Snakes Reads A Terrible Book: Manhunt, by Gretchen Felker-Martin - An utter waste of everyone’s time inspired by the Tranny Sideshows thread and its new favorite author

[M3xus]

Thank you, I am very humbled. No need for any Semper Fis; I know how hard those are to acquire for those of us who are technically illiterate (or broke for that matter).

This was literally ten minutes of work on my part. No more. I don't write professionally, but I speak five languages (let's just say I'm a 2nd gen Slavic immigrant born in Scandinavia and leave it at that without too much PL) so I guess I know quite a lot about constructing sentences that work together in a number of ways? (Plus I have a friend who is an actual editor, and she's taught me some of the things to watch out for.)

Regarding that: don't they teach people the basics of creative writing anymore in high school? I used my skills acquired in 8th grade to produce this little rewrite. Some of the things we learned had to do with the use of acronyms in particular. Don't use them, basically. Even the extremely common ones that everyone knows (like the USA). If you want to refer to the USA's military, say "the military of the United States".

Grootchen Fapper-Martin uses the acronym TERF not only as a subject but as a possessor (TERFs'). All in one paragraph. It makes him look borderline illiterate, and I don't mean that in a hyperbolic way. His entire "novel" (if you want to call it that) reads like the assignment of a 6th grader told to write about their summer vacation.

"Dad and I went camping. Then we fished in the river. A fish swallowed the lure. We caught one fish, at least."

Slight PL, mine did but as an elective, and there was only one year of it. We didn't focus on any of the stuff you described in regards to acronyms and mostly went over basic writing pitfalls and how to dodge them.

 

[Peaches Demure]

Slight PL, mine did but as an elective, and there was only one year of it. We didn't focus on any of the stuff you described in regards to acronyms and mostly went over basic writing pitfalls and how to dodge them.

We had it as a fixed part of the school curriculum where I'm from. Of course we were taught these things in our native language, but they're pretty universal and carry over well between languages. Another thing that I remember (from back in the 80's LOL) is that when writing 3rd person narration, one should never ever shift perspectives within the paragraph and absolutely not within the sentence.

E.g. "He wanted to kiss her so much, and she looked at him, wondering if he would have the courage to do it." <--- Do not do this. (My own example, obviously.)

There are several indications that this rancid pile of bullshit and cowdung has not been touched by an editor with a ten foot pole. In the very first chapter there is a mix-up between the words "lose" and "loose". That's exactly the kind of error editors are trained to spot immediately.

 

[Glenallen Mixon]

[Previous Chapter]

Alright Chromosome Crusaders, I agreed to do Chapter 6 for this. Unlike many here I have already read through the book, though this was a while ago so some things will be fresh for me.



Chapter 6: Dee Licious
I assume everyone was thrilled by the introduction of our legally-required trans male character Robbie in the last chapter, but we're back to Beth and Fran for this one after a time jump. This is going to be a running theme in the book - switching between character viewpoints, usually not in a very clear way, with the amount of time between the switch also not being very apparent. The two girls are on their way to Seabrook, making sure to avoid notorious TERF stronghold Boston.

Fran disliked the city. Too many cold stares through the gaps in heavy curtains. Too many empty, gutted buildings where anything might be lurking. It was a hard place, a cis place, and she’d never forgotten her friend Lizzie’s story about seeing a trans girl hustler hanged on New Year’s Eve from the traffic light in front of South Station. Besides, for all she knew the TERFs were there already.

I would assume most places are cis places, given trans people are, what, less than one percent of the population? I also assume people would be making cold stares at anyone when it's the zombie apocalypse.

Someone else pointed this out, but it's weird how insistent they are in using "trans girl" and not "trans woman." Like the main characters are 30 something and they're calling themselves girls. Something no real woman would do except when joking around. But I guess these aren't real women, so, nice bit of accuracy there.

There had always been radfems in New England, enclaves of sneering middle-class white women who talked a lot about performing gender roles and appropriating lived experience. They curated incestuous little social media cells where they repeated the same six talking points to the same thirty other women while cis men came sniffing around their hindquarters, venting pent-up hatred on trans women and making sure real women saw them doing it so they could get accredited as feminists and maybe, if they were lucky, catch a whiff of pussy.

Trans people live in a world where TERFs are simultaneously 30 women who do nothing but bitch on social media, and also a global armada who have infiltrated every government across the world in a bid to start the Transocaust.

Jesus Christ, can this guy write in anything other than run-on sentences? Split the part about cis men into its own sentence or something, or just cut it out entirely maybe. It's such a stupid, inaccurate detail to include - no men are trying to get into TERFs pants by talking about how much they hate trannies. The most obvious reason is that it would never work.


