hl2_linux
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Nov 1, 2023
The note may be lost but reality remains.
Caden Wayne Scholeck / Jade Scholeck / BlueFolf / Blue / a gassy femdom - Parasitic clout chaser. Macrophiliac scat fetishist. Shitted on a plate and filmed it. Left a disabled woman in crippling debt. Tried to sue a Twitter gimmick account and failed. Disowned by father. Lied about being assaulted. + His Orbiters and A-logs
- Thread starter Ise
- Start date
- Joined
- Mar 6, 2023
// The year is 2033. Technological advancements have allowed scientists to splice animal traits into human DNA through the power of gene editing. Caden "Blue Folf" Scholeck, now in his late twenties and suffering from HRT-induced osteoporosis, has volunteered to become the first patient of the new state-funded fursona program.
26 May, 2033. Today was the day. Caden pushed open the pristine glass doors of the facility, giddy with excitement, and was greeted warmly by a young female receptionist, who asked for his name.
"I'm, uh, BlueFolf... from Twitter," he replied.
"Ah, BlueFolf. Take a seat, sir-- I mean, ma'am," the receptionist stuttered, taken aback somewhat by the scent of feces which had suddenly permeated the room. "Dr. Blumenkrantz will be with you in a moment."
Caden took a seat in the corner of the office beside a potted philodendron and began tweeting. Some minutes later, his business was interrupted by a balding man wearing thick rounded spectacles and a buttoned lab coat; the man introduced himself as the lead surgeon in charge of the Freedom of Form Foundation, and showed Caden down a flight of stairs, leading to a dimly-lit hallway within the lower levels of the building. As the two men walked onward, the sounds of the facility above were replaced by an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of ill-fitting stiletto boots clacking on the concrete floor.
Without warning, the doctor halted in front of an inconspicuous white door labelled ROOM B41 and gestured to Caden, flickering fluorescent tubes casting strange shadows on the walls behind him.
"Right this way." With a crooked smile, Blumenkrantz produced a card from his pocket and held it to a scanner beside the door. It swung open with a confirmatory beep, revealing a barren room resembling an operating theatre; inside, two rickety wooden chairs sat beside an enormous machine. Blinking lights and monitors surrounded the machine, ready to report on the patient's vital signs through the upcoming surgery, and syringes containing various coloured liquids sat on a shelf at the end of the operative bed. Caden took a picture for his followers.
"Now, Ms. Folf -- I know you've been made well aware of the risks of this procedure, but we do have to run through some standard safety checks before we can commence the operation. I'm sure you understand."
Caden nodded.
"Wonderful, wonderful." The doctor sat down, prompting Caden to do the same. "Could you first confirm your full name and date of birth for me?"
"My name is Blue Folf -- first name Blue, last name Folf -- and I was born on the 16th of March 2004."
"Okay... thank you. And are you taking any medication that we should be aware of?"
"Um, no, I'm not." Caden figured that his illegally-sourced extra strength bathtub HRT didn't count, because if he were a real XX cisgender girl he'd have been producing it naturally with his ovaries, or something.
"Excellent! Now -- if you could just take a look through this document here, and sign it at the bottom when you're done." The doctor handed him a small black pen and a piece of paper, upon which SPECIES-AFFIRMING CARE INFORMED CONSENT SHEET was printed in bold lettering. Caden, unaccustomed to reading more than 280 characters at a time, signed the form hastily after little more than a superficial glance. Apparently satisfied, Blumenkrantz instructed him to lie down.
"This won't hurt at all, will it?" asked Caden, cold metal pressing uncomfortably upon his skin.
"If all goes to plan, not in the slightest," replied the doctor with another strange smile. He fastened straps tightly around Caden's wrists and ankles. "Shall we begin?"
"Please." Caden looked to the ceiling, his heart nearly beating out of his chest as the reality of the situation dawned on him. When I wake up, he thought, I'll have the body I've been dreaming of for so long.
He felt a light prick in his shoulder, and took a deep breath as everything went numb...
- - -
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The rhythmic sound of a heart monitor roused Caden from his slumber.
Groggily, he opened his eyes to notice that the room was almost completely dark. His surroundings seemed blurry and lacking in depth, as if he had one eye closed. As he regained consciousness further, he felt his chest tighten as all of the excitement he was feeling prior to the operation came coursing through his veins once more. It's done, he thought to himself, it's really done.
Glancing around the room as best he could with his poor vision, he noticed that the doctor was absent, leaving him alone. Perfect. He was unable to contain his mounting anticipation a moment longer. Caden lifted his head from the pillow and tried to sit up, summoning all his strength.
