then she had added more quietly -at least not officially.- he had thus come to know the epilogue of the idyll: Morgan had found a woman who had put an end to his being a playboy, a wife and he had settled down, creating a new life, then his wife had been kidnapped and he had decided that his family would no more be been put at risk by his job. End.

From that moment it was him who had stopped try to have a friendly relationship with Penelope, because now that he knew, he had absolutely no idea how to exploit the information in his possession. In other words, the thought that she had avoided him through no fault of his own, but because she was obsessed with the idea of someone who was no longer, it was something too difficult to overcome. The Fate, however, was put in the middle and so, to make it short, they had found themselves in a situation where there was no way to avoid each other and in the end, after spending an hour exchanging secret and challenging looks, Luke had exploded and told her that he had never intended to replace her marvelous Derek Morgan, so he had headed for the exit, contravening Prentiss’s orders, which became after the death of Hotch the new chief of the unit, since Rossi had refused and JJ or Spencer didn’t seem suitable. Penelope had taken a little too many seconds to get out of the catalepsy she had fallen into, but then, just in time, she had managed to come back to life to stop him. And she had simply apologized for behaving so unjustly with him. She hadn’t cried, nor begged him. In a calm voice, she limited himself to explaining the situation to him (unaware that he already knew the plot) and then she had kept silent, probably waiting for him to let off steam, telling her who knows what. Instead, Luke gave her a quiet smile and gently touched her shoulder in a friendly gesture, and then said, -Let’s do what we came here to do.-

From that time there were no more real problems between them. Their relationship had grown to the point of turning in mutual trust, even though she always seemed distant when they met out of work context, as if she were afraid of going too far … without either of them really knowing where they wanted to go. Every now and then, Luke had the impression that Penelope didn’t see him but his predecessor because it was painting on her face a strange expression of joyous melancholy, where the sad component eventually prevailed. And he couldn’t help but wait for her to return to the real world.

As in this exact moment.

-Penelope… are you there ?- he doesn’t call her with any particular appellation, even if sometimes he would like to. He’s afraid of what might happen, although they’ve known each other for over a year, and she once told him she’d talked to Derek, about his life in Chicago, his baby, apparently as if she had overcome her “problem”. But the reality is very different, and Luke knows it.

-Sorry…. I was thinking of something that I dreamed the other night…- seeing a strange nuance in the expression of him, she hastens to specify -not of that kind, maniac!- and she lets away a laugh that only some time ago she would never have had the courage to do, as if Derek had taken away from her the right to be happy without him. -It’s a fairly recurring dream, but nothing classic, like falling to infinity… it’s about- and as soon as Luke catches her expression he understands that she’s about to tell him something important, so he becomes more careful and involuntarily even closer. -A sudden awakening, I’m anguished, I feel that there is something wrong, but without knowing what it’s, then a sudden idea illuminates me. Where are my parents? Inside of me I know the answer and yet pass a few but still very long minutes before I can remember that it’s useless to get excited and wait for them, because they are… dead, when I was eighteen… I told you that already, or not?- he, who was absorbed and completely absorbed by her evocative ability, emerges from the water and shakes his head. -Ah…- moment of embarrassment. -There often happens to me to have… this nightmare, the worst thing are those seconds when I haven’t yet realized the truth, because combined with the anxiety of expectation, there is indissolubly a damn and useless hope… sorry, sorry if I have harassed you with this story… you’ll be tired, you just came back from an intense case … – he is about to reply that she has been engaged in it, but then he lets it go.

-Don’t apologize. I’m interested.- he would say I’m interested in you, but for now he only allowed himself to look at her closely, but not too much. Foreshortening.

The acute shrill breaks the apparent quiet of the evening.

-Love, could you go?- what at first glance would seem a classic and quiet phrase, conceals hidden subtests, which only a trained ear can grasp. The man snorts and, knowing he isn’t seen, unleashes his frustration on the cards he was previously filling out, throwing them into the air, while aware that he’ll have to fix everything on his return. But the momentary euphoria in doing a wrong act repays the further future effort. When he reaches the object of the call, it’s visible only a warm smile on his face.

