Wanderer D 5,188 followers · 57 stories

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News Archive

  • 2 weeks
    SA: Round 184

    Seattle's Angels is a group that promotes good stories with low views. You can find us here.


    “I see. Alright, I’ll let him know.”

    Intern twisted a dial on the small mechanical piece attached to his ear, retracting a blue, see-through visor from across his face. He turned to Floydien, crossing his arms. “It’s confirmed. Generation 5 is on its way. Season 2 of Pony Life is just around the corner. And the series finale of Equestria Girls was scrapped for a holiday special.”

    Floydien lifted an eyebrow. “And, what does that mean for us?”

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    6 comments · 1,534 views
  • 11 weeks
    SA: Round 182

    Seattle's Angels is a group that promotes good stories with low views. You can find us here.


    “Okay, Winter, hit it!”

    Winter pulled a lever that ignited a rocket placed underneath the communal Christmas Tree. The tree blasted through a cylindrical hole and out into the skies beyond. It only took seconds for the tree to become a tiny red dot against the blue sky.

    Winter stepped away from the control panel and down to where Intern was standing behind a fifty-five millimeter thick glass wall. “We could have just picked up the base and tossed it in the garbage bin outside, you know.”

    Intern scoffed. “Yeah, we could, or we can go over the top in a comedic and entertaining manner that leads into our reviews.”

    “You’re getting all meta, now.”

    “Exactly! On to the reviews!”

    ROUND 182

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    6 comments · 5,492 views
  • 16 weeks
    SA: Round 181

    Seattle's Angels is a group that promotes good stories with low views. You can find us here.


    For the first time in the year that he worked there, FanficFan finally experienced quiet in the Seattle’s Angels Compound. All the other reviewers had gone home for the holidays, leaving him and Intern to submit the last round of reviews of the year. However, with Intern off on an errand, FanficFan was left alone.

    With stories ready to be read by his partner, all the reviewer could really do was wander around the empty building, taking in all the holiday decorations left behind from the Office Christmas Party a few days prior, like office space holiday knick-knacks, lights strown about the ceiling and wreaths on nearly every door. Plus, there was some leftover cookies and egg nog, so that was nice. 

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    8 comments · 5,023 views
  • 20 weeks
    SA: Round 180

    Seattle's Angels is a group that promotes good stories with low views. You can find us here.


    Cynewulf lay in a grassy field. This was a curious occurrence, as the Seattle Angel’s Dyson Sphere-esque compound basement labyrinth did not usually have grass. 


    But like she had many times before, she’d been teleported here, and whether or not the sky above her was real or not, she didn’t mind. The grass was nice, and the wind was nice, and whatever happened happened.
    f

    There was a great crash and Corejo stumbled into the grass to her right.

    “Oh, god, are we out? How did—”

    “No clue. I suspect that it’ll just take us back anyhow. Did you have the reviews? The machine came for me a few days ago, so I’ve got mine.”


    “I… Uh, I was late. I mean, we both are, unless you’ve been here for days.”

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    9 comments · 6,888 views
  • 24 weeks
    SA: Round 179

    Seattle's Angels is a group that promotes good stories with low views. You can find us here.


    Winter peered cautiously out the corner of the broken window, surveying the damage outside. He turned to his companion.

    "Looks like we're trapped in here," he said quietly.

    Intern grunted and adjusted the bandage on his arm. "Nothing we haven't gone through before." He looked up at Winter. "Got your reviews?"

    Winter nodded and patted his chest pocket. "Right here, where they're safe." He turned and looked once more out the window. "Now, it's simply a matter of getting through all those ponies." Winter shuddered as he took in the horrors before him.

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    13 comments · 4,428 views
  • 27 weeks
    SA: Round 178

    Seattle's Angels is a group that promotes good stories with low views. You can find us here.


    Matthew stumbled through the basement, crouching low to avoid all the pipes on the ceiling. Floydien hadn’t told him much, just that it was extremely important, had nothing to do with Intern, and to take the last fire door on the left.

    After what seemed like eternity in an instant, Matthew finally came to said fire door, damp with sweat and condensation. He carefully undid the latch and opened it with one arm raised just in case of any traps. Only to be greeted with the sounds of maniacal but joyous laughter as he spotted Floydien sitting in the center of the room surrounded by thousands of stacks of papers.

    “I found it!” Floydien said, tossing a stapled pack of papers to Matthew. “I finally found the answer. The answer to all of our questions. To our very existence!”

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    3 comments · 3,755 views
  • 30 weeks
    SA: Round 177

    Seattle's Angels is a group that promotes good stories with low views. You can find us here.


