X files webring

Profiler Fiction Web R Quantum Leap Slash Fan RareSlash Ring. RareSlash Web Ring. Sci-Fi Fantasy Fanfict Sentinel Slash Webring Slash Fan Fiction Ring Slash Fan Fiction Webr Slash Recommendations Smallville Webring. Spec Writers' Coterie. Star Wars Slash. The Aliens Ring. The Bard's Den - Webri The Compass. The Fan Artist Webring The Fushigi Yugi Yaoi The Fushigi Yuugi Love The Kink-Slash Fanfic The Mortal Son of Zeus The Obi-Wan Kenobi Web The Pirate Ring.

The Qui-Gon Jinn Allia The Qui-Gon Jinn Webri The Sentinel Webring. Feel free to add more! This webring includes websites by and for writers and archivists of Doggett fiction where you can explore possible Doggett relationships Scully, Barbara, Marita, Reyes, etc and new FBI cases that might have been, had the television show continued. Note: the content of the The Fiction Wikia is available under the CC-BY-SA Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike License , a copyleft license, meaning the content can be copied, modified, and redistributed so long as the new version grants the same freedoms to others and acknowledges the original authors.

If you do not accept the terms of this license then do not contribute your fiction to this website. Novelas Explore. Recent blog posts. If you do not accept the GFDL, do not contribute your fiction to this website. There are pages of many kinds of fan fic in this ring.

Please be aware of what kind of fic the author says they are writing and move on to the next website if you object to that kind. Authors, if you have a webpage for your fanfic, join the webring! And lovers of fanfic, hope you enjoy surfing the ring!

Have you visited websites on the Webrings? If so, tell us which sites are best; leave your reviews here. Jackie Lesnick, Girly — At the beginning, nobody began cobbling together comic strips and slapping them up on the internet as part of a plan to pay off their student loans. Money and fame weren't the goal. Many of the early scene's biggest names—including ones who remain active to this day and have blueticked Twitter accounts—started out making and sharing their comic strips purely for amusement.

For the first year or so of its run, Zach Weiner's Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal was a series of scanned pencil drawings he produced in class in lieu of taking notes. By modern standards, even the luminaries of early-aughts webcomics shone rather modestly. In , Penny Arcade which owed its status as the big kahuna of online comics to having been around since dial-up modems was receiving two million views per day—which is roughly twenty percent of the daily traffic to PewDiePie's YouTube channel.

Far fewer people were aware of Fred Gallagher's Megatokyo circa — than have seen KC Green's epochal "this is fine" strip in the last five years. Moderately popular comics like Nothing Nice to Say and Chugworth Academy had trade paperbacks for sale at Barnes and Noble, but their creators never reached the level of visibility enjoyed by even the B-listers of today's "influencer" caste.

It must be emphasized that before the mid-aughts, there was no established method for converting page views into revenue. The artists and writers who realized they could quit their day jobs by selling ad space and T-shirts, finding publishers for printed collections, and soliciting donations sometimes offering "cheesecake" pinups as donor gifts, skeevily prefiguring OnlyFans , were, by the seats of their pants, helping to compose the rules for monetizing free digital content.

In doing so, they were professionalizing what had begun as an amateur endeavor, and what ensued was a quiet gold rush. Hierarchies crystallized. Enterprising observers founded webcomics listings that offered exposure in exchange for money or traffic. Others wrote blog posts instructing artists in how to get noticed, insisting upon frenetic update schedules and targeted content, outlining networking strategies, and recommending cross-promotion with one's other business ventures.

The evolution of the webcomic through the aughts may be correlated with the fate of the blog, whose development and coming of age were in many ways analogous to its own.

People involved in the webcomics scene who read Silicon Valley archskeptic Nick Carr's eulogy to the blogosphere may have found parts of his postmortem dismally familiar: That vast, free-wheeling, and surprisingly intimate forum where individual writers shared their observations, thoughts, and arguments outside the bounds of the traditional media is gone. Almost all of the popular blogs today are commercial ventures with teams of writers, aggressive ad-sales operations, bloated sites, and strategies of self-linking.

The buzz has left blogging I was a latecomer to blogging, launching Rough Type in the spring of But even then, the feel of blogging was completely different than it is today. The top blogs were still largely written by individuals. They were quirky and informal. Such blogs still exist and long may they thrive! The trends of careerism, overcrowding, competition, and immitigable stratification doomed the old blogosphere to elanguescence and sapped the webcomics scene of much of its early energy.

