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League of Crack(Where the crazy fics go!)

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Grand Viper and I talk a lot about League, and we tend to come up with really zany/hilarious crack stories every once in a while. So we finally decided to start writing and posting them for the entertainment of others, if they happen to find our weird sense of humor entertaining.

Also available on ff.net! League of Crack (http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8988867/1/League-of-Crack)

Let the insanity begin!


Nobody Touches the Hat

Twisted Fate dashed across the hard-packed earth that made up the central lane of Summoner’s Rift. The skirmish had gone badly, he was injured and out of every last bit of magic he could muster. Most of the other team were dead or badly injured as well, though the distinct lack of Teemo—who had been wandering around the topmost lane when the fighting broke out—kept it from being entirely fair.

Thresh let out a loud cackle as he followed Twisted Fate. The Card Master was hurt enough that he would be able to finish him off easily if he could snag him with his chain, despite his being weaker in a standup fight since he was supposed to be a "support" champion. He grumbled to himself about "dirty summoner lawyers" and "that damn contract" as he lifted his arm, scythe and chain in hand.

It would have been a perfect shot, had Teemo not suddenly appeared from a nearby bush and shot a cloud of blinding poison in his face. Better late than never, as Teemo would say to his teammates when they scolded him later. It was mostly his summoner's fault for not paying attention anyway.

The Chain Warden howled in anger as he clawed at his face with his free hand. He didn't even know why this stuff was able to blind an undead like himself, what did the little rat even use in it? He threw his chain anyway, at least he would take Twisted Fate down with him!

The chain flew forward, but it didn't hit Twisted Fate himself; it was too high for that. It latched into the gypsy's trademark hat as he ran out of Thresh's range.

"You damn hamster!" Thresh howled as he caught the hat and wrenched it off the end of his scythe.

Teemo, however, was quivering in terror as he looked at the hat in Thresh's hands. "Take cover!" the Swift Scout dove into a nearby bush like his life depended on it and disappeared.

Thresh was mystified. Teemo would've killed him if he'd stayed, why leave now? Because of Twisted Fate? That couldn't be right. Sure the gypsy rogue was handy with his cards, but he was a complete pansy if you caught him. Thresh shrugged and tossed the hat into a nearby bush.

The Chain Warden was about to turn back when a loud, angry roar echoed through the Rift.

Every champion—save for Thresh, who hadn't the faintest clue as to what it was and didn't care anyway—immediately stopped what they were doing and cast a fearful glance down the middle lane.

Karthus, who had just started back toward the middle of the Rift, stepped back onto the Fountain platform and took a seat. "Someone knocked his hat off again, didn't they?" he scowled, obviously not amused by this new development.

Hecarim soon appeared at the topmost entrance to their base, hurtling past the Nexus at full tilt as if Hell and five whole legions of unholy demons were on his heels. He slowed only once he reached the Fountain, and galloped in a circle to bleed off speed without falling flat on his face in the process. "Do you see him?" the Shadow of War danced a nervous jig, like a horse startled by the sound of a large predator. "I came back as soon as I heard," his hands tightened on the pole of his glaive with an audible creak.

"No, not yet," Karthus grumbled.

Mordekaiser appeared behind them, having finally been resurrected. "So who was stupid enough to take his hat?" he growled.

"Mordekaiser, save me!" Hecarim grabbed the Master of Metal, lifted him off the ground, and held him in front of himself like an angry, flailing shield.

"Put me down, you fool! Have some dignity, for Shadow's sake!"

"But he knocked down a mountain the last time it happened!" Hecarim whined, though he put Mordekaiser down regardless.

"Well you shouldn't have run away," Mordekaiser snapped as he shrugged his shoulders to settle his armor back into place. "At least it taught you not to wave that stupid glaive of yours around so carelessly," he swung his mighty mace up and allowed it to land on his right shoulder, nearly crushing Hecarim's head in the process.

"Both of you shut up," Karthus silenced the two with a glare. "I'm trying to hear where he is."

The Rift was completely silent. The silence was always worse than the screams, it meant you didn't know where the predator was, and that it was too focused on hunting out prey to be bothered with making noise. As the undead listened and watched, the familiar sound of scraping chains could be heard echoing across the base's stone-paved expanse.

"By the by," Urgot materialized behind the group as he too was resurrected. "Thresh did it."

This confirmation was met with a group moan, followed by a whimper from Hecarim. Thresh's **** aim was about to get them all violently murdered, possibly several times over depending on how long it took to actually find Twisted Fate's hat, which Thresh had no doubt lost since he didn't know how important it was.

Hecarim considered trying to use Urgot as a meat shield next, then decided against it. Urgot was just too gross, even for one of his fellow undead.

“Hey, newbie!” Mordekaiser called as Thresh passed their middle Inhibitor. “What did you do with the hat?”

“Hat?” Thresh paused for a few moments, looking as confused as possible given his skull-like face. “Oh, that. I threw it away.”

“We are so dead!” Hecarim cowered behind the three other champions and tried to make himself as small as possible. “So dead!

“What are you talking about?” Thresh snapped, suddenly aware of the loud thundering of fast-approaching footsteps that pounded the beaten dirt behind him. He turned just in time to see Twisted Fate hurtling toward him from the other end of the Rift’s middle lane.

The unearthly howl that Twisted Fate voiced as he charged toward Thresh was enough to chill the undead’s ectoplasm to near absolute zero. Save for the distinct lack of hat, the only thing off about Twisted Fate was the fact that only the whites of his eyes were showing. As well as the expression of livid fury and incredible speeds he was moving at. The Inhibitor turret shot at the Card Master once before it was leveled in a single blow by one of the gypsy’s bare fists.

“What the fu—” Thresh’s exclamation was cut off by one of Twisted Fate’s fists slamming into the middle of his face. The impact was strong enough to throw Thresh toward his Nexus, chains trailing behind him.

Twisted Fate grabbed the two chains as Thresh flew backward; just punching him in the face wouldn't be enough even for touching his precious hat, let alone losing it. Thresh slammed into the right-hand Nexus turret with enough force to break it to pieces, which then fell on top of him in an uncomfortable, bone-crushing heap. He was just considering how effective playing dead might be when the chains yanked him back out of the rubble. It was then that he realized the beating probably wouldn't stop until he had been reduced to a completely-dead mass of quivering ectoplasm.