    Intern sat looking at the list of new interns, then frowned at the absence of the same. "Now, where could they be?" He exited the janitor’s closet and started down the hall, only to stop at the sound of maniacal laughter. "...the hell?" Rounding a corner, the mystery of the missing interns was solved: Winter had them all lined up in one of the larger conference rooms while he stood behind what looked like a control panel. Each was seated in a chair, sweating profusely as they watched a figure dressed in black and white silently making motions as if he was in an invisible box.

    Intern sidled up to Winter and whispered, "Umm...what are you doing?"

    Winter startled and said, "Oh! Intern! Just in time! Here, put this on." He handed him a round, red, spongy object.

    "What is this?"

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    5 comments · 4,689 views
  • 32 weeks
    SA: Round 176

    Seattle's Angels is a group that promotes good stories with low views. You can find us here.


    Floydien came to in the dark. He was strapped into a chair of some kind, but only by normal restraints. His arms were free. Ahead of him, he saw bright display lights and—


    “HOW ARE WE IN SPACE.”


    The chair in front of him shifted as Cyne looked over her shoulder and grinned. “Oh, we probably aren’t! My working theory is that our prolonged isolation within the infinite Seattle’s Maze is starting to warp our very understanding of reality, enabling us to cycle matter, even rebuild it at will, kind of basically making us Gundam-style Newtypes, but for subterranean dyson-sphere size mazes instead of space.”

    “What?”


    “Oh, we’re kind of apotheozing in slow motion. It’s honestly boring as heck. Anyway, enjoy the view! We’re assaulting A Bao Qu alongside White Base!”

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    5 comments · 4,059 views
  • 35 weeks
    SA: Round 175

    Seattle's Angels is a group that promotes good stories with low views. You can find us here.


    “Got your mask on?”

    “Yeah, but these seem a little excessive for COVID.”

    Matthew gave FanficFan an incredulous stare through his gas mask. “Worse things than COVID have probably mutated down there.”

    Memories of foreign smells from the last time he’d done reviews with Intern came to mind. “Good point.”

    Standing next to a manhole cover, Matthew readied his industrial strength laser cutter (borrowed from the Compound storage locker, the paperwork was too slow DAMNIT). “Ready with the grappling hook?”

    FanficFan raised the gun shaped tool with the clawed attachment at the manhole cover. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

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    14 comments · 4,918 views
  • 37 weeks
    SA: Round 174

    Seattle's Angels is a group that promotes good stories with low views. You can find us here.


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    16 comments · 4,184 views
Mar
1st
2021

Story Reviews » SA: Round 183 · 7:05am March 1st

Seattle's Angels is a group that promotes good stories with low views. You can find us here.


Over their heads the flak guns peppered the sky. The planes roared and sputtered. The clouds were dark, heavy with the child that was war. It was all noise.


Cynewulf looked around the bend. “You know, I’ve been reading old fics. Remember Arrow 18?”


Floydien slipped—a Floydien slipped—One Floydien came through the fractured time in the lower levels of the Sprawling Complex. “Uh, human in Equestria?”


“Yeah. You know, we were probably too mean about those.”


“They were terrible. I mean some of them. I guess a lot of everything is terrible.”


“Well, yes. But anyway, I was reading it, and it occurred to me that what I liked about it was that it felt optimistic in the way that Star Trek was optimistic. It felt naive, but in a way one wanted to emulate. To regress back into it.”


“Uh, that sounds nice?”


“Also, the water stops working around this level of the complex. I imagine the whole time-fracture has something to do with it? Water flowing across a thousand splintering shards. Like a mirror, and never quite making it to you. Fractals.”


“Why are we down here? Shouldn’t we be—”


A great cry went up. The sky was full of angels that burned brighter than the sun.

Cynewulf tsked and rolled her eyes before leaning back against the wall. “Mons? Really? Whatever. We’re here cause I’m headed down. I’ve been going as deep as I can. It takes a bit longer each time for one of you to get to me, even with the compound’s help, right? That’s why. We’re all stuck here, reviewing, and that’s fine. But if we are stuck, if it’s just an ever growing silly nonsense space, why not go deeper? Why not see how far the rabbit hole goes? Why not keep digging, looking for bedrock?”


Another boom, more shouting. Floydien shrugged helplessly. “Because this place sucks?”


