#in the shadow of spindrift house
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Currently reading: In the Shadow of Spindrift House by Mira Grant
A house that is haunted, we've heard that story enough times to kind of laugh and shrug it off as an old wives's tale at best. But what happens when the house takes over the body of a friend just to talk to you? Pushes who you believe to be the love of your life off the widow's walk? What then? Is it still an old wives's tale? Or is it true?
"The same creature can look very different when raised in two different environments. But their blood and bones, their scales and skin, will always remember where they were meant to be, and when they finally come home, oh. Oh, they will come home with a vengeance."
-Mira Grant, In the Shadow of Spindrift House
#in the shadow of spindrift house#mira grant#book quote#book talk#horror#book#booklr#library book#haunted house
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There is a chance reading two Mira Grant novellas in under twenty-four hours was not my smartest move ever. Hmmm, my brain feels a little like someone just rang a gong in a quiet room, and the echos keep reverberating through the space, except the echos are just a small, persistent voice asking "what the fuck?", repeatedly, as I ruminate on all the ramifications of the final chapter of each book.
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Review: Apocalypse Scenarios: These are the Ways the World Ends by Mira Grant
Author: Mira Grant (Seanan McGuire)Publisher: Subterranean PressReleased: March 31, 2023Received: Own
Goodreads | More Mira Grant Reviews
Book Summary:
Words cannot express how badly I needed this anthology in my life. Apocalypse Scenarios: These are the Ways the World Ends by Mira Grant collects some of the great work (in my mind) written by Mira Grant – aka Seanan McGuire.
Included in this…
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#Anthology#Anthology Review#Apocalypse Scenario 693: The Box#Apocalypse Scenarios#Apocalypse Scenarios: These are the Ways the World Ends#Apocalypse Scenarios: These are the Ways the World Ends by Mira Grant#Book#Book Review#Books#Fiction#Final Girls#Horror#Horror Novel#Horror Review#In the Shadow of Spindrift House#Kingdom of Needle and Bone#Literary#Literature#Mira Grant#Review#Rolling in the Deep.#Science#Science Fiction#Science Fiction Review#Seanan McGuire#Subterranean Press#The Happiest Place#These are the Ways the World Ends
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Forgotten: Part Two
Azriel wakes to find himself with everything he'd never allowed himself to wish for. Now, faced with the reality of all he thought he wanted, he must come to terms with his desires and the unexpected direction his life had taken.
Word count - 3564
A/N - Thank you all so much for reading the first part of my little story and for all the lovely comments and words of encouragement. I'm still learning how to post and interact on here, a few people asked to be added to a taglist which I've tried to create but I'm not sure if it actually works.
Part One ☪ Part Three
Forgotten Universe: Pretty Eyes
Azriel
Azriel was still under Madja’s knurled fingers as they palpated his temples, the soothing chill of her healing magic drifted over tender, swollen skin. Her copper eyes assessed his face closely and he schooled his features into a blank mask. His gaze drifted over the curve of her shoulder to meet Rhys as he lingered by the open doors of the balcony. The bland smile, the loose set of his shoulders, and the hands that hung casually in the pockets of his trousers irked Azriel. After so many years it wasn’t difficult to read this feigned nonchalance, the worry it masked beneath.
“A lingering effect of the head injury, exacerbated by the bloodsbane.” Madja’s fingers continued to probe as Azriel returned his attention to her. Thickness lingered on his tongue; left over from the medication she’d administered on her arrival to reign in his fever. His head felt clearer now, where his shadows had been silent before they sang again, murmuring of the almost imperceptible anxious shift of Rhys’ weight on the floorboards. Elsewhere the House of Wind was quiet and empty, Elain having fled into Rhys’ arms with a demand to be winnowed home without sparing a glance in his direction. Azriel had been left to stew in solitude until his brother had returned with the ancient healer tucked in his arms, greying spindrift hair windswept, her face lined with wrinkles and kind concern.
