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Totally stumped - longtime Photoshop user, new to Illustrator - Question about printing on laser labels.

Hello! First post here =] I've been using PS since 7.0 and currently use PS CC. I have a little experience with some other Adobe software, but have always been a little intimidated by Indesign and especially Illustrator, as well as getting artwork print ready. I currently have IL CS3 installed on my Mac.
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~Cruelly removed by moderators, without an explanation as to why. Go, disciples of Teemo, and spread the good Word as you go about your days.~
TL;DR: I think Teemo's okay.
Around 2008, Riot decided they needed a lighter end to their spectrum of champions. A race, so to speak, of creatures that were more jovial in portrayal than the dark kind they had been pouring their resources into. Led by a Rioter known only as 'Ezreal,' they developed Him in the still Indie-company-sized studio of Riot Games.
From Him, a new race would come to be. From the hairless and often explosive females to the oft-dramatic males for and against Bandle's safety, all with their own undertakings. Most won't remember Him as the lawless origin to the race called Yordles. To many, too many, He is but an image in the Mind's eye, of a moppish-yet-sturdy smile. For others, the image is a scope in the hands of He, capable explorer and scout. For me, it was the story of a log, a paw, and a vaulting motion towards the player--invitation, demonstration and warning all in one.
When I was in the last year of high school, my friends introduced me to League of Legends. I don't have the wherewithal to remember what season I joined. What do I remember in those first few games among friends? We were in a skype call. After some, if I may admit it, boring matches, I fled to the store to find someone more entertaining than Annie and Warwick to play.
I saw Him. And spoke words my friends couldn't hear for they were whispered between the creature before me, and my quivering lips.
"Oh my god, Teemo."
"I thought you hated the game," my friends teased in the days afterward. I'd laugh off the question and say,
"Top, please!"
Then lock in Teemo, the Swift Scout. A smile pressed across my lips as I previewed my several skins, admiring the way they changed the context of this... this thing, rapidly encroaching on my impressionable young mind.
What was it about Him that made me so eager to play League? Soon enough, as my friends either stagnated or stopped playing altogether. The introduced became the tenured, though my advice wasn't useful to new players. All I knew how to do was play Him.
Q. Blinding dart. The force of those lungs.
W. Move Quick. The work of His legs.
E. Toxic Shot. His ingenuity.
R. Noxious Trap. A calling card. I dreamt of walking down a road one day and spotting one in my path. Returning it to him and receiving a thank you for my time.
But even in this domain I was left lacking, because the part of League that captivated me most was champ select... peering upon Teemo's splash, trying to capture the same feeling I had that first, blinding moment in high school.
What had enamored me? I could see bits and pieces, yet a recollection of the entire artwork eluded me, and I began to grow frustrated and toxic. I risked being banned--after a two week warning, I realized I must go on a pilgrimage. On a road to discovery, to study Teemo and discover why this Yordle made me so passionate.
And here I am today. Join me as we dissect what it means to be Teemo.
Part one: a glimpse of his body.
Imagine, if you will, the lush jungle of Kumungu. A buzzing, hot place full of danger at every step, yet rewarding travelers with constant doses of serenity and fae beauty. It is hard to imagine every single wonder this jungle can provide, nor their extent. Already its tall palms, the gromps that hop in massive packs to avoid predators, the rolling stones called Krugs, all assault your ability to separate fact from fiction.
Wiping sweat off your brow, you stumble through the brush to emerge on a small clearing. The Kumungu hushes itself and you grow cautious, afraid of whatever laid in store in this sunny, almost picturesque relief.
A campsite. You walk closer, setting down your things to inspect it. There is a small campfire, snuffed before dawn, and a swirl of broken twigs where a small body sat.
As your surroundings continue to swirl about you as if the scene has trapped you in the reverie of another person, the true remnants of this campsite are revealed. The safety of it all, the confidence of a settler to sleep alone in the Kumungu. You imagine the quiet happiness of a creature who has had the honor to tame the jungle, breathing breath and circulating the blood of an adventurer through his diminutive and constantly-aware body. You imagine its leavings, a bundle of tinder, a rock utilized as a pestle.
