#though i still think that a one position penalty under those circumstances is unfair

[skitskatdacat63]

The interesting thing to me ig abt the Gax thing is how it feels like Max sees it as George breaking some unspoken rule. Maybe to Max, it's one thing to tattle on the radio and try to get penalties there(which he himself does.) But another to go out of your way off track to make the effort of bringing it to the stewards and having a fully fledged meeting with both parties?

I don't really care either way, I see it as different drivers having different boundaries and limits on how far they're willing to go to get an advantage or to get "justice." I guess I think about moments like Jarno Trulli literally printing out proof of his crash with Adrian Sutil and bringing it to the next GP bcs he wasn't satisfied with the stewards' result 😭

[tiaragqueen]

Bun Bun: Prologue

Chapter 1

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[Edited]

“In the beginning, some people try to appear that everything about them is "in black and white," until later their true colours come out.” - Anthony Liccione

          “The execution shall begin!”

          It was such a simple sentence; one that most people wouldn’t think twice about. In fact, many of them enjoyed watching the executioner beheaded criminals' heads. It was like a personal amusement for them; something that invoked satisfaction and, possibly, sadistic pleasure. The criminals' expressions varied from one person to another. Some terrified, some wailing, some struggling, and some emotionless.

          You didn’t judge people's preferences, though. Had you were in their position, you would certainly get the same satisfaction from seeing an evildoer disappear from this world. It wouldn’t change much. Crimes would definitely still exist - it was an intrinsic part of life and essential for laws to stay active because, without crimes, the police force would be useless - but at least it would discourage one person from acting on them.

          But this was different. Someone that you knew, someone that you were more than acquainted with, someone that you used to love, was the convict today. Watching the person, who had been an important figure in your life, being beheaded wasn't the same as watching an ordinary criminal.

          Your palms were clammy underneath the white gloves, and you contemplated the possibility of returning to the castle without anyone noticing. The execution had yet to start, but you were already dreading it more than listening to the court's decision regarding his death penalty. You were supposed to be anticipating this. Heck, you had even promised to your parents that you would attend. For the first time in twenty years, you were about to witness a cruel death with your very own eyes.

          So why were you hesitating now? Did you still have some feelings for him?

          No, you shook your head. Of course not. It was impossible. Ridiculous. Any lingering sentiment that you had for him died the moment you discovered just how malicious he could be. The betrayal and disbelief had stained the rose-colored lens who your naïve self had adopted during earlier years due to the circumstances you were in. Safe and sound. No crime or rumors ever reached your innocent ears, and your parents had made sure that you wouldn’t catch a glimpse of the executions that occurred regularly.

          You had been in the dark for as long as you could remember. And had he didn’t show how terrifying an ordinary person – a gentleman – could be, then you would have lived up your day believing that the world was all rainbows and sunshine. Because why would you be evil, when you could spread kindness instead?

          Well, clearly not anyone shared the same opinion as you. Some people were just determined to achieve something, and you had never expected that you would be the target of that dogged determination. Sure, you were a princess and many envied you, but to be desired to the point of obsession?

          Sometimes, you just wanted to rip the stupid tiara from your head and pretended that you were an average peasant for once. But who were you to get that privilege? No matter how hard you tried, no matter how many times you wished upon the sky or the falling star, you could never be one.

          However, you kept hoping that maybe – in another lifetime, where everything wasn’t so complicated and strict and more manageable – you would be an average peasant that you always dreamed of.

          For now, you just had to deal with him. The one person who had scarred you for life and opened your eyes to the brutal reality. That absolutely anyone was capable of corrupting and be corrupted. Although you weren’t sure if you were ready to see his face again. How could you not? It's been a long time since the last time you saw him.

          Was he okay? Did he get torture in there? Had the reform for even the slightest bit?

          A tall young man, in his early twenties, climbed up the wooden stairway to the platform. Despite the two guards who were trailing close behind, and the townspeople who immediately threw insults at him like there was no tomorrow, his face remained stony. His body was much skinnier, to the point where you could see the bones protruding from the once bulky skin. His hair was dirty, littered with some dust that hung on the dark locks. Yet, his eyes were still cold as always. They reflected the derisive and angered faces of the townspeople like a deceptive mirror that showed their true, rotten selves.

          It was through those eyes too where you learned that not everyone was as kind as they appeared to be. That they only acted cordial either for the sake of gaining your favor or out of courtesy.