“Some amnesia isn’t uncommon with an injury like this,” Madja continued finally pulling her hands away from his face. “Though to ascertain its true extent you must tell us what you remember shadow-singer.” She retreated from him into the chair Elain had occupied earlier, righted by Rhys, and slowly lowered herself on creaking joints. Azriel balked a little under the attention as he tried to force himself to recollect. Pain brewed between his eyes. He remembered the visit to Hewn City, the scheming; the gifting of Nesta’s made blade to Eris. He remembered the solstice party, the disaster of his foray with Elain afterward, and his brother’s wrath. The ensuing weeks had been busy, his mornings occupied with training the Valkyries and concocting obstacle courses modeled after the Blood Rite qualifier. The afternoons and evenings spent keeping tabs on Eris and following up on the dead leads from whispers and fables of high-fae women bearing winged babes. Everything after was hazy, difficult to hold, and worsened the pain in his head if he tried to focus for too long.
“Feyre,” he said, and Rhys cocked an eyebrow, his face encouraging him to continue. “We were following leads on the delivery of winged babes.” The darkening of Rhys’ features filled Azriel with a sense of foreboding. “Feyre,” he continued, “is she…Is the babe...” He trailed off, unsure of how to broach the topic. Rhys’ features softened, understanding his brother had misinterpreted the emotion to be driven by his grief and loss and not for the male before him. Shoulders pulled forward in a rare display of vulnerability, scarred fingers clasping his knees for stability, Rhys struggled to recall a recent memory of seeing his brother so open, so vulnerable. He hadn’t seen him this lost since their youth in the war camps.
“Feyre,” Rhy drawled, fixing Azriel with what he hoped was an abating expression. “And the babe, we named him Nyx, they’re both well. Perfect.” Rhys watched his brother process the information, the small twitch of the corner of his mouth the only sign of his surprise. Watched as Azriel came to terms with the missing months in the timeline, Feyre still had half of her pregnancy to go during the solstice. How would he even begin to broach the missing years? “You don’t remember anything about the attack?” Rhys probed, Azriel bristled under the line of questioning.
“No.” His fingers danced over his injured abdomen and trailed the bandages before climbing up to rub over the empty feeling in his chest, worse than any wound he’d ever gotten. It left him feeling cold and empty. The glint of his rings caught his eye. The signet on his little finger embossed with the Night Court symbol, a gift from Rhys centuries ago declaring him part of his found family, rubbed against an unfamiliar band of gold.
Feyre
Feyre locked eyes with Nuala as she crouched over Nyx playing with his toys on the carpet. The shadow-wraith stepped silently over to them and greeted the young heir to the Night Court with a small smile, producing a plate of homemade biscuits warm from the oven and smelling of cinnamon. Nyx fixed her with his cerulean eyes and toothy smile, cheeks chubby from the lingering fat of youth. Reaching out to fist the crumbling treat in one hand he thanked her, proceeding to get more crumbs in the creases of his clothes than he did in his mouth. Feyre’s heart swelled.
“I’ll be back soon,” she reached out to stroke his midnight hair as his arms waved, one brandishing a small wooden figure and the other his half-eaten treat.
“Okay, mama.” His eyes were drawn to her briefly before he returned to his imaginary world, moving his wooden figure into position to conquer the high ground of his drawing table, covered in drying paint and charcoal pencils.
“You’ll behave for Nuala won’t you?” Nyx nodded eagerly in agreement and proceeded to clash the figurine in his hand against a triangle formation of his enemies with a sound of delight. Feyre rose, leaning close to thank the shadow-wraith on her way to the door. After taking an indulgent glance backward she stepped into the breach, winnowing to a familiar path on the outskirts of Velaris.
Well-manicured grass thick with morning dew poked through the paving stones Feyre stepped between on the way up to the front door. The lower level was in darkness, the windows blending into the dark stone and winding vines. The second level blazed, fae light seeping out of the floor-to-ceiling windows though Feyre saw no movement.