As Thresh soared into swinging range, Twisted Fate landed a direct hit on exactly the same portion of the phantom's face that he'd hit before. This sent him hurtling into the remaining Nexus turret, which also buried him in a large heap of rubble as it collapsed.

"Somebody... Help... Me..." Thresh gazed forlornly at the champions on the Fountain and raised his arm in a pitiful begging gesture as the chains pulled him back toward Twisted Fate yet again.

The Nexus was much tougher than its turrets had been. And much tougher than Thresh. Twisted Fate continued to pummel him like a morbid yo-yo while the other champions looked on in horror.

Back down the middle lane, Teemo was still hiding in his bush. He’d watched as Twisted Fate hurtled past to get at Thresh, and he could now hear the Chain Warden screaming as the Card Master pulverized him. The yordle relaxed slightly and glanced around. There was Twisted Fate’s hat, caught on some tall grass just a few feet away. If he could sneak up and get it onto the Card Master’s head before the entire Rift was leveled, he would surely be hailed as a hero by everyone involved.

Teemo grinned, grabbed the hat, and ran straight for the enemy base. By the time Teemo arrived, Thresh had been reduced to green ectoplasmic paste that was now smeared all over the frontmost side of his Nexus. Twisted Fate was currently chasing Hecarim around the base, demolishing any and all structures that the Shadow of War tried to hide behind. Urgot had taken the opportunity to scurry into the forest and away from the destruction.

"You fool!" Mordekaiser bellowed from his perch atop the Fountain's megaturret as he shook his mace at the scene below. “Stop making him destroy our base!”

Karthus still sat on the Fountain platform, still as a statue in an attempt to make Twisted Fate mistake him for a piece of scenery. It had worked thus far, but he worried that Hecarim might try hiding behind him next, in which case his efforts would be utterly pointless.

“I’m sorry, he’s making me panic!” Hecarim darted behind another Inhibitor.

“Be a brave war pony and lead him out of here if you want to flee so much!”

"Nooooo, get back! I didn't take it this time, I swear!" Hecarim screamed as he galloped away from Twisted Fate, who had just crushed the Inhibitor he was hiding behind with his fists. "Please don't violently destroy me!"

"Fool! He's too far-gone to reason with now!"

Sure enough, the Card Master ignored Hecarim's pleas and kept chasing him. His focus was intense enough that Teemo would be able to pop behind him and put the hat back on without getting in the line of fire. He sprinted after Twisted Fate and caught up just as the Card Master cornered Hecarim—who had again curled up into a fearful, whimpering ball—and prepared to beat the everloving snot out of him. The Swift Scout leapt forward as Twisted Fate drew back his fist for the first painful blow.

It was like flipping a switch. As soon as the hat touched Twisted Fate's head, he slumped to his knees and fell silent. Teemo landed beside him, head held high in his triumph.

Now that Twisted Fate was no longer acting like a rage-filled berserker demon, the announcer felt it was safe to finally speak up. "MATCH CANCELLED DUE TO RULE VIOLATION. ALL CHAMPIONS, PREPARE TO BE REMOVED FROM SUMMONER'S RIFT AT ONCE."

Hecarim looked up to see Twisted Fate sitting quietly before him. "I'm never gonna pay you back for this, but thanks anyway!" he dashed off in the direction of his Fountain, just to be on the safe side.

After a few moments of silence, Twisted Fate's head snapped up and he looked around in surprise. "Gah I blacked out for a second there, what happened?" he paled and lowered his head so that his hat kept his eyes from view when he saw that the enemy base was in ruins. "Ah... Someone took my hat again, didn't they?"

"Afraid so," Teemo folded his arms over his chest with a grave nod. "Thresh got it when he was trying to kill you."

"Please tell me I didn't break anything big this time..."

Teemo threw a glance behind him at the Nexus that was fractured, sparking with magical discharge, and still had Thresh's pulverized remains smeared on it. "Nothing very important," he shrugged.

"You can say that again!" Mordekaiser hollered from where he'd fallen off the Fountain's turret. He was climbing out of the crater that was the result of his fall and heavy weight when everyone was teleported out of the Rift.

The other champions grumbled about the cancellation while Thresh regained his bearings. He spotted the Card Master in the waiting room once he was oriented and pointed an accusing finger at him, "Stupid human, I hope you get punished for this insult to my dignity!"

"What are you blathering about this time?" Mordekaiser sounded more bad-tempered than usual as a result of what had just taken place. "It's against the rules for anyone but Twisted Fate to remove the hat from his person. You're the one who will be punished," he seemed to be considering dishing out a bit of punishment himself for what Thresh did.

"Yep, he's right," Teemo quipped, having heard the conversation with his sharp yordle ears. "They put that one in way before you even joined, didn't you read it?"

Thresh gave a nervous chuckle and fiddled with his lantern. “I skimmed them...” in truth, Thresh had not bothered at all with reading the rules and had been finding out what they were the hard way ever since he joined the League.

“Yep, nobody touches the hat,” Twisted Fate smirked, then flipped the hat off his head and back on with a flourish, pretending not to notice how Hecarim flinched when it was lifted off his head. His face abruptly became serious as he locked eyes with Thresh, “So seriously, don’t touch it.

In the end, Thresh was put on probation and given a heavy fine for touching Twisted Fate’s hat. Hecarim had to see a psychiatrist after the match but still ended up suffering from waking night terrors, and Mordekaiser maintained his bad mood for over a week. Teemo was given a medal for his bravery in putting a stop to Twisted Fate’s rampage, and Twisted Fate himself spent the rest of the day sleeping, as such explosions of violent emotion always made him extremely tired afterward.

As his saying goes: “Nobody touches the hat.”

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Grand Viper

Senior Member


The Shadow of Love

I am Hecarim. I am the Shadow of War. The thunder of my hooves drive even the bravest of men to gibbering insanity as I approach. My glaive bisects man and rider, beast and monster, I bring death everywhere I go. I am Hecarim, I am the reaper of battlefields.

At least, that is who I was, then, I met her. The only one who could possibly match me, the only one who understood the death that accompanies with war, the only one who could stand up to me, to the personification of death itself, and make me cow.

