NECESSARY CONTEXT
A while back I tried and mostly failed to organize a collaborative event where people wrote fight scenes between their OCs for the King of Iron Fluff Tournament. I’m going to include them ALL in this post, what little I wrote. I’ll probably try it again someday.
WHEN I’M SHOOTING PROMOS: PAID FOR BY THE KING OF IRON FLUFF COLLECTIVE
Baxter was most displeased. This was not how he thought his day would go.
“Nu wike dummeh nu weggie fwuffy! Awways make saddy huuhuus and nu can pway ow gif huggies fow gud Baxtew! Wan Awnowd!” His owner smiled a warm and patient smile while his little Maroon friend teetered back and forth out of sheer frustration. “Sorry buddy, you know Arnold is only a supporting character. Don’t worry, he’s still in the hotel, y’all can play after you’re done judging the tournament each day.” Baxter’s cheeks puffed out like a bullfrog. “Nu cawe! Bestes’ smawty Baxtew nu wan judge toonymint! Wan wun an pway! Hmbph!”
The man strokes his fluff and a soft cooing sound escapes Baxter’s lips involuntarily. His face hot with embarrassment, he continued to pout. It was less convincing now, though. Baxter nuzzled his daddeh, but not too much. Didn’t want daddeh to think he was in charge of very good Baxter!
On the other side of the green room sat a very sad pillow with friction burns on his stumps, tummy, and balls. His lower lip curled in a permanent pout. It was a pout not of defiance but of sheer resignation to the futility of resisting. He cried quiet tears while his daddeh brushed his fluff with a nice soft brushy.
“Alright Racecar, are you ready? The opening ceremonies are less than a week away, and you have to go record promos with that pretty red fluffy over there.” He gestured towards Baxter, promoting a heavy sigh from Racecar. “Huuu nu wike meanie fwuffy, am bigges’ meanie tu Wacecaw! Meanie smawty caww Wacecaw dummeh! Teww Wacecaw haftu num poopies! Nu make Wacecaw pway meanie gamesies wif scawy udda fwuffy!” As usual, his owner seemed to be paying minimal attention to him. But also as usual, this was an act of deception meant to keep Racecar as bummed out as fluffily possible.
“Don’t worry buddy, these aren’t games! You’re a big important guy! You and that other fluffy are gonna be telling everyone about the matchups and the fluffies competing in them!” Racecar perked up, a sparkle briefly dancing through his eyes. “W…weawwy? Hoomins gunna wisten tu Wacecaw?” He shrank back slightly, looking up at his daddeh hopefully. “Wiww…wiww daddeh wisten tu Wacecaw?” The man gave him good scratchies on the back of his neck. “Hm? Oh yeah, sure bud. I’ll be watching the tournament. Break a leg out there!”
Racecar gasps. “Nuuuu! Daddeh, wai say dat? Wacecaw nu eben hab weggies tu bweak!” He had more to say, but daddeh had handed him to a man with a suit who carried him away. “Nuuuu! Daddeh, sabe Wacecaw!” But daddeh was gone, he was speaking with the nice hoomin who had been hugging the awful meanie fluffy. Racecar made some saddy wawa, but he did so quietly as he’d been passively trained to do.
When he passed through the big double door, he was greeted by something unexpected. There were so many pretty colors! A lot of teebees! There was even a bunch of pillow stuff set up in the playpit in the middle of the room, and lots of cameras pointed at it. He started thinking daddeh was right. Maybe this would be a fun game! The quiet hoomin laid him down gently on bedding of microfleece, with a cool breeze coming from a vent underneath it. Racecar felt downright comfortable and was even more so when the hoomins put a litterbox UNDER HIS POOPY PLACE! Daddeh always puts him in the litterbox! Today is a great day.
