Congratulations to Stevo and Val. In celebration of the promotion of their spawnling from it's beta stage to it's full release, the following fanfiction is rated PG, but like, 1980s PG. Raiders of the Lost Ark PG.
Willow 2: The Quest for Harry Potter's moist flesh book.
About The Author: Having been abandoned as a womb-fresh babe in the Wendy's grease depository in which they were conceived, and raised by a commune of marxist grey wolves in the snowy mountains of Florida, Buster Manwomb is best known for driving every child therapist from Tijuana to Toronto into an early retirement, and having an understanding of 'family friendly content' that's as warped and confused as their understanding of the human anatomy.
Chapter 1: Where did this other baby come from?!
The flesh book is the key. Pry open its sinewy cover and gaze upon the dripping pages of meat and it will be as unto gazing into the wet thoughts of god itself.
-the Cryptic yet Worldbuilding Chronicles of Princess Irulan
Once upon a time in the fantastical land of Fictionesia, Willow sat in his mansion. Not only was he a crazy cool wizard from going all Lone Dwarf and Cub with a baby doomed to a life of politics, but he made a TON of money selling the film rights to his story to some jewish dude that made Howard the Duck, a film best known for it's use in biology classes demonstrating why ducks should not have mammary glands.
The film was actually impressively, almost voyeuristically accurate, with the only omitted plot detail being the logistically unfeasible number of times that Willow had to changes the little man-larvaes diaper.
But that's all used diapers under the bridge. Willow was done with adventuring, and was happy spending his wizarding days in the mansion he bought from the licensing money, and playing the surprisingly good Willow tie-in game on the Nintendo Entertainment System.
And then another fog dang baby crashed through the roof, landing in his lap.
"What in the HEFL?" Willow funimation'd as he paused the game, looking down at the drooling little baby. Despite crashing through the freaking roof of Willow's mansion, it seemed to shake off any likely head trauma like a pro. "Ahhhh dang it. I'm gonna have to be the protagonist again aren't I?"
Not one to decide which direction to start hiking with a baby in tow, Willow opened his kitchen window yelled out to his neighbor. "Hey, Jim!"
"Whaaaat?" Former President Jimmy Carter: Peanut farmer called back from halfway across his bountiful peanut field, sounding uncannily similar to master roshi.
Former president Jimmy Carter, who was already nettled at having to sell his peanut farm and getting investigated because he didn't sell his peanut farm convincingly enough, became what the scholars of ancient Greece would call 'right bleeping cheesed' by Trumps blatant and unchallenged abuse of power and government for the benefit of his own businesses. SO much so that Jimmy bought an even better peanut farm (with flapjacks, and hockey!) And billed trump for it. Now he was enjoying his peanut farm, thinking he was done with being in cockamamie stories until Willow yelled at him from his kitchen window, holding a baby like he was Michael Jackson.
"You lose a baby!?" Willow yelled.
"I have GREAT grandchildren older than that crotch goblin! Jimmy yelled back. "Does it have any distinctive features!?"
Willow twirled around the cooing bebe like it was one of the metal claws in Skyrim, looking for distinctive features. "It has a scar shaped like the thing in AC DCs logo on it!"
"Ahhhh, dunklebunt." Jimmy swore under his breath. "That thing's a plot device! I'nt want NONE to do with it!"
"Where do you figure I should take it?"
"You're the wizard!" Jimmy yelled. "You figure it out! I just wanna farm my nuts!"
Taking Jimmy's advice, Willow figured it out, and decided to deliver the baby from whence it came.
Not that kind of deliver, weirdo.
"Wife!" Willow called to his wife that I can't remember the name of and have too slow of internet to look up. "I need to bring another baby someplace!"
"Sounds awfully derivative for a sequel!" Willow's wife commented. "Have fun! I'll stay here and raise your ACTUAL children!"
"I haven't died yet! I'm still doing better than Goku!" Willow said, ignoring the fact that that bar was so low it was deemed a tripping hazard.
