mulder, they’re worms. @mulderrrrrrr - Tumblr Blog

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thank you for all the love you all have given me on my xfiles art over the years! im sorry i dont post very frequently, honestly my motivation to make xfiles art has dwindled but im so grateful for all the support i’ve been given here :) thank you all

#art #digital art #the x files #x files #aesthetic #mulder x scully #thexfiles #mulder and scully #sculder

custom xfiles moodboard :3

#art #digital art #the x files #x files #aesthetic #mulder x scully #thexfiles #mulder and scully #sculder

hello, sorry for coming on anon but i just want to say um i'm an introject and your art of lucy grey that you did like over a year ago is one of my favourite drawings ive ever seen of my source and i've meant to find your blog forever to thank you. i hope life has treated you kindly and it will continue to

I DIDN’T THINK ANYONE EVER REMEMBERED THAT thank u so much :( im glad it could have such an impact

Trans mulder?

i will make this also

hi!! i just wanted to say i used to follow you on deviantart (used to cause i left the site not cause i unfollowed haha) and i was so happy to find you here!! your work is really beautiful and im very grateful you’re still kicking :))

THANK U SO MYCH i appreciate it <3

Do you make prints of any of your drawings/ have a shop anywhere? I really love your drawing of Mulder’s office and would like to buy it so I can put it up on my wall if it’s available anywhere that I’m just not finding.

i don’t unfortunately :( if you’d like youre totally free to just print it yourself as long as u credit me w the art :3

are u a ufo

yes

(im so sorry for not answering these sooner i didn’t realize i left my inbox open lmfao)

DRAW THEM KISSING...I mean.....who said that? Must've been the wind.....

IM GONNA. i swear i am rarely ever active on this blog but i appreciate u all so much. i neber thought i’d have several viral art pieces ESPECIALLY of TXF so imma keep making them for u guys every once in awhile <3

aphrostiel

"I do not gaze at Scully"

apeachyboi

Imma share some of my passerine quotes that hit far too hard, to deal with the fact that I'm sobbing:

Tomorrow, he promised himself. I’ll write our song tomorrow.

“This one’s my favorite,” he added as he gently tucked the flower behind Technoblade’s ear, the one that had the emerald earring that Wilbur had found so familiar, “because it means friendship.”

“I would feel too much like a traitor if I abandoned it now, after all these years with it. It is my one constant companion, more loyal than most.”

Tell the boys I’m sorry.

At fifteen years old, Tommy was the oldest he’d ever been, but he never felt so young.

“I want to help you. But I don’t know how. Nobody ever taught me how.”

At 17 years old, Tubbo was the oldest he'd ever been, but he had never felt so young.

“For my kingdom,” she whispered to the empty cave, and let the fire fall.

Nikki hoped, at the very least, that they would plant the prettiest flowers flowers over her grave.

His Tommy, lying so still in his brother’s arms. His Tommy, who braided his hair with sweet-smelling flowers. His Tommy, who was quick to anger but quicker to laugh. His Tommy.

“Your lullaby,” Wilbur sobbed, his tears hitting Tommy’s cheeks. “It’s the lullaby I used to play for you on my guitar, when you were younger.” And just like that, everything that came before was forgiven and forgotten and —gone. But was that such a bad thing? Rest would be nice. If it meant his lungs would stop hurting. If it meant his chest would stop aching. Sleep. Sleep was good. Sleep was—“I miss your music, Wilbur.”

Death. Such a small word for such a big thing.

And then, eventually, Wilbur spoke. “It really was meant to be."

Forgiveness came easily with brothers, after all.

A single strand of hibiscus-pink hair. A wrinkled hand still clutching a bloodstained broadsword.

Tubbo could almost see himself shaking the prince awake. And the prince would blink drowsiness from his eyes, ask Tubbo who he was, and Tubbo would say, “A friend,” and maybe in another life that wouldn’t be a lie.

“Once penned,” Wilbur said shakily, “an ending cannot be restored,” and he plunged a dagger straight into Techno’s back.

Immortal life. That should be an oxymoron.

Half-sobbing, half-laughing, he fell against his chair and closed his eyes against the sudden sting of tears. He could see, in his mind, a field of flowers under an open sky—a place made for waiting, where all the finished stories went, where he would go someday, too.