The next few paragraphs basically just tell us some more about the world of the book and everything that went down during the virus outbreak and ensuing zombie apocalypse. It's not really that interesting, though there's some funny stuff.

GFM describes Fran remembering a viral video that went around after the virus outbreak began, where a trans woman zombies out as they're getting the chop. It's once again described in a run-on sentence that is only somewhat incomprehensible.

Fran could still picture the viral video of the trans girl succumbing to the virus while under observation at St. Vincent’s after bottom surgery, her skin splitting along her shoulder blades in the camera’s shaking frame, bloody foam dripping from her chin as she lurched through a privacy curtain and someone out of sight started to scream. She could still hear the pickup-fuzzed whisper of spotless green linen against antiseptic tile.

"Pickup-fuzzed whisper of spotless green linen against antiseptic tile." Something about that collection of words is making my brain fry. Okay, she's remembering the... sound of fabric brushing against a floor? In a video where a zombie attacks someone? What? Why remember that out of everything else? Is that what's going on here or am I retarded? Also, there's the use of "girl" again.

“XX” had slipped into the vernacular not long after, a way for cis women to signal safety to one another. A little shibboleth to ward off the specter of the wolf in women’s clothing. And then, after a while, a catchy icon to scrawl in Sharpie on the baseball bat you kept by your bed.

Something I've noticed with bad books: they just love the word "shibboleth." Seriously, pop open any book written by someone trying too hard and I guarantee at least one shibboleth. It's the ultimate "I'm smart so I know this word" word.

The distinction between a woman and a man in a dress is very apparent. There's already symbols they could use to tell men apart from women: hairlines and adam's apples. I don't think the XX would be necessary if this went down in real life.

Even if someone had wanted to help the poor benighted transsexuals, there was Maryland and its armed and watchful Matriarchy to think about. Down there they didn’t bother with trials, they just dragged your pants down and put two in the back of your head if they found a dick. There were six thousand diehard soldiers in the Maryland Womyn’s Legion; not the kind of enemy Boston needed. Fran had heard rumors of TERF death squads in New York, in Connecticut, even in southern Mass. Baltimore’s reach got longer every year.

"Benighted," yeah this asshole needs to get his head out of his thesaurus. And as for the "TERF death squads"... I'm going to assume GFM didn't mean for that to be as hilarious as it is.

I was going to complain about TERFism being too small a movement to believably take over the world in a post-apocalyptic scenario, but honestly when any male could turn into a rape zombie with a barbed penis at any moment, yeah, it's believable women would just go around shooting anyone with a Y chromosome. I don't think they'd call themselves TERFs though, lol.


Fran and Beth continue on after that bit of belated exposition. Fran fantasizes about going to California, which even in the post-apocalypse is somehow still a liberal paradise. Of course, that would require crossing the entire continental US, including the Rockies, which their biochemist friend Indi couldn't do because she's just too weak. Indi is a character who has only really been mentioned in passing a few times, and we get drip fed a bit more info about her here.

No one wanted to buy bags full of ballsacks from unshowered transsexuals, but tidy glass vials of estrogen from stern, nononsense—and, most importantly, cis—Dr. Indiresh Varma in her office on Main Street were another story.

Again, don't think this sentence was intended to be as funny as it came out being. "No one wanted to buy bags full of ballsacks from unshowered transsexuals" deserves to be on random_text.txt.


The trans girls come across some goats crossing the highway, a big herd of thirty to forty of them. I guess goats don't count as "big game," since remember, all the big game died out.

The goats went over the far guardrail in neat little hops, hooves together and necks arched, and streamed uphill toward the sumac and leaning beech trees on the ridge. One, a shaggy white nanny with a dangling udder, paused to look back at the lonely stretch of road. Her square pupils looked alien to Fran, like little copies of Kubrick’s monolith suspended in the amber jelly of her irises. She imagined throwing her arms around the nanny’s neck and burying her face in her soft coat, inhaling the warm, musky smell of her, and knowing those strange eyes were watching over everything. I want to feel safe again, she thought as the herd melted into the trees and the shadows under their branches. The nanny trailed after them, last in line.

What a weird moment. And what a strange way to describe goat eyes, though I will agree they're pretty alien looking.


Some time passes after their goat encounter. They've camped for the night in "a tasteless McMansion" off the highway, and Beth is giving Fran a shave. Once again they bring up the trans hooker that got hanged in Boston. It turns out their name is Dee Licious and that they were a camgirl, then later a "daddy." This is our first mention of what a daddy is, which will be relevant later.

“Dee Licious,” answered Beth without a moment’s thought. She wet the razor, dipping it into the collapsible rubberized cup of water she’d set between them, and returned to where she’d left off. “She used to be a camgirl; then she was a daddy in the South End for a couple years after T-Day.