The dark wood of the door opened on a wind under her fist, poised to knock, and Feyre took the invitation to enter. The foyer offset the chill of the early morning air and she made a beeline towards the dark staircase. The open door allowed a beam of sunlight into the sitting area, dark with the curtains drawn, illuminating the comfortable leather chairs perched around the large fireplace.
Feyre eyed the portrait hanging above the mantle, a solstice gift to Azriel the year after his mating ceremony, her heart ached. Depicting the moment after the vows had been said and the food exchanged, hands clasped between them bound by thick dark ribbon, Feyre remembered agonizing for days over how to properly encapsulate onto the canvas the shared look of love and adoration. Feyre couldn’t imagine how you had coped over the last few days, in the last months of pregnancy sitting vigil at Azriel’s bedside wondering if he would wake up. Presumably elated to hear he had awake, only to find him in the arms of another woman, one with whom he shared such history.
Continuing up the stairs to the second floor Feyre followed the fae lights towards the front of the house. The door to the nursery was ajar and she stopped short of the threshold. Your back was to her, one hand tracing the soft carved wood of the bassinet Azriel had spent every spare moment painstakingly crafting. The scent of fresh paint hung in the air, leftover from a few weeks ago when the pair of you decorated the walls with murals of snow-capped mountains, lush forest greenery, and frolicking animals.
Suspended over the bassinet in a sea of miniature stars hung multicolored globes, each spinning on their invisible axis. The spiraling constellation, you’d called it a galaxy, held all the planets known to your people. Feyre wondered how many you’d seen in your trips across the stars as you reached up into the field of magic closest to you to trace your fingers over a small planet of russet brown cratered with darker swirls.
“Rhys told me what happened.” Feyre watched as you continued to agitate the floating sphere. You didn’t turn. She crept closer into the room, torn between giving you space and reaching out in comfort. She waited with bated breath to see if you would respond before continuing. “It’s the head injury, he doesn’t remember.”
“He had no idea who I was.” The hand that hung in the stars moved to cradle your abdomen. “He would’ve…” You trailed off. The posturing, the aggression, there was no doubt at that moment Azriel viewed you only as a threat, a stranger, someone who had invaded his home. That was not the male who had doted on you only a week before, hands cradling you gently as his lips brushed your soft skin singing low lullabies to your unborn babe.
“Elain was at the River House earlier,” Rhys had dropped her there with a rushed explanation before disappearing again. “She feels awful, she wanted to come and apologise.” Feyre wasn’t sure why she brought up Elain, as soon as the words were out of her mouth she realised she’d made a grave miscalculation.
“I don’t care what Elain wants right now Feyre.” The temperature in the room plummeted as you finally turned to look at her. For a moment the air in the room thinned and Feyre struggled against the pressure of the vacuum that forced her to exhale. As quickly as it came the atmosphere in the room returned to normal and she sucked in a shaky breath through her teeth.
“I know, I know. I didn’t mean it like that.” Feyre tried to keep her voice low and soothing, pinned under your gaze as she edged closer, reaching out to place an open palm on your arm. “Madja’s with him now, she says that all this is to be expected. When Rhys spoke to her earlier she said these things usually resolve themselves with time.” Your thumb traced gentle circles on your swollen belly.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a little short on that right now.” The anger in your tone was undermined by the tears threatening to spill. Realising there wasn’t anything she could say Feyre moved to pull your body against her own. Arms encircling you in a comforting embrace, she rubbed her fingers between your shoulder blades. You moved to hold her back, resting your face in the space where her neck met her shoulder as you let the tears fall. “What am I going to do?” Your voice was thin and watery, in the time Feyre had known you she’d never heard you speak with so little conviction.
“We’re going to figure this out.” She pulled away slightly and clasped your face between her hands, forcing you to meet her gaze. “I promise. You have all of us, you’re not alone in this. We’ll do everything we can for you, both of you.” Nodding you sniffed, pulling away. Feyre let you go as you turned your attention back out to the window, eying the gilded disc of the sun as it rose across the Valaris skyline.
