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CL User Fanfiction: Backstories (Thread)

As the title says, write a backstory for a CL User. Here are the rules:

1) No shitty stories bashing on them. Your personal problems can stay out of the thread.
2) Before writing the story, tag their username.
3) Can be any length.
4) If you want, give some comments on the story.
5) Gawd, Pure.


There aren't many who existed in the beginning. And there is a lot that went on inbetween eras. Many are missing to tell this epic tale. A tale of fails, flails, whales, and baits for jail.

CREDIT FOR THE INTRO THING GOES TO @Slyter.

Also, I'm currently looking for an artist to go with the stories. Sooooo, if you are an excellent artist, please sign up!

Credit to moi? oh you shouldn't have~

With a great idea like this the spotlight is all yours babe :D

Hmm. Not bad. I like the idea. If i have time to write for this I will. <3

Woooow, sounds fun :3

Wake up.
Eat.
Go to school.
Come back home.
Study my ass off.
Whatever I want to do.
Dinner.
Walk dog.
Shower.
Whatever I want to do.
Sleep.
/Story of my life.

LMAO MOMI!!!! your life is so exciting!!!! XD

Who should I write about first? Choices, choices~

Booooooooooooo why do we have to ask?

LET US JUST RANDOMLY DRAW OUT THE STORY... AND REGRET IT AFTERWARDS~

@PureBoredom Fine. Rule changed. Gawd.

I've already written CL fanfiction. Let's just say it's not kid friendly.

@HULZ HULZ THE RABBIT

Once there lived a rabbit, Who had a naughty habit. He ate and ate and ate.. and put on all the weight.

He ate burgers and wotsits and even an eight, None of these would even fit on a plate.

Now the farmer is pissed and he lets out a hiss. With an almighty roar he grabs the rabbits jaw.

Once there lived a rabbit, Who had a naughty habit. He ate and ate and ate.. and now he's dead weight.

My user fanfiction of @Hulz.

@Guardian3 Fuck yeah!

It was a humid day in San Diego. The place where there’s more buttsecks per square foot than any other city. lolwut? Sean (Guard) was 8 at the time. When it happened.

Sean’s 12 year old sister, Malorie, came out of the house carrying a glass of lemonade. “Sean~ !!!” She called out.

He came out from behind the house and put crossed his arms. “What?” He said. Obviously uninterested in whatever his bitch of a sister had to say.

“Mom said to come inside before it gets dark. And,” she said shaking the drink in his face, “I brought you my legendary homemade lemonade.”

“Like anyone would want to drink that shit.” He smacked it away from his face and brushed passed her, walking into the house.

Malorie just smiled. It was okay. As long as she had him, it was always okay.

“Freak.” Sean muttered as he flopped on the couch.

There was no way Malorie could’ve carried a message from their mom. Their mother died of Leukemia when Sean was 4. It was too emotionally heart breaking for Malorie. She went into shock. And when she woke up, she thought their mother was still alive. With their father at work all of the time, Sean had to help his sister. Unfortunately, it seemed she was always the one who took care of him. And that disgusted him.

“I’m sorry you didn’t like the lemonade, Sean. It was probably bad anyway.” Malorie said as she entered the house.

No, don’t say that. It’s not your fault! I’m sorry! He thought. He wished he could say it, but somehow he could never muster up the courage to do it.

“Yeah. It was.” Is what he really said. Why was he born so weak? So afraid. Why couldn’t he be more like the heroes he saw on his Saturday morning cartoons? Fearless. Valiant. Brave.

Malorie just smiled and went to her room. Sean could hear her talking to someone in her room. They had no guests. Their father wasn’t home. So, he investigated.

Careful not to let Malorie see him, he stood by the door and listened.

“Oh yes, Mother. Sean is doing fine. He’s grown up quite a lot. Yes. I’ll get those right away.” Sean could hear Malorie’s footsteps as she walked toward the door. “Oh hi, Sean. I didn’t see you there. I’m going to the store. Would you like anything?”

Calmly masking his confusion, he said “Gum.”

“Only?”

“If I wanted something else, I would’ve asked for it.”

“Of course.” Malorie just smiled and walked away.

“And Malorie.” His voice had gotten shaky, his palms sweaty.

“Yes?” She turned around to see him.

He gulped and blushed. “B-be careful.”

“Thank you, Sean. I will.” She said, too late. He had already run off to mask his embarrassment.

Four hours had passed and Malorie had still not come back. It was already dark. You could no longer see the sun brightening the sky. In fact, clouds had crowded the sky and darkened the world.

Sean was worried. What if she was dead? No no. You musn’t think that way. She was coming back. She would come back for Sean. She had to.

At 9 pm, there was a knock at the door. Malorie! Sean dashed out of his room and saw his father walking into the house, drenched by the rain.

“Hey, Kiddo.” Sean’s father said.

“Hi Dad.” He said, disappointed.

Sean trudged back to bed and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited until he fell asleep.

That morning, he turned on the tv, and saw the news. There she was. Malorie. Dead. Lifeless. Defenseless.

“…Witnesses say she was leaving the store when a man offered to help her carry her bags. Later that night, her body was found in an alley. Local authorities are performing an autopsy and are have reason to believe she was raped and killed. We are currently questioning witnesses for any clues. The witness who found her body said ‘While she was still alive, barely clinging on to life, she said, ‘Don’t the stars look pretty tonight?’ Information will be updated later tonight.”

“No. It couldn’t be. Mal! You have to be alive! Please!” Sean shouted.

…And so concludes our story of how Sean became Guardian3 and saves the world from

pedophiles and rapists and animal abusers.

