I drop in every few weeks, post a fic, reblog a quick flurry of fanart and then vanish into the night. I can't stay in the same fandom for two seconds.
okay but mangaken's james x james art made me think of it. what if instead of (or along with?)meeting maria as a creeyp sexy reminder of his sins james also met a creepy sexy past james as a reminder of his sins. would love to see that ficcy if it inspires you
(@mangaken's incredible James/James Silent Hill 2 fanart)
I am thrilled to have an excuse to write weird James Sunderland selfcest; thank you for the prompt!
-
There’s someone leaning against the railing in Rosewater Park.
James tenses up every time he sees something moving here, expecting another monster. But that’s – that’s a human, isn’t it? “Excuse me, I’m looking for—”
The stranger turns around, and James forgets what he was about to say. It’s a man, he’s – familiar, James can’t put his finger on—
“Can I help you?” the man asks, smiling.
There’s something familiar about his voice, too. Have they met?
It hits James an instant later: this man looks like him. He knows that face; he’s seen it in the mirror. It’s just—
He hasn’t seen himself smiling for a long time.
“Is something wrong?” the man asks, his smile fading.
“I’m—” This stranger isn’t commenting on their resemblance. Has he not noticed? Would it seem strange to bring it up? “I’m – sorry, I’m looking for my wife, my name is James, she – she died three years ago, but she sent me a letter, and—”
He’s too disconcerted to think clearly; he’s not presenting this information in any order that makes sense. The man’s expression is rapidly approaching concern, and that’s familiar, that’s familiar in a way that’s almost painful to look at.
“Do you need to sit down?” the man asks.
-
James’s duplicate is called Joseph, apparently. He steers James onto a bench, listens to his story, nodding thoughtfully. James has never...
He’s never talked about it in so much detail before. It feels easy to talk to someone who looks like him. Like it’s safe, like no one’s really listening. Like he’s just talking to himself.
A lot of the details are blurred, in his memory. Mary’s illness, Mary’s death, it feels like a lot of it is hovering just out of reach; he guesses it’s been a traumatic time. At one point, Joseph asks what he’s been doing since she died.
The question makes him uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to think about this. He doesn’t need to think about this; it’s not relevant. “It doesn’t matter.”
-
“Why are you here?” Joseph asks at last.
It startles James. Isn’t it obvious? “Mary could be here.”
“Maybe,” Joseph says, “but this town is full of monsters. I know you’ve noticed.” He nods at the plank James has propped against the side of the bench. “It’s not worth your life, is it? The fact that your wife might be here?”
“I have to see her again,” James says. “I have to say...”
He can’t think of exactly what he has to say. But something, something important. That he loves her, that he’s...
“You have to look after yourself,” Joseph says. “You didn’t get sick; you’re still alive. You’re the one whose needs still matter. Right?”
James stands up, sharply. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
“Like a dead person?” Joseph asks. “From what you’ve told me, it sounds like she was gone long before she died.”
James hits him across the face.
“Sorry,” Joseph says, laughing. “I guess I went too far.”
It doesn’t feel right, the laughter. When did James last laugh?
-
“How are you feeling?” Joseph asks, oddly gentle. Stooping over him.
Why is Joseph here? Where— “Where are we?”
James is on a bed. Why? He can’t take the time to rest, he needs to find Mary, but – but he feels terrible, exhausted and ill, his lungs burning with every breath. How long has he been awake?
Why can’t he remember getting here?
“We’re in Brookhaven Hospital,” Joseph says. “You breathed in the spray from one of those monsters. It—” He seemed so casual before, but now he’s pale, he looks worried. “It was bad.”
“How bad?” James asks. It takes an effort.
Joseph leans down to kiss him. It feels strangely natural in the moment; it’s only an instant later that James’s mind kicks in, starts to question—
hm? what's wrong? oh, nothing. just thinking about how the crystallized cocoon must be an extremely haunting sight for serah and it's making me want to crawl out of my skin
In the Goes Wrong Show episode 'Harper's Locket', we learn that Max is writing a play called Dr Frog. In the same episode, we learn that frogs are the only thing Annie can paint.
Please tell me this is what happened:
Max: Hey, Annie! I wanted to talk to you. I'm writing a play about a doctor.
Annie: Oh, that's great! Give me a good part.
Max: You seem artistic; I thought maybe you could do a painting for the poster.
Annie: I'm flattered, thanks, but frogs are the only thing I can paint.
Max: No problem; I just had an incredible idea.
Attention, Goes Wrong fandom: the Cornley Christmas Chaos (in July) 2026 drabble event has just revealed! You can find the drabbles everyone wrote here.
My own contribution is here! Eleven Goes Wrong drabbles, mainly Grovebean (to nobody's surprise). I tried to write something for all the prompts, but, alas, it went wrong; I fell just short! I had a great time writing, though.
snowghoul
origamiaround
germansingergirl
andulkaphoto
areudirty
titsay
