it would help if you could reblog ;v; of course you don't have to though


Hey anon, I’m like. SUPER fond of this crossover ok?? I actually drew it a little already! It’s actually BECAUSE of a Mob Psychonauts crossover that I discovered Psychonauts! If I never reblogged that art way back when, and if Xi didn’t explain it more to me, I would have probably never played this wonderful game! ;v; 

That crossover was a “what if Psychonauts came to Mob’s world”, which I do love, but I wanted to try it in the opposite direction here :’D I tried real hard not to draw stuff for it coz HECK I HAVE ALOT OF AUS BUT here are some short dumb comics and my attempt at Black Velvetopia! Raz and Mob ;7;


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Rose couldn’t help but tear up at that. Her Gwen would have done the same for a stranger. Oh… Gwen Cooper, she thought. How I’ve missed you.

She couldn’t say that, of course. The wrong word in the wrong time could upset the entire causal nexus. No, she’d need to tread carefully with this encounter.

“Thank you,” she said kindly. Her dark brown eyes turned back to the wall of names. “My mum died here,” she murmured. Of course, technically she didn’t. Her mum lived for ten years more after Canary Wharf. It wasn’t until a still night after a full day of shopping that Jackie Tyler met her end at the hands of a Dalek. But this Gwen couldn’t know that.

“D’you still have a mum?” she asked quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Gwen almost sounded guilty for it. She used to be so good at caring, comforting. She knew how devastating it was to lose a parent, worse still when they only got into that situation because of you. She could have sworn that Rose Tyler’s name appeared among the lost as well but said nothing about it. 

For lack of a verbal answer, Gwen took a paper-thin wallet from her back pocket. From inside, tucked between her real driving license and a fake one, she took out a photograph: her mother holding her five-year-old daughter Anwen. Mary Cooper looked much older than she was these days. The loss of her husband and the role she’d played in protecting and helping to raise her grandchild had taken a toll. Offering the picture to Rose, Gwen explained, “She’s in Swansea.” 

Uncertain if it would do more harm than good but at a loss for what else to say, Gwen offered up a story of her own: “My dad’s dead, though. I dunno if you heard anything about the Miracle, but it was then; it was my fault. I didn’t have any other choice, but…” She shook her head, ready to give another apology. “It was my fault.”