I want my story to be full of spazz and random...
but I'll do a story for someone :D

@The_Original_Original ...you didn't even give me credit for helping you!! Anyway...In that story, Guard sounds like a total pussy...my interpretation of guard: 'waa waa waa im such a huge pussy! I can never say what I mean like a total douche! waa waa' anyway....that wasnt like guard at all,which was your goal so...good job! I like that his sister was murdered.Made me laugh :'( im going to hell

That ending to Gordon's story made me derp. Derped kwae.n ag4ZSgk/;bneh ;zawetg;sndl323eSGdj;s3WRK;TWEJ;NEsgK;efK;EFWKLSEFKLSDFKLJFSEJKLSFDKLFKLSDFKADK;GZMJKLKLZSDFK;NZSDFNK;S

...Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

@maryam_oneill @the_original_original

Hot red droplets form and fall from the balcony above her head. Scents of rust, smoke, spoiled and burnt flesh bombard her sinuses, much like artillery rounds did this city 4 days short of this moment.

Kneeling behind the remnants of a brick wall separating a once-busy road from an apartment's courtyard, she clenches the (cracked) wood barrel-changing handle of the 17 pound PK machine gun in her hand, as it is her only guarantee of survival in this cruel world.

Her mind, a blackened daze. She witnessed the deaths of too many innocents. Her last meal was 24 hours ago, the heroin in her system depleted 48 hours ago. She hasn't slept for 72 and her last bowel movement was in 96. One can't fathom a more miserable condition than her own.

“Maryam, this is Original-1.”

The max volume of the radio's speakerbox shocked Maryam back to her senses. She set the volume to 10/10 during her last firefight, and forgot to bring it back down to her normal 4/10, which she now did without hesitation.
“Be advised: I have eyes on enemy personnel… ... -ding east on objective route ‘Shiner’ … -stance 200 meters south west of your position…. How copy?”

She brought the small black radio’s receiver close to her lips, “Original one, this is Maryam. I copy: Enemy heading east on Shiner, 200 meters southwest.”

“Roger, that’s solid. Original-1, out.”

The scene changes. Maryam is in the prone position of what appears to be the 2nd story living room of a 10 story apartment complex. The giant hole in the cement wall, the result of a 61mm mortar round, gives her a perfect field of view onto the street, littered with destroyed cars, carts, and bodies. This area was a busy marketplace seconds before the shelling began. Her PKM, loaded from the right side with a 200 round belt of non-disintegrating 7.62x54R ammunition, is aimed down the length of the street, where her targets will appear in a few minutes. Maryam begins sighting in.

The blazing afternoon heat is accredited for the warm balmy dusk. Fortunately, she will be given a forewarning of their approach, due to lengthy shadows cast at this time of the day. Unfortunately, she will have to shoot into the sunset, which will cause much discomfort to her already fatigued eyes.

3 minutes pass. They approach. Black silhouettes against the beautiful orange backdrop. Using her right hand, she places her PKM on the automatic fire position. The silhouettes now dance against the sunset as they navigate and weave through uneven street rubble.

The distance between Maryam and this formation of 9 individuals is 1000 meters, well outside the max effective range of her PKM.

15 minutes and 850 meters later, when her targets align linearly in perfect enfilade, the initial burst of gunfire tears through the evening silence. Crows and dogs and whatever foul scavenger was getting fat off of the dead scatter into the dark corners of the street. The PKM roars to life. BOOM BOOM BOOM. Silhouettes fall, drop and dive to the ground for cover. BOOM BOOM BOOM.The enemy soon returns fire. A group of rounds impact the wall and ceiling behind Maryam. This was her to cue to stop firing.

Once the sporadic return fire stopped, the enemy began peeking from behind cover and in order to assess the situation. The silence is now disturbed by the screaming of the 2 or 3 mortally wounded individuals. 3 more had died before the firing stopped.

Now is the clichéd 'perfect opportunity.' Maryam thinks to herself as she crawls to the adjacent kitchen, where a Dragunov sniper rifle, equipped with a PSO-1 passive infrared telescope, leans against the shiny white door of a refrigerator. She grabs the menacing rifle, places it on the table behind her, and begins sorting through the food and ammunition kept inside the fridge.

FUCK. WHERE DID I PUT IT?

She panics, which is blatant as she is now tossing the contents of the fridge. A rotten slice of watermelon lands on the receiver of the Dragunov with a wet ‘plap’.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

And in the bottom drawer intended for produce, was the ammo can she sought.

She sits at the table and opens the ammo can. It contains 5 Dragunov magazines loaded with 10 7.62x54R 7N1 sniper rounds each. And a red box of Pocky.

She grabs the green can with her left hand and slings the rifle in her right shoulder. She begins to leave her firing position and her trusty PKM behind, as she heads to the front door of the apartment room. The floor creaks from beneath her boots. The eerie silence between her cautious treads sent a chill down her spine. Something is wrong. Despite her exhaustion, her instinct is telling her what lies beyond the front door will consume her sanity. But she can't stay in this room, the enemy will request enforcements and clear this compound. Cold beads form on her forehead and neck while a torrent of salty sweat runs down her back. Despite the warm evening, her extremities feel frigid. Her breathing gets heavy, she collects herself and eases the ammo can to the ground, as to not make a single decibel of noise.
She unslings her rifle and brings it up to her shoulder. Tension builds to deadly levels. Momentary loss of bladder-control creates a quarter sized splotch on her white-and-blue striped panties. With her right hand supporting the weight of the rifle, set to kill, and her left hand trembling as it grips the brass doorknob, Maryam open the door. Get on the floor. Everybody walk the dinosaur.

OMGAWD, Guard. I loved it. LOL XD. Except, I only had one line. And you never told me what you thought of my fanfic...

Your's was...kinda sad ):

made me a little sad on the inside.

I'm sorry Guard. I wanted the people who laughed at the beginning to feel bad.

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