He laid there doing his wiggliest stumpy dance, humming atonally to himself, as Baxter walked up. He winced, but Baxtew sat down with a sad huff. Racecar had scaredies, but no fluffy should have to have saddies! Especially ones with all their weggies! The sensitive pillow scooched himself so he could make eye contact. “He…hewwo? Am…am Wacecaw! Wai nyu fwend hab saddies?” Expecting a kick or some sorry poopies, Racecar braced himself. But none came. “Dummeh…nu hab saddies. Am…am onwy awwegies. Tuu many gwassie cwouds in da aiw. Make Baxtew see pwaces puffy wike puffy pwaces.” His eyes betrayed a nervousness that he wouldn’t cop to. Racecar nodded and turned back towards the cameras. “Oh…das gud. Wacecaw gwad meanie smawty hab saddies. Dummeh Wacecaw nu cam gif huggies fow make feew bettew doe…” For a brief moment, the two were quiet. Kindred souls on an elaborate tv soundstage neither of them understood. Then the director walked out.
“Alright guys, your daddies explained what’s happening, so just deliver all the info and remember: Cameras love excited fluffies!” Baxter puffed his cheeks and stuck out his chest as Racecar tried to perk up. The lights went up, and someone yelled “Action!”
. … … … …
“Wewcome aww dummeh hoomins an wess dummeh fwuffies! Aww dummeh fwuffied awwowed tu watch, but Baxtew nu wike ou!” He puffed up and turned away from his cohost, who began introducing himself. “Nu wowwy dummeh an nu weggie fwuffies! Am Wacecaw! Wacecaw wub aww fwuffies! Aww fwuffies am wewcome!” Baxter bucked and kicked him in the face with his sorriest back hoofies.
“Shaddup! Nu contwadick Baxtew on teebee! Stoopy dummeh! Hatechu!” With that, he unleashed a vicious raspberry followed by a series of insults he screamed at an increasingly distressed Racecar. "Dummeh fwuffies am awwowed, but nu wike! Nu wan be fwends wif dummeh piwwows nebba ebba in miwwion fowebbas!" Racecar sobbed louder and louder as Baxter continued to berate him, only pausing to kick his stumps and give bitey hurties. "Ou am dummeh poopy fwuffy! Ou fink jus becuz ou hab pwetty cowows nu am poopies? Dat am wacist! Baxtew nu wike pwe-judd-iss!"
The camera slowly pulled back as L’Internationale faded in and text scrolled by.
STARTING JULY FOURTH
ALL FLUFFIES PLAY FUN GAMESIES
BUT ONLY ONE WILL BE CROWNED
THE KING OF IRON FLUFF
. … … … …
The lights dimmed as the hoomins walked out with nummies and water. They were praising the two fluffies. Racecar was sobbing and thrashing so hard he’d worn himself out. Baxter was even meaner than before! He was so confused, he thought they’d become friends!
Once he was done basking in praise, Baxter waddled over to Racecar, whose daddeh had left the room. Racecar braced for more abuse, but none came. Instead there was only a light hoofy that poomfed on his chin. Not even a sorry hoofy. Baxter smiled. “Dummeh nu weggie fwuffy du gud jawb! Ou cwy and yeww an wiggwe su weww! Make Baxtew wook big an scawy! Dummeh hoomins gunna wub ou! Ou an Bestest Baxtew make gud team fow da netwowk!” To Racecar’s surprise, Baxter hugged him. “Fankyu fow nu be dummeh. Wast piwwow pwah-doo-suhs bwing nu cwy ow yeww enuff! Was weawwy dummeh, aweddy gif up! Nu eben twy get way! Nu make gud teebee.” Racecar was in shock, and only managed a soft “F…fankyu. Wacecaw twy be gud on teebee.”
Baxter waddled away singing some rambling nonsense song about what a good fluffy he is and how his nunu stick is hard as hoofsies because his speciaw wumps am the biggest EBBER. Racecar went back to rolling side to side between the different soft materials laid out for him. They all smelled like different tasty nummies and flowers! He was starting to get used to this.
A few minutes later, Baxter came back over. “Dummeh kamwa hoomin say we nu hab nudda shoot fow ‘cuppa houws’ an teww Baxtew tu gu sweepies ow sumfin. Nu hab gud beddies fow sweepies. Woww ovew, Baxtew gunna take nappies on pwetty gwound fwuff.” Baxter nudged Racecar off of the down feathers and onto the artificial cat hair rug. Racecar didn’t mind, he was ready to roll over anyway. The feathers were soft and smelled like lilac, but they had teeny pokey bits and he was getting uncomfortable.