“I’m heading to the House of Wind,” Feyre continued to observe you as you tracked the ascent. “Would you like to come?” You moved closer to the window. On the opposite side of the city you could see the grand mountain range and it’s carved residence. Through the morning mist blanketing the base a large, winged figure rose, angling to land on one of the balconies.
“I don’t think I can look at him right now.” Feyre acquiesced her desire to push you to come with her.
Azriel
After Madja had left Rhys with strict instructions regarding Azriel’s rehabilitation over the next couple of days, he’d supported his brother’s weight while they made slow progress to the bathroom. Azriel’s limbs felt stiff, uncharacteristically uncoordinated and he concentrated on remaining upright and shuffling one foot in front of the other.
Steam rose from the bath the House had prepared, swirling to meet the shadows that seeped down his arm as Azriel braced one hand on the edge of the tub. Using the other he edged the loose cotton trousers down over his thighs until they pooled at his feet. Fingers tugged at the cotton on his abdomen to find purchase, loosening and unwinding until the bandaging fell away to reveal an angry pink scar, jagged and stark against tanned skin.
“Want me to wash your back?” Rhys shot him a cheeky grin, but the mirth in his voice didn’t reach his eyes. Azriel appreciated the effort, this small attempt at normalcy. He shot his brother an obscene gesture before raising one leg to step into the tub, thigh muscles twitching as he shifted into the hot water. Using his arms to brace his weight he started to lower himself in, descending too quickly they struggled to hold him up causing a wave of bathwater to soak the floor. Azriel sunk under the warmth of the water, allowing it to soothe him.
“We’ll be in the dining room, come down when you’re ready.” His shadows had already informed him of Cassian and Nesta’s arrival, he assumed the rest of his family wouldn’t be far behind. Azriel nodded, avoiding Rhys’ gaze, pretending to study the shadows roiling over the water. In the mirror on the opposite wall, Azriel watched Rhys’ reflection as he opened his mouth as if to speak, no sound coming out as he considered, before closing it again and disappearing through the doorway.
Dressing had been an arduous process, though no longer stiff and painful his muscles had a weakness that he wasn’t used to. After struggling into the tight second skin of his fighting leathers he felt more himself. Finding truth-teller laid out in its holster on the dresser he strapped it to his thigh. His shadows, now a fuller cohort with the effects of the bloodbane leaving his system, were a thick tangle of moving darkness, sour and agitated in solidarity with their master.
Despite his interrogation, they hadn’t offered him any useful information, it caused Azriel great frustration when they took the stance of purposeful vagueness or outright ignored him. He sent them ahead down the corridor to scout out the dining room only to be turned around by a shield of impenetrable night. Whatever conversations were going on in that room, Rhys did not want him privy to them. His own family, keeping secrets. It left a bad taste in Azriel’s mouth, a sense of betrayal in his chest that sat next to the empty feeling he was growing accustomed to, a limb he didn’t know he had until it was missing.
Azriel reached the closed door, the thick night dissipating as he progressed, the sound from beyond the door returned but he heard no voices. Just the sound of breathing and the clink of porcelain as someone set a cup on a saucer. Rhys must have informed them of his impending arrival. He pushed the door open and took in his family.
Cassian, Nesta, Rhys, Feyre and Amren all sat at the table which had been used for family dinners before the River House was built. Their faces were carefully blank as he assessed them all. Mor was notably absent, information Azriel tucked away, either her efforts across the continent were still ongoing or some other manner of business had her attention. He hadn’t expected to see Elain, not after her spectacular display of anger, but he couldn’t help the feeling of unease and disappointment it left in his gut.
“Finally, the invalid graces us with his presence. Took you long enough,” Cassian sent him an easy grin, arms folded across his stomach as he lounged in his chair. Azriel scowled in response which only made his brother’s smile wider. This had always been Cassian’s modus operadi, an invitation to be provoked into a physical outlet if that’s what was needed, thinly veiled under jibes he rarely meant at heart. For a moment, Azriel considered taking up the unspoken offer, if only to delay what was undoubtedly going to be an uncomfortable conversation.