As steel skated along her jaw, Fran tried to imagine it. Letting her beard grow. Pitching her voice low and gravelly. Holding a cis woman in her arms after a fuck and stroking her hair, telling her she’d be all right. It made her sick. To step into that vacant skin curled somewhere, dank and grimy, in the corridors of her memory—it made her think of eating her own puke.

I will never live another second as a man. Never, never.

Basically, the TERFs catch trans women and turn them into male prostitutes, forcing them to grow out their beard and cut their hair or whatever. This is a fate worse than death to the trannies, who want to be the ones raping the TERFs, not the other way around.

(EDIT: Actually, I misremebered a detail here. It's less that the TERFs catch and force men to do this, and more like MtFs are pressured into doing this in some areas that are open to MtFs but not friendly to them. More complicated than what I'm saying here.)

For some reason that isn't very well explained, Dee Licious attended a party in Boston, and a bunch of people broke her legs and beat her to death, then hanged their body from a lamppost. Okay, I guess.

After this, there's another time jump. These time jumps are going to get confusing fast. Basically Fran and Beth are laying around, trying to get to sleep. There's an unnecessary sex scene between them - tranny on tranny action. It's thankfully pretty short, with most of the action happening during - you guessed it - another time jump. It's revealed Fran used to do coke and have threesomes. They wonder about all the guys she had sex with and if they're dead or not.

Soon after, the chapter comes to a close, with a section where Fran reminisces about their dad getting mad about them trooning out and how they wish they could erase their deadname from their mind with a pickaxe. She finally manages to fall asleep - but not before we get way too much info on the cum drying on her thighs.

Fran lay awake, cum drying on her inner thighs, her stomach complaining. I want pancakes, she thought, sour cream blueberry pancakes, cooked in bacon grease so the tops are all golden and crunchy, like Dad made for us.

...

She scratched at the flaking scabs of cum along her thighs, wishing for a shower, for a therapy session, for making out in the back of a deserted movie theater while trash flickered thirty feet high on the screen. She wished for a thousand stupid things that would never come back.

That's basically it. The chapter ends with Fran falling asleep. Overall, basically nothing happened except our main duo discussing a dead hooker, finding some goats in the woods, and fucking in a dilapidated McMansion. Now that we're popcorn reading, someone else is going to handle chapter seven, so PM blue gopher snakes if you want the chance to join in.

 

[that can't be right]

So if the reason for the males becoming zombies is their testosterone levels, wouldn't that be easily fixable? People knew this was the cause seeing as they announced it on the news and everything, as per Robbie's memory, so why didn't some authority figure at some point come up with testosterone blocker mandates while they researched how to fight the virus? A society of low test men would be better than a horde of rape zombies. Then society wouldn't have collapsed and none of this gross book would have happened

 

[Peaches Demure]

I swear none of the actions by any of the characters make any kind of sense. TERFs are hellbent on hunting down any male survivors (which makes sense considering they might suddenly turn into a non-sentient rape zombie without any warning) but we're also supposed to believe that the very same TERFs are so desperate for the dique that they're willing to keep begirldiq-ed TIMs around as prostitutes despite the overhanging risk of them not keeping their T low enough and turning into... rape zombies?

Also Grootchen demonstrates his ignorance of the terms he's using by showing that he doesn't know the difference between radical and liberal feminists, as he attaches an obvious and often-mocked stereotype of a libfem to radfems. Radfems despise libfems for exhibiting these attributes. Would it kill him to actually research concepts beyond an Urbandictionary.com definition?

 

[Red Hood]

I swear none of the actions by any of the characters make any kind of sense. TERFs are hellbent on hunting down any male survivors (which makes sense considering they might suddenly turn into a non-sentient rape zombie without any warning) but we're also supposed to believe that the very same TERFs are so desperate for the dique that they're willing to keep begirldiq-ed TIMs around as prostitutes despite the overhanging risk of them not keeping their T low enough and turning into... rape zombies?

Also Grootchen demonstrates his ignorance of the terms he's using by showing that he doesn't know the difference between radical and liberal feminists, as he attaches an obvious and often-mocked stereotype of a libfem to radfems. Radfems despise libfems for exhibiting these attributes. Would it kill him to actually research concepts beyond an Urbandictionary.com definition?

I mean it's written by a troon, do you think he has any semblance of rational logic in that scrambled brain?

 

[Accept Only Substitutes]

Goats do not have soft coats. Their fur is coarse and wiry. Some breeds may be softer than others, I don't know, but none of them are soft enough to be used as a fiber for yarn. I don't think they are used as a fiber for anything.