Racecar fell asleep quick and was awoken by a prodding Baxter. “Baxtew nu wike feddas. Tuu pokies an smeww wike gwoss pwanty nummies. Wacecaw wook softies. Baxtew gunna sweepies on Wacecaw, su nu make saddy huhuhus an wuin Baxtew nappies!” The chubby smarty trundled over to his cohost and climbed over the top of him. They were angled perpendicular, making an x with their bodies. Baxter quickly fell asleep, muttering softer and less coherent threats of violence should Racecar wake him. As he drifted off and started snoring, Racecar nuzzled the nice soft not-fluff beneath him and smiled.
He’d never had a friend before.
. … … … …
“Okay, they’re both asleep. Lets shoot the hugbox stuff now.”
THE OPENING OF THE FIRST KING OF IRON FLUFF TOURNAMENT
It is mere days from the opening ceremonies, and there is much to be done.
Tuffies pull around carts full of supplies and pillowed VIP spectators. Fluffy celebrities from all across the multiverse had converged here, on an uncharted island off the coast of British Columbia, for the King of Iron Fluff Tournament.
“Namesies pwease an fankyu.” A stout pink unicorn with half frame glasses sits by a table, front hooves on a simplified keyboard hooked to the entry system. A blue pegasus responds. “Am Spencew! Wan pway in big fwuffy gamesies!” The unicorn barely registers the answer, marking it down in his computer. “Ou gu tu pwetty fwoww oba dewe.” The wingie friend steps aside, has his picture taken, and moves on.
In the area through the registration gates there are a sea of fluffies. Many tournaments are going on. There are Foal Fights, feats of strength, various forms of races, versions of those various forms of races which include carrying babbehs, and even Smarty Rasslin.
But everyone knew what the main event was.
A no holds barred Kumite tournament. One on one, with a seeding set by the mysterious King of Iron Fluff. A trumpet fanfare heralded his arrival.
Far above the crowds, from his suite in the massive stadium they’d gathered at, Tenderloin spoke.
“AWW DUMMEH FWUFFIES! OU HAB TU WEGISTEW! WEABE COMMENT HEWE DESCWIBING OU CHAWACTEW AWWIVING AT DA TOWNAMENT AND INTEWACTING WIF DA VAGUE SETTING DESCWIBED ABOVE!”
Tenderloin smiled and his massive nunu stick got hard as hoofsie.
“OU HAB TWU BWITE TIMES! DEN TENDAWOIN GUNNA WEAD AWW SUBMISHUNS AN DECIDE HU GUNNA FITE HU AND WEN! AWW DUMMEH FWUFFIES HAB OWN TWEAD! TENDAWOIN MAKE! DEN TENDAWOIN MAKE TWU COMMENTS, WUN FOW WUN DUMMEH, AN UDDA WUN FOW DA UDDA. UPSKETTIES ONWY, PWEASE.”
He shut his eyes and began pacing like a general. “OB COWSE, TENDAWOIN WAN HAF GUD FUNNY GAMESIES TUU, SU AFTA TWEE BWITE TIMES, WIWW INTWADUCE NYU CHAWWENGE! CUD BE WOTSA STUFF! TENDAWOIN TWY TU PICK SCAWY FINGS DAT FWUFFIES NU GUNNA WIKE! TENDAWOIN GUNNA WIKE A WHOWE WOT DOH, SU DUMMEHS NU CWY OW GET BIGGES HUWTIES!” At this point he began stomping and hissing and spitting and screaming about dummehs. He was tearing up the silk pillow he’d been kneeling upon in sheer rage.
His handler stepped in and took the mic.
“Like he said, it’s simple. Write a comment here describing your arrival at the vague tournament ground, and end it with the following:”
He held up a large piece of posterboard with categories outlined.
NAME
AGE
BREED (Shaferaraks, Wolfram, Gowdie, etc.)
WING/HORN/BOTH/NEITHER
COLORS
PRONOUNS
“This’ll just make setting up the competition threads easier. As for the time limit, puck drops at 10PM Eastern US Time. Even though we’re in British Columbia. For…for some reason I’m sure.”
He rubs his brow at his poorly written script.