“Yup!” Cyne replied, fishing folded papers out of the greatcoat that shielded her from this personless battlefield. “Sucks to your asmar, whatever. I think it’s just taking from our memories, copying movies and books we’ve seen, places we’ve been. I’ve seen gyro shops like the ones in Greece, builders from Blam!, clothing stores so generic they could be anything, offices I’ve worked in, attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Rainbow Dash, etc. The Angels of Mons are a favorite story of mine, so it snagged it. We keep running deeper and deeper and it’ll have to keep working harder and harder to come up with some dumb BS to keep us… I don’t know, entertained? Distracted? Working? Finished the reviews, by the way. Just need yours. Sorry it took so long.”


Floydien, not really sure what to do with any of that, carefully unfolded the reviews, added them in amongst his own, and waited for the SA compound to validate their work and send them out to wherever they went.

ROUND 183


The bugbear found me. I don’t know how. I don’t know who or what it’s working with, never mind what’s happening to me, but I’ll get to the bottom of this if it’s the last thing I do.

Forgive me, Lyra.


As you may have guessed by the description, this story starts in the thick of “Slice of Life”; the bugbear is wreaking havoc on Ponyville, and special agent Sweetie Drops knows what she has to do. But is it the correct choice?

This is a peculiar fic: the prose / internal monologue of Bon Bon is straightforward, almost clinical; the underlying issue plaguing Bon Bon has horrible implications; and there is a seemingly infinite amount of questions that continue to mount, all the way to the last word and beyond. There is also, without spoiling anything, very unusual world-building that I’m amazed I haven’t seen the likes of before.

And yet, it all works together as one cohesive narrative that will leave you desperate for more. Do not let the Tragedy tag dissuade you; this is not a sad story, not really. Give this a shot for some AU intrigue.

Hoping that next time, next leap, might be the leap home…

This story is going to make your head, and potentially your heart, hurt. It is confusing as hell… at first. This is extremely AU, and extremely meta. Not meta in a “oh haha look I know that reference” way so much as a “twisting the fabric of reality” way. I was not sure what to expect here, but it kept me going. This is a story that definitely alternates between the clinical and the devastating, and yet never quite lets its narrator vacillate too far. An Agent never loses her cool for long, after all. I would not say to ignore the tragedy tag exactly, but I would tell you that if the only thing putting you off the story is that tag, then don’t worry. 


"If this is what it means to be a fool, I don't wish to be anything else."


I’m not even sure how to begin writing a review for this. That’s a compliment.

The author presents this story with the structure of a screenplay… sort of. It is written fully as prose, and the audience—for what is a play without an audience?—adds to the surreal atmosphere of the piece. It is at once a very simple yet complex story; every word is chosen with care, with enough thought put into it as to evoke incredible imagery and emotions in just a few thousand words.

It may not be for everyone, but give this a try for a truly unique read.

If you don’t know about Seer then you don’t know about FiMFics greatest open secret. When I put down my pen ages ago, I left knowing that I left behind someone more arthouse than I had ever dared or dreamed, wild and wide-eyed, and that they would make it weird/jazz in my place just fine.

I wish I didn’t have to write something weirdly and performatively “this may not be for everyone” here, because I do in fact feel like it is for everyone, in that way that art that touches you should be. But this is art house as Jean-Luc Godard’s King Lear. I could describe it as a kind of exploration or “deconstruction” of the act of “seeing” or the action of watching, but I can’t really because its just not. The playbill, the stage directions—These things are ephemeral. Do they matter? Hell, sure, but also no, they don’t. They are props. The actors can act without them. I think that’s the point. There may in fact be more than one way to skin a cat, and this is Seer’s, shearing off the skin of story and seeing how bare it can be and still hold water and sweetness. It’s a weird, arresting experience. It feels like watching Theatre of the Absurd in person. 

If you want to experience someone play jazz with words, read this. Even if you don’t like it, you owe yourself the chance to read it. Read some Seer. Go do it. 


Discord learns a friendship lesson in the space it takes to release a breath.


This is a really nifty vignette capturing just a single moment in time. It’s incredibly short, clocking in at just over a thousand words, but it is full of incredibly vivid imagery and a subtle message that the reader may take away after reading.

Definitely worth a read if you’re looking for something light or an experiment in style.

I’ve already been on record about how much I adore the writing of Hoof-ful. I’ve been reading the fics that kept me so invested in this scene recently and I’ve returned again to Hoof-ful. This story is an incredibly interesting snapshot told to you. It is an experiment in voice, as well as tone, and I cannot help but like it. I think you will as well, if you come to it wanting to feel a moment. 


As often following a break up, Sunset starts repeating days; as often following Sunset, it's never as simple as that.

And, finally, the day that never ends is yesterday. The girl who left learns to move on.