It sleeps in its own, victorious body. It survives with the intellect of its own mind. You glance back at your bag of man-made tools--and feel nothing but the worst scorn imaginable! What shame the scene drives in you, to be ever-reliant on the success of other men! You wish to lie prostrate right there in the middle of the clearing and plead, nay, pray for the same insight.
Standing up from your journey into the mind of this legend, a noise breaks the spell. The bout of madness is over. You twist around to see what made the rustling.
A chipper laugh. "HAHEEUHEAU."
Gone. But all of that shameful energy has turned into determination. Leaving your pack on the ground, you deign to live as the animals do.
Part two: to be a maid in his home.
"Excuse me, maid," Teemo calls from the back room of his humble home in Bandle City, "I will be leaving again soon. Please leave my shoes outside my door."
Your heart skips a beat. The Yordle, he, oh god, he just arrived home mere minutes ago. When accepting this job out of the classifieds, taking it for granted, an opportunity to travel, you never accounted for such a creature like the Swift Scout.
Like Jane Eyre on her walk outside Thornfield, simply delivering mail and resuming her telltale boredom at a casual pace, your first sight of Teemo exploded the monotony decades hence.
Rushing inside, covered in dust. Bootprints trailing on the sandalwood floors--"don't worry," you remember mumbling, "I can clean it up."
"That's your job, right?" Teemo asked. You wouldn't know, but you caught him in a jovial, rather than murderous, mood. "I forgot, I haven't been home. Let's share a drink."
The two of you sat across from one another. Teemo poured Bandle bourbon into two glasses. The large pitcher sloshed forward and you caught him catching it... tendons underneath his furred arm tensing.
You weren't going to be able to keep this job, you surmise.
Teemo carried the conversation on, while you imagined how the aftertaste of bourbon must feel on the back of his little throat. To think such a small, pernicious thing could knock more drinks down than you...
And at this trying time, where you almost lost it all, he hadn't asked you to move his shoes.
You near the boots of swiftness, breathing heavy. It takes a moment's preparation to reach down and grab them.
Your fingers slip into them, and are greeted by warm air. The heat hasn't yet left the boots. Oh, Christ above!! They are still hot from use! From pounding, over, over, and over, over, and over, on the dirt ground underneath Teemo's feet!!
Teemo shoots out of his bath, throwing a towel over himself. "Is everything okay?" He cries. "Did you slip?"
All his visage does is earn another howl from your addled mind, yet so much panic forces you into a cooled state. Everything slows down while Teemo awaits an answer, you on the floor, he dripping wet with a head full of shampoo-bubbles.
An offer begins to form on your lips.
But then the scene ends.
Part Three: His Fingers.
Dear Riot,
I heard you were changing the champion portraits. I have something to ask.
Can you please make it so we can choose what part of the skin becomes the portrait? I really want my portrait to be Omega Squad Teemo's fingers. There is something about the singular makeup of his furred digits that inspires me to play better. My breathing becomes heavy, as if I am running a marathon at record pace, and my reaction times turn frenzied--almost as good as a scripter! When I imagine Omega Squad Teemo's fingers curled around my, sorry, his dart gun, I position better, I am more positive in games towards my fellow summoners.
Can we do an AMA with the League artist who designed Teemo's fingers? I want to know why they chose that enticing groove, the perfect length of each follicle, the same-colored claws! Jesus Christ, I can imagine the thin veins running beneath those killer points, almost as much as I can smell Teemo's fingers curling under my chins mere moments before he SNAPS. MY. NECK.
But then there is something else. The rotating game mode... Zigg's fingers are right out in the open, naked but for the pen in the clutch of his paws. Oh god, who draws these Yordles and their fingers? Have I said fingers a lot? Sorry.
Imagine finding one of their perfect strands on your pillowcase, or floating in the broth of your chicken Campbell soup. You pick it up, holding it against a fluorescent light, and see its golden integrity in full. I want to have this moment happen forever and ever. If only you would give me the CHANCE. PLEASE, PLEASE GIVE ME JUST A GLIMPSE OF OMEGA SQUAD TEEMO'S RESPLENDANT DIGITS! I CANT HOLD BACK ANYMORE!!!