“Azriel,” it was Feyre who spoke, offering him a small smile, “Why don’t you join us?” Azriel understood that it wasn’t an invitation and slid into the seat next to Amren. His eyes met Nesta’s who sat across from him. They’d reached a tentative understanding, perhaps it could be considered a friendship, in the months he could recall. He remembered her joy at receiving the solstice gift he’d gotten for her, the resulting rare display of physical affection.
Looking at her now, face resolute and stony with blazing anger behind her eyes, barely contained, he had the sense that something had damaged the dynamic between them. He purposely looked away, instead fixing his eyes on Rhys; then Feyre. He waited for someone to speak, break the almost oppressive silence. He half-expected it to be Cassian again, with some throwaway comment or badly timed joke, but it was Rhys who cleared his throat.
“Azriel, thank you for joining us.” Azriel raised an eyebrow at the formality but stayed silent. “There are some matters we need to discuss.”
“Clearly.” He trailed his eyes over his family again, they all seemed uncomfortable to be here, to be around him. As if they knew he was going to react badly to whatever they were going to say. Rhys let his remark go, seeming resolute to power ahead with the conversation.
“What you showed me of your recent memories,” he continued, eyes drifting to Feyre who gave him an encouraging smile. “Lead us to believe that the memory loss is more extensive than we originally feared. Azriel, what you showed me – it was more than five years ago.” Azriel barely seemed to move under the scrutiny of their gazes. He’d lost years of his life. In the grand scheme of his immortality it felt like nothing, but looking at his family and realising that they lived in a future he didn’t remember left him feeling sick.
Azriel tried to find some rational thought to hold onto as he spiralled. He fell back onto the only thing he could rely on, his role as the Night Court’s spymaster. “Was it the work of the Queens? The attack?”
“The debacle on the continent has been resolved, for the most part. It was only supposed to be a routine investigation, nothing too strenuous or time-consuming given your current…” Rhys paused. “Situation. You were gathering information on some remaining rebellious factions, we didn’t anticipate that you would meet that kind of resistance, that they would have the resources. We’re sorry Az, we never meant for any of this to happen.”
“And what exactly is my current situation, Rhysand? What do you have to apologise for?” Azriel’s voice was low and dangerous. Amren snorted at the display, reaching for her wine glass. He expected a scathing remark, but it never came as Rhys shot her a look, and in a rare moment of deference she adhered as he implored her to remain silent.
“The female that was in the house earlier-“
“The thief.” Azriel interrupted.
“No,” Feyre cut in before Rhys could continue. “Her name is Y/N, and she’s your mate Az. The situation,” Feyre seemed to find describing it as such distasteful, but she continued. “Is that she is pregnant, with your child. That’s why we’re sorry, if we knew how dangerous it would be we never would have asked you to go alone.”
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Three brothers for three sisters, that was what Azriel had always thought about, always dreamed. The cauldron blessing him with undeniable proof that, though not blood-related, he and his brothers were three equal parts in the eyes of fate. He’d wanted that, seeing how happy they were in their relationships filled him with bone-deep envy. Observing from the sidelines as Rhys and Feyre prepared for the new addition to their family with vigour, as Cassian and Nesta had danced around each other in slowly shrinking circles. The other halves of their souls. That should have been him and Elain, never mind the mockery of the bond Vanserra thought they had. Azriel knew it was a mistake, a sick joke that would all work out in the end because there was no other way it could be. Three brothers for three sisters.
He wanted it all. A house on the outskirts of the city, filled with the sweet scent of Elain’s baking and made beautiful by the flowers she cultivated in their gardens. Filled with sunlight and happiness, somewhere to retreat from the darkest corners of his life. He’d dreamed of that life in the secret hours of the dawn, of a future where the issues of Feyre’s pregnancy had been resolved and perhaps their home was filled with the noise of children.
Now he had awoken in a future where he had those things, a mate, an unborn babe on the way, only to find it wasn’t with whom he desired. Elain, whom he had woken in this world for, who had been so tender in his first moments of consciousness, who had kissed him back. Azriel couldn’t imagine choosing to build that life with anyone else.
