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4964 No. 4964
Don't ask me. Noka wanted me to do it. Also, what's with having to use a file to post new threads in here? At least I have the art boards as a resource for tf2-related pictures.

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“I LOVE DOCTOR!” he said it as loudly and with jubilation, relishing the long denied truth. Yes, Heavy could no longer conceal his feelings from himself, or from Scout, who was sleeping in the bunk below.

“Gah!” the boy said, sitting up only to collide with Heavy’s enormous backside, which sagged only a few precarious inches above him on the upper bunk. “What the fuck, Heavy?”

“Leetle man not hear me? I say again! I love doctor!” Heavy jumped off the bed, making a thud to rival the eruption of Vesuvius. Scout felt his entire bed bounce a fraction of an inch as Heavy landed, sending him flying upwards and hitting the bottom of the upper bunk with his head.

“That’s great, fatass, but next time ya feel like confessing all ya queer love and shit, could ya do it during the day?!”

“Love waits for no one, leetle scout!” Heavy barked, feeling like he was Pushkin as he made his romantic observation. “And I cannot vait! “I must go and find him!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Scout pressed his face into the bed and rubbed the back of his head with a groan. “Just lemme fucking sleep.” stupid Heavy. Every night it was something or other. The night before, the Russian has an epiphany that he liked stewed Borscht, whatever the hell that was. And two nights ago, Heavy had to announce to the world, and scout in particular, that someday he was going to make giant babies with a woman in the Bolshoi Ballet. Freaking guy changed his mind more than a six year old looking at two candies. But unlike those other two things, Heavy could actually act on his “Love” for Medic. What was he gonna do? Well, nothing I can do, Scout decided as he closed his eyes and Heavy lumbered out of the room. Not his freakin problem.

Heavy skipped down the hall on slender, disproportionate feet, each step resounding on the concrete with the sheer weight behind it. Humming to himself, he came to the end of the hall and saw a pair of coattails turn out of sight at the end of another hall. Instantly, the man’s beady eyes lit up, and he clapped his hands and giggled in delight. He was going to go and confess to his dearest Medic…but wait! Why would the doctor ever want him? This epiphany hit him like a ton of bricks strapped to an elephant. Why would beautiful German doctor ever want big, fat, dumb, fat, slow, fat, Russian, fatty fat him? Realizing Medic could never really love him, Heavy broke down and began sobbing, sonorously and raggedly. Oh, it is sad day! He would be alone, and forgotten, and nothing good would ever, ever-

“MON DIEU! SHUT UP!” Heavy’s increasingly loud ululations were interrupted by a cigarette case being chucked as his face. Spy was standing in the doorway, his balaclava only three quarters on and obscuring his left eye. “Must you have a very loud emotional breakdown in the middle of the night, right by my room?” the Frenchman said as he struggled to straighten his mask.
“But Spy,” Heavy said as he sniffed, “Zhe doctor…I love him, and he…”

“Yes, I heard your revelations of love from my room,” Spy said, scowling. “And I also heard your ululations, which, being impossible to ignore, brought me out here in the first place.” and with that, he turned to stride back to his room.

“Sp-Spy, wait!” Spy sighed and turned to face the pitiful man, whose face was as red and runny as a burst strawberry. “How can I make medic love me? How can I make him want me back?” Spy raised his eyebrows beneath his mask. Heavy, trying to woo someone? How amusing.

“Why not figure out what zhe man likes?” Spy simply asked as he turned away.

“How I do that?” Heavy asked, bottom lip quivering like a puppy’s.

“I don’t know,” Spy said coldly as he walked back into his room. Dammit, he was a Spy, not a therapist. “Do what I do. Spy on him.” Spy slammed the door shut, making sure to fasten all of its 16 locks before returning to bed.