“Jesus. Look, just remember that matches will basically run Monday to Friday on…*sigh…*on the “Freedom Calendar of America.” Weekends are a break for everyone. Do or say or promise whatever you like to whomever you like during a match, but understand win/loss is determined exclusively by the vote count on the comments Tenderloin posts in the thread. Downvoting is fine. It is encouraged so as to offset the impact of people who choose to do it to expand their vote. If everyone upvotes their pick and downvotes the other guy, it’ll just make the numbers smaller and easier to understand. Tenderloin will introduce an obstacle to prove yourself on. Write how you would surpass it, but remember: People reading your responses will use those responses to inform their anonymous vote. So write carefully.”
He stepped back and did a shitty job at suddenly sounding excited. "And now, it’s time for the Fluffy Ga-shit… The King of Iron Fluff Tournament!"
And the gates flung open.
TALES FROM THE KING OF IRON FLUFF
The stadium built for KoIF: I was a sight to behold. A main arena was flanked by multiple layers and levels containing other, smaller arenas and amphitheatres. Each was abuzz with activity. Any competition or contest imaginable could be found here. In one of the smaller amphitheatres, some fluffy owners compete in a very niche event that they are nonetheless passionate about.
Fluffy gambling.
Not betting on fluffies, mind you. That’s happening, but the event is fluffies betting with each other. In this chamber, the bets are foal based. Two mummahs enter and play a series of simple games of chance. They bet babbehs on outcomes and win or lose those babbehs from or to their opponent.
The match ends when one fluffy has no more babbehs to bet.
Sparkle, a pretty white alicorn, was down to her last babbeh. Across from her, a cocky blue unicorn sat with two small nesty boxes. One with her own babbehs, and one with Sparkle’s. “Weww? Ou gunna bet? Ow am Pweshus gunna just hab aww babbehs cuz ou gif upsies?”
Sparkle grimaced. No! She couldn’t! She had to save her family. Four of her six babbehs were in a box at Precious’ feet, and she pushed the whole boc forward. “Pweshus waise. Bet fouw dummeh poopy babbehs.” Sparkle huffed and puffed her cheeks. "Shaddup! Babbehs nu am dummeh poopies! Aww babbehs gud babbehs! Aww in!" Sparkle confidently pushed her own small tub with two scared babbehs to the middle. “Nuuuu! Mummah, nu weabe! Nu wan meanie nyu mummah!” She steeled herself against their cries. It would all be worth it.
Bets placed, the game was revealed. Tic-Tac-Toe, the closest to an actual strategic game a fluffy could muster. A dozen draws came before a tired and frightened Sparkle made an error, and she saw her last two babbehs taken to their nyu mummah.
“Huuuuuu take gud cawe ub babbehs meanie fwuffy, dey gud babbehs, mummah awways wub dem…” Precious cackled. “Nu cawe! Nu wan mow dummeh babbehs steaw miwkies fwum Pweshus, dey poopy babbehs nao! Onwy gud fow nummin’ poopies!”
Now bankrupt, Sparkle was taken out of the ring while Precious celebrated by feeding her good babbehs and directing them to go…feed their new “not bruddas” and “not sissies” when they were done. Her owner was compensated from the losers pool as agreed on, and Sparkle returned to the arms of a daddeh she knew she’d failed.
“Don’t worry” he said “you can have more babbehs someday. Just…maybe not six next time, yeah?”
::::
“Ou wookin fow fwuffy? Fwuffy hab watchu need.” The sketchy green unicorn was hanging around outside the competitor village in a ratty hoody after dark. Out from the teeming masses, a nervous pegasus approached. “Ou…ou hab wun fast dwinkies? Make fwuffy gu fastest ebba? Can wun way fwum meanies an scawy pwace an gu fin hewd in gwassies?” The corner dealer scoffed.
“Keep wawkin dummeh, ou nu wan wat fwuffy hab.”
It was like this at every tourney, why should this he different? There’s just more of them is all. He and his daddeh can’t make you Supa-Fwuff, but they can make you Fluffy Jaromir Jagr. Even made a Fluffy Bob Beamon once…for about three weeks until his fucking heart exploded out of his chest.
Hey, you gotta risk before you can reap.
