#poor polnareff

“Toughen up.” Polnareff yelped as he was trampled by Kakyoin, “Get up, I wanna see how long you can last against my Kirby.”

You watched as Polnareff seemed to forget his woes, affronted that Kakyoin would imply he sucked at Super Smash Bros N64 (but he absolutely does).

This request made me so sad I’m 🥺🥺

One of my friends just very recently got to that part in the manga/anime and in his words “Polnareff deserved better”. I mean we’re glad he didn’t die but now he’s stuck as a turtle! And the turtle, the MVP of Vento Aureo, died! 😂😂

🐢

Ended up with a scenario because I got inspired. You used female pronouns in your ask so I’m going to assume you wanted a fem!reader

~~~

This prompt is sad. Here he is smiling

“I won’t be long, mon chéri. Just a few things I need to help clean up for an old friend. Don’t miss me too much, now. Then we have all the time in the world together, just you and I.”

The man you loved most in the world, the one you had given your everything to, had said that to you before leaving. “I won’t be long,” the beginning would make you laugh now, if it didn’t make you want to cry every time you thought about it.

He had said it almost seven years ago, and then vanished without a trace.

Jean Pierre Polnareff, what an enigmatic man he was. You met him in the summer of 1989 - unbeknownst to you, he had just returned to France from facing certain death every single day for 50 days, avenging his sister’s death and losing three of his friends on the way to defeating the most evil being to ever exist - and the two of you began dating quite soon after. Something you both had in common was that neither of you had any family left, and so you became each other’s family.

He was a major flirt and a goofball, but in the moments of quiet between the two of you, you could always sense this strange intensity to him. His ghosts followed him everywhere, but the most you ever got from it was that it didn’t matter anymore.

“Everything’s behind me, mon amour. I’d rather not burden you with my old troubles. Let’s just keep walking forward together.”

Despite worrying over him, you respected his boundaries, trusting that he would tell you when he was ready. Still, the years spent with Jean Pierre were the happiest you had been in a long time. You felt certain that you would marry him, settle down and two of you could bring children into your blissful lives.

In 1994, he said those words to you; got on a plane, and you never saw him again.

You never heard from him, once. It was though he had vanished. The police were absolutely no help, essentially telling you to get over it as you were the only person alive who seemed to care about the fact that he was missing. They told you there was nothing they could do since he could be anywhere in the world. Essentially, your friends told you he got cold feet and ran. Though deep in your heart you were shattered by this, something inside you just felt like it was something else. One of those secrets he had been keeping to himself behind every smile.

In 2001, something strange happened to you. You had been in your kitchen cooking, and nicked yourself with a knife. As you searched frantically for a cloth or a tissue to stop the cut from getting everywhere, small droplets of blood began to run down your finger. One... Two... Three... Four.... and then suddenly, there were ten drops. You stared in silence at the blood droplets on the counter. How was that possible? You weren’t going crazy were you?

The second strange event occurred moments later, when something inside you, what felt like your very soul, felt as though you were burning. You collapsed to the floor in agony, crying out and simply waiting for it all to be over. But when it all stopped, and you found yourself alive in a mess of tears on your kitchen floor, it was though you knew instinctively. This had to do with Jean Pierre.

A few weeks later, you received a call from a number in Italy. Normally one to just ignore odd phone calls, you elected to ignore it the first two times it rang... the third sent your heart into your throat. They were trying to reach you so desperately; it just had to be him! after seven years, he was finally coming back.

Who was on the other line, though, was not Jean Pierre. It was an Italian man, he sounded very young, who introduced himself in English as Giorno Giovanna. He told you he was calling on behalf of Jean Pierre Polnareff and you nearly burst into tears. Without even hearing what else he had to say you were demanding him to tell you were he was, that you could see the man you loved so much again, to be held in his arms again-

“Sign- Miss,” the young man continued. “He does want me to tell you... he doesn’t look like how you remember him anymore. He wants you to be prepared for that.”

“I don’t care!” You exclaimed. “As long as Jean Pierre is alive, that’s all that matters to me! As long as he still loves me!”

It was faint... it was oh so faint but somehow you still heard it. “Chéri...” mumbled so softly and yet the phone still picked it up. It was his voice. A voice you had longed to hear from anywhere else but trapped inside your head for any longer.

“Jean Pierre! Can I speak to him?” You asked, but Giorno disregarded your question. He told you he would pick you up at Napoli airport, and hung up quickly afterwards.

You had said it didn’t matter before, but the way they both had acted made you realize as tears pricked the corners of your eyes, that something terrible had happened to the love of your life.

~

Giorno turned out to be even younger than you had imagined. He couldn’t even be over the age of 20. Oddly enough, after receiving you at the airport he then led you to a black car with darkened windows in which he got in the backseat with you. Another young man was in the driver’s seat, with a strange hat that covered much of his hair and a cropped sweater in loud red and blue. You noticed the gun holstered on him immediately. Who exactly had Jean Pierre gotten involved with in Italy?

All of those thoughts went out the window though as Giorno and the other man escorted you inside a beautiful Italian manor. They brought you into a beautiful ballroom with glassy floors and art across the ceiling. It had a wide window that overlooked a garden. You noticed there was a table pushed against the far wall, displaying several vases of flowers and the sculpture of a turtle on it.

“So,” you looked between the two of them. “Where is Jean Pierre? Is he hurt? In the hospital? What are we doing here?”

The two of them exchanged a glance before Giorno spoke again. “He’s... here. In the manor. I just want to emphasize again that he’s changed a lot since you last saw him. He was involved in some dangerous things that he never told you about. And for never telling you that before, he’s-“

A new voice interrupted from behind you. “For that, I am so, so sorry, mon chéri.”

With a gasp, and with tears already in your eyes, you turned around to expect to find a man standing in the doorway. Instead you saw nothing but the table with the turtle statue again. Confused and desperate, you frantically looked around for something, anything that made this make sense.

Finally, you spoke even though your voice cracked. “Jean Pierre, where are you?!”

This time, it was very clear where his voice came from. “I’m right here. L’amour de ma vie, I never thought I would get to see your beautiful face again.”

You made your way slowly over to the table, where upon approach it became immediately clear that the turtle was not a statue as it raised its head to look up at you. Slowly, you reached down to touch it. “Jean Pierre?” His name was barely a whisper on your tongue.

There was a key on the turtle’s back, wedged into the shell. You watched as the key glimmered for a moment, and a small Jean Pierre Polnareff from the waist up popped out.

The look on your face read joy - to finally see him again after all these years - to horror. You couldn’t even begin to comprehend what had happened to him.

Idk

Based on this xD