A/N - Phew! I know, the angst was real. I promise it will get better, but there's definitely a long way to go here! Part three is in the works, not sure when it will be finished but hopefully it won't be too long.
Tag list: @kalulakunundrum @impossibelle @we-were-beautiful @going-through-shit @mulansaucey @sv0430 @naturakaashi @amygdtjhddzvb @airstrip-0 @acourtofsmutandstarlight @myheartfollower @whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @valencia-rou @amysangel @furiousbooklover @phoenixgurl030 @imnotsiriusyouare @i-am-infinite
#azriel x oc#azriel x reader#azriel x female!reader#elain x azriel#azriel shadowsinger#azriel acotar#acotar series#acotar x reader
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As someone who's been a dedicated Scooby fan their whole life, I have to tell toy that I would genuinely watch the heck out of a more adult Scooby series if it was made the way you described it.
That was my reblog, not my description, but I, too, would watch the shit out of that series!
My "adult Scooby-Doo" is called The Shadow of Spindrift House, and it's very queer and cosmic.
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sunday snippet
thank you @spindrifters @kaaaaaaarf @vajazzly @sommerregenjuniluft and @wanderingdonut for the tags ✨
been a minute since we checked in on love me 'til my lips turn blue:
Regulus drops the box off at 7:00am on a Tuesday – the very last of Sirius’s things from the dank, dusty basement of Grimmauld Place.
Hastily clad in the same black mesh shirt, jeans and boots he’d discarded in a pile at the foot of his and Remus’s bed the night before, Sirius crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, hoping he looks suitably miffed at the ungodly early wake-up call. “You couldn’t have just thrown it away?”
“It’s not mine to get rid of. Everything in here is yours.” His brother stands on the front porch dressed in simple gray khakis, a light blue button down and shiny black loafers. He looks more like someone on their way to a Young Republicans mixer than to a morgue, but Sirius — noting the uncharacteristic rumple of his hair and the bruise-blue shadows under his eyes, the true badges of his office – chooses to withhold that particular observation.
“Reg, we spent two weeks going through that house top to bottom. I already pitched everything that belonged to me.”
“Well, you missed these things.”
“Well, I don’t want any of it.”
“Well, neither do I.”
Sirius huffs, running a hand through his own shock of jet black hair before unceremoniously scooting the box along the rough concrete stoop with the toe of his boot.
“Look, do whatever you want with them. Between rotations and getting the house ready to sell, I’ve got enough on my plate already,” Regulus says curtly.
“Right.” Guilt catches in Sirius’s chest, prickling and threatening to force its way up his throat and precipitate a larger conversation that neither of them have the desire or energy for at the moment. He swallows it down. “How are those going? Patients treating you nicely?”
“They tend not to be chatty, as a rule.” Allergic to a bit as always, his brother.
“Checks out.” Sirius sucks the brisk morning air in through his teeth, hoping to salvage the interaction and avoid another month-long cold shoulder. “Well, I hope you’re able to make time for some fun every now and then. You’re still young, despite your best efforts.”
“Between two autopsies a day, a capstone presentation for the Forensic Odontology symposium next month, and closing on the house, I’ll see where I can pencil it in.”
“Mmm. Freaky.”
“Don’t be crude.”
Sirius grins. “I support whatever deviance you get up to on your own time, assuming all parties are consenting.”
Not bothering to dignify that with an answer, Regulus turns and heads to his car.
Sirius hoists the box from the ground and calls out to his brother’s retreating figure. “Still on for dinner next week?”
“Yes. Tell Remus I’m looking forward to seeing him,” Regulus replies before closing the driver’s side door with a bit more force than necessary.