He’d been pushing uppers, downers, hurties fixers, nummie replacement shakes, gwow stwong nu smeww pwetty powder, and even genuine horse testosterone. Like from actual horses. He runs out of everything twice a day and has to source more.
His daddeh, a fat man with a scraggly beard and a greasy brown ponytail sits next to him on the curb and lights his pipe. “You 'bout done here, Freeway?” The fluffy chuckles. “Nu, stiww hafta seww da ketameanies. Wast bwite tiem sowd tu mummah hu nu am mummah nu mowe. Takesies tuu muchies an gu fowebba sweepies wen wastest babbeh gu way. Bewy saddies, nu Fweeway fawt.” He looked back towards the park square he was posted up at, near the entrance to the village complex. “Nao udda fwuffies nu wan bestest Speciaw K nu mowe, dey fink it scawy. Dummehs. Dey gunna cum awound.” His owner took a long drag and breathed out an aromatic, almost lilac tined smoke. “Man, save it. I sold like all the HGH to fuckin three guys with four fluffies so we can pack it in. Come on, we can go do the rest of the K in the RV.”
Finding this agreeable, Freeway stopped yelling. When someone walked up and asked “nyu fwend” he snapped. “Gu way! Fweeway nu sewwin nu mowe! Twy gain nex bwite tiem!” With that, the sketchiest man and the sketchiest fluffy walked off towards the parking lot.
IRON FLUFF TV
"Don’t move, okay? You’re doing great, Butterscotch. Just don’t… move…"
The nervous yellow pillowed mare made a soft wavering whine as she watched daddeh play with her babbehs. They’d only just recently opened their eyes and started talking, and she was still recovering from the shock of having weggie babbehs! Butterscotch had been so afraid that her babbehs would come out dummeh with no weggies just like her! She’d spent many forevers discussing it with daddeh.
But now her babbehs were walkie/talkie foals. And daddeh said that means he has to help them become big fluffies. Butterscotch can’t do that, because she wasn’t good enough to get weggies. She’s lucky she even gets to be a mummah at all!
Four babbehs. Three colts and one filly, all chubby no-frills pastel puffballs. Daddeh had them in a Tupperware container full of cotton balls that he set over a cup of hot water to keep them nice and warm. Butterscotch was up on his workbench softly listing back and forth humming a nonsense tune to nobody, trying not to worry or fret.
Why?
Because daddeh had a pointy. A pointy that gave burny hurties. He uses it to make booboos stop crying booboo juice. But daddeh keeps putting it near the babbehs! He’s dangling them in one hand, and while he’s calmly talking to them, he’s holding it so close her foal can feel it!
“Huu daddeh, babbeh tuu wawm. Pwease nu mow upsies?” The foal was already voicing full requests. Daddeh ignored him and sat the poker back on the hot plate. As he lowered the foal towards it slowly, the confused babbeh became more and more frantic. “Nu daddeh, nu! Tuu hawt! Tuu hawt fow babbeh!” It was adorable. The tiny purple boy was wriggling and squirming as much as he could to get away from the burny place. He hadn’t touched it, but it was already so warmies! His tears hissed and popped as they landed on the plate below. He knew it must be really hot.
"Huuuu, daddeh? Pway gentwe wif mummah babbehs! Mummah babbehs am…am bewwy powtint tu mummah! Wub babbehs a wot!" The wiggly pillow was growing more nervous as daddeh grew more deliberate. He wasn’t being clumsy, this was all on purpose. He was threatening, not simply scaring.
Daddeh picked up the poker again. It was a knitting needle made of stainless steel, and it was plenty hot at the point. The colt had stopped paying attention to the needle, as he was fully occupied by trying to curl tight enough to keep his feet, butt, and pretty tail off the hot plate. He’d managed to tuck himself up by really curling around his tummy, and it was pudging its way out between his face and his weggies and tail.
Daddeh broke the slience. “I’ve turned it down. It won’t hurt right away.” The babbeh was confused, so daddeh quickly touched him to the surface before immediately pulling back. He squeaked and a little scaredy peepee crept past, but it didn’t sizzle like his tears had. It hadn’t burned him. He let his feet touch. After less than half a second, he yelped and pulled back in pain. It wasn’t hot enough to hurt right away, but longer than an instant of contact was quite painful.
