Post by touhou on Jun 5, 2013 12:36:53 GMT -5
hahahaha I don't even know I just have a lot of headcanons that aren't really like anyone else's that I've seen so I decided to write some junk
basically fanpros are all nonhuman but they live in the human world
feel free to suggest anywhere from 1-3 characters to write about next as long as they're from 0001 – 0090 (leaving out 91 – 100 and 0 for plot purposes. yes this does have a plot. sort of.)
Assimilation: Introduction
When the fanpros started appearing, nobody knew what to do.
It started when somebody spotted 0001 walking around a small town in Canada. Apart from his odd choice of clothing, he looked human enough, until someone asked who he was. He explained that he was a "fanpro", a word nobody knew the meaning of, his name was 0001, though just One was fine, and he had no memories of his life before he was found.
The family who had found him were concerned, rightly so, and brought him to the hospital to see if he had any head injuries or the like. What the doctors found instead was that One was not biologically human, and though he was similar enough that they were able to determine he was healthy, there was no way to tell where he came from. For all he knew, he had just appeared there one day, with only the knowledge of who he was.
The next day, 0002 was discovered in the United States, wandering the streets of Chicago. The day after that, 0003 appeared in a Switzerland computer laboratory. And the day after that, 0004 appeared in China, and so on and on. One fanpro a day, each one different than the last.
No one person had the same theory of where they came from. God brought them here, thought some. They were gods, thought others. Escapees from a genetic experiment. Aliens sent to replace humans. Spirits born from human thoughts. No matter what they were, nobody knew if they were dangerous or not, so they were kept separate from humanity until scientists from all around the world were able to learn more about them.
After roughly a month, when 0028 had appeared, the appearances of the fanpros slowed drastically. 0029 didn't show up until three days later, and 0030 a week after that. Once a year had passed, they had a total of ninety fanpros, and then they suddenly stopped appearing.
By then, it had been determined that none of the fanpros were dangerous. Certainly, none of them were human, but after a barrage of neurological testing, they were found to be very human-like indeed. Finally, all the fanpros were given a choice: stay in the research centers, so that humans could learn more about them, or go out into the world, and mingle with the rest of humanity.
Most? Chose the latter.
Assimilation: 0072 and 0088
Seventy-two was exhausted, and wondering if it would have been for the best if he had stayed at the research center. He had wanted to go to college, and him being what he was, any number of prestigious universities were offering him admittance. What college wouldn't want one of the mysterious fanpros as their student?
But, despite somehow knowing the language of the country he had appeared in, and having basic knowledge of what the world was, Seventy-two had clearly never gotten an education. Basic arithmatic had to be explained to him before he could add and subtract, and he still struggled with multiplication and division. He had to be taught to read and write, and had no knowledge of science, history, or anything. College courses were a long way away for him, despite having the apparent mental age of a twenty-year-old human. He had stayed up all night studying, but
Seventy-two sighed and put his head down on his desk. It was a hot summer day, and a few strands of green hair that had gotten loose from his braid stuck to his face. Though the apartments he was provided had air conditioning, it had broken a few days before – just in time for the hottest week of the year.
This sucked.
He sat up again and stared at the computer screen. Previously, it had shown a kids' program for learning basic geometry, but by now the computer had gone to sleep and the only thing the screen showed was black. Seventy-two looked out the window at the city streets below, and wondered how anyone could be outside in this heat. His arms left little puddles of sweat when he moved them, and everything was sticky. Dimly, he remembered that he should be drinking more water, and stood up to get himself a glass.
When he walked into the kitchen, Eighty-eight was standing in front of the refrigerator with the door open.
"Don't do that," he said.
The girl turned to him and pouted. Her hair was done up into two blue corkscrews, with pink flowers at their base. Normally she wore a lavender dress, but it was so hot lately that she had traded it for a large shirt that was barely long enough to cover her up. Seventy-two supposed he couldn't blame her. He had spent most of yesterday in nothing but a pair of shorts.
"It's hot," said Eighty-eight.
"I know it's hot," said Seventy-two, "but if you keep that open too long, then it'll lose all the cold air and all our food will go bad."
"Then we'll live off of bread and rice."
"We're out of bread."
Eighty-eight furrowed her brow. "Then how will we make rice sandwiches?"
Deciding not to inquire as to what rice sandwiches were and why anyone would want them, Seventy-two reached over her head and took out the water pitcher. "Now close it."
"Fine." With a sigh, Eighty-eight closed the refrigerator, and promptly flopped backwards onto the floor. Seventy-two glanced at her, then went back to pouring himself a glass.
"When is oh-oh-ninety going to come home?" Eighty-eight said, staring up at the ceiling.
"I don't know," Seventy-two said.
"You're mean."
"What?"
She rolled over onto her stomach, and her next words were muffled. "I'm lonely and you're not paying any attention to me. That's mean."
"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"
"You're terrible."
His glass of water was already covered in condensation, and it almost slipped out of his hand when Seventy-two tried to pick it up. "I don't want to talk anymore if you're going to insult me."
"Okay," said Eighty-eight. "Then you can just leave me here to melt."
That was exactly what Seventy-two did; leave the room while Eighty-eight lay on the floor, covered in sweat. She stuck her tongue out as he left, but he didn't notice.