At once, a flash of searing pain shot outwards from his spine. He winced and fell back onto the pillow. Drawing deep breaths to soothe the pain, he noticed that his breathing was unusually laboured, as if there was an enormous weight resting on top of him. He was now fully alert, and part of him felt as though something had gone wrong. Horribly wrong.
He made himself think calm thoughts in an attempt to quell the storm of conflicting emotions within. It's fine! The doctor will be back soon, and he'll tell me everything's fine -- also, my tweets are doing numbers and everybody loves me. For the time being, he lay back, closed his eyes, and focused on his body, on the new sensations he was feeling after the operation. His legs felt different, as if the bones within them had been reformed into a new shape; his face felt... weird. Longer than before. His arm... his arm...
He couldn't feel his arm. Nor could he feel most of the left side of his body, for that matter.
At this revelation, Caden began to panic once more. He tried to call out to Dr. Blumenkrantz, but his voice caught within his throat, leaving him unable to make a sound. He glanced to his right, eyes moist with fear, toward the screens and flashing lights beside his bed -- where, amidst the various numbers and graphs, he could make out two words, prominently displayed on a bulky monitor: SYSTEM FAILURE.
Using his functional arm, he fumbled for his phone on a table beside him and switched it on. Saturday, 28 May. He'd been out for two days. It still held half of its charge, but there was no reception.
Caden turned on the flashlight and used it to scan the room. Nothing seemed all too different from when he had first come in. He closed his eyes tight, swallowed the growing lump in his throat, and in one painful motion launched himself off the bed, ripping the heart monitor off his chest as he stood. He landed on his feet and very nearly fell; his entire body felt off-balance, as if one of his legs was longer than the other.
Using his phone's flashlight as a guide, he made his way across the room, half limping and half dragging himself along as his body refused to respond to his commands. Each step sent a jolt up his injured spine. With great exertion, he made his way out of the door -- which had been left ajar -- and into the hallway which the doctor had led him down two days prior. Here, too, it was dark. Caden stopped for a moment to take some more ragged breaths.
Around a corner, he could make out another door not far across from where he was standing, bearing a sign which read "Women's Toilet". A mirror. I need a mirror. Summoning the last of his dwindling strength, he shambled towards it, grasping the handle and pushing against it with all his weight until it swung open with a mighty creak.
He felt the tiles of the bathroom floor beneath his feet as the door shut behind him. To his right, a mirror above an old ceramic sink; on the wall beside it, a light switch. His heart racing more than ever, Caden held his breath and flicked the switch.
- - -
Click.
The room was bathed in light.
Looking at him through the mirror was something resembling a man. Its mismatched, sunken eyes sat unevenly upon its face. Its left arm hung limply at its side, covered in matted blue fur. From its face jutted a crooked snout lined with teeth. It was twisted at a hideous angle.
Caden stared catatonically at the figure in front of him. In this moment of pure terror, he reverted to his most basal instincts; he needed help from the only people he could trust. Fumbling around with his phone -- which was now picking up signals -- he opened Twitter, aimed the camera towards the mirror, and, words utterly escaping him, took a photo for his thousands of followers to see. With this final effort, his strength failed him, as he collapsed to the cold tile floor writhing in pain.
An eternity passed. Then, a vibration. Caden turned his head to the pale light emanating from the cracked screen of his phone.
One reply.
"Stunning and brave."
"I'm, uh, BlueFolf... from Twitter," he replied.
"Ah, BlueFolf. Take a seat, sir-- I mean, ma'am," the receptionist stuttered, taken aback somewhat by the scent of feces which had suddenly permeated the room. "Dr. Blumenkrantz will be with you in a moment."
Caden took a seat in the corner of the office beside a potted philodendron and began tweeting. Some minutes later, his business was interrupted by a balding man wearing thick rounded spectacles and a buttoned lab coat; the man introduced himself as the lead surgeon in charge of the Freedom of Form Foundation, and showed Caden down a flight of stairs, leading to a dimly-lit hallway within the lower levels of the building. As the two men walked onward, the sounds of the facility above were replaced by an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of ill-fitting stiletto boots clacking on the concrete floor.
Without warning, the doctor halted in front of an inconspicuous white door labelled ROOM B41 and gestured to Caden, flickering fluorescent tubes casting strange shadows on the walls behind him.
"Right this way." With a crooked smile, Blumenkrantz produced a card from his pocket and held it to a scanner beside the door. It swung open with a confirmatory beep, revealing a barren room resembling an operating theatre; inside, two rickety wooden chairs sat beside an enormous machine. Blinking lights and monitors surrounded the machine, ready to report on the patient's vital signs through the upcoming surgery, and syringes containing various coloured liquids sat on a shelf at the end of the operative bed. Caden took a picture for his followers.