“Huuuu wawawawa nu wike tuuuuu hawt! Owwies! Daddeh, nu wan pway gamesie!” Daddeh readied the needle. “Okay. Then let go of daddeh.” The foal was confused and scared still. “Bu…bu den babbeh gunna faww! Nu wan buwnie huwties!”
Daddeh shook his head. “No excuses. Let go if you’re going to be a baby.” His stern rebuke wasn’t calming matters. The foal was trying in vain to climb higher on daddeh’s hand, but he was being frustrated by daddeh actively moving his arm and hand to keep the babbeh hanging off the bottom. The foal was, of course, not sharp enough to realize this and thought the meanie plate was chasing him.
Until the poke.
A searing pain ripped through the colts side as he was poked with the orange hot needle. “SCREEEEEE! OWWWWWIES!” He reflexively kicked out his back weggies and, while doing so, lost his grip on daddeh entirely. He dropped to the griddle and started to panic as it heated him.
He was a mess of screeches and whines, scrambling aimlessly to escape his torment. The griddle wasn’t searing his flesh, but it was quite painful and when he took steps he found his hoofsies didn’t feel right the longer they’d stayed down. His bruddas and sissy were all peeping as hard as they could for mummah. Mummah, for her part, was begging and pleading for mercy.
“Nuuu! Bad gamesies fow babbeh! Nu wike! Pwease daddeh, can babbeh gu tu mummah gain?”
. … … … … …
Will the babbehs be saved? What cruel torments does daddeh have in store? How time till weggies?
Find out next time on Iron Fluff TV: TV for Smarties!
::::::
“Da cwowd weawwy am bewy 'cited tuday! Aww fwuffies hab biggest heawt happies on tunnamint day!”
“Das wite, Wacecaw! Aww da fwuffies fwum ebbywhewe am aww watchin da show! Hewwo, am Bestest Baxtew. Ebbywun favwit fwuffy fwend. An dis am udda host, gud fwend Wacecaw. Say hewwo tu nice hoomins on da teebee, Wacecaw!”
“H…hoomins? Whewe? Nu can…”
WHACK
“DUMMEH WACECAW! DAT AM ONWY METTAFOW! JUS SAY HEWWO WIKE PWACTISS!”
“Huhuuuu sowwy Baxtew, Wacecaw sho am dummeh huuuu…”
WHACK
*“OU STIWW NU SAY IT! STAHP BE DUMMEH! OU MAKE BAXTEW WOOK BAD IN FWUNT OF AWW DA PWETTY STAWWIONS!”"
“Huuuuu… Hewwo ebbybuddy, wewcome tu da bestest show on awww ub teebee…”
“DA KING UB IWON FWUFF TOONYMINT!”
. … … … …
Beneath the hot lights and the gaze of almost a hundred thousand live spectators, there sits a 1000ft concrete slab. This is the arena where fluffies will battle it out for the chance to challenge…THE KING OF IRON FLUFF.
::::::
“Hewwo! We back at da awena wif da watest! Am Dummeh Nu Weggie Fwuffy Wacecaw…”
“Das wite! Am Bestest Smawty Baxtew! Da fightews hab been judged by aww ou pwetty hoomins, an’ next bwite tiem dey gunna get scawy chawwenges!”
“Huuu, Wacecaw nu wike! Tuu scawy!”
“Dummeh! Ou nu haftu du chawwenges! Ou in boof wif Bestest Smawty Baxtew! Stahp be dummeh!”
“Owwies! Meanie Baxtew nu mow kickies! Am sowwy! Wacecaw sowwy!”
… …
The camera pans back. Baxter continues showering Racecar with his sorriest hoofsies, seemingly enraged that Racecar isn’t running away or fighting back.
“Nu can! Nu hab w-”
THWACK
“SHADDUP! GU WAY WITE NAO OW GET CHOMPY BITIES FWUM ANGWY BAXTEW! BAXTEW NU HAFTU STAND 'OU CWAP! BAXTEW AM STAW!”
THE KING OF IRON FLUFF 2021
LIKE I SAID IT’S PRETTY ROUGH AND INCOMPLETE