Hundreds of thundering hooves ripped through the air. Hecarim tore through the Ionian forest, his glaive tearing down any obstacle in his path. Whether it was forestry, animal, drunk men dragging fruit wagons, it mattered not. He could taste it in the air. A battlefield was nearby, no...All of Ionia exuded this aura.

Hecarim charged aimlessly through the forest, his soulless eyes lighting up with azure flames as he grew more and more excited. Every step he took on the ground, memories would spring. Acid killed this man in this spot. A spear impaled this woman’s heart, but in her final breath she bit and tore out her killer’s throat. Here, children picked up flowers and happily danced away into the sunset. Nothing bad happened.

Hecarim raised a plated eyebrow. He muttered aloud, “Odd.”

The undead centaur focused his attention back to the gathering of memories, the excitement behind the war that happened here. Within minutes he started to fast approach the Placidium. The moment his hooves stepped off the road, he reared back and let out a bellow of surprise.

The memories here flooded to him. The soldiers here were butchered mercilessly and with the utmost efficiency. He watched as a sword, though it resembled a butterfly in flight, tore men in half, dismembered dozens of others who tried raising their weapons. He saw the flurry of fists strike at armor, crunching metal and collapsing ribcages. They all belonged to...a little...girl? A young girl, with dead, emerald eyes. Hecarim trotted about the field, watching the young girl decimate and butcher an entire cohort of Noxian soldiers. Another patch of ground showed her fighting a Zaunite wartank, her heaving a vermillion blade at the cockpit and instantly splitting the man’s head open. It had passed through the seemingly impenetrable armor of the vehicle without any form of resistance, as though it did not exist.


The centaur looked at the source of the voice, lost in the memories of the field about him.

“What in the Hells are you doing here?”

His flame filled eyes seemingly blinked as he focused on who was regarding him. A man and woman stood side by side. They looked fairly similar, the man was slightly taller than the woman, they both had long, black hair, they both had emerald eyes, but while the man wore some green and black clothing, the woman wore crimson armor. The man had a curved blade sheathed while the woman had...that weapon. That sword, it resembled a butterfly.

The man coughed and looked at the woman, “Irie, you sure this is a good idea?”

“He’s just a jerk. He’s not going to do anything, or else he’s deal with me.” The woman glared at the centaur. “What are you doing here, in Ionia, destroying my home?”

Irelia. That was the little girl. That is whose soulless eyes shone with bloodlust, who understood the idea of war. No pain, no pleasure, just kill. And kill. And kill. Has she changed? She seemed different on the Fields of Justice.

“Sooo...Should we get going?”

Hecarim tilted his head, his glaive held tightly in hand.

“Give me a minute, Zelos, I need to-”

Are you important to her?” Hecarim growled at Zelos.

The man raised an eyebrow. “...Yes?”

The glaive impaled his stomach, and Hecarim swung him up into the air.

“Gaaah ha haaa! Freaking...! Why is it always impalement? Whyyy?!”

Hecarim pumped the glaive up and down, making Zelos’ body bounce. He stared at Irelia, who seemed to be in some sort of shock.

What will you do now, Ioni-

Hecarim did not get a chance to finish his sentence. His own glaive twisted and contorted itself into a 140 degree angle, letting Zelos slide off the blade. This was followed by his weapon attempting to stab at the centaur while the man rolled away, grabbing his stomach. “Why is it always impalement...why?”

Irelia stepped forward, her sword now split apart into four distinct blades, crackling with vermillion energy. Hecarim looked over at her, locking eyes with her. Soulless, emerald eyes stared back at him.


His legs were sliced out from under him, making him topple like a crippled pony. He ate a mouthful of dirt as his face crashed onto the ground. Hecarim slammed his glaive downwards, the sound of the chilling cavalry howling and racing towards Irelia. On the Fields, everyone was made terrified of impending death. The snort of horses, the bellows of centaurs from a bygone era now raced at Irelia.

Their screams filled the air as blades made of vermillion energy lashed out and decapitated the spirits. She stood her ground.

Hecarim looked up in awe, the woman closed the distance and held her blade in front of his face.

“The only reason you are not dead is because you are a League champion.” Irelia’s eyes narrowed, her tone commanding but lacking any sense of emotion save for raw, unending hatred. “Pick your *DANG* up and get the *FUNK* out of my country.”

Hecarim’s legs rematerialized from underneath him as he stood up at his full height, easily towering over the woman. The two glared at one another, she did not relent. She was not scared of him.

...What is your name?

“You know it, dumbass. We fight on the Fields.”

No. I want to hear you say your name. Say your name.

Irelia rolled her eyes. “It’s Irelia. Now go away, I need to make sure Zelos doesn’t bleed to death.”


“Oh gods damn it, I think I see my kidney! No...no wait, that’s just a rock that’s stuck in my stab wound.”

Hecarim turned around and galloped away, a strange blue tint on his cheeks.



Hecarim peeked around the corner with a box in hand. He wrapped it using the finest Noxian flesh he could find, hoping it would be an apt present for her. He watched as she drank her tea and ate her food with some...goat lady.

Stupid goat lady, go away.

“Irelia...I think...is that Hecarim...?”



“He hasn’t left me alone since he visited Ionia. I don’t know why, it’s really creepy.”

Hecarim stroked the metal plates on his chin. ‘She is playing hard to get, like any true woman worth her salt. I remember the art of seduction almost as well as I remember the art of war.’ He pumped his fist into the air, glaive in hand as he thought to himself, ‘She will whisper my name! Again and again! I am Hecarim! Hecarim! Hecarim! Yes, yes, yes! You can do this! You can do this! You! Can! Do! This!’

Then he saw that man from before approach Irelia’s back as quiet as death. Zelos, she called him. What is he doing? Hecarim tightened his grip, what does that man think he’s doing, sneaking behind her? Does she not see him?

Perhaps she trusts him, and he’s going to betray her! No, no...that’s paranoid. That makes no sen-

Zelos covered Irelia’s eyes with his hands, growling, “Gotcha!”

Irelia let out a soft, playful shriek and patted Zelos’ hands, “Who is this monster?”

‘Monster? Kill monster?’

“I’m a zombie, and I’mma eat your brains,” he laughed.


Then Zelos found himself suspended in the air, impaled through his side as Hecarim ran him through. “Do not fear, Irelia, I will vanquish this ruffian!