Soft fibers in livestock come from alpacas (hi tranch) and sheep. The others are all too short and thick to be soft. Llamas don't even get used as a fiber animal. There are exotic livestock that are used for fibers, like yaks and quiviut (I don't know if that's the animal name or the fiber name, but it's top end luxury yarn) and angora rabbits and whatever makes cashmere (I'm a highly educated fiber sperg!), but you're not generally going to see those running across a road in the US.

Women killing all men on sight, even when they show no signs of turning into a zombie really makes no sense. I said this earlier, and I'll probably say it again, we need men. Otherwise we'll die out. Humans are biologically driven to not let that happen. I cannot suspend disbelief enough to accept that all the women in a region have suddenly become violent enough to murder all men. Some women, yes. Desperation, etc. All the women in a state killing all the non-zombie men they see? No fucking way. This generation is too soft. If a second generation grew up in that environment, yes, I could better believe it. But not today's women. Not even in an apocalypse.

 

[Jewthulhu]

Well done sex scenes in a romance novel are fine. By well done, I mean brief and not full of purple prose. No throbbing member, delicate flowers, heaving bosums... Just a seamless transition into and through a couple having sex, often for the first time. It's not really meant to titilate, at least it doesn't me, it's just a natural part of life. Personally I find it less jarring, when done with tact, than cutting from "they started kissing" directly to "whew lad that was great".

To see a good example of this read any of T Kingfisher's Paladin's books. Especially Paladin's Hope (I think, its the third one). It's m/m and she managed to stay with the couple throughout the sex act without actually describing any of the actual act! It's masterfully done to avoid squicking out the homophobes as much as possible. I was seriously impressed.

My point is sex scenes can add to the book without being gross. It takes real skill though. A lot of authors can't pull it off.

I don't read romance; I guess if the entire point of the book is to depict a developing sexual relationship between two (or more, I'm not judging here) people, sex scenes MIGHT be fine. However, so I'm not derailing a thread with a debate about sex in literature, I will say that the sex in this tranny's book is unnecessary and serves only for his own fap material.

Spoiler: Sperging

The core theme of the story (outside the bitching about TERFs) is the importance of "gender-confirming" hormone treatments to the author; which is seen in the story by the estrogen treatments keeping the MCs "female" and preventing them from becoming zombies. This premise can EASILY be told in a way that doesn't involve the zombies being rape zombies with barbed penises. I think someone earlier in the thread mentioned a story that did just that.

That the zombies are rape zombies would (theoretically) imply a deeper importance to estrogen treatments to the author, as a means of controlling an unwanted violent or carnal sexual desire. However, not only can this same idea also be told without the gratuitous rape scenes (the act of cannibalizing another human typically characterizing zombies can also be seen as a form of carnal desire that can be made synonymous to rape), but this theme is seemingly contrary to the author's own viewpoint, as he seems quite proud of his uncontrolled rape fetish. He put rape in the story because he likes rape, not because it has a deeper thematic meaning or serves the story.

 

[Niggaplease]

I swear none of the actions by any of the characters make any kind of sense. TERFs are hellbent on hunting down any male survivors (which makes sense considering they might suddenly turn into a non-sentient rape zombie without any warning) but we're also supposed to believe that the very same TERFs are so desperate for the dique that they're willing to keep begirldiq-ed TIMs around as prostitutes despite the overhanging risk of them not keeping their T low enough and turning into... rape zombies?

the question is though if they're fucking around with their natural hormone balance how would they get it up to be prostitutes? being on estrogen along time can make the dick not work properly, so unless they're using straps on or being pegged, I don't see any use in keeping them as sex slaves, granted if I was a terf in this novel I would be demanding semen samples with an electrical anal bull prod at gun point with out fucking then dispatching the troons after successfully pregnancies' of women wanting to continue the human race, there's no point in risking a infection in your encampment much longer than necessary, it would be alot more efficient to take semen samples from men not impacted by the disease who don't have stds and distributing amongst your fertile woman populace than it would be simply have prostitutes and risk a tranny missing their ball/estrogen dose, and going rape zombie on your women and or other semen providers. you could with this process get it done with a week have the potential to knock up to 10 women a day and not taint your semen supply with things like incurable stds that you don't want roaming around the camp. plus it would've made the treatment of troons by the terfs more cruel in comparison, forcing men to coom via an electrical anal bull prod to by pass what ever stuff their taking to make their t levels low. but then again that idea takes actually logic and creativity and knowledge of the subject as a base line, my idea if I rewrote the store is an exaggeration but I can imagine women cooly forcing semen samples out men and dispatching them to ensure the human race isn't extinct than making them into sex slaves/prostitutes.