"Now, Ms. Folf -- I know you've been made well aware of the risks of this procedure, but we do have to run through some standard safety checks before we can commence the operation. I'm sure you understand."
Caden nodded.
"Wonderful, wonderful." The doctor sat down, prompting Caden to do the same. "Could you first confirm your full name and date of birth for me?"
"My name is Blue Folf -- first name Blue, last name Folf -- and I was born on the 16th of March 2004."
"Okay... thank you. And are you taking any medication that we should be aware of?"
"Um, no, I'm not." Caden figured that his illegally-sourced extra strength bathtub HRT didn't count, because if he were a real XX cisgender girl he'd have been producing it naturally with his ovaries, or something.
"Excellent! Now -- if you could just take a look through this document here, and sign it at the bottom when you're done." The doctor handed him a small black pen and a piece of paper, upon which SPECIES-AFFIRMING CARE INFORMED CONSENT SHEET was printed in bold lettering. Caden, unaccustomed to reading more than 280 characters at a time, signed the form hastily after little more than a superficial glance. Apparently satisfied, Blumenkrantz instructed him to lie down.
"This won't hurt at all, will it?" asked Caden, cold metal pressing uncomfortably upon his skin.
"If all goes to plan, not in the slightest," replied the doctor with another strange smile. He fastened straps tightly around Caden's wrists and ankles. "Shall we begin?"
"Please." Caden looked to the ceiling, his heart nearly beating out of his chest as the reality of the situation dawned on him. When I wake up, he thought, I'll have the body I've been dreaming of for so long.
He felt a light prick in his shoulder, and took a deep breath as everything went numb...
- - -
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The rhythmic sound of a heart monitor roused Caden from his slumber.
Groggily, he opened his eyes to notice that the room was almost completely dark. His surroundings seemed blurry and lacking in depth, as if he had one eye closed. As he regained consciousness further, he felt his chest tighten as all of the excitement he was feeling prior to the operation came coursing through his veins once more. It's done, he thought to himself, it's really done.
Glancing around the room as best he could with his poor vision, he noticed that the doctor was absent, leaving him alone. Perfect. He was unable to contain his mounting anticipation a moment longer. Caden lifted his head from the pillow and tried to sit up, summoning all his strength.
At once, a flash of searing pain shot outwards from his spine. He winced and fell back onto the pillow. Drawing deep breaths to soothe the pain, he noticed that his breathing was unusually laboured, as if there was an enormous weight resting on top of him. He was now fully alert, and part of him felt as though something had gone wrong. Horribly wrong.
He made himself think calm thoughts in an attempt to quell the storm of conflicting emotions within. It's fine! The doctor will be back soon, and he'll tell me everything's fine -- also, my tweets are doing numbers and everybody loves me. For the time being, he lay back, closed his eyes, and focused on his body, on the new sensations he was feeling after the operation. His legs felt different, as if the bones within them had been reformed into a new shape; his face felt... weird. Longer than before. His arm... his arm...
He couldn't feel his arm. Nor could he feel most of the left side of his body, for that matter.
At this revelation, Caden began to panic once more. He tried to call out to Dr. Blumenkrantz, but his voice caught within his throat, leaving him unable to make a sound. He glanced to his right, eyes moist with fear, toward the screens and flashing lights beside his bed -- where, amidst the various numbers and graphs, he could make out two words, prominently displayed on a bulky monitor: SYSTEM FAILURE.
Using his functional arm, he fumbled for his phone on a table beside him and switched it on. Saturday, 28 May. He'd been out for two days. It still held half of its charge, but there was no reception.
Caden turned on the flashlight and used it to scan the room. Nothing seemed all too different from when he had first come in. He closed his eyes tight, swallowed the growing lump in his throat, and in one painful motion launched himself off the bed, ripping the heart monitor off his chest as he stood. He landed on his feet and very nearly fell; his entire body felt off-balance, as if one of his legs was longer than the other.
Using his phone's flashlight as a guide, he made his way across the room, half limping and half dragging himself along as his body refused to respond to his commands. Each step sent a jolt up his injured spine. With great exertion, he made his way out of the door -- which had been left ajar -- and into the hallway which the doctor had led him down two days prior. Here, too, it was dark. Caden stopped for a moment to take some more ragged breaths.
Around a corner, he could make out another door not far across from where he was standing, bearing a sign which read "Women's Toilet". A mirror. I need a mirror. Summoning the last of his dwindling strength, he shambled towards it, grasping the handle and pushing against it with all his weight until it swung open with a mighty creak.