“AAGHLCHK!” Zelos flailed his arms about as Hecarim bowled customers, waiters, tables, small dogs over. “Whyyy?!”

“Hecarim!” Irelia shouted. “The hell?!”

Hecarim looked back at her, suspending Zelos in the air. “...He admitted that he was going to devour your sacrosanct cranium. This cannot be allowed. Is there a problem?

“He’s my brother you idiot! He’s not going to eat my brains!” She threw her hands up and pointed at the centaur, her tone depicting her absolute rage at Hecarim. “Leave him alone already you crazy ass pony!”

Hecarim stared at Zelos who was wiggling at the end of the glaive. “...So you’re her brother?

“Yes! I am! This should hurt so much more than it does! Gah!”

You’re not trying to eat her brains?

“Not trying to...The hell are you smoking? No!”

Hecarim heaved Zelos off his glaive and stared at Irelia. “...Theoretically, if I offered you the brains of your enemy, would you consider going to first b-

A swift uppercut cracked Hecarim’s jaw, sending him flying into the distant landscape. Irelia watched him become a sparkle in the clouds. She palmed her face and looked over at Zelos, “You okay, Zelly?”

“I think...he has my liver...and he also left this.” Zelos pointed at a box wrapped in flesh. “...Yeah, I’m not touching this with a forty foot pole. Soraka, can you drag my crippled ass to the medical ward? Thank you.”

Irelia sighed and poked the box with her blade. It unfolded open, and she stared at its contents with a puzzled expression.

As Hecarim sailed through the sky, watching the birds, and Anivia, and Corki, go by, he thought to himself, ‘Step one: Kill all enemies. Step two: Teddy bears and poetry. Rinse and repeat until successful, then advance to step three.’ He smiled broadly. ‘All according to my sexy plan.’

Inside the box, a very, very scared, very traumatized Teemo was tied up and quaking in absolute fear. The skinned, bloodied fur of a bear was messily taped and glued onto him with a card that bore a heart drawn in blood. The card read,

“Let us slaughter the infidels, my Irelia, and love.
As for all the rumors of those stern geriatrics,
Let us cut their hearts out and dance in their entrails
Suns may set and yet rise again, but
Us, with our brief light, can set but once, and then live in eternal undeath.
One never-ending night of continual slaughter must be kept then slept and then kept some more.
Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred hugs.
Then, another thousand hugs, and a second hundred kisses.
Then, if you feel up for it, yet another thousand, and a hundred of your choice.
When we have counted up many thousands, no, hundreds of thousands
Let us kill everyone who ever counted the numbers, so that no one may know the number,
And those who are somehow still alive die from jealousy when they see
How many kisses and hugs we shared.”

Irelia stared at the poem, then at Teemo, who whispered aloud, “He...he recited it...six hundred, and sixty six times...to me...He made me correct the prose...” The Yordle let out a sob, “It’s awful...So awful...”

“...Alright then.” Irelia put the card back, slowly walked away from the box and took off in a sprint. She was later found trying to scrub her eyes clean with steel wool and hydrochloric acid.


Her name is Irelia.

I am Hecarim, the Shadow of War to all but to her. To her, I am Hecarim, the Shadow of Love.


Author's Notes: It is true, me and Kuz talk about League *a lot*. And so, we started writing some utter nonsense more so than our usual nonsense =p

The poem I wrote for Hecarim, keep in mind, is a parody of Catullus' poem. I'm not claiming originality there but I couldn't help myself it suited the story too well. Expect more from us here and our weird sense of humor!

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Senior Member


God the hecarim one is too awesome, that one was awesome, did i say it was awesome?

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Senior Member


The shadow of love Hec story was hilarious, actually made me burst out laughing.

GJ, lol.

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Yami arashi

Senior Member


Both are excelent, im exited of waiting for ur next creations XDD *-*

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Senior Member


This game inspired me to play hecarim, and since jungle was taken I went top

I was against irelia lol

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Grand Viper

Senior Member


God the hecarim one is too awesome, that one was awesome, did i say it was awesome?

You did, thank you for the compliments mate!

The shadow of love Hec story was hilarious, actually made me burst out laughing.

GJ, lol.

There'll be more coming. Some maybe with Hecarim, but most of them just crackfics which may include the sequel to Varus and Pants.

Yami arashi:
Both are excelent, im exited of waiting for ur next creations XDD *-*

They'll be comin' sooner rather than later!

This game inspired me to play hecarim, and since jungle was taken I went top

I was against irelia lol

If you recited that poem you would have had her Bladesurge to your heart.

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Grand Viper

Senior Member


Little Red Riding Annie

The elegant, golden door knocker is lifted and struck thrice, to let the master of the house know that you have arrived. The door creaks open, and a cute little Voidling, one you know as Kog'Maw, is dressed in a dapper little suit. He smiles at you, his eyes light up. His maw opens as he trumpets as loud as he can, "GUEST IS HERE! YAY YAY YAY! GUEST IS HERE! YAY YAY YAY!"

With that, the dapper Voidling waddles away, leading you to the reason as for why you came. Down the hallways, candles burned and showed elegant portraits of the long lineage of the master's house. For some reason, they all had the perchance of monocles and ridiculously large, hyper sharp claws.

Up the stairs, down the hall, fourth door on the right, Kog'Maw baps it open with a strike of his head. You go inside, and see the master of the house: Gentleman Cho'Gath, sitting in his library with a cup of tea in one claw and a leather bond book in the other. He raises his cup to his serrated mouth when he spots you. His polite voice instantly booms in your head, "WELCOME! WELCOME TO MY ABODE! YOU ARE JUST IN TIME!"

The demonic creature from an unfathomable land and place raised one of his multiple limbs up to his face, seemingly ashamed. "Do forgive me, I was simply overexcited about your arrival! You are just in time!"

Kog'Maw shook excitedly, "STORY TIME STORY TIME YAAAY!"

"Indeed it is, little Koggy! It is, in fact, story time! So, please, take your seats, and let us begin today's story: Little Red Riding Annie." Cho'Gath turned the book about, his monocle twitching slightly. "What an odd name. You'd think whoever wrote this would think of a better title."