 

[that can't be right]

I wonder if the origin of the virus will be touched on? If I were to guess, the radfems are the ones who manufactured it to own the menz, but since dumb hateful girls can't science it backfired terribly and created barbed dong zombies instead. Also Teach is involved somehow. That would be fitting.

 

[Niggaplease]

I wonder if the origin of the virus will be touched on? If I were to guess, the radfems are the ones who manufactured it to own the menz, but since dumb hateful girls can't science it backfired terribly and created barbed dong zombies instead. That would be fitting.

that would imply planning, as far as I am aware not spoilering anything, but the terfs are illequiped 3 years later normally deepstate fringe group doomsday plans have a massive oragnization and endless resources to use, the fact that the terfs only have crossbows in the usa tells me it was someone else who dun it, and the terfs just started to take advantage of the sitution.
tbh its a dumb rape zombie plan to infect half your populace and bring down half your population and semen coomers. if the pl.an was to remake society in the terfs image they require some men to reproduce, by making almost all men at risk to the virus can you have rape zombies/infected? yes.

 

[blue gopher snakes]

Awesome work @Glenallen Mixon on Chapter 6!

The way in which the world of Manhunt is framed according to an individual's personal feelings on trans people is strange and small-minded. Consider: the men of the world are mostly dead, irreparably transformed into zombies, or exist as trans GIRLS hiding in the margins. Wouldn't you agree, based on this catastrophic series of events, that the survivors left behind might have slightly bigger problems to deal with than trannies? How will humanity prevent itself from dying off?

Fran could still picture the viral video of the trans girl succumbing to the virus while under observation at St. Vincent’s after bottom surgery, her skin splitting along her shoulder blades in the camera’s shaking frame, bloody foam dripping from her chin as she lurched through a privacy curtain and someone out of sight started to scream.

This would inspire terror in ANY woman or man, not just TERFs. The idea that trans-exclusionary radical feminists, already a minority among woman to begin with, would somehow gain enough power to completely take over the entire state of Maryland is just nuts. I don't understand how everyone either being Team TERF or Team Tranny makes sense considering those two groups are very small relative to the number of people living in this part of the country.

This brings me to my next point: What are the rules of this virus? Fran was said to have had a "close call" with t. rex at some point that resolved itself without progressing to full zombification. And then there's this chapter's titular character, "Dee Licious," who was kept as a "Daddy" for some period of time after T-Day. Why didn't Dee transform into a zombie if he was forced to stop presenting as a woman? Why does the Matriarchy of Maryland hunt down men for immediate execution? ARE there enclaves of born men who AREN'T trannies left to be hunted down? How many trannies could there possibly have been in order for an entire paramilitary organization to have formed that was dedicated to their eradication?

She imagined her shoulders peeling and her shirt stuck to her back with sweat, the dry heat out there in the California desert, the molten sunsets, and the cool waters of the Pacific. It would be perfect.

LMAO there are TERFs here too, Grootchen. No matter what the Bay Area may lead you to believe, there are PLENTY of transphobes all over California.

“Their ears look so soft,” Beth murmured. There were tears in the big girl’s eyes...
...She imagined throwing her arms around the nanny’s neck and burying her face in her soft coat, inhaling the warm, musky smell of her, and knowing those strange eyes were watching over everything.

I have read too much of Kevin Gibes' thread to not immediately suspect that Grootchen is also a furry and zoophile. The loving way in which he describes an encouter with GOATS made me suspicious.

 

[umami's milk]

[Previous Chapter]
CHAPTER 7: BOWSTRING
The conflict is written so dreadfully. I hate reading through it. It's beyond boring. It's still one long, packed chapter, though. So buckle up!

They woke early the next morning and ate smoked fish and hard acorn bread—which tasted like shit—from the stranger’s camp as the fingers of pale sunlight coming through the moth-eaten drapes crept across the carpet. Afterward, Fran repacked the duffel, kneeling in front of it to rearrange its contents. Beth tried not to look at the smooth, tanned skin between the other woman’s shorts and T-shirt.

You know that tan line was horrendous when their sweaty, moldy clothes are finally peeled off for the sex scene.

------->

She tried not to think about the freckles on Fran’s back or the fine cornsilk hairs at the nape of her neck.
You make me feel so delicate.

What the fuck is with this line. It's not very endearing and it's certainly not iconic enough for a repeat appearance. Nothing 6 foot with a mannish jaw, hulking physique, and a 5 o'clock shadow can be genuinely described as delicate.

She ran her thumb absently over the bloodstained gauze taped to her cheek. The cut still hurt, but it no longer throbbed, and the ridge of scabbed-over flesh beneath was only warm to the touch, not burning with infectious fever. She always scarred like that, as though her body had known ahead of time that it was going to be torn open. As though it were prepared for mutilation.