-Hello, little one, Daddy’s love, how are you?- that little creature so defenseless is also his merit, but is still hard to convincing himself. Another cry, this time female, destroys the atmosphere of mild tranquility that had been created. He snorts again, then tries to pretend nothing is happened, but it seems that tonight nothing wants to give him respite.

-Derek! It’s your phone, could you come and pick up the phone?- he goes quickly towards the voice, throwing a last glance at the bundle wrapped in blankets. He doesn’t even imagine that a ghost of the past (yet still so present, although he has tried in vain to deny it) is going to make it shake forcefully. He takes the device from his wife’s hands and responds in his classic way.

-Morgan.- there is a moment of silence before he hears someone speak from the other end of the line.

-Derek, I… I hope not to bother you…- he is about to interrupt her. Emily. It’s not like her call so late, without a reason… And he immediately realizes everything. Even before the woman can pronounce what he fears. -I… I would not ask you if it wasn’t really necessary. You should… be able to come here… to Quantico.-

-Why?- he finally manages to ask.

-Garcia… Penelope was kidnapped.-

Here, exactly what I feared. How did I know it was about her? It’s… it’s been months since I can’t think about how strange it’s not to see her every morning, don’t joke with her on the phone. It’s more than a year that someone doesn’t call me chocolate thunder. I would have needed her so much, few months ago, since… it’s too hard to think about it. She would have helped me, she would have been able to say the right words… He doesn’t need Prentiss to talk to remember everything suddenly. Penelope has been kidnapped. My baby girl is in danger, right now she could be… I can’t even say it in my head. I have to… I have to pack, pack a bag, I have to tell Savannah… Savannah. -I’ll get there as fast as I can.- and put down the phone. The brunette woman stops doing what she was doing and turns to him.

-Derek, where you are going?-

-Savannah, Emily called me… Garcia has been kidnapped and they need me to go to Quantico.- he tries to use a tone as quiet as possible, while the wheels of his brain go to a thousand per hour, thinking about where it’s going to go.

-But you’re no longer part of the team, you’re not longer a federal. What do you have to do? - already feels the frustration make its way in the body of the woman he should most want.

-I still have some knowledge, I know some things that can help…- he sees anger rise to her eyes and finally explode.

-You don’t really know anything! You are no longer a profiler. Morgan, listen to me. If you go there I…- he has no more time to waste and certainly has no patience to gently convince his half of the need for his intervention. Or perhaps he simply doesn’t have the courage to say what he really feels, and he knows that she is aware, but he is convinced that until it’s pronounced aloud, that reality can’t be materialized.

-Do not say it.- he comes out more like a threat than the supplication he originally intended to express. -Savannah, I have to go.- a significant pause -I love you.- he lays a very quick kiss on her cheek. He feels a pain in his chest as he looks at her, but it’s not because he told a lie. Love is much more complicated than what one would like to believe. Much more stratified and complex.

________________________________

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#garvez #morcia #criminal minds #cm #penelope garcia #luke alvez #derek morgan #savannah hayes #BAU team #penelope x luke #luke x penelope #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #derek x penelope #penelope x derek #morgan x garcia #garcia x morgan #please read the warnings

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junker-town · 3 years

Text

The Bulls’ big market vision is coming into focus

The Bulls are done thinking small about team building.

The Chicago Bulls spent the 20+ years following the end of their Michael Jordan-led dynasty as the biggest small market team in the NBA. With John Paxson as the long-tenured leader of the front office under owner Jerry Reinsdorf, the Bulls built their teams with a conservative approach that prioritized stability, flexibility, and profitability. When they got some good luck on their side, it worked out pretty well.

Paxson hit on a string of draft picks in the ‘00s that laid the foundation for a playoff-caliber team without a superstar. That changed when the Bulls cashed in a 1.8 percent chance to land the No. 1 overall pick in the 2008 draft and rights to Derrick Rose. Chicago leveled up again two years later when it hired Tom Thibodeau, a revolutionary defensive mind who earned his shot at the right time to take advantage of the league’s changing rules. He took the Bulls from a No. 8 seed to a No. 1 seed in his first year as Rose became the youngest MVP in league history.