Every time I am in school, at dinner, alone in my room, those fingers crawl under my clothing and pull me down into the fiery throes of passion.
Please, please, please give me this feature or I don't know what will happen to me next.
Part Four: A doughy dream.
You are eating pancakes at mom's. There is a television on the kitchen counter, where she catches up on the latest news. The nonstop coverage of some political debate finally shuts up for commercials.
Still groggy, the popping colors and loud noises of these ads entertain you. That is, until a cereal ad breaks away into a scene for Pillsbury biscuits.
Your mind snaps out of half-sleep, so sudden your mom gives a peripheral glance to see what's the matter.
It was like any other commercial from Pillsbury, involving a mascot selling some new brand of processed dough.
Yet, and yet... the Pillsbury Doughboy had been replaced by Teemo. You spit out your mouthful of cereal back into your bowl, lean in, start to go off-kilter with fascination.
"Press my belly again!" Teemo pleads.
The stay-at-home mom in the commercial complies, a skeptical smile on her face as she presses in the scout's stomach.
"Hoh-oh! Hee hee hee!"
Sliiiide. Crack. Did your hand just act on its own, breaking your mom's expensive, favorite ceramic bowl?
She says something and rushes off to fetch the broom. Now she has left you alone with Pillsbury Teemo.
As you thought, the sly creature had been waiting for such a distraction. That the two of you met here was no matter of circumstance--Teemo immediately breaks away from the T.V mom, then gestures for you to come closer.
"Would YOU like to press my tummy?" Teemo asks.
You stand up, still with enough sense to avoid the broken ceramic. Teemo, the T.V mom, both wave you on like you're a marathon runner finishing the last leg of the race. Five fingers battle for which will do the honor, until you are sure the anticipation will break your hand.
Fizz. That was the static of the television prickling the fur on your index finger. Smiling, dumb, you press Teemo's exposed belly.
"Hee hee hee, come with meee!"
You are sucked inside the commercial! The other boys, real jocks and always needed a snack after their big game, stand aside for Teemo's honored guest.
"Make me small like you," you beg. Teemo waves an arm and you start to notice the counter grow in size. "Yes, yes, yes!"
Oh man, it is the best time, the greatest time, an excursion so pleasurable you think it might throw you into an aneurism. Thank you, god! Thank you, Pillsbury! Thank you, thank you--your feet makes small impressions in the dough as you and Teemo play tag, giggling like schoolgirls, while all the other members of your new family urge you on. Teemo tugs you down into the dough and the two of you snuggle together.
"Are you ready to be together forever?" He asks.
You give a muted nod, somehow knowing what comes next. T.V mom lifts up the tray of biscuits, telling the kids whoever behaves the best gets the 'specialest' biscuit.
As the tray enters the oven, the scorching heat melting the skin on your backside, you wake up.
Real mom is crossing her arms, angry. You fell face-first into your bowl of cereal again. The Pillsbury Doughboy, no longer Teemo, dances away on the screen.
Mom turns to get a napkin.
The Doughboy winks at you.
Part Five: Playing against other Yordles.
When I play against other Yordles, my blood runs hot.
Teemo is the true owner of the top lane. Kled is a reject, someone better of driving him and his stupid lizard off of a cliff! And Lulu, that perennial little brat has no place anywhere, let alone in the Rift's proudest lane.
Tristana can rocket-jump straight into a wood-chipper. Rumble is a college drop-out, and Corki doesn't even look like a Yordle.
One day I went Teemo top against Kled. It was supposed to be an easy game, considering I was a gold III smurfing in Silver II.
I got into a one-on-one with Kled, the battle going my way until the freak jumped off his mount at the right time, dodging a blinding dart. I became blinded by tears as my screen turned grey.
Then again. And again. Teemo, my animus, was dying and it was my fault. The game ended at fifteen minute and I knew, not for the last time, I failed Him. My eyes went to my personal shrine to the scout, and I swore my framed picture of his face frowned with dissatisfaction. My heart palpitated.