I am a sucker for time-loop stories, it’s true, but this one offers a fresh take on the concept by really delving into the character aspect of things. It is somewhat akin to Groundhog Day but is far more personal, more real and raw and blatantly relatable. And, of course, because the primary subject is everyone’s favorite bacon-haired horse girl, we are granted a truly complex study and evaluation of the human condition.

Sunset is, at her core, a conflicted individual (at least, initially): caught between worlds, always on the fringe of friend groups but somehow never fully able to feel like a part of one… Flash is who she has. This story does their convoluted relationship justice. Give this a whirl if you like character pieces, time-loop fics, or Sunset Shimmer.

I really felt this one.

I’ve said a lot of things in anger. Years of frustrations, repression, anxiety, the works—it just sits heavy in my stomach and I say unnecessary, hurtful things, injuring myself and others. And haven’t most of us had that happen, in one way or another? Haven’t we all had the impossible happen? Something just implode? Haven’t you, dear reader, played Jenga with the universe, confident that nothing would change beyond your ability to handle, and then pop, it did? Not just one problem that you could feel around the edges of but something so large that it felt simultaneously impossible and inevitable? The roof crashes in, the foundation cracks, your IRS payment plan never went through and no one told you till you got the bill in time for next tax day, you realize someone special to you has gone silent or even blocked you, the sun dies or the skies melt. It doesn’t make sense, it won’t make sense, your brain recoils but something in your gut, in the flesh, knows why it all happened and it’s been trying to tell you all along.


That’s what this story feels like, what it’s about to me. That feeling when the swiftly-tilting planet finally goes over one side. I’m happy to see the groundhog day bit used for something like this. Definitely worth a read. 


Floydien winced as he held the ice pack to a rather nasty gash on his head.

“It’s interesting.” Cyne was sprawled in a plush armchair, observing the sunroom where the pair were recovering from their earlier exploits. “I’ve never seen an infinite number of you all trip over identical floor hatches and smack your head on control panels across the multiverse at the same time.” She let out an amused sigh. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, though, that did the trick for syncing everything back together and banishing the Mons.”

“Don’t mention it,” muttered Floydien, shifting the ice pack.

“I just didn’t think it was going to get that out of hand!” A sharp gesture. “Fractals indeed. When I saw that gray hoodie, I knew we were in for it.”

“Seriously,” Floydien groaned, “don’t mention it, I’ve got the worst headache this side of the galaxy. Do you know how much it hurts for an infinite amount of yourself to all have the same wound?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Really?”

Cyne smirked. “No. But ya did good, kid. Real good.”

“Hey,” said Floydien, “I just thought of something. You know, we’re like a mile and a half underground right now, totally covered by dirt and concrete and various sedimentary rocks.” He looked up at Cyne.

“How is this a sunroom?”


Feel free to visit our group for more information and events, and to offer some recommendations for future rounds. See you all next time!

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Comments ( 8 )

"Playing jazz with words" is my new favourite way of describing Seer's writing. He makes the language dance in a way that I've never seen before, and I consider myself eternally lucky to have had a chance to read his writing (and lose to him multiple times in Speedwrite contests). Notes is probably one of the quintessential examples of his arthouse style, and I do love how his background as a horror writer equips him to write such wonderful romance fics that are surreal and visceral in a way that one generally doesn't associate with the genre.

Final Mission because Background Pony?

Watch out for that Basement, apparently Minecraft just added negative levels.:derpyderp1:

As for how a sunroom can be underground? Ask The Maretian?:trollestia:

PresentPerfect
Author Interviewer

Ah, good to see Hoof-ful in there. :D

Seer #4 · March 3rd · · ·

Thank you very much for the very kind reviews of this piece! When I wrote this for my lovely and talented friend themoontonite, I did so knowing it was a pretty esoteric piece and I didn't expect it to make much of a splash, so I'm really thrilled about the lovely words and I appreciate the time and effort the both of you put in a lot.

Particular thanks for your sentiments Cynewulf, your writing, particularly The Night Is Passing, has really influenced me so your comments mean a great deal.

5464265
Thanks to you as well Mel that's very kind of you mate, I really appreciate you recommending this fic to Cyne

amitie #5 · March 4th · · 23 ·

You faggots are still doing the skits? I thought you would have gracefully exited that noblesse oblige by, like, round 50.

5466608
I'm... not entirely sure how we're supposed to take this? But we have fun doing our intro/outro stories, so we keep doing them 'cause why the heck not.

5466608
That's not what that word means, but I suspect that there aren't a lot of reference materials that far up your own ass so you can perhaps be excused. Not only have we been doing that the whole time, leaving your comment a bit late, but also anyone who prefaces their comment with the laziest of slurs is probably not someone worth listening to.

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