“Spy…that’s eet!” Heavy began feeling giddy again as his little eyes spotted a ventilation shaft. He would go find out what Medic liked secretly! Oh, Heavy, you are a clever, clever man. The Russian started to force himself into the ventilation shaft, which, despite being of considerable size, screeched and groaned as Heavy tried to enter. The Russian only managed to get himself halfway in before he was ensnared, and couldn’t move any further. Grunting, he tried to force himself forward, but it was to no avail. The sides of the vents scraped his doughy sides, and a sudden blast of cold air made him yelp and push himself out, damaging the walls in the process. “Stupid valls…” he muttered as he brushed off some plaster. “Now vhat…” as the tiny gears in Heavy’s head awkwardly grinded and scraped together, Pyro came waltzing from the kitchen down the hall, a big bucket of grease in his hands. It was his turn to clean the kitchen, and as Scout had been cooking that night (which meant deep fried trash for everyone) they had some grease left. Recognizing the scent, the dim light bulb in Heavy’s head managed to flicker.

“Pyro!” he cried as he got up and lumbered over to the firebug. Pyro turned at the voice and gave Heavy an uneasy, muffled hello. He wasn’t exactly eager about meeting Heavy alone in the middle of the night; although the rest of the team had their own…eccentricities, Heavy was the worst. He vacillated from happy to angry to downright heartbroken, all for the most mundane reasons. He was the proverbial loose cannon, the kind of person nobody wants to be too near to. “I need your help!”

“Hrrp?” Pyro asked, suddenly feeling a chill of horror run through him as Heavy stripped off his vest and shirt. “Uhh…Hvvy, uhmm ntt…” Sweet mother of Jesus, the Russian was stripping in front of him. And when someone like Heavy says they need your help while they’re stripping, it’s usually not a good idea to stick around. Just as Pyro was backing away, the Russian’s large, flesh paw of a hand grabbed his shoulder and stopped him, making the firebug give a high pitched yelp of surprise.

“Grease me up, Pyro!” Heavy said, turning the man around and standing in nothing but his underwear, arms akimbo and ready to be slicked up. “I need to fit into leetle vent!” Relieved, but still more than just a little unnerved, Pyro took the bucket and simply dumped it over Heavy before running away. Whatever was going on, he wasn’t sticking around to see its inevitably horrible outcome.

Singing to himself, Heavy lathered the grease around his body, patting it down in places and smearing it all on his chest, legs, and vast chest. Once he was properly greased up, he tossed his clothes aside and forced himself back into the vents, grunting as he bent the metal shaft further and made bolts come flying out of it. Even with the grease, it was a struggle, but eventually, Heavy managed to wiggle himself in and started to crawl forward, knowing Doctor was what the light at the end of this tunnel. With each inch he went, the vents groaned in utter agony, and parts of it sagged and threaten to buckle under the enormous Russian they supported. After much twisting and crawling and grunting, Heavy managed to make it the whole nine yards (quite literally, as Medic’s room was nine yards away from the beginning of the tunnel) and peered down to see his newly beloved German.

He was looking down at a little kitchenette, complete with an icebox, a plain orange counter, and a stainless steel sink. Medic was standing at the counter, humming to himself and preparing what looked like…and smelt like, smelt wonderfully like…a sandwich. And not just any normal sandwich. It was a giant, luxuriant sandwich, with myriad condiments and at least a dozen different parts. Tomatoes, lettuce, cheese, cheddar and Swiss and gouda…Heavy could feel his stomach sing the sweet hallelujah chorus as he stared down at the magnificent thing being crafted before him. Something that beautiful was almost too good to eat, the Heavy thought to himself. But then again, if he didn‘t eat it, he‘d never get to eat it! Heavy grunted and shook his head. Philosophy was hard.

“Ah, so nice to be avay from zhose idiots…” Medic was saying to himself as he applied a piece of lettuce to the sandwich. Normally, he’d never let himself have this sort of indulgence, but now, with the rest of the team all tucked in like the incompetent man-babies they were, he could let his hair a bit loose. He tossed his coat to the chair and brushed away a lock of hair before continuing on the sandwich. He loved sandwiches, especially big, meaty sandwiches; was it because they reminded him of heavy? Despite the man’s eccentricities, Medic had a soft spot for the Russian; his excitable, naïve nature reminded Medic of a dog he once ran experiments on. Little did he know that Heavy was only seven feet above, animalistic instincts running through his mind and panting like a dog.