Right away I rushed to the pet store and bought myself two things: a rat and a lizard. My mind was a haze of fury and upset, yet the pet store owner let me get them anyway, and even smiled at me on my way out. Almost knowingly...
I rushed back into my home, plopping my new pets in front of the shrine. I brandished a small letter-opener, then lifted the lizard over my portrait of a Teemo.
"You love Skarl so much," I whispered, slipping my letter-opener under the beast's throat. "You love him, Kled. Well, I-I.. I..."
I fell to the ground, sobbing.
"I can't do it anymore!" I yelled, sobbing. "No more sacrifices, Teemo!" The truth was, I loved all Yordles. Teemo shouldn't ever ask me to harm what was made from His flesh, His blood.
"Quite right," agreed a voice from behind me. I whirled around to find the pet-shop owner. "Finally, you understand."
The rat and lizard scurried under the couch in fright, as their handler shrank before my very eyes! It was He! Devil Teemo!
I fell prostrate, bowing to my Lord, crying tears of joy and penance.
Devil Teemo gently took my blade away. "You've done well to learn the value of all life," he admitted. "I've paid close attention to your journey, first thinking to punish you... then to watch and see if you changed. And, bless the 'Shroom, you did."
"T-Te-ee-mo!" I wailed.
The devil smiled devilishly. "Say, did your really build AD last game? For that... I think I'll make you my personal servant for life."
I offered my hands to him, and he put me in shackles made of silver. They were loose enough to not hurt me weak, brittle wrists.
He dragged me into a portal, and my days on the Rift, rather than watching over it, were over.
Part Six: My VR Teemo experience.
The year is 2026. Oculus and everybody got their business together and figured out true Virtual Reality. The games published can now be called, unironically, triple A. Funnily enough, all they needed to do was provide a way for the game console to 'plug' into the player. The bridged, LAN connection of sorts allows the player to experience a much more visceral and fast experience.
Of course, this comes with dangers. Games are now labelled 'rated M, male, 20-45' or 'T, for females aged 16-32.' This is because the bridged connection provides unique, situational sensations that certain biologies are unable to comprehend. Rule-breakers report a few... strange occurrences not available to the public.
You know the risks of what you are about to do. Yet you have already stolen your sister's VR device, as well as her host of games on the Steam cloud. You went through the trouble of piecing her password together from her diary, so you can access the 'family unfriendly' portion of her library.
It started that day you peeked inside her headset. That single image plagued the back of your lids until you preferred to be blind than... than to see it again without having the capability to interact.
Too hungry to put it off anymore, you lift the VR helmet onto your head and plug the USB 7.0 jack into your armpit. By using brainwaves you enter your sister's password and access your chosen game in a nanosecond: Miracle Simulator--Yordle DLC.
Right away the neuraltransmitters indicate a squeezing force on your left hand. You swivel to the left, and right away your breath is stolen.
"Ow," Teemo says, laughing through a grimace. "Not so hard, honey."
You look down and see the sky-blue hospital sheets. The constant beep of a heartbeat monitor bumps in your ears. A virtual doctor towers above your body, and you quickly get into bed to better complete the experience. This is definitely the game your sister was playing.
"We're going to be a family?" You whisper into the mic, braving the voice features.
Teemo loads a response. "Yes. A girl, remember?"
You frown. "VR, load up situation change. Boy."
"A b-b-boy, remember?" Teemo crackles, changing his response. "I'm retiring from scouting, getting a seat on the Bandle counsel. We'll never be apart, promise."
The Yordle breaks composure, resting his head on you to weep. "I'm so proud of you, of us."
The VR presses forward a spongy substance to soak up your tears. They flow freely. "Me too. I'm so happy to be here with you."
The doctor finally has his own voice line. "Okay, here we go. Get ready to push--"
A fierce disturbance coaxes a howl of pain from you! The hospital room flashes red as the sensation the game wants to deliver, your body is frankly unable to answer. Teemo's distorted, pixelated face gives you a concerned look.
