Greenie - Part 1 (Zimbardo)

Be a small, baby fluffy. You vaguely remember the feeling of your mama, but all that you know is that you have a small bed made of fluff, and that you are all alone
You vaguely hear humans and fluffies far off, which only isolates you further
Peeping and peeing and peeping, you desperately hope some kind human or your mama will come
Forever and forever again passes, peeps echoing across your world, and piles of not-good smells amass below you, yet no one comes to make it all better with huggies, love, or even some cleanies

ā€œIf any of these actually work, I’m going to be fucking richā€
Dave sighs and takes off a set of nitrile gloves, tired from a morning full of delicately placing fluffy foals into glass containers of various shapes and sizes. After a heated debate online speculating if one could mold a fluffy by raising them in a container of a certain shape he had been obsessed with the idea. He knew of people who had put fluffy ponies into jars and they grew into the shapes of the jars before being crushed to death by their enclosures, but as far as he knew no one had actually placed foals into jars of certain shapes to purposefully mold them into a unique shape for weirdos to buy at an exorbitant price for instagram or tiktok fame. He was able to find small cylinder, cube, sphere and even spiral glasses to hold chemicals, and decided to buy 50 fluffy ā€œchirpyā€ foals from a large scale breeder for pet stores to raise in these vessels to see if some thing that breaks so easily, yet heals so quickly, could be shaped into unique forms for ā€œenthusiastsā€. The hard part was convincing friends to help him with his investment; despite impassioned speeches about trailblazing new paths and lucrative fiscal projections, much like the fluffies in the jars he too was alone in this building.

Since early in morning Dave prepared his experiment. He managed to rent a small industrial space where he could store the fluffies in jars with enough space to prevent them from seeing each other, along with an industrial sink and metal table to help with cleaning and ā€œtaking care ofā€ any fluffy issues. He did not want to think of what prior residents did here. He prepared 10 spherical, cuboidal, cylindrical, and triangular (pyramidal to be pedantic) test jars, along with a few ā€œnicheā€ (near certainly fatal) shapes for fun, with a bed made of cotton balls. Each fluffy got a dropper full of ā€œX-TRA GROā€ fluffy formula, which was a high calorie liquid with antibiotics and steroids to ensure growth, before being carefully set on the cotton bed he handcrafted for each fluffy. A cork was then placed in the hole of the flasks to prevent any incidental loud sounds from disturbing the subjects.

ā€œWell, time to make 50 shitty, crying babies feel important and safeā€ Dave thinks to himself before his afternoon rounds, thanking this years of retail experience for this experience. He starts with the first fluffy in the line, carefully removing and replacing the bed that was already saturated with urine and feces, and carefully wiping down the fluffy so there are no infections before replacing the newly cleaned fluffy. He continues this repetitive task until a chubby green fluffy in a square flask opens its eyes and cries out ā€œd-daddeh?ā€

ā€œNo, I am not ā€˜daddeh’. I’m just here until you get a real mummah or daddehā€ Dave cringes

ā€œOtay not-daddeh. Fwuffy wuv ouā€ The fluffy begins to hug his hand

Dave curses under his breath about the fluffy actually being cute, before cleaning feces from the fluffy and the vial itself. After briefly petting the foal’s cheek he shakes his head quickly to throw away any sympathy for this creature. He know what will happen to them. At best, their bones will repeatedly break and slowly shape into malformed appendages. Likely, they will simply suffocate in their containers that currently seems massive to the foals. Dave gently picks the foal up with tweezers and sets it down into its new bed and begins the process anew with fluffy #29. Once done for the day he gives each jar a once-over and locks up the building with all lights still on to prevent mass hysteria and death.

The next few days will be more of the same, but very soon the foals will begin to grow rapidly; what happens then Dave certainly doesn’t know.

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Hey! I wrote like ~20 stories on the Booru, and I’m thinking about getting back into it now. This is a post for me to stretch my legs and get into a story that I had back on the Booru (that was lost to time). I’m going make the story longer and more in depth than it was originally; for my own ease it’ll be in parts, but it’ll be a short story. I know this is a rough start, but let me know your thoughts.

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I’m liking this already. Can’t wait for more emotional neglect to befall upon the jar fluffies.

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Anyone remember Bonsai Kittens?

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That was the first thing i thought of. I remember people taking that page so seriously. I think it was one of my earliest experiences with seeing how some people would believe anything they saw on the internet.

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This reminds me of the Chinese dwarf fad. I can’t remember exactly when it happened, but little people became status symbols among the Chinese elite. The demand reached a point where poor families started selling young children, only for the children to be raised inside jars to stunt their growth. They looked weird, and I don’t think they were too healthy, but they sold well.

I suspect the same of these fluffies.

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Hey, another booru user. Welcome back!

Just for future reference, on this site we ask users to put their name in the title of their posts (I’ve done it for you this time). It just makes our search engine work a little better.

Looking forward to seeing more from you!

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Thanks! I’ll be sure to include my username in all of my posts going forward.

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