#because nope

Don't get me wrong... I think they're cute.

But then I go back to the first season gifs and pics and see Jonathan and Steve...

And I just go...

Send ☠ to straight up try to kill my muse 

I’m sorry in advance

@pierre-renaldi sorry again

Genovia was such a small country, it’s population under one hundred thousand, perceived to be so easy to control, easier still when the occupying authorities had managed to capture both Queen Clarisse and the Princess Amelia, even tucked up in the palace under full control and at their complete mercy in the Genovian palace.

Pierre received a private parcel one morning, inside was a pistol, a letter of condolences for the loss of his brother and an ultimatum. If Pierre failed to kill Albert before midnight, then Clarisse would be executed, Amelia an hour later and his entire population rounded up and ‘segregated’ until only those meeting the criteria of the ‘master race’ remained, any that didn’t, would also be killed. If Pierre killed himself, it would change nothing, if Albert was not dead by midnight then Genovia would cease to exist. If Pierre succeeded, they would leave the population as it was, Clarisse would be allowed to return to Canada and live in exile, Amelia, after some negotiation, would be allowed to do the same the following year, the British people would also be free from any significant bombings on civilian areas. If Pierre escaped, he would be protected from prosecution under German authority.

His presence was missed at breakfast, again at lunch and noticeably at dinner. Albert had sent Pierre’s valet to check on him every now and again, to which the man confirmed that Pierre had not left his room. Though since the loss of his brother and his faith, it had become a common occurrence for Pierre to hide himself away in one room or another. For a change, Albert had no choice but to let him have a day just to himself, he was never sure if his company helped the other man or not when he was in such a state of mind, though the demands of monarchy kept the king busy as it was.

When Pierre only had an hour left until the ultimatum, he emerged wearily from his room into the corridors which were oddly still well lit. A walk to the King’s Room had revealed (via startled hall boy), that Albert was still in his study working. This meant traversing through the official quarters of the Palace, passed the eyes of portraits of former monarchs, passed the guards and member’s of Albert’s court, each of them greeting Pierre with a nod and a smile, even directing him towards the state office politely, some claiming that the king would be happy to see him.

Without any checks or hesitation, the doorman opened the corner door, announced Pierre and let him inside before closing it behind him, leaving him alone with Albert. When the door closed, Albert looked up from a thick looking document he had been reading, smiling to him softly in greeting as Pierre moved to stand on the other side of the desk. Albert could see that he wasn’t himself, not at all but tried his usual tone to see if he could manage that little huffed laugh back if nothing else. “–I am -glad you have -found your way from your room. Are you -hungry? I don’t know if anyone -brought any -food to you, they are -never –keen on letting us eat in the rooms… or -maybe that is -just me.” He mused and set his cigarette down on the side of his ash tray to offer him his attention.

Though what smile he had faded away when Pierre pulled the pistol from his jacket, the pistol looked so unnatural in Pierre’s hand, so unfamiliar with the ways in which to hold it, though perhaps what shaking he gave was not solely due to inexperience but for the traumatic processing that Pierre must have had to work through in the hours leading up to the decision. Of course, if Albert knew his choice, he would have said it was an easy one, the life of one for the benefit of thousands. Of course, Pierre had never killed another man before, the man had not even held a gun before that day and perhaps that added a world of difference to the encounter.

Albert didn’t move for a long moment, just watching what it was Pierre would do, sure that the silence between them was stalling whatever was happening, pausing them in a silent exchange of fearful, hurting and desperate glances. The clock in the office ticking unnaturally loud as if acting as a reminder of how little time Pierre had left to save his country. With a tearful apology, an ask for forgiveness and a shaking hand, Pierre squeezed the trigger and a loud shot ratted the office. The recoil was vicious for an inexperienced hand, Pierre was forced to take several steps back with an aching arm and shoulder.

There was a breathless, pained gasp as Albert gathered himself against the chair and his right hand swung around to protect his left shoulder as blood dripped over his fingers. His gaze was not on his former friend, instead it was on the document on the desk. He said no words, freeing his shoulder painfully to reveal an alarming flow of crimson, grabbing his pen with bloodied fingers and scrawling on the bottom of the document desperately, flipping over several pages before scrawling again as his breathing turned to wheezing.

Shouts were echoing down the corridor outside, heavy foot falls suggesting the arrival of the household guards. Albert seemed not to care for all that. He finished with the pen as his shoulders slumped, forcing his head against the desk, dropping the pen as blood pooled on the table. His scrawling was his all important signature, the documents, the plans and permissions necessary for ‘Operation Overlord’ and ‘Operation Neptune’.