"I-Is p-p-p-play one okay?"
"Yes!" You shriek to the heavens. "But exit, exit game!"
In the last moment, the AI grins and waves you off.
You fall out of your bed hyperventilating. The ribbons of your conscience ravel back into their rightful places. That experience almost killed you!
"I'm okay," you breathe, "I'm okay, I'm alive."
It was worth it, though.
You rest a hand on your stomach, and feel a little kick.
It was worth it--in more ways than anyone will ever know.
Part seven: Dating Profile
Single and ready to mingle! Teemo, the Swift Scout.
I'm a scout who lives in Bandle City, and am looking for a light, honest-to-heart relationship. Applicants ought to know right away that to get to me, you have to get through my BFF Tristana. We're thicker than thieves, on the job and outside of it!
Likes: long walks in the jungle, my work, sharing a drink with friends.
Dislikes: burst damage, hard CC, people who can't take a joke, drama.
One thing to know about me: I'm a Yordle. You might have guessed it from my profile image, lol. That means I'm shorter, and more emotional than some human or cat-person or Zaunite project. I break down at sad movies and want to beat up the villains in my favorite action flicks (John Wick 2 and Shaolin Soccer, bee-tee-dubs :) )
What I want most in a partner: honesty and commitment. Someone who doesn't underestimate this scout's code.
My passion: microbrewing, believe it or not.
A quirk: I go to work shirtless ;)
So if you think I am a fit, let me know ASAP: a stud like me can't be on the market long, right?
Part Eight: a reply to Teemo's dating profile.
Dear Teemo,
Your body is so chiseled--gah, let me restart this missive xD
I can tell from your eyes you have suffered a great hurt in your past, and I cannot help but desire to mend you. A little bit about me: I am a budding warrior from Demacia, known for dispensing justice. Yet no one, not even my own sister, ever asks me to dispense sound advice. There's something so isolating to living in a bubble, you know? I want to make mistakes with someone, get cuffed and put into the backseat of a police car with someone.
I read that you're passionate, oftentimes in the wrong way, and I see potential. Potential for the two of us to grow and flourish; live our lives together in imperfection. Will you hold me at night and whisper "it's okay" after I give you a tearful rendition of how I killed a six-year-old Noxian child? How I surprised here from inside a bush and drove my blade through her chest, and into her stuffed animal? People see me as larger than life, but I am so much smaller than a Yordle.
Please, deliver me from this constant grief and my devotion is yours to do with as you please.
Hope to hear from you soon, xD
Part Nine: Teemo's reply to Garen.
Hello Garen of Demacia,
You sound brave enough to me. You look big in your profile picture. Will you be able to fit through the door to my bedchambers ;)
hope 2 see u soon,
Part Ten: Teemo sacrifices himself in a hostage crisis
I regret to inform Bandle City that, at 1:25 PM Saturday, Teemo the swift scout succumbed to injuries endured while protecting the Yordle people.
Captain Teemo, even on days off, was on duty. It was no different that fateful morning at the Bandle Mint, our largest bank. When Veigar broke through the glass windows and demanded hostages, it was Teemo who withdrew his concealed firearm, a blowgun, and saved the lives of countless citizens.
We cannot guess as to what went through his head in the fight that ensued. But we hope that we, the people, were grateful enough to the scout that he had nothing but gratitude in his valorous last moments. The shard of dark magic that took his life has done the world the greatest disservice. Even its thrower, Veigar, has begged Bandle's forgiveness for removing this brave warrior from our charge.
Teemo is survived by his maid, as well as his close friend Garen. As denoted in his will, Poppy will lay him to rest in the Grove Cemetary tomorrow evening, after a procession befitting his brave soul.
To everyone grieving, remember that Teemo did everything in life for the betterment of your day. That he would not want to see tears, but smiles on the childrens' faces while they go towards, again, a promising and bright future.
Thank you, Captain Teemo, for your duty. Your loss is gonna sting.
Part Eleven: Teemo's valiant return to life.