          And he had been one of them as well, although he insisted that his kindness was ‘real’. You knew you were fully aware, and you acknowledged it. The sincerity and affection that lit up his hollow irises whenever he saw you was far from fake. You can never be as happy when you meet someone unless you truly like them, especially in a royal world where everyone is pretending to be someone they're not.

          “He looks worse now,” you heard Rosé whispered beside you. She clutched the hem of her black apron, nervous about being in the same area with him although he was standing a good few meters away from her. Her fear was warranted, however, given his infamy in your kingdom.

          You threw her a glum glance, silently agreeing with your personal maid. You had no doubt that he often refused to eat if not the guards having some sort of a personal grudge against him.

          “I won’t eat,” he’d said during your first and last visit to his cell. “I will show you how much you turn me into this way.”

          It was unfair of him to put the blame on you because obviously, you couldn’t control other people’s feelings. But you knew that you had influence to this sudden change too, not that you would admit it out loud. It would only prove his statement - thus feeding his ego - and that was the last thing you wanted to hear from him.

          Jungkook stood with a hunched back in front of you, glassy eyes staring off the distance. What he thought about was a mystery, but you were sure that he didn’t repent on his sins or pondering over his inevitable death. In fact, you could safely say that he enjoyed being a criminal.

          That was just another proof of how messed up he was on the head.

          “Is there any last word, Jeon Jungkook?” the executioner's deep voice boomed.

          A hush fell over the boisterous crowd as they waited for his last answer. The last response that would either strengthen their convictions over his unforgivable actions or convince his innocence, however ridiculous it might sound. Regardless of his sudden decision to show a bit of humanity within him, Jungkook couldn’t miss the blade that glinted menacingly under the sun; the 175 pounds blade that would soon become the end of his life.

          If he had any, that is.

          Your breath hitched the moment his eyes landed on yours. His gaze was heavy, meant to condescend you despite your higher position. Like you were nothing more than a delicate doll to be dressed in pretty dresses and shoes. Somehow, you had a ridiculous hope that maybe he would overlook you within this sea of raging people.

          But of course, nobody can miss their loved ones even in a desert. It’s hard not to.

          A smirk graced his pale features, and you visibly tensed up. Despite his lanky figure and hollow cheekbones, he remained the same attractive boy you had met in the past. “I shall see you soon, Your Highness.”

          It was a promise, one that he would definitely carry out one way or another. How? You didn’t know. He would die within minutes anyway. But Jungkook wasn’t one to go back on his words, regardless of how ludicrous or absurd they might be.

          So, maybe, he believed in another lifetime. Just like you.

          Rosé gently grabbed your forearm in a comforting manner as you both watched the executioner raised the rope that held the weighted blade. There was no hesitation, no reluctance, and no lingering movements when Jungkook bowed down to place his head on the lunette. He was like a dutiful child, ready to face whatever consequences that befall him.

          And without further hesitation either, the executioner released the rope.

          You squeezed your eyes shut, hearing the blade fell with a thud. Rosé whimpered as she hid her face on your side, unable to witness the cruelty of his death as well. Tears leaked from your eyelids and left wet trails along your powdered face. You didn’t know why you were crying when you should be happy that he was dead now.

          Perhaps, deep inside, you still harbored some feelings for him. You just refused to acknowledge them. But it was impossible, right? It had to be.

          After a few minutes, Rosé slowly withdrew from the awkward side hug and you braced yourself to see it in person. Bile rose to your throat as you bit your bottom lip to suppress a sob from escaping.

          Jungkook’s head laid on the ground, facing you. His eyes, although lost their sparks of life, were tender. Like the eyes of a lover who loves their significant other so much they’re willing to give the world for them. His warm gaze, which usually turned ice cold to other people who he felt was bothering you, sent an imaginary stab into your chest.

          Why? After all the immoral actions he’d done, he had the guts to stare at you like this? Like you were his whole world, and he was the little stars that have lights on to your otherwise dark life?

          Why? Why did he still love you after you rejected him repeatedly?

          And most of all, why did his death hurt you so much?

          You gripped the cold steel of your parasol and silently wept against your chest. You might be mourning over his death or the doom that had befallen him the moment he met you. Nobody knew. Nobody could bring themselves to care. All they wanted was for him to perish.

          And granted was their wishes.

          “Jungkook...”