No words. I'm not sure if GFM intentionally meant to brand SRS as mutilation, but it's based. Still, there's nothing special about the way you scar, Beth. That's just called the natural healing process.

You think Bay Path’s gonna give that scholarship to a headcase?
A dish broken against the wall, a red smear of spaghetti sauce on the yellowing wallpaper. Like blood. You’re throwin’ your fuckin’ life away! They had, in the end, given the headcase that scholarship, and they hadn’t pulled it until sophomore year when everything came out—her, namely, but also her thing with the coach. She could still remember how gently he’d touched her. The glistening trails of his tears down his wind-burned cheeks.

Trannies and their infatuation with pedos in education. So you banged some homo coach, who cares? Explain to me why we need this flashback right now. It doesn't add anything to the current situation.

Fran was still rifling through the duffel. “Oh, bellhop!” she drawled. “How’s it going with those bags?” The crack of a gunshot cut Fran’s answer short. The other girl’s eyes
widened. That’s a rifle, Beth thought as she scrambled for her bow, propped against the near arm of the rotting sofa. It’s not far. Half a mile. She hefted it. Saw the frayed fibers bristling from the string near its lower V-hook. Her thoughts raced as she buckled on her quiver. The screaming started before the gunshot’s echoes faded. High and cold and somehow unmistakably randy, like a pack of Tex Avery cartoon wolves bugging their eyes out and stamping their feet.

So if guns exist, why are you losers still toting around your medieval weapons? I'm sorry Beth, a .233 is going to split your head before you even knew what hit you, let alone before you can notch one into your crappy impossible bow. I am begging GFM to reference something that isn't from porn or a cartoon.

So a new zombie herd is coming. Spooked by the gunfire? It's never explained. But The Galz gotta move nooow.

“Fran, I need you to help me restring the bow. Now. We need to do it now.
Fran stared up at her, uncomprehending. The screaming grew louder. Closer. Beth stood the bow upright, forcing herself to breathe. You don’t have time to freak out. You have to restring this fucking thing. You have to restring it before the men are here.
“The socket wrench.”
Fran’s mouth hung open. “What?”
“This is not the fucking time to make a point about how femme you are,”

Count on a tranny to go braindead in an intense situation. C'mon Beth, Tran is a true and honest wahmen, she won't know these things! This speaks volumes about how Beth and Fran view femininity, though. Time to stand there like a dumb doll while the man does the manly work!

Beth loosened the bow’s limb bolts one at a time, first the lower, then the upper. She tried not to think about what would happen if the arms snapped straight. Three hundred foot-pounds of force per inch, give or take. It would be like getting slapped by a grizzly bear; she’d be lucky if it only broke her collarbone, or an arm. Maybe it’ll kill me, she thought, fitting the wrench’s head to the upper bolt again. Her palms were sweaty; she paused to wipe them on her shirt one by one. Then I’d have nothing to worry about.

Maybe they’ll go straight for the gunshot, Beth thought, knowing they wouldn’t. They’d smell girl-funk and come right through the walls.

This bow is not only huge, but it's also impractical, and it could possibly kill you during maintenance? Smort, lady. Just run at this point. Even if your bow wasn't fucked at the moment, what good is it going to do against a horde of zombies? Also, what you smell like? It's not girl-funk. It's a miasma of smegma, crusted cum, and unwashed ass.

Get this: they talk about restringing the stupid bow for TWO FULL PAGES after this. Enrapturing content.

---

TOTALLY EPIC CABIN STRUGGLE!​

I'm going to try and summarize this as best as I can, because the writing all blurs into this incomprehensible mess from now on. Currently, Beth and Fran are trapped in the attic of a nondescript house. It's swarming with zomboys, and surprise surprise: they can't hold them off. Fran spots a mysterious woman in the distance while he's flailing around uselessly upstairs. Wonder who?

“There’s someone in that tree,” Fran hissed. “Oh my God, oh my God, Beth, she’s right at the top shooting, like, down through the branches. They’re climbing after her.”
Beth ignored her.

STFU AND LET ME SHOOT AIMLESSLY, WOMAN.

Here are some key snips from the tussle:

The metal felt good against her sweating palm; cool and solid, reassuring in its weight. It felt like she must feel to Fran when they fucked. Big, heavy, and threatening.

He stuck his neck out to scent the air. She got him. She did it perfectly, a shot that would have put her on the Olympic team if countries, professional sports, intercontinental travel, and ranked competitions still existed.

Even if they still existed, there would be no category to put you in. So no, troon. No Olympics in your wildest dreams.