And so he did hit the road, baby in tow, humming to himself with the carefree glee of somebody who wasn't severely understocked on diapers while travelling with an infant.
That didn't last long, though. It took the average life span of a red-shirted intern in a star trek episode before the baby started crying like its parents had been disintegrated by a noseless jerk, and radiating a stink like it hadn't been changed since its parents were disintegrated by a noseless jerk.
"Jeez, baby!" Willow said, hoisting up the crying bebe like it was an angry cabbage. "The last manling I couriered didn't scream nearly as much."
The baby spat up in indignant acknowledgement.
"And HOW did you use up four diapers in a morning?!" Willow asked the baby as if he were actually expecting it to give a coherent response.
"Blebleh blarg." The baby blebbed contextually.
"Ah well." Willow said, casting two spells on the bebe. One muted the baby, the other transported the dirty diapers and their contents to the oval office. (A spell which Jimmy paid Willow very handsomely to learn, master, and frequently cast)
The smell was gone, but now Willow was carrying around a bottomless baby, which is a predicament not unlike sitting on top of a septic tank with a working pipe bomb. If only there were a store nearby where Willow could buy diapers and useful magical sundries.
"A store! How convenient" Willow said as he sauntered over the hill and gazed upon Rusty's Real Deal Diapers and Useful Magical Sundries.
Now, just because this is a fantasy kingdom in a magical world doesn't mean that it isn't being ravaged by corona virus. Being a responsible human being with a modicum of compassion and concern for others, Willow put on a mask before entering the store, and cast a bubble around the baby so that it wouldn't make any messes that would make a minimum wage worker opt for unemployment insurance of the spot.
As he waited in line, of course a, obnoxious, entitled, uneducated old man that wasn't wearing a mask moved up way too close to Willow. Now, Willow was sworn to never abuse his magical powers, but that didn't stop him from wanting to shove multiple rusty metal objects where the mouth-breathing coronavirus spreading coot would prefer they did not.
Opting for the compassionate, negotiable path, Willow turned to the man, making eye contact. "I wonder what your severed face tastes like."
Cleverly, the man left the store. At that very moment, the old lady that was using pennies to pay for her tic tacs finished paying and Willow was able to walk up to the cashier, a middle aged cartoon poodle who, if you read the Japanese version of this fanfiction, was a Chinese stereotype that would have made 1960s Hanna Barbera tell Nintendo to dial it the heck back. "Howdy" Rusty Slugger called out to the wizard. "What can I do ya fer?"
"II have to take this baby someplace." Willow said, tapping the bubble in which the baby was gigglingly rotating. "I need diapers and whatever plot-specific magical doodads you have handy.
"How many diapers?" Rusty asked.
"It'll be for a couple days… maybe four?" Willow said, totally giving away exactly how little he helped in raising his own kids.
Do you know dragonball Z? Imagine how hard Vegeta would have laughed if you'd handed him a dvd with footage of Goku getting beat to a pulp by Raditz. That is how hard Rusty had laughing at a progressively embarrassed Willow.
"Here." Rusty dropped a HOCKEY BAG stuffed with diapers besides Willow, and then gave him a bird, a gumball, and a toy walrus.
"I recognize that bebe." Rusty said, pointing to the bebe. "That's harry potter, star of the uber-blockbuster Harry Potter book series. You're gonna need to return him to his author, or the world will blow up!"
"What?!" Willow asked reasonably. "Why?!"
"I dunno." Rusty answered. "That bird will take you to the cave Harry Potter's author lives in."
"Neat! What does the gumball and the toy walrus do?" Willow asked.
"That is the gumball of survivable perception! Chew that whenever you're about to gaze at something that will make your face melt, and you'll think you're looking at a papaya instead!"!" Rusty said. "The toy walrus is a high yield nuclear bomb."
"Will I need it?"
"Will you not need it?" Rusty asked.
Willow thought about this. Deciding it was better to have but not need a high yield nuclear walrus, he paid for the lot of it. "Do you have a change stall in your bathrooms?"