Urgot knew he was going to need even more power to fight the chem barons. More than his weaknesses permitted. There was but one option, gleaned by him from a lab report never meant to cross his eyes. A scout named Teemo had been shipped to Zaun for containment. While his kind weeped, Teemo was merely put into an unstoppable rest by Veigar's curse.
The dreadnought knew how to break such spells. Crawling forward on crablike legs, he peered over the Yordle.
Such surprisingly toned arms, and a stomach taut with muscle... Urgot never considered the ultimate life form would exist without outside... construction.
Not able to resist the urge, he pounded the 'awake' button to Teemo.
Lightning pierced the pollution clouds above Zaun, went on to strike the antenna-tower! Urgot laughed joyously as Teemo's body flailed, receiving enough electricity to light all of Piltover for a week straight. Alive, Teemo was becoming alive!
The Yordle gasped, shooting up on his stone bed. He immediately tugged loose the IV's in his arm and stared at the dreadnought, trying to figure out what was going on.
Urgot found it unbefitting of the ultimate life-form to be so surprised.
Then Teemo softly grinned.
"Thanks for that, big guy," he said. "Wow... look at those arms..."
The mechanical man wiggled in embarrassment. "Oh, t-these old things? Weak, the pinnacle of human weakness, you know hard it can be to find good augments around here."
"No, no! I bet you could break a watermelon with these cannons."
In the hours that came, Urgot forgot all about killing the chembarons and taking over Zaun. Instead, history changed. Teemo saved the world by having a long discussion about thick arms with Urgot.
Part Twelve: Teemo eats a poptart
Male Yordles have slightly protruded muzzles that make their mouths into tunnels of tiny, adorable, razor sharp teeth. Of course, Teemo isn't thinking about his incredible body, especially not with the aroma of a s'mores poptart right under his pink nose.
You, his maid, quit dusting his trophy shelves, distracted to an exxtreme. You risk a glance over--the scout is preparing to take a bite, just setting down the Bandle tribune.
"You know," Teemo says, delaying the poptart. "I had a dream about baked goods. I was stuck in some magic box, with giant humans..."
'Eat it,' your mind begs. 'Please, for the love of everyone, take a bite out of your poptart.' After the great scare that was his 'death,' and subsequent resurrection in Zaun, you needed this.
"You look famished," you comment. "Eat your food, m'lord." Oh, and how sly you think you are! Teemo grins, knowing full-well that you have a penchant for noticing the little things.
He turns his chair over to you. Stuck against the shelves there is nowhere to look other than at him.
Teemo lifts the poptart to his mouth. He bites it.
You watch as his cute incisors tear apart the cracked outside of the poptart. Then the gooey marshmallow comes: a strand sticks between his right canine and far, top-right molar. How far will it stretch? Mmm... how far, darn it?!
Unable to stand alone, you swing back to clutch one of Teemo's trophies--a statue of him leaping over a log, a Nature's Friend award for saving the Kumungu jungle.
Glomp, crick, glomp. Chew, chew, chew. You think you've fared the worst of it. Then he stops with his mouth open to breathe, making a show of it just to brutalize your poor, poor sensibilities! A crumb escapes and crawls away on the wooden floor, broken.
"Ah, it's so good," he mumbles through the mouthful. "As a good scout, I ought to finish this piece of my rations, and continue to the next. But this.. this bite is more scrumptious, somehow?"
"Stop!" You yell. "No more, I yield, I yield!"
Just then, Garen breaks into the room. He is unhappy.
"What are you doing, dear?" Garen asks. "Don't tell me..."
Teemo leans back and swallows. You watch the poptart mush go down into his gullet and the spell breaks, thank the Mothership. "Merely entertaining our maid."
If anyone else sat where Teemo did, Garen might have lectured them. Yet the devil is far too charming.
The Demacian warrior takes a seat.
"Well," he says, "we have a long hike today. Eat your food."
Your clutch your own head in consternation. Not another bite...
Part thirteen: Leemo
NOTE: this section is not about Teemo, but his brother I created, Leemo. Although related by blood, they are dangerous and devilish in different ways.