No air. Men screaming. Knife. Yanking it free of its sheath with sticky fingers. Stabbing fast and desperate at his breast and neck. Like top surgery, she thought.

---

The zomboys are closing in. Beth and Fran's plot armor runs dry because shieeeet, man. Gotta find a way to make these characters sympathetic somehow.

Then Beth gets raped by zomboys. I'm serious. I think Fran does as well, but it only focuses on Beth for now.

She might slip out of herself, dissociate completely from the hard cock, barbed like a cat’s, scratching at her inner thighs, from the clawed hands tearing at the seat of her shorts and the frantic, stupid flash of embarrassment that she hadn’t shaved her legs in months.

Maybe the nails digging into her scalp and shoulder were still Roxanne Crick’s. Maybe the agony in the cleft of her ass and the treacherous stiffening of her prick were happening twenty
years ago in their house on Second Street.

... #JUSTTRANNYTHINGS
Again with the ham-fisted backstory. Who are these people and why do we care?

So he gets raped for another half-page and then:

Crack.
One went stumbling back and hit the wall of the abandoned house, an eerily human expression of shock painted across his smeared and twisted features. Deep fissures in his lips wept some kind of lymphatic fluid, clear and thin.
Crack.
He fell with a thumbprint hole in his breast.

S-Senpai? SEMPAI!!

Robbie skinned his elbows coming down the tree, though he wasn’t quite sure when or how. His flannel should have stopped it, but it was hot out and he’d rolled the sleeves up. He told
himself again he hadn’t shot her, that he hadn’t misjudged it. They were on her.

Jesus, he thought, anxiety digging its fingers into his stomach as he came close enough to see her pallor and the ugly gashes on the back of her right calf. Don’t let her be dead

ROBBIE-CHAN!!!!! You were the mysterious woman in the distance! This faggedy flannel-wearing lesbian had to come to save the day for these two incompetent men.

The other woman saw him. Her eyes widened with disbelief before the “oh, right, trans men” switch flipped and she collected herself.

Attention all Gaydens, not even your trans sisters honestly view you as men.

She was pretty—petite, his grandfather would have called her—with ever so slightly crooked teeth, the front two overlapping, and freckles on her shoulders and across the bridge of her long nose. Dark hair fell pin-straight to her shoulders.

Beth's description. Don't sugarcoat it, GFM.
Let me guess. the tranny 'man' and the tranny 'women' will fall in love and repopulate the earth and have tranny children.

So Robbie comes and dresses their wounds the best that some squeaky little imposter of a man can do.

He pulled harder. “I had no idea anyone was around. I was just trying to clear them out—the men.” The seam parted with a satisfying pop-pop-pop of stitches ripping. “I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of it.”

What the fuck? So this is all your fault, then.
'The men' Implying you're not one of them, Robbie-chan?

Afterward Fran the fuckin ingrate graciously asks Robbie, the girl he stole from, to help move his ass-broken boyfriend. Robbie's response:

Other people aren’t safe. He thought of his sleeping bag, of the paralyzing loneliness of a silent orgasm alone in the dark.

..And my disgust for tranny men grew three sizes this day. C'mon get your head out of the gutter. Who the hell remembers each and every jerkoff session they have?

They stole from you. You saved them; now you walk away.
He looked the girl in the eyes. “Okay.”

STEREOTYPICAL WOMAN MOMENT. You were too polite to say 'no' against your better judgment, Robbie.

---

Meanwhile, Beth's having a wet dream about getting raped by some fantastical creature. You cannot make this shit up. I'm sorry GFM, the rape fetish wasn't coming in clearly before. Thank you for clarifying here. Large pieces have been cut for brevity:

Beth dreamed that she was running from someone. She couldn’t get up. Her arms were like dry sticks, her shoulders limp and nerveless. I don’t want it.
The thing approached and she saw with horrified fascination that the flames of his body formed a pair of new black wingtips polished to a high sheen. His body mirrored hers precisely. The toes of his wingtips nearly brushed her feet.
Please, don’t touch me.

He kissed her. White tongue sliding over her teeth.The sting of lemon on an open cut. It felt so good.

Beads of thick fluid welled up from her pores and she knew without looking that the same substance was dribbling
from her cock.
Get your tongue out of me.

Her fingers crept lower, her arm still dead and limp, dragging behind her hand like a severed umbilical cord.
Please, please, no. No.

She dug her fingers hard into the soft skin of her pubic mound, into the short wheat-colored curls that grew there, and the gummy flesh of her
scrotum. The head of her penis split open against her palm, and between its weeping lips—

Let's stop right there. Thank you. You sweat pre-cum out of your pores? Okay. Snap back to reality as Beth finally comes to her senses.