Those Bulls teams were built through two methods: taking high-character college veterans in the draft, and signing role players to mid-sized contracts on the free agent market. When Chicago took its big swings at a superstar, it routinely came up whiffing. It couldn’t land Kobe Bryant after a highly publicized trade request, it struck out on LeBron James, Dwyane Wade, and Chris Bosh in the summer of 2010, and it missed once more on Carmelo Anthony in an attempt to salvage the last vestiges of that era. Carlos Boozer and Ben Wallace were as good as it would get.

When bad luck came for the Bulls in the form of Rose’s injury issues, the front office couldn’t find any way out. Instead, Chicago management reverted back to its worst tendencies with decidedly different results. Doug McDermott, Denzel Valentine, and Tony Snell were a far cry from Joakim Noah, Luol Deng, and Taj Gibson. They threw foolish amounts of money at hometown players like Wade and Jabari Parker in an attempt to sell some tickets and capture the lost local magic of Rose. They fired Thibodeau to hire another buzzy name on the coaching carrousel — Fred Hoiberg — only to see he couldn’t live up to the hype.

The Bulls lucked their way into a superstar anyway when Jimmy Butler scratched and clawed his way into one as a former No. 30 overall draft pick. When it came time to pay him his value, Chicago balked. The Bulls traded Butler two years before his contract expired for a package of young players and one pick swap to start a long descent into the NBA abyss.

Over the next four years, the Bulls would win the fewest games in the NBA. Head coach Jim Boylen was an embarrassment to the team and the city on and off the court, with a high school gym teacher routine that didn’t play well with seasoned pros. As the losses piled up, fans started to take matters into their own hands calling for an overdue change in the front office. ‘Fire GarPax’ billboards and grassroots protests popped up around the city. Things reached another level when Chicago hosted the 2020 All-Star Game and the locals loudly chanted ‘Fire GarPax’ during an interview with aspiring All-Star Zach LaVine. Reinsdorf still wouldn’t fire Paxson, but Paxson eventually took the fans advice and stepped aside.

Somewhere along the line, the Bulls lost focus of what they should be. They had a global brand born out of Jordan’s greatness, but they acted more like the Indiana Pacers or the Orlando Magic. They crossed their fingers for lottery luck every year, but were lost when they didn’t get it. Even with ‘90s nostalgia hitting its peak, the Bulls had never seemed further away from the glamour franchise they once were.

Every team in the NBA can lose and pray the draft leads them to a star. Only a few can have star players want to join them. With the hiring of Arturas Karnisovas as the franchise’s new lead basketball decision-maker, the goal was get to the Bulls back to their rightful place in the league’s hierarchy.

If it hasn’t happened yet, it finally appears that the Bulls are on their way.

Photo by Ashley Landis - Pool/Getty Images

One year ago today, the Bulls felt lost and directionless. The franchise had pegged its hopes and dreams to Lauri Markkanen, Wendell Carter Jr., and Coby White as top-10 draft picks with little progress to show for it. LaVine was ascending, but there remained a debate over how much he really impacted winning. Boylen was still the head coach.

GarPax had left the cupboard incredibly bare after whiffing on at least eight consecutive first round draft picks following the selection of Butler (White would be No. 9 if he doesn’t pan out). None of the Bulls’ own players were were worth much in trades. Karnisovas had two options: trade LaVine amid his first All-Star season and rebuild again on his own terms, or get desperate and start trying to win now.

He made his decision on day of the 2021 trade deadline with the Bulls still sitting far out of playoff contention. Chicago traded two first round picks and Carter to the Magic for Nikola Vucevic, a 30-year-old two-time All-Star who had become one of the best post scorers in the NBA and was now shooting threes at a 40 percent clip. The move for Vucevic came completely out of left field, as did the next deal the Bulls made that day by sending out three more players, headlined by Daniel Gafford, and receive Daniel Theis and Troy Brown Jr. in the return.

It was easy to see the move for Vucevic as a shortsighted overpay, but it was the aggression and creativity the Bulls’ new front office showed that was really promising. The short-term returns on the deal were putrid: LaVine was placed in Health and Safety Protocol shortly after the deadline, and the Bulls failed to even make the play-in tournament. They surrendered the No. 8 overall pick to the Magic and still owe one more in 2023.