Once upon a time, there lived a little girl. Her name was Annie, but for everyone that saw her they called her Little Red Hood. This was because she always wore the red hood her dearest mother had lovingly sewed for her. Wherever she went, her favorite stuffed bear was always clung tightly in one arm, a basket of flowers hung off her other, and that adorable hood wrapped itself snugly around her shoulders. She was a happy girl, who always sang sweetly, and always asked everyone two questions:

"Wanna be friends?" She would then smile and laugh her beautiful, innocent laugh, and the response would always be the same from everyone she asked, "Of course, Little Red Hood!"

Her second question, would always be accompanied by her shoving her bear in front of her face, waving it menacingly at the person she asked, "Have you seen Tibbers?!"

"Of course we have seen Tibbers, Annie! How can we ever miss little Tibbers?"

Now, Little Annie's mother and father were busy people, but they always found time to look after their little girl. One day, they had received a letter that Annie's grandma was sick. Annie's grandma lived past the woods by herself, and she would come every other week to visit her favorite, and only, grandchild.

Annie insisted that for once, she would visit her grandma to make sure she was alright. She was a big girl now, according to herself. She would bring grandma her favorite foods and her favorite flowers and she would wish her in person to get better soon.

"Alright, Annie, but you must promise me that you take care of yourself and to be careful. Be sure to bring Tibbers along, just in case."

"Of course mommy, Tibbers will never be far!"

With that, little Annie put on her little red hood, tied it up, took the basket of goodies her mother had prepared, stuffed Tibbers within it, and took off skipping to grandma's house.
The woods, despite it being nearly noon, were a dark place, but Annie was not scared. She happily skipped down the path, singing a sweet song, "Dam dadi doo, dam dam de doody dah, dam dadi doo, dam dam de doody dah, when the morning come come I'm dancing like you're dumb dumb and when the groove is high when dummies jump to sky, if you feel the groove groove and your body's meant to move move~"

She barely noticed the shadow that seemed to follow her every step.Annie continued on singing when a wolfman jumped out in front of her. His blue fur, his long face, the red glint in his eyes showed that he was a fearsome beast, but she was not scared.

The wolfman gave a deep, polite bow to the little girl, growling in his gruff voice, "Why hello there little miss! Who are you?"
Annie gave a cute curtsey back to the wolfman, "My name is Annie!"

The wolfman extended a hand out to her, his long claws easily encompassing her tiny hand. "Charmed, my dear. I am sure that is not your real name though. I would fathom to think that your name would be...Mm, Little Red Hood, for you wear such a darling little hood. I am Warwick."

Annie giggled in response. She took his hand and beamed a bright, beautiful smile at him. "Hello Mr. Warwick! Wanna be friends with me?"
"Is that so wise, little Annie? We have just met, what would your mother say?" Warwick stared curiously at the girl, wondering what she would say.

"What would she say? I dunno!" Annie giggled and shrugged her little shoulders. "Everyone's my friend, so I'm everyone's friend!"

"I see, I see!" Warwick tilted his head, his eyes glowing a bright red. "And where are you going, little Annie?"

"Off to gramma's house, she lives in the little house at the other end of the forest!"

"Oh ho? Why are you visiting her?"

"She's sick, so I want to bring her some stuff to help her feel better!"

The wolfman stroked his chin and gave a wolfish grin at the little girl. "Might I suggest for you to take some of those flowers, over yonder, to her then? There are none like them that you've ever seen!"

Warwick pointed at an opening in the trees that led to a beautiful field of blood red flowers.

"Gramma would love them!" Annie excitedly squeaked. She ran over to them, the basket bouncing up and down with every step she took. She looked back and slapped her forehead, "Oh! I'm sorry! Have you seen Tibbers?"

The wolfman laughed and shook his head, "No, I have not, Little Red, I have not! Perhaps another day, I must be off! I have some business that I must attend to!"

"Alright! Bye bye, Mr. Warwick!" Annie waved at him and ran towards the fields, while Warwick disappeared into the woods.

The wolfman fell on all fours and took off running, easily navigating through the woods. He knew them better than anyone, and he would reach her grandmother's house far before Annie herself would. The old woman would be stringy from age, sure, but that is why he would wait for the little girl. He would consume her, bones and all, for he was a very hungry wolf.

Warwick reached the quaint little mudbrick house. He reached at the doorknob and twisted it, expecting it to be locked. He laughed a hyena laugh when the door swung open effortlessly, the old woman had not bothered to lock it. Warwick knew his laughter would give him away, but it mattered not. She was old, she would not be able to run as much as he would prefer for her to. After all, it was only fun if they run.

The wolfman snorted and smelled about the house, making his way in. "Grandma dear, I'm here!"

No response.

Warwick pushed the bedroom door open, and saw an old lady in her bed. He trotted over and poked her with his cold nose, she did not move. He listened with his big ears, she was not breathing. Warwick checked her pulse, there was none, and she was colder than even his nose. Apparently, she was dead. This was no fun at all. With a sigh, he grabbed the old woman and dragged her out of bed, looking for a place to put her. The closet was too small to hide a body, after all, who would think putting a body in such a trite place as a closet? Perhaps the oven?

That was when Warwick spotted a large black cauldron, outside the back entrance of the kitchen. It was half filled with water already, and had kindling underneath it. It was large enough to throw in an entire cow, never mind a person. He would make grandma stew, in order to soften her meat. He stuffed grandma into the cauldron, grabbed the nearby flint and stone, started the fire and grinned in glee. He would have an appetizer and a good dinner.

Warwick looked about in the kitchen to see what he could add, and saw various spices and fresh vegetables already on the counter. He grabbed them all and unceremoniously dumped them into the cauldron, the fire already burning brightly. While she stewed, he would get ready for Annie, for she would soon be coming.

He dashed to the bedroom, grabbed the largest, pinkest dress he could find, along with a hair bonnet to hide his ears, and grabbed grandma's oversized reading glasses from her table and jumped into her bed. He nestled in tight, and waited for Annie to come. Soon, dinner would be at hand.
Annie pushed the front door open and called out loud, "Granma! Granma? Are you awake?"

"Yes dear, I am!"

"Granma, why do you sound so funny?"

Warwick coughed and rubbed his throat. He attempted to sound older, more of a croon than anything. "Sorry dear, this sickness is awful! It makes me sound like a wolf!"

"Don't worry, gramma! That's why I'm here!"