Not far off, Fran sat on a rock knocking dirt and pebbles out of her ratty sneakers. A trans guy stood beside her, short and slim with a shaggy mullet under his sun-faded Red Sox cap.

Brief description of Robbie, who is a manlet with the fashion sense of Wayne Campbell.

Beth wet her dry, cracked lips. “Oh shit,” she croaked, the taste of blood thick at the back of her throat. “It’s the last man on earth. How’s it hangin’, pal?”

No, Beth. She's not.

“Robbie saved us. He picked them right off of you.” Fran squeezed her hand. “And hey, I got a bunch of disgusting smelly balls from the men he killed. We’re way up on the hunt.”

Good news everyone, we've got a steady supply zomboy balls! Prepare for ball-eating sequences sprinkled in wherever now. The day has been saved.

Oh, but not before Fran and Robbie fuck behind Beth's back. Gotta have the chapter go off with a bang.

Their joined silhouette undulated against the deeper darkness of the woods, two nymphlike figures twining, clutching at each other. Near-silent moans stifled against flesh. The wet, sucking glide of fingers sliding into holes. Everything fitting like it was meant to. I will never look that right with another person. She thought of the man grunting atop her. That was the only way she
would be touched. That was what the end of the world had in store for her. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of fucking.

Yes, the chapter actually ends this way.

---

Now accepting donations... for therapy of course!

 

[Accept Only Substitutes]

Two pages on restringing a bow. Wow. That's some dedication to autism! I'm impressed in spite of myself. If I were a bow fag I'd critique it, as I'm sure it's as well researched as the rest of the book.

I think the writing is getting worse. I didn't think that was possible. Oh, me of little faith.

I keep seeing things in these quotes like character quotes that don't have a closing quote, just whatever they say runs into exposition or whatever, or above where it says "glideof fingers" and I'm curious, are y'all coping from the pdf? I'm assuming you are, because doing otherwise doesn't make sense. I'm pretty sure these are coming from the manuscript because I've seen these in multiple people's quotes, but I'm researching because I don't want to assume.

If I'm right, and these are as-written, then that just proves my point yet again about it not being edited. One or two typos in a book, yes, but rarely in a professional publication. But I've seen like five! And we're just quoting bits here and there! The odds of us catching the few times a proofreader fucked up in a professionally proofread book that many times is pretty low.

 

[umami's milk]

Sorry, the typos are probably mine. When pasting from the pdf into the thread, the formatting gets all fucked up.

It will paste the
sections as a short
block of text, like
this.

the phrase nypmhlike instead of nymph-like. That's all him, though.

 

[Accept Only Substitutes]

Sorry, the typos are probably mine. When pasting from the pdf into the thread, the formatting gets all fucked up.

It will paste the
sections as a short
block of text, like
this.

Sorry fren. That also makes sense. My bad. Apologies!

 

[Echo_Ender]

So the second the self-insert Troon gets a chance, he goes after actual, female pussy instead of their apparently dedicated partners' bussy. At least that part is accurate.

The part about the FtM wanting a weird, disgusting, possibly-diseased Troon instead of being disgusted because they prefer an attractive CIS woman or a gay dude? Not so accurate.

But the whole post-apocalyptic setting is nothing more than a cheap wish-fulfilment fantasy.

Where all the men are brutal rape apes that desire them for their feminine (LOL, right...) appearance and all women are catty TERFs who secretly lust for their girl-dicks.

And of course all Troons are smart, gritty survivalists that outsmart everyone and definitely not mentally-unstable perverts who mostly live in cushy urban areas.

Damn, this shit is bad. And not even funny bad, though you guys are making it at least fun to riff.

 

[AnOminous]

This is what I meant when I said it needed an editor!

Just spill, chill later. Polish it when it can be polished. Also don't attention whore. Merit attracts attention without BS. You owe nothing to anyone here, this is a hive of evil. So act accordingly and protect your own interests.

 

[umami's milk]

GFM UPDATE:

He's still butthurt. In fact he's so butthurt he went out and sought asspats for his crappy novel.

Spoiler: More twitter sperging about MUH TWANS KIDS

That's an impossible task, Gretchen. They are one in the same.

 

[Peaches Demure]

Maybe the nails digging into her scalp and shoulder were still Roxanne Crick’s. Maybe the agony in the cleft of her ass and the treacherous stiffening of her prick were happening twenty
years ago in their house on Second Street.

Is this the character that was established to be 29 years old in chapter 2? "Twenty years ago" would mean the character was 9 years old and getting off on being sodomized by what I assume is an adult troon? Is this particular detail autobiographical, by chance...?