Karnisovas was adamant he wasn’t done, and knew he had major work to do entering the offseason. The Bulls had some avenues to cap space, but they chose to operate as an over-the-cap team. That meant Chicago’s long-rumored affection for restricted free agent Lonzo Ball would require the New Orleans Pelicans to cooperate. It happened in the first minute of free agency, with the Bulls working out a sign-and-trade and inking Ball to a four-year, $85 million deal.

Hours later, the Bulls struck again by signing Alex Caruso for the mid-level exception of $37 million over four years. Chicago had improved the team considerably, but the picture still felt incomplete with a gaping hole on the wing. That’s when Karnisovas made his most audacious move yet, acquiring DeMar DeRozan in a sign-and-trade that sent out Thad Young and another first round pick (this one in 2025). DeRozan signed a three-year, $85 million deal.

While the Ball move was met with universal acclaim and the reaction to the Caruso signing was also positive (unless you were a Lakers fan), the Bulls were bashed for their DeRozan deal. ESPN’s Kevin Pelton gave the Bulls a D- grade for the move. John Hollinger of The Athletic also panned it, writing “Chicago set itself up to chase a .500 record and a low-end playoff berth this year … and likely kneecapped its ability to do anything beyond that for the next half decade or so.”

In a vacuum, it certainly feels like the Bulls overpaid for DeRozan both in terms of his contract and the trade assets going back to San Antonio. The move shouldn’t be judged in a vacuum, though. The Bulls had a clear hole on the wing around Ball, LaVine, Vucevic, and last year’s No. 4 overall pick Patrick Williams. Their trade assets were limited. LaVine is on the last year of his contract, and Vucevic is another year older. Chicago was desperate to make a push up the Eastern Conference playoff picture, and this was the best way to do it.

The Bulls didn’t care about ‘losing the deal’ when they signed DeRozan — they only cared about winning games. Given where they were a year ago, it certainly feels like they built the best team possible out of the assets at their disposal.

Photo by Layne Murdoch Jr./NBAE via Getty Images

The Bulls now have a five-man lineup that fits together exceedingly well on the offensive end. There are four three-point threats in the starting lineup. They have two dynamic on-ball creators in the halfcourt. They have a big man equally comfortable scoring in the post or popping out behind the arc to hit threes. They have an ideal linking guard who can connect their backcourt star and frontcourt star together while igniting their transition attack.

LaVine and DeRozan were both excellent as pick-and-roll handlers last season. LaVine spent 43.5 percent of his possessions on those play types, per Synergy Sports, and scored exactly one point per possession, which graded out in the 82nd percentile of the league. DeRozan took 84 percent of his possessions as a pick-and-roll handler, and scored 1.02 points per possession. While LaVine has been used almost exclusively on the ball since coming to Chicago because the team has lacked competent playmaking, DeRozan’s late career leap as a facilitator could finally unlock his off-ball game in the halfcourt.

Even on the brink of his 32nd birthday, DeRozan can still bend defenses with his burst as a ball handler. He has improved his vision and his passing touch year-over-year after breaking the first line of defense, finishing with a 31 percent assist rate last season that ranked in the 100th percentile among forwards, per Cleaning the Glass. It’s easy to envision LaVine whipping around screens to look for an advantage as DeRozan directs the offense against a set defense and works to find his spots in a reliable mid-range game.

The LaVine-Vucevic pick-and-roll should also still be effective even if DeRozan fails to space the floor off the ball. LaVine is a dangerous pull-up shooter with a lightning-quick first step who can usually blow by his man and put the opposing defense into rotation. His issue has been consistently making the right decision with the ball after that happens, but he showed signs of progress last year by posting his highest assist rate since his rookie year. He just pulled off one of the most difficult tasks in basketball, posting great scoring efficiency numbers (63.4 percent true shooting) with a high (31 percent) usage rate. His job should only get easier with better teammates this upcoming season.

That starts with Vucevic. Vooch has always been something of a high-volume battering ram in the paint since entering the league out of USC. He is still living up to that reputation, posting the sixth highest frequency of post-ups and scoring the third most points per game on those play types, per NBA.com. His inside scoring touch is now complemented by a sweet shooting stroke. Between his time in Orlando and Chicago last season, he hit 40 percent of his threes on 6.3 attempts per game.