Annie skipped into grandma's room. She put the basket on the ground and opened it, dozens of crimson flowers spilling out from within. Her tiny hand darted into the basket and took out a large, gingerbread cookie. "I brought you cookies, Gramma! Mum made them!"

"That's wonderful, dear, that's wonderful." Warwick scratched the side of his neck, knowing that he would have to eat the atrocious biscuit.

"Hope it's not too sweet for you, gramma!" Annie looked over and blinked in surprise. "Oh my, gramma! What big eyes you have!"

"All the better to see you with, my dear!" Warwick licked his lips, staring at the supple, delicious flesh of the little girl. She looked more than good enough to eat. He would savor the sweet blood of the girl's tender flesh for a long time. However, he did not want to pick clothing from his teeth. The last time he had such a dinner, he spent more time cleaning his jaw of fabric than enjoying his meal. "It's hot in here, Annie, don't you agree?"

Annie shrugged, smiling at the wolf in her grandma's clothing. "Not really, I'm fine, gramma!"

"No no, I insist dear! Make yourself comfortable, take your hood off, get comfortable!"

The little girl shrugged and untied the string for her hood. The basket shook ever so slightly from within. Annie flopped her hood on top of the basket. She still held the cookie in her hand as she walked over to the wolf. She tilted her head and giggled," Gramma! What a big nose you have!"

"All the better to smell you, my dear!" Warwick motioned to the basket and asked, "Do you have something for my throat, dear? I'm a little bit...thirsty!"

"Of course, gramma!"

Annie reached into the basket once more, rummaged for a bit and took out a bottle of red wine and a corkscrew. Apparently grandma liked drinking. The little girl oddly thanked the basket and made her way to the wolf in her grandma's clothing. She handed the bottle to Warwick, along with the corkscrew. She blinked and stared at Warwick, suspicion forming on her face. "Granma, wh-"

The red wine flew out of the bottle as Warwick opened it, purposely clumsily spilling the liquid onto Annie's dress. She let out a quiet squeak of surprise and groaned, "Oh nooo! I'm sorry, gramma!"

"It's no worry, my dear! Just change your blouse, I should have a spare one in my closet for you!"

"Alright, thank you granma!"

The basket quietly rustled once more.

Annie walked over to the closet, and opened it. She stared to undo her blouse, and the first sign of supple flesh was more than enough for the bloodthirst of the wolf. Warwick slid out of the bed and his feet crashed across the hardwood floor.

The little girl squeaked, "Gramma! What quick feet you have!"

"All the better to catch you with, my dear!"

Warwick grabbed the little girl and shoved her into the closet, pining her down. His lips peeled back and showed his wolfish grin.

Annie, however, smiled back at him. "Have you seen my bear Tibbers?"

"No, no I have not!" He raised his clawed hand, and swept downwards. A shadow darted out of the basket and blood messily splattered the closet and the floor.

A blood curdling shriek filled the air. A mile away, a yordle woodcutter heard the noise. He ran towards the source, knowing full well where it could have come from. The...metal plates...? (Is this right? Huh. I guess it is.) clanked noisily with every step as the woodcutter ran towards Granma's house. He kicked the door open and looked about. He called out in a morose tone, "Annie? Annie? Are you here?"

He ran to the kitchen, no sign of Annie save for the old woman in the boiling cauldron. He ran to the bedroom and burst into tears at the sight of the blood stained room. "No...Annie! ANNIE! WHY..." The Yordle pointed at the blood stained girl, "Why are you cooking him so much? He's well-done! Meat needs to be medium! Why would you do such a-"

"Ammy!" Annie snapped. She stood up and put her hands on her hips, puffing her cheeks out in indignation. "What are you dressed up as?!"

"A-a-a knight, Annie," the Yordle sheepishly replied. He scuffed his metal greave on the ground. "I-I like them better than woodcutters."

"But this story has a handsome woodcutter!" Annie crossed her arms, the blood dripping from her arms, obviously upset.

"I-I'm sorry, A-Annie, I just...I just like...I just like knights..."

The little girl giggled and shrugged, "It's okay, Ammy! I was just having fun with you! Tibbers is almost done cooking!"

Over the corpse of the wolfman, whose chest had been torn open and his head messily decapitated, sat a large shadow bear, eerily reminiscent of the teddy she always carried with her. The stone floor easily bore the heat of the flames that exuded from the bear as he continued to cook the remains.

Annie looked over at him and puffed her cheeks out. She waved an admonishing finger at him, "Tibbers! You know Ammy doesn't like it so well done!"



"Groank..." Tibbers' fire quickly died out, the charred flesh of the wolf now ready for dinner.

Annie looked at her Yordle friend, tilting her head, "Have you seen gramma, Ammy?"

"Y-yes, Annie! She's in th-the backyard, in her hot tub!"

An old voice called out, "Is that you, little Annie?"

The old woman shuffled into the room, drenched from head to toe in water, smelling of spices. A loose head of cabbage drooped on her shoulder as she walked in. She shook her head, "I set up my tub, had a few glasses of wine, went to sleep and next thing you know I wake up and I'm in a..." She squinted at the corpse on the floor. "What is that, Annie? Where are my glasses?"

A big bear paw held out the glasses to grandma, who took them from him. "Thank you, Tibbers, now then...let's see. Oh my! Who's this rapscallion?"

"He said he wanted to be friends," Annie smiled. "He was a liar. I killed him and set him on fire."


"Tibbers helped."


"*Really* helped."

Granma chuckled and snapped her fingers. Fire danced out from her hand and her clothes started to dry. "I think this will be a nice dinner to have, don't you agree, dear?"


Amumu scratched the back of his helmet, "Ah, um...so, you're not in trouble, so I guess I'll-"

"Have dinner with us!" Annie stomped on the floor playfully. "I insist!"

"R-really? O-okay..."

And so, the four of them supped, dined and had a gay old time. If there was one thing that the wolf should have known, was that one should be careful whom they meet in the woods.


Gentleman Cho'Gath closed the book and stared at Kog'Maw, "Did you enjoy that story?"


He looked over at his guest, you, and grinned his wolfish grin. "How about you, old chap? Did you enjoy the story? I'm sure you did!" Cho'Gath leaned back in his chair and laughed a gentlemanly laugh. "Be sure to come back for next time's story! Tah tah for now!"