Oh sweet Marx. The Doctor had tossed his coat off and was busy doting on the second most beautiful thing in the room now, the sandwich. Heavy felt himself sweating like a pig as he stared at the Medic, felt the grease wash off his body and run down towards the vent. Neither he nor the doctor, however, noticed these little drops of grease dripping from the vents. Heavy was too affixed on Medic’s rear, which was shaking back and forth and he drew out a jar of mayonnaise, and Medic…

“Ach!” Medic had been so distracted by the Deutschlandlied going through his head, he didn’t notice that he’d grabbed the jar of mayonnaise by the wrong end until it had gotten all over his shirt. “Sheiße!” fuming, he stuck his still gloved hands under the sink and wiped the egg-based condiment off. But even as he shook them off and wiped them, a bit still clung. Irritation is in his eyes, he looked at the globule still clinging to his index finger before shrugging and deciding to lick it off. He was off duty, he didn’t have to worry about sanitation right now. Not like these fingers were going anyone’s rectum anytime soon…

“DOCTOR!” Heavy couldn’t keep quiet any longer; not that he was ever good at keeping quiet at all. But seeing Medic lick that sweet mayonnaise off his finger was too much to bear.

“Heavy!” Medic said, looking up the vents. “Vhat are you doing here?”

“I am…een love with doctor,” Heavy said sheepishly, peering down at Medic with a frown. “Can doctor love me back?”

Medic slapped his hand to his face and sighed. Somehow, this behavior didn’t strike as odd. At least, for Heavy it wasn’t. “Heavy, get down from zhe vents.”

“Vill do, doctor!” With a roar, Heavy pushed himself down towards the opening of the vent, bringing down the entire section of shaft that he was in down to the ground. Medic screamed and jumped back as the giant man fell from the ceiling and into his table with a resounding crash.

“Ach!” Medic’s heart was still going a mile a minute as he saw the giant man rise from the ruins of his table and the ventilation shafts, clothed in nothing but a pair of boxers with little hammers and sickles decorating them. He looked dazed, but as jubilant as ever, and…was that grease all over him?

“Let’s love now, doctor!” Heavy said, rushing over to the doctor.

Sighing, Medic turned back and picked up his sandwich. “Let’s have a snack first, ja? Zhen ve can discuss love…” in all truth, the German had more interest in drugging the Russian and running some tests on him. Heavy was such an enigma to him, and he detested enigmas.

“Da!” Heavy clapped his hands and followed medic out of the room, forgetting about the rubble he had left there. Giant sandwich and leetle doctor? Oh, happy day!
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>> No. 4965
I love, Sonne.

You know this, right?
>> No. 4966
File 12595436978.png - (12.20KB , 100x100 , IMAYORMAYNOTLOVEYOU.png )
4966
>>4964
you're awesome never stop
>> No. 4967
I leave for a few days and return to this?
Sonne, I love you. Let's love now.
>> No. 4968
someday he was going to make giant babies with a woman in the Bolshoi Ballet|

I say, is this a reference to 'Heavy and Demo Are Heterosexual'? I AM A FAGGOT HUMP MY RUMP
>> No. 4969
>>4964

Amazing, never stop.

Just a thought, it was at the back of my mind while reading this.

Why would someone sleep in the lower bunk while Heavy is in the upper one. Wouldn't that be...dangerous?
>> No. 4970
SANDVICHES AND DOKTORS. OH WHAT TREAT!
>> No. 4978
File 12595825855.jpg - (21.01KB , 400x338 , LeonardMcCoy.jpg )
4978
>Dammit, he was a Spy, not a therapist.
>> No. 4981
>>4978
Also what I was thinking.

Well done, Nephew. You tell good story.
>> No. 4987
>>4978
I apologize, but I don't get the reference. Explain please?
>> No. 4988
>>4987
... Star Trek?
Bones?
"Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a [whatever]"?
Seriously not ringing any bells?
>> No. 4990
>>4988
Nah, not really, I never did watch Star Trek. Thank you for explaining, though.
>> No. 4994
>>4990
I love you
but my immediate reaction is to be shocked and dismayed


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