A more under-discussed part of Vucevic’s offensive profile is his passing ability. He has been one of the best passing big men in the league over the last five years, finishing in the 93rd percentile or higher in assist rate for centers over that time, per Cleaning the Glass. Vooch’s playmaking will provide an additional path to halfcourt offense, and should become even more effective now that the Bulls have an wonderful connecting piece in Ball.

Ball is one of the oddest players in the NBA. Despite being drafted as a point guard with the No. 2 overall pick in the 2017 draft, his game hardly resembles a traditional floor general. He struggles to break down opposing defenses off the dribble and is allergic to both attempting shots at the rim and the foul line. Instead, Ball thrives as a quick ball mover, a reliable high-volume floor spacer (around 38 percent from three each of the last two years), and a transition spark plug. His feel for the game is his defining quality, and it should pop even more within a team contexts that tailored to suit his strengths. To add a soon-to-be 24-year-old of this caliber is a major addition in every way.

The wildcard is Williams. As the youngest full-time player in the NBA last season, Williams made 71 starts and drew the defensive assignment on the league’s biggest stars. He hit 39.1 percent of his threes, but was still a reluctant catch-and-shoot threat who often got in his own head after a couple misses. As the Bulls wait for him to become more confident as a shooter, Williams can also make an impact as a cutter and on the offensive glass. His defensive role will be far more important than his offensive role on this team. Williams has flashed impressive rim protection instincts, and has the frame to absorb contact at the rim. His development represents the organization’s cleanest path towards an even bigger climb up the standings, but it’s worth wondering if such a low-usage offensive role is what’s best for his long-term growth.

The Bulls’ offense ranked No. 21 in the league last year and could be due for a climb in or around the top-10. The defense is a different story, but it was surprisingly competent in Donovan’s first season, ending the year No. 12. Ball will help on the defensive end as an opportunistic playmaker who can force turnovers, while Caruso provides elite point of attack defense for a team that badly needs it.

Chicago still needs a backup center who can offer some rim protection (update: they signed Tony Bradley). They could use a more versatile forward with superior defensive capability on the bench than what Markkanen can offer. The wing depth could still be a problem. Even at their best, the defense may very well be an adventure.

With these caveats aside, the most important thing is the Bulls now have a five-man lineup that fits well and makes sense. The scope of the rebuild over the last five months as been remarkable. Given how aggressive Karnisovas was in getting to this point, there’s no reason to think he’ll start settling now.

It’s easy to think the Bulls overpaid for what’s likely to be a low-end playoff team in the East. The Bucks and Nets are still way, way ahead of the rest of the conference, and breaking into the second tier of the East — alongside the 76ers, the Heat, and the Hawks — would be a huge accomplishment. The third tier — led by the Knicks and Celtics — won’t be easy to surpass, either.

For the Bulls, cashing in their future draft picks and giving up a huge contract to DeRozan was simply the price of doing business. Whatever the reward is at the end of the season is also only a small piece of the big picture. For once, the Bulls are acting like a big market team and may just be establishing themselves as a destination for top-end talent down the line. Given the way superstar transactions work in the NBA — with the player often picking his destination rather than the team trading him to the highest bidder — it would be foolish to think they’re locked in to this current group. The Bulls only need one true A-list player to like what they’re building and see his future in Chicago.

Fans and media have a way of romanticizing building from the ground up through drafting and development. It’s incredibly satisfying when it works out, but teams also run the risk of wasting year after year if they don’t get the proper lottery pick or make the wrong pick. The end of the GarPax era is proof of that. The Bulls were going nowhere fast without some dramatic moves, and Karnisovas had the guile to pull them off with the help of GM Marc Eversley (who had a close relationship with DeRozan) and cap expect J.J. Polk (who figured out how to add all these pieces without cap space).

The Bulls would like to view these moves as a first step, not a final one. Their draft pick ammunition is depleted for the next few years, but they suddenly have a lot of tradeable pieces. The way the new front office has reworked the team in such a short timespan should be encouraging for future transactions.

Chicago’s new front office seems to be operating under one guiding principle: improve the team at all costs, and figure out how to do it again later. Regardless of how it plays out, it’s clear the Bulls are done thinking small. It’s about time.

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