Author's Note: I wrote this story for a friend, a certain Mystical Raven, and decided to share it. Enjoy!

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Senior Member


Yes is did my old chap, i will be sure to come back, bringing some cookies next time.

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Grand Viper

Senior Member


The Reluctant Minion - A Minion is Found

“DEFEAT!” cried the announcer in a booming voice.

“Defeat? Again?” Syndra’s eyes went wide with rage, her teeth started to grind against one another. “No! I cannot lose! I don’t do lose! Only losers lose!”

Nidalee let out a loud sigh rubbed her eyes furiously. This child irked her so very, very much. Every League match in her high pitched voice she talks about how great and mighty and powerful she is, blah blah blah, a legion couldn’t stop me, I’m power without limit, woopty flippity doo.

The feral woman clapped Syndra’s shoulder and growled in her ear, “Hey, here’s a thought: Maybe you’re a loser.”

“Wh...?” Syndra spun out of Nidalee’s grip and hissed at her. “No I’m not! You’re the one that-”

“That secured the top lane, nibbled on Shen’s bicep multiple times, escaped Lee Sin’s ambushes repeatedly, and destroyed their tower in less than ten minutes. You, however...sorta sucked and died. A lot.”

“Me?!” she screeched. “It was my dumb summoner’s fault! He doesn’t know how to control my power!”

“Mhm...it could also be that you just suck,” Nidalee purred back. “Besides, this loss means I have time to go hunting for some real food.”

Syndra rolled her eyes and snorted. “Ugh, just go to the League cafeteria like a normal person.”

“Or!” The feral woman snapped her fingers and snarled at Syndra, “I can go hunting with my friends and family, and enjoy my life, unlike you.”

The Sovereign’s eyes narrowed, her hands balled up into fists. “What. Are you. Talking about?”

“I’m saying you’re the sad kid in the corner that really, no one cares about. At all. Do you realize that you have less friends than Twitch?”

“I have minions!”

“Veigar has more than ya, sweetie pie, and minions doesn't mean friends.”

“That rodent doesn't have any friends!”

A squeaky voice spoke up, followed by an awful, pungent aroma. “Actually, I’m gonna go play cards with Zac after this. We’re gamblin’ high stakes this time: Ten years aged cheddar.”

Syndra stared at Twitch, not quite sure how to react.

“What are you doing after this, Syndra?”

“Uh...S-stuff...” she stuttered. “Yeah, important stuff! Nothing a peon like you needs to know!”

“She’s going to go to her sad corner,” Nidalee mockingly whispered to Twitch.

“Shut up! I’ve got friends!”

“Name one.”

Syndra looked at Nidalee, then at Twitch, then looked around her for the rest of her teammates. A blue light surrounded them, and they were brought back into the lobby. Both teams were there, from Lee Sin to Master Yi, there was that scruffy Graves guy there, and Taric...Taric!

That weirdo is friends with everyone!

Syndra canceled her levitation and started to strut over to the gem knight. Before he saw her, before she could utter a word, a loaded crossbow was held in front of her face.


Syndra did not get a chance to ask what Vayne meant. The witch hunter simply reiterated herself, “No.”



“I just-”


“Will y-”

Vayne reached up and twanged the crossbow’s string, making the bolt shudder from the tautness.

“I just wanna talk to him!”

“Last time you did you broke every bone in his hand.”

Syndra stamped her foot on the ground. “It’s not my fault he was going for the last slice of cake! I mean come on, I saw it first!”

Taric had finally made his way over and lightly clasped Vayne’s shoulder, making the witch hunter lower her weapon. He spoke to Syndra in his usual, calm tone. “I would have given you the last slice, if only you had asked. Despite how sharp Obsidian can be, she only has the best intentions for my safety. And I ask you to respect her wishes.”


“For your safety, more than mine. Perhaps if you applied a carnelian on your brow, and a few well-cut turquoise gems, then we can have healthier communication.”

Syndra tilted her head, her eyes showing that she was indeed, confused. “...That sounds really dumb.”

Taric let out a sigh, forced a smile and patted Vayne’s shoulder. The two left without saying a word more.

“Wow. You’re truly, truly, truly, amazing,” Nidalee snickered aloud.

Syndra crossed her arms and snorted with indignation. “Whatever. He sucks.”

“Uh huh.”

“I don’t need friends, I need minions. I need people to respect me, there’s no one who I can call my ‘equal.’”

Nidalee rolled her eyes and waved the Sovereign off. “Whatever. Buh-bye.”

“Huh?” Syndra looked back, giving the feral woman the stink eye. “Where are you going?”

“Friends, hanging out, slaughtering a fat moose and then eating it, followed by napping, the usual,” Nidalee said while walking away. “It`s funny, how a feral person, like me, can really go to any city-state and find at least one person I can probably befriend while the civilized snooty one, like you is...well, you.”

Syndra watched each champion disappear from the room, each talking about plans they had, and every time they looked at her, they gave her a weird look. Except the monk, he was blind, hard for him to look. Hah! A clever joke, she made. If only she...had someone to tell.

Everyone left the lobby, leaving Syndra completely alone. Even Twitch left chatting about his ultimate plan in poker, something about how he will sink Zac’s battleships with his aces...Is that how you played poker?

What was poker anyways? She never heard of it while under her master’s tutelage.

Syndra crossed her arms, and walked over to the corner. Everyone else just sucked. They all didn’t realize how great she was. They didn’t realize how awesome she was. Ignorance is bliss, the stupid find happiness easier than a great genius like her would. She knew better than them.

Yet, after only a minute, she burst into loud, annoying tears.

Outside the lobby, Malcolm Graves was making his way back in. He left behind his flask after Taric asked him for a swig of it. Something about helping him calm his nerves because of some sort of proposal? Some nonsense, wasn’t sure what his business was but hey, guy was polite and did well in the match, so why not? He grumbled aloud as he pushed the door open, “Good job Malcolm, fergettin’ t-”

Then he heard the wail. He grabbed the nearest table, flipped it over and yelled, “Prison break lads! The explosion’s gone off! Move move move! I’ll catch up t’the rest o’ya!”

Graves checked his gun, the loud siren still going off, and rolled into firing position at the source of the wailing.

Syndra had mucus running down from her nose, tears the size of marbles rolling down her face.

“What in th’...?”

“Go away!” she yelled in a distraught tone.