He felt the tiles of the bathroom floor beneath his feet as the door shut behind him. To his right, a mirror above an old ceramic sink; on the wall beside it, a light switch. His heart racing more than ever, Caden held his breath and flicked the switch.
- - -
Click.
The room was bathed in light.
Looking at him through the mirror was something resembling a man. Its mismatched, sunken eyes sat unevenly upon its face. Its left arm hung limply at its side, covered in matted blue fur. From its face jutted a crooked snout lined with teeth. It was twisted at a hideous angle.
Caden stared catatonically at the figure in front of him. In this moment of pure terror, he reverted to his most basal instincts; he needed help from the only people he could trust. Fumbling around with his phone -- which was now picking up signals -- he opened Twitter, aimed the camera towards the mirror, and, words utterly escaping him, took a photo for his thousands of followers to see. With this final effort, his strength failed him, as he collapsed to the cold tile floor writhing in pain.
An eternity passed. Then, a vibration. Caden turned his head to the pale light emanating from the cracked screen of his phone.
One reply.
"Stunning and brave."
- Joined
- Dec 12, 2023
Someone should animate this.
- Joined
- Jul 11, 2022
Last edited:
- Joined
- Apr 16, 2021
You're right, people might start to think furries are degenerates, or sex pests, or groomers, or dog fuckers, or mentally ill or something.
That would be terrible.
- Joined
- Sep 9, 2021
What's funny is that Caden has more of a claim to fart fetish porn than Lucas, especially since he put that disgusting anus on display. I can see why gay men are so uptight about hair removal and anal bleaching.
That's why they have to take anti androgens on top of it. Yet they still retain male pattern heart attack rates and liver function, lmao.
- Joined
- Dec 27, 2023
What seems to be completely beyond these people is that the future of this type of medicine will be a pharmaceutical that fixes the fucked up part of your brain making you want to be a woman/catboy/attack helicopter. There will be no treatment or gene therapy allowing you to become your fursona Caden, it's just gonna be a pill that makes you normal.
- Joined
- Aug 6, 2021
I envy your optimism, but knowing the state of the world and how troons have infested everything, I don't think such a thing will exist.
- Joined
- Dec 27, 2023
Give it 5-10 years. When this tranny craze dies (which it will) and medical professionals are actually allowed to start examining this phenomenon critically and scientifically, the mainstream will recognize "gender affirming care" as a retarded non-solution to the very real mental illness of gender dysphoria.
Essentially, when doctors are allowed to, they will acknwolege GD as a mental disorder and treat it as such. And that means a cure/treatment, not "validation" or "affirmation". Plus the idea of a machine or process that changes each individual cell in your body is a science fiction pipe dream that none of us will likely live to see.
- Joined
- Feb 13, 2022
Would be if he wasn't so into it (and if it was real).
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kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Nov 25, 2017
I'm guessing he's not getting tired of those text message generators any time soon.
- Joined
- Nov 5, 2023
Why do the trannies even need one day? They make every minute of every day all about themselves already.
- Joined
- Aug 8, 2023
- Joined
- Dec 12, 2023
The average woman looks hotter, look at pictures of them instead.ok why is he kinda...
- Joined
- Jul 16, 2023
The fake tranny holiday has only been "recognized" for 3 years. That hardly counts as "every single year," especially compared to a religious celebration that's been around for over a thousand years.
Maybe this failed male who hates himself and his father so much he became a nigger-fucking, shit-eating, homosexual dog might have a point. Why be angry that Tranny Molestation Day is on the same day as your religious observances? Look down on them with disgust and contempt instead.
Mr. Bobby Brown
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jan 24, 2024
Shit feels like a cheap holiday anyway.
I swear i dont understand why they make holidays or anniversary months for the most random shit.
- Joined
- Apr 24, 2023
A lot of trannies like to call the groomed children they are in the process of converting into the tranny cult "eggs". So of course they'd choose Easter, a holiday with a theme of eggs to set as the same date as their Tranny Day of trooning out.
- Joined
- Mar 13, 2022
What cracks me up is that trannies get more days than Black History Month (which falls on the shortest month of the year). Sorry niggers, trannies are just more oppressed than you!
Moxxie The Twink Imp
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Apr 3, 2023
In honor of the troon holiday, I went to his dad's facebook page, and saw a couple of pictures of a younger Caden appearing to be genuinely happy and enjoying time with his father. How do we go from a wholesome bond to a trooned out faux snow bunny in less than a decade? I feel nothing but pity for poor Andrew
