Chapter 7 - My SI Stash #7 - Yknow Nothing Jon Snow! by Umodin (Pokemon) (1/2)

-A pretty fun bastard SI in Pokemon, SI never finished the Pokemon series so he won't have all meta knowledge but still quite cool

Sypnosis: Y'know, I never realized how much the phrase about life giving you lemons resonated with me until all of this malarkey happened. I should be dead. Instead, I was dropped into the world of Pokémon, turned into a nine-year-old that looked nothing like I used to. To not take advantage of this supernatural opportunity was just stupid, however. And so, I became a trainer. OC-SI

Rated: T

Words: 160K

Posted on: fanfiction.net/s/11460367/1/Y-know-Nothing-Jon-Snow

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!) Thank you peeps for the power stones~ also shout out to Rei for adding me on League and boosting me~

Chapter 1:

It was time. I was ready.

I was just minutes away from losing my v_i_r_g_i_n_i_t_y: My skydiving v_i_r_g_i_n_i_t_y, to be specific. I was both terrified and awe-inspired all at once. This was the best eighteenth birthday present ever.

I'm also offering a hell of a lot of filler information without any background information to compensate, so let's just back it up a bit. Hi! My name is Johnathan Snow, affectionately called Jon Snow by everybody and their grandmother.

Yes, I am perfectly aware that my name is famous. No, I am not the reason it is famous. I was not born the bastard son of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I am a bastard, however. As it were, I was just a kid with a curious name. Curious enough to make me look up Game of Thrones and then read the books. George R. R. Martin is a genius, might I add; his works make up my favorite book series of all time.

Anyways.

Like I said, I'm a bastard. I was born to a teenage couple in 1994, on December 26th. Obviously, one of my parents raised me, right? Being a bastard in the modern world isn't really anything terrible, single parents are common enough.

Well, that's wrong. Not only was it wrong, it was hella wrong, meng.

Instead, as they were teenagers and had no interest in becoming actual parents, I was shipped off to an orphanage in San Francisco called Bayc_h_e_s_ter.

It wasn't all that bad, to be honest.

I was given a fair amount of food, decent company in my fellow orphans – we learned to stick together – and a surprising amount of opportunities. Most people think orphanages don't have the ability to grant their inhabitants many opportunities, and that would be correct for the most part. Orphanages aren't really able to financially back their children outside of their basic needs due to their stretched funds, but there were plenty of people that volunteered and helped out that were… Well, pliable isn't a word I should use, but they were pretty pliable.

I was lucky. One of the volunteers was a college intern at a local production firm. She thought I was cute, and I was fortunate enough to be born with a clear voice and the ability to project it. So, through her connections, I was able to start a career as a voice actor at the tender age of eight years old.

By the time I finished middle school at fourteen years old, I had been able to plow my way through the field enough to earn roles in some video games, commercials and even a few cartoons. My opportunities brought me into the actual world of acting as well, though I never was able to break out of plays. I didn't necessarily have much in the form of money, but I had way more than most people my age did. Money equaled security, and I wasn't feeling secure at Bayc_h_e_s_ter anymore.

Don't get me wrong, Bayc_h_e_s_ter is a great place. For children. The caretakers and matrons are wonderful people and the volunteers are happy to give their attention. The teenagers were often put to the side, however. To put it bluntly, nobody wanted to adopt them because they weren't in the cutesy stage anymore.

To be even more blunt, I was a runt. Right now, at the age of eighteen, I barely stood 5'6. At fourteen I wasn't even five feet tall. So, as both the runt and the only kid in the orphanage that had any money, I was the most common target for bullying. Nobody beat the shit out of me or anything, but I had my share of scars and body bruises.

…Where was I? Oh, yeah. Security.

That girl that gave me my connection? Her name was Ellie. We still talked, and she ended up being my agent while I was her first client. She was kind enough to ”adopt” me. The word adopt is in quotations because it was just a pile paperwork; in truth, we ended up being something akin to roommates. I had my area, she had hers. I never took her name, she never got in my business. Our relationship had always been more like what I presumed siblings or close relatives felt for one another, and things ended up calming down rather significantly.

Life was good.

Fast forward three and a half years, through my embarrassing high school career and the struggle I went through when my voice started cracking (which put a dent in my voice acting opportunities, let me tell you), and we return to my birthday. Ellie had always known I was a bit of an adrenaline junkie, so she called up a friend of a friend and was somehow able to get me a ticket to skydive in the middle of winter.

Which brings us to the here and now. My jumpsuit was tight, my body as prepped as it could possibly be, and I was stood in front of the hanger ready to jump.

The hatch opened; I secured my parachute pack as well as I could. There was a red light above the door. We were waiting for it to change color. I wasn't the only one jumping, but since I was the birthday boy I was obviously going to be going first. I even wore a pair of absorbent swim trunks underneath my suit, ready for any eventual bladder leaks that may or may not occur.

The light above the hatch flashed green. I wasted no time. I jumped.

It was easily the most exhilarating feeling I have ever experienced, just falling through the air and feeling the wind on my face. I could see everything from up here, all the mountains and beaches, even the curve of the planet. I wish I could describe it better. Sadly, my vocabulary had never been my strongest suit. I had to thank the public education system of California for that.

It was both terrifying and calming. Terrifying in the whole I'm falling fast enough to hit the ground like an old tomato way. Calming in the sense that this was a place where none of my problems could worry me. I could only focus on the here and now. I closed my eyes and just started to think.