Unfortunately for Graves, her yell literally made him fly across the floor, and the table he had used for cover shatter into several large pieces of lumber.

Ooooh bugger. Alright, think yer way, Malcolm, think yer way. Y’can’t shoot her, she can crush ya like a grape, and...she’s cryin’. How do you make a woman stop cryin’?

“Uh...stop crying?”

This only made Syndra wail louder, he could swear that his eardrums would explode at any moment.

Okay, new plan!

“Please, stop cryin’?”

You just tried that! Come on brain, help me out here. What do women like? ...Stop that. Use yer upper brain, moron. Look, what do I got on me?

Graves quickly started to pat at his pockets, not sure how much more torture he could take.

“Will you shaddup already?!” he bellowed.

Syndra instantly fell quiet, blinking and sniffling.

Huh. That worked. Nice going brain. Yer welcome, now check yer pockets.

Graves moved one hand to his pockets, rummaging through them as he walked over to Syndra. Buckshot, gunpowder, more buckshot; that particularly hilarious, and oh so black-mailable, picture that Veigar drew, but otherwise nothing useful in those set of pockets.

Alright, now make sure she doesn’t start cryin’ again.

“So why were you tryin’ to flood the room?”

The hell are you thinking?!

Syndra took a hard sniff, the sound of mucus being sucked in a loud and fairly unladylike noise. Oh gods no, don’t start again.

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that, I uh...”

Check yer damn pockets! I did! Check yer other ones!

Graves’ hand started to smack at any and all pockets he had wildly. Come on, come on, something, something, then he heard the crinkle of paper. It wasn’t the drawing, what could it...The chocolate bar.

Oh come on! Do y’know how expensive this thing is?! It’s five gold a pop! Look man, this ain’t about yer damn chocolate anymore. Just lookit her.

Graves squinted his eyes, Syndra’s lips were quivering and readying to emit yet another series of ear-splitting cries.

Five gold versus keepin’ yer blood in yer head. Do you really hafta think about this? ...Seriously, you are? Just give her the chocolate, stupid! But it’s- Shut up and do it!

“Geez, fine brain,” he grumbled aloud. Graves reached into his pocket while he closed the distance between him and Syndra, drew out the chocolate bar that had read, “Snake’s Kiss, Cassiopeia’s Only Choice in Chocolate,” and knelt down in front of her.

“Now listen, girlie. I’m gonna give you this,” he said in a gruff tone. “On the condition, on the lone condition that y’stop cryin’. Alright?”

Syndra sniffled and mumbled out a few incoherent words.

Graves sighed and reached into his back pocket. He drew out a handkerchief and held it out to her along with the chocolate bar. “Clean yerself up, blow yer nose, keep the hankie and eat the dang chocolate, alright?”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she sniffled.

Cause I like my insides where they are and I ain’t in the mood to give the lobby a fresh coat of red.

“Cause...Reasons.” Graves drummed his knee, waiting for Syndra to take the items from him.

Eventually, she took the handkerchief from him, and loudly blew her nose into it. She wiped the sides of her face with the clean edges of the fabric and then stared at the chocolate bar. “...Are these offerings?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, paying half attention, trying his best not to notice that he could see up her skirt way too easily. For a moment, he thought that he should ask why was a Sovereign wearing the world’s shortest skirt, which was followed by his brain mentally slapping him. “Yer done cryin’?”

Syndra gave him a slow nod and opened the chocolate’s wrapping. She started to nibble on it while Graves stood up and started to scan the room. Eventually, his eyes fell on his flask that was somehow still intact.

“Don’t you have people to see?”

“Hrn?” Graves pocketed his flask and glanced at Syndra. “What was that?”

“Aren’t you going to go with other peons, ‘friends’, and do whatever you commoners do?”

Graves shook his head, “Naw. I ain’t got ‘friends’, just a goal, little lady. And 'sides, y’dont need friends t’hang out with people. Sometimes people just like another mouth to spout nonsense and another pair of fists to brawl with.” He gave her a quick wave of his hand before walking away.

Alright, maybe you should say something to make sure she won’t start crying again. Just seal the deal.

“By th’way, you weren’t half bad in the match. Later.”

Syndra’s eyes lit up. She smiled, and looked at the chocolate bar. “Hee hee...I have a minion.”

She shot up from her position and started to levitate once more. She easily caught up to Graves while asking, “Well, if you don’t have anything to do, then maybe you can do something for me?”

Say no. Say no. Say no. Say. No.

“Not really, no,” Graves replied, not looking at her.

“I’m hungry.”

“That’s wonderful. Go do somethin’ about it.”

“Make me a sandwich?”

Graves stopped mid-step. “Say what?”

No seriously, what’d she say?

“Make me a sandwich?”

Heh. She actually did say that. Bwahahaha! Wait, no, don’t laugh, she can still crush yer coin purse like-

“Bwahahaha! Ha! Ha ha!”

A loud metallic crunch rang out. Alcohol started to dampen his pants, or at least, he hoped it was alcohol. He could feel his flask twist and contort into an unrecognizable shape.

“Minion. Make me a sandwich.”

Graves stared at Syndra, an indignant expression on her face, her eyes humming with magical energy.

Welp, you heard the lady. Make her a sandwich.

He let out a sigh and growled, “Just this once, alright? Don’t expect this every time.”

“Yay!” Syndra clapped her hands together excitedly and grabbed Graves's arm. She started to pull him as she rattled off how she wanted her sandwich prepared. “I want the crusts cut off, the bread cut into bite sized triangles, no baloney, no cucumber, I want five types of cheese but no stinky cheese, and no white cheese, and I like turkey but not smoked turkey, but I don’t really want any turkey this time and I also like salami but only the fresh kind and-”

Just keep remindin’ yerself, Malcolm, just this once. Just this once. Just this once.

And so, ends the first of many stories of our reluctant minion.

Wait, hold on a second. Lemme read that last sentence up there. ‘First of many’...WHAT?!

You heard me, Graves.

You scum licking rat sonova-

Next time on ‘The Reluctant Minion’ - Graves doesn’t want to see the dinosaurs.

What kind of dumb sentence is-

“And tomorrow, I wanna go see the dinosaurs! I’ve never seen dinosaurs before!”

...Hate you. I hate you. And her. I hate both of you. So much.