It was only a half-hour later that he realized he had forgotten to put the water pitcher back in the refrigerator.
basically fanpros are all nonhuman but they live in the human world
feel free to suggest anywhere from 1-3 characters to write about next as long as they're from 0001 – 0090 (leaving out 91 – 100 and 0 for plot purposes. yes this does have a plot. sort of.)
Assimilation: Introduction
When the fanpros started appearing, nobody knew what to do.
It started when somebody spotted 0001 walking around a small town in Canada. Apart from his odd choice of clothing, he looked human enough, until someone asked who he was. He explained that he was a "fanpro", a word nobody knew the meaning of, his name was 0001, though just One was fine, and he had no memories of his life before he was found.
The family who had found him were concerned, rightly so, and brought him to the hospital to see if he had any head injuries or the like. What the doctors found instead was that One was not biologically human, and though he was similar enough that they were able to determine he was healthy, there was no way to tell where he came from. For all he knew, he had just appeared there one day, with only the knowledge of who he was.
The next day, 0002 was discovered in the United States, wandering the streets of Chicago. The day after that, 0003 appeared in a Switzerland computer laboratory. And the day after that, 0004 appeared in China, and so on and on. One fanpro a day, each one different than the last.
No one person had the same theory of where they came from. God brought them here, thought some. They were gods, thought others. Escapees from a genetic experiment. Aliens sent to replace humans. Spirits born from human thoughts. No matter what they were, nobody knew if they were dangerous or not, so they were kept separate from humanity until scientists from all around the world were able to learn more about them.
After roughly a month, when 0028 had appeared, the appearances of the fanpros slowed drastically. 0029 didn't show up until three days later, and 0030 a week after that. Once a year had passed, they had a total of ninety fanpros, and then they suddenly stopped appearing.
By then, it had been determined that none of the fanpros were dangerous. Certainly, none of them were human, but after a barrage of neurological testing, they were found to be very human-like indeed. Finally, all the fanpros were given a choice: stay in the research centers, so that humans could learn more about them, or go out into the world, and mingle with the rest of humanity.
Most? Chose the latter.
Assimilation: 0072 and 0088
Seventy-two was exhausted, and wondering if it would have been for the best if he had stayed at the research center. He had wanted to go to college, and him being what he was, any number of prestigious universities were offering him admittance. What college wouldn't want one of the mysterious fanpros as their student?
But, despite somehow knowing the language of the country he had appeared in, and having basic knowledge of what the world was, Seventy-two had clearly never gotten an education. Basic arithmatic had to be explained to him before he could add and subtract, and he still struggled with multiplication and division. He had to be taught to read and write, and had no knowledge of science, history, or anything. College courses were a long way away for him, despite having the apparent mental age of a twenty-year-old human. He had stayed up all night studying, but
Seventy-two sighed and put his head down on his desk. It was a hot summer day, and a few strands of green hair that had gotten loose from his braid stuck to his face. Though the apartments he was provided had air conditioning, it had broken a few days before – just in time for the hottest week of the year.
This sucked.
He sat up again and stared at the computer screen. Previously, it had shown a kids' program for learning basic geometry, but by now the computer had gone to sleep and the only thing the screen showed was black. Seventy-two looked out the window at the city streets below, and wondered how anyone could be outside in this heat. His arms left little puddles of sweat when he moved them, and everything was sticky. Dimly, he remembered that he should be drinking more water, and stood up to get himself a glass.
When he walked into the kitchen, Eighty-eight was standing in front of the refrigerator with the door open.
"Don't do that," he said.
The girl turned to him and pouted. Her hair was done up into two blue corkscrews, with pink flowers at their base. Normally she wore a lavender dress, but it was so hot lately that she had traded it for a large shirt that was barely long enough to cover her up. Seventy-two supposed he couldn't blame her. He had spent most of yesterday in nothing but a pair of shorts.
"It's hot," said Eighty-eight.
"I know it's hot," said Seventy-two, "but if you keep that open too long, then it'll lose all the cold air and all our food will go bad."
"Then we'll live off of bread and rice."
"We're out of bread."
Eighty-eight furrowed her brow. "Then how will we make rice sandwiches?"
Deciding not to inquire as to what rice sandwiches were and why anyone would want them, Seventy-two reached over her head and took out the water pitcher. "Now close it."
"Fine." With a sigh, Eighty-eight closed the refrigerator, and promptly flopped backwards onto the floor. Seventy-two glanced at her, then went back to pouring himself a glass.
"When is oh-oh-ninety going to come home?" Eighty-eight said, staring up at the ceiling.
"I don't know," Seventy-two said.
"You're mean."
"What?"
She rolled over onto her stomach, and her next words were muffled. "I'm lonely and you're not paying any attention to me. That's mean."
"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"
"You're terrible."
His glass of water was already covered in condensation, and it almost slipped out of his hand when Seventy-two tried to pick it up. "I don't want to talk anymore if you're going to insult me."
"Okay," said Eighty-eight. "Then you can just leave me here to melt."
That was exactly what Seventy-two did; leave the room while Eighty-eight lay on the floor, covered in sweat. She stuck her tongue out as he left, but he didn't notice.
It was only a half-hour later that he realized he had forgotten to put the water pitcher back in the refrigerator.