However, the changes wrought upon each by the renovation of The Information Superhighway into Web 2. The webcomic artist never found herself trying to keep pace and fight for attention with the visual-narrative equivalent of Gawker or The Huffington Post ; but by the same token, search-engine optimized content mills had little interest in putting her on the payroll.

The blogger, to the best of my knowledge, was never inveigled into paying a monthly fee to a scammy "Top Blogs" index to put his banner or link button into rotation the way the frustrated and unnoticed webcomic artist was, nor was he as likely to have been tempted to produce erotic content for attention and commissions.

Much of what made the early-aughts internet's culture and landscape so interesting were those elements that had rolled over from the modular nineties, when most commercial websites were basically pamphlets and catalogues in hypertext, content aggregators were practically nonexistent, and the upvote button was still a twinkle in some software engineer's eye.

If you were to open your browser window in and search for "x files" on WebCrawler or Yahoo, most of the results would be homebrewed personal pages. After clicking on a link and browsing an enthusiast's plot summaries and mythology theories, you might arrived at a links section and click around to see what other topics and people your host fancies.

You might find an X-Files webring panel at the page's footer and go on to find out how the next webmaster in the chain brings his or her own sensibilities to bear on the same material. Often fanpages like these were subsections of somebody's personal website; after reading about Mulder and Scully, you might follow a link back to the homepage and learn more about your host. While personal websites of the s deserve their ex post facto reputation for crude design, we miss the essence of what made the "wild west" internet so much fun to explore if we denigrate enthusiastic dabblers on the basis of their amateur status.

True, many of them had only a passing knowledge of HTML and could have benefited from a short course in color and composition theory; and as an aggregate they committed far more effort to celebrating mass-cultural trivialities than anyone should have been comfortable with.

A kind of bastard folk art, yes, but an active strain of culture nonetheless. There were no winners or losers here: the hits counter at the bottom of our webmaster's X-Files page might have registered less traffic than the one on the more polished and comprehensive site preceding his on the webring, but what did that matter? It was all in fun. Nothing was actually at stake. By the end of the aughts, this attitude was considerably more difficult to maintain.

The centripetal tendencies of the commercialized internet, and the discovery that views could be alchemized into revenue through targeted advertising and data collection, created very clear winners and losers. The upper-echelon webcomic artists paying off their mortgages through sales of ad space and merchandise, and the entrepreneurs who founded profitable media companies that factory-farmed bloglike content were not losers by any metric, but in the big picture, they were runners-up. The big winners were the emerging social media giants: the platforms that devised the revolutionary business model of recruiting users as an army of unpaid laborers continuously manufacturing content while simultaneously consuming that content, free of charge, along with the paid-for advertisements embedded within.

The major platforms' clearing of the neighborhood was effectuated from the mid-aughts through the mid-twenty-tens.

Over time, they discovered that the platforms and their massive, built-in audiences favored content that wasn't hosted offsite. The webcomic creator who'd fought like hell to amass a sufficiently large and reliable audience to earn an income through website ads found those revenues shrinking as his fans shared his latest strips on Twitter and Facebook without actually linking to his page.

The Wordpress blogger began to notice that her tweet rants were seeing more activity than the links to her longform pieces. By and by, the personal comics page, illustration gallery, or blog became pointless except as a stiff, perfunctory "portfolio" unless its owner was already established and recognized.

The most immediately apparent consequence of the mass migration onto the giant platforms was the user's sacrifice of control. The homepages of the nineties and early aughts frequently looked janky, but they had flavor.

They included nothing that their designers, amateurs though they might have been, didn't make the deliberate choice to put there, and to arrange and order however they pleased. A common complaint of Facebook's early detractors was that the new platform, unlike the earlier user-friendly substitutes to the personal site MySpace, Xanga, LiveJournal, etc. This has since become so standardized across social media Tumblr being an exception that it's virtually beside the point now.

What should be a matter of greater concern are the parameters that the social media giants impose upon the content a user might wish to share. We're all familiar with Twitter's character limit and its incentivization of histrionic, paranoid gibberish. More subtly, Instagram and Facebook truncate post text with a "see more" tab after a certain number of line breaks, effectively disincentivizing posts that run over that length. So much for Scott McCloud's extolling the promise of the "infinite canvas.

While Facebook and Twitter allow users to share links, they grant that permission grudgingly. The preview displays on those platforms cut off headlines and the excerpted text, and give the user has little control over the thumbnail image. Getting the link to your blog, comics page, Twitch channel, etc.

The most noxious of these platforms' locked-in features are the points system and the public scoreboard.