I was eighteen years old; halfway through my senior year of high school and was living without a care in the world. My future plans weren't really set in stone. I was going to keep voice acting, that was certain. And now that I was eighteen, I was considered an a_d_u_l_t in the eyes of the world. I could move out, and I was actually able to afford a flat in California of all places! I was already looked at pretty well at my school for having such a cool job, and if I got my own place I might even pop that pesky cherry; the real one, not my sky diving v_i_r_g_i_n_i_t_y.

Did I want to go to college? No, not really. The only degrees that interested me were media focused, and I was already involved in entertainment. Media was all about connections, and I had those. I mean, I wouldn't mind going to a university; Ellie had always said that I absolutely needed that college experience. To find myself, whatever that meant. If an opportunity to go somewhere for free or for cheap popped up, I would probably take it.

But I also wanted to travel. So long as I kept a decent microphone on my person and a laptop with the ability to edit audio I could essentially work anywhere with an internet connection. Europe sounds fun. So does South America-

-Splat

”AGH!?” What the f_u_c_k? Did I just smack a bug with my face? No wait, that's the wrong wording. Did a bug just smack me in the face?! I wiped at my check with my hand, green ichor coating my finger. Belatedly, I remembered that I had to keep my body stable as I dove, and I began to move in a manner that did not promote confidence. I was spinning randomly now, my eyes wide open in fear. That calmness that supposedly came with terror? Yeah, that was nonexistent, this was pure terror.

I panicked and pulled the string to my parachute. The recoil of it smacked me like a truck, and it was in this moment that I learned something quite important.

Never trust a parachute that says Made in Vietnam. I've always had the feeling that they still hate Americans for that war. Well, that feeling was accurate. And returned. I needed to tell people. The people have a right to know!

Sadly, it seemed as if I would never be able to tell others of my discovery. Once the recoil hit, the string connecting my 'chute snapped like a piece of twine. My chance at survival was gone.

I was going to die.

I wasn't religious. I didn't believe in fate, nor did I especially care about anything steeped in the supernatural. However, I had also never been in a life or death situation up until now; though it could be argued that this was more like a death or death situation. I needed a miracle. So, I did something I've never done before; I started to pray.

”NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I'M TO YOUNG TO DIE!

PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE, NONONONO, I'M STILL A V_I_R_G_I_N, F_U_C_K! LET ME LIIIIIIIVE~ GOD, BUDDHA, ZEUS, ALAH, AZOR AHAI, SHENRON! SOMEBODYYYYYYY!”

I probably didn't pray right. I've never tried, so it wasn't like I knew if there was a certain way to do so. Most folk probably didn't scream as much.

I stopped bothering with words, just screaming my throat hoarse. I screamed and panicked and cursed and cried and pissed myself (I knew those absorbent trunks were a good idea).

I also determined that I hated the Vietnamese.

I was closing in on the earth; the designated landing sight was surrounded by a set of rocks. I wasn't going to hit the landing sight, I was going to hit those rocks. The training prior to the skydive included, in the case where my parachute didn't work, that I was to position myself like I was sitting. My legs were supposed to take the majority of the impact. I probably wouldn't ever walk again, but I might live.

So, I did as I was supposed to. I tucked my legs into position and tightened my muscles as much as I could. The ground was approaching fast, faster than I could keep up with.

The moment my feet touched down, there was nothing but pain, and then there was just nothing.

Surprisingly enough, I opened my eyes. It… It worked?

Wait, what worked?

Hold up. Which deity was the real one? I need to know who to worship from now on.

”I'm alive?”

I then promptly closed my mouth because holy hell did I sound like a squeaker.

I looked around. I was on a sand beachfront. This- this wasn't possible. I was miles away from the beach, and even then, this looked nothing like the beaches I was accustomed to. There was too much sand, too many tall trees. There were no businesses or overly large crowds.

”Hello, who are you?” Who the f_u_c_k was that?

It smiled at me in a sort of dopey way, ”How'd you get here?”

…

”AHHHHHHHHH MONSTER!”

”WHERE?!”

Nope. Nopenopenopenopenope. Not gonna happen. I began to run away, or at least tried to. Pain lanced through my legs. I couldn't move. Looking down, I realized that my legs were, well, a mess. There was blood and gore everywhere; if not for them being attached to my body, I wouldn't have even realized that these were my legs. Sweat poured out from all around my body. I started to shake, my breathing turned sporadic.

”Now that's not nice, calling me a monster,” the pink thing w_h_i_n_ed. ”I'm a proper Pokémon, you know?”

”Pokémon aren't real.” I should know, I auditioned for the role of Max Maple a few years ago for the dubbed animation. I didn't get the role due to my balls deciding they wanted to drop around that time, but I was perfectly well aware that Pokémon didn't really exist. It was a game and an anime and a job for some lucky sobs, nothing more and nothing less. And why did I sound like such a squeaker? Where was my beautiful, velvety, panty dropping voice?

”Then what would you call me?”

I would call him a freak. I'd seen some weird stuff on the internet, even some dude that augmented his body with tattoo's and surgeries to make him look like a reptile. Even if this guy was way more bloated, he was human. Had to be.

”Mmn, perhaps now isn't the best time for this. You're in pain.”

No shit, Sherlock.

”I'll just put you to sleep and take you to a healer. My good deed for the day, as the islanders like to say.”