Leemo was born in darkness, which is thought to be the reason for his dark velvet coat. Unlike the light-son Teemo, Leemo was cast away by his parents to live in the Deathcage Orphanage, an orphanage where even infants must fight to survive.
Fight he did. His first kill was upon two snakes, who attacked him in hopes of poisoning his strong body. Then two bulls, who attacked him in hopes of poisoning his strong mind. Then two horses, who attacked him in hopes of poisoning his strong resolve.
Leemo went on to become a freelance assassin. He has wavy purple fur that creates a human-like part over his brow. He never looks happy except in private when he finds a picture of his beloved, Jasmine, who perished in the HexTech wars.
Unlike Teemo, Leemo is dangerous both on and off the battlefield. Say one thing wrong against him, like try to bully him, and he will beat you up. He likes to drink blood for breakfast, eat baby deer for dinner. Sometimes you can find the purple Yordle pondering the meaningless existence of life atop a stone gargoyle, or photoshopped onto the front cover of my Shadow the Hedgehog Videogame.
It is foretold that the two brothers Teemo and Leemo will meet one day. Even so Leemo is my original character and I love him devoutly, I know Teemo will kill his brother in cold blood. The true 'original' characters is too pure, too powerful for any foolish iteration to improve upon. I cry knowing my precious and brooding Leemo is destined for the slaughterhouse.
Teemo, if you are reading this, please spare Leemo. The sweetest wine is but one flavor, and Leemo is the flavor I partake in when you are busy. Sorry. So sorry. Big sorry.
Part fourteen: Team Liquid gets new management.
"Gimme back my bobblehead!" Piglet yelled, jumping up and down with his arms outstretched.
Dardoch tittered, continued his mean game. The Teemo bobblehead, a precious heirloom to the marksman, shook its head 'no' in disappointment. "You will never get it back. I hate you, you play to lose."
Locodoco, their coach, did nothing to alleviate the situation--instead, his grating laughter made it all the worse. "Fools, stop fighting, you guys are idiots who won't listen to me."
"Idiots!" Cried Team Liquid's manager from the doorway. "Listen up. You are all very naughty so we have gotten the best to coach you. I had to sign a contract in my own blood."
All the toxic players in the room cocked their head to the side, confused. So basically everyone except TL's support cocked their head to the side, confused.
"Ay ay ay," the manager groaned. "Look down."
Down by their manager's knees was none other than Devil Teemo! Piglet's eyes lit up with sardonic glee. At last, justice would be served to this naughty jungler.
Teemo leaned on the doorway and smiled, knocking fear and titillation into the hearts of the young team. Locodoco perked up in his seat.
"You are no Tristana, though," the coach whispered, unable to argue against his heart. "And yet, so striking..."
"Trust me," Devil Teemo said in his demonic voice, "I get that a lot."
"No way!" Dardoch cried. "We just teamed with Disney. this makes no sense."
"You think the devil himself and Disney aren't close friends?" The way his long, pointed claws carved itno the door forced Dardoch to shut up. "You have been a sinner, Dardoch. Some might call you the Michael Jordan of League of Legends, switching teams so often, except you haven't actually won a tournament."
The jungler flinched.
"I wonder what your true 'breaking point' is. Consider yourself replaced." Teemo lifted out a single finger and flicked it up. A trap door opened beneath Dardoch, dragging the Team Liquid player into the fiery depths of League of Legends elo hell. Piglet cried with such joy that his voice cracked. Dardoch's last gesture was to drag his nails across the carpet before being sucked into infinite torture.
Out from the flames rose a new jungler. A gaunt and humble student of Teemo.
"TheRainMan?!" Shouted Piglet. "No, it cannot be, he was made irrelevant years ago."
"I used to live a quiet life, being toxic in games and sacrificing small animals to my Lord," TheRainMan explained. "One day, I found the strength to stop. Teemo has helped me remain strong ever since."
Devil Teemo nodded. "Prove yourself to them, my servant."
Nearby, Reignover was losing a game of League as per usual. TheRainMan pointed a single digit, which by dark magics became furred, long. A yellow bolt shot forth from his fingernail, hitting Reignover's screen. In an instant the camera broke away from the player's champion, panning towards the enemy nexus. It exploded.
Team Liquid's manager gave a toothy grin. Disney had given him the power to change the fabric of league itself.
Part Fifteen: A bit of his blood
You sit there, reminiscing on your school paper assignment. This dissertation will decide whether or not you become the Bandle scientist your parents want you to be.
The subject of your study is a simple one, yet intrinsically deep by its execution: is Teemo's scarf a part of his body, or a part of his outfit?
Pencil in hand, you ponder the question. There is but seventy-two hours left to write, seventy-two hours to do an assignment said to take several weeks.
Once again you drift to those long, red strands. If it was so simple as reaching forward and touching the beautiful silk pictured in your memory! The great Yordle, Teemo, is yars away, looking through books without a clue you're studying him. Sighing, you resign yourself to abject failure, putting away your papers. When, in the corner of your eye, you spot a strange substance by the shelves.
The allure of the red liquid brings you closer to Teemo than ever before. Close enough to hear the Yordle curse under his breath and say four syllables that set your heart to floundering.
"Ow," Teemo cries, "papercut!" The Yordle walks away without another word.
The blood rests on the paper of the book. The book's title? Who cares...
This is the blood of Teemo. A deep, red marker of the vivacious creature's existence. In the quiet, unoccupied annals of the Bandle library, Teemo unwittingly left it in your charge. What will you do with it?
Touch it. There is enough there to get a full drop to form on the end of your pinky finger. It glistens red, and feels thicker in content than your, or anyone else's blood. You almost smell the scout's outdoorsy lifestyle in its formation.
Not giving it a second thought you pop your pinky into your mouth.
Lights of the entire rainbow hit you! In a second you find yourself strapped into a seat, pen let free!
The euphoria of Teemo's blood gives you a lust for learning, a lust for all things in life. A mere drop grants you the rarest insight into the Yordle's scarf.
It is both a part of him and a part of his outfit. An identity and a disguise, a mark of how he kills enemies then drinks with friends. Line after line after line--by the time you start to come down from the high, your dissertation is done.
But Teemo has found you panting at one of the tables. He frowns, concerned.
"You drank my blood, didn't you?" Teemo inspected his own finger, still bleeding from the papercut. "The addiction is so great, if we don't wean you off, you might die."
You nod. That is fine. It was worth ultimate bliss.
But the Yordle has no plans to let an innocent die due to his perfection. He hold out his arm. "I want you to pace yourself. It's okay..."
Your memory begins to blacken and fade out just as you eagerly lift his hand towards your mouth.
You see many things in your sleep. A tray of biscuits, a strange machine with many cords, a missive to Riot about fingers. You see a devilish him, a purple him, a him that coaches Team Liquid. You see floating poptarts and hot shoes. You realize how Teemo is an inter-dimensional gift sent to those who need someone to love. An animus. An inspirer. The genesis. As reality rips you away from this endless paradise, Teemo drags you towards his world for one last thing. Your lips finally meet. It is too indescribable, to inexplicable.
When you awake, Teemo has left you to your own devices. You stand up and quietly, pleasantly, resume your day, content to put away all that has happened.
I finish these words with the greatest joy. Finally my love has been explained, to both myself and to the world. Some will comment accusations like 'have you no shame,' to which I answer that I have plenty of shame, but only for holding back this long.
Teemo, if you ever come before me, I adore you. You are my everything, my alpha and omega squad. If it comes to be that we ever can hold hands, know that nothing will ever separate us. Know that, even in the meanest thunderstorm, I will bury my face in your neck-scarf and expect safety, as you expect loyalty from me. We will be together, we will be... complete.
Thank you Riot 'Ezreal' for designing the champion. Thank you Riot Games for allowing him in your game, League of Legends. Thank you to the community that plays, whose collective thoughts and desires coagulated into this post. On my lips I summarize all my love:
Oh my god... Teemo.
Phew! Glad that's over. Now that Teemo's out of the way, let me tell you guys how much I love Twitch...
submitted by Papaya_Dreaming to u/Papaya_Dreaming

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