“Love you too,” Sirius sighs, waving him off. “Asshole.”
tagging: @achilleslikespeas @strezzlecki @lemndrps @titstraction
#this IS still the wolfstar sex tape fic but I couldn't resist a little bit of bickering black brothers#fic: love me 'til my lips turn blue#wolfstar#sirius black#regulus black#kels writes
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For the ask game: 61. your favorite horror novel (scary, creepy, etc. along those lines if horror isn’t your thing 🙂)
Oooooh ok, I can do this lol. (I love horror.)
Ok, no, I can not do this lmao. Gotta list multiple options because I am incapable of just picking one 🤷🏻♀️
My favorite that I've read this year so far is either Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield or maybe Silver Nitrate by Silvia Moreno-Garcia.
My fave YA options I don't see people talk about too often are Sawkill Girls by Claire Legrand, The Girl From the Well by Rin Chupeco and Clown in a Cornfield by Adam Cesare.
Fave I think is a little underrated: Cackle by Rachel Harrison. Oh and also In the Shadow of Spindrift House and Into the Drowning Deep (and it's prequel, Rolling in the Deep) by Mira Grant (aka Seanan McGuire).
Also, I have to shout out Carmilla by J. Sheridan Le Fanu, A Dowry of Blood by S.T. Gibson, and The Coldest Girl in Coldtown by Holly Black for vampire stories that aren't sweet, lovey romance.
And my fave middle grade horror right now is probably the Small Spaces series by Katherine Arden.
🥲 I could go on but I'm going to rein it in here lol
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WIP Ask Game
RULES: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.
I was tagged by @critterfloozy
Okay so I've been on vacation all weekend and I'm trying to come back to writing and it is DIFFICULT, so I figure talking about writing helps.
Keep in mind that all I am currently working on is YCDHN and this will continue until at least May. I have other LitMoR stories I wanna write (they are included in here) and those will probably be the ones most likely to be worked on when YCDHN is over, but who knows? I might take a break and deal with some of these other fics.
This is by no means my entire wip folder. I have a HUGE document with hundreds of ideas. These are just the ones that I have either started or have enough plotted that I could feasibly talk about them.
They are also ALMOST all CR fic, because the majority of my followers are here for that. there are exceptions.
you can't deny high noon
seeking an original sin
by a spindle's bright end
the song is not the singer, child; the singer is the song
honey hides the taste of poison
full of poison, sweet as secrets
found a fate he didn't quite intend
a happy ever after left to sour and turn to dust
in the dark, where nothing grows
the path down to the water is all tangled up in debts
where the sky is small
where shadows leave their stain
let this darkness be rejected
the melting point of the soul
but dying isn't hard
a bridge and not a goal
the vengeance and the shame
wicked girls saving ourselves
filled with pretty poison that will set your soul to rot
and the absinthe and the wormwood are the lost years creeping in
you know that all the heroes are gone
the sky lights up with fire
these half-hidden lacerations won't be healed by incantations
a hand to guide them down the primrose path
no judges here, just wicked men
we build our homes on the water and then we wonder why the flood rolls in
they weave their wicked webs among the spindrift and the rot
there isn't a past, there's only the present flowing into the future
the flower in the shadow of the hanging tree
you can't keep the ghosts out (when you're the one who's the haunted house)
not your love to slaughter
and he gives me to my end
i am obviously not tagging 32 people. i think everyone i know has been tagged anyway. if you have not been tagged, GO FORTH.
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Everything that's loved lives.
-- In The Shadow Of Spindrift House, Mira Grant (Seanan McGuire)
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In the Shadow of Spindrift House
In the Shadow of Spindrift House
This is one that’s been giving me all kinds of trouble writing a review for. It’s one that I really enjoyed reading, but that is really hard to talk about without risking serious spoilers. Obviously something I want to avoid there. This one’s courtesy of netGalley. Here’s Mira Grant’s In the Shadow of Spindrift House. Enjoy!
Straight lines don’t exist in nature. There is no place for them among…
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#book review#In the Shadow of Spindrift House#Lovecraftian Horrors#Mira Grant#Seanan McGuire#Tympest Books
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Grief is a beast made of teeth and claws and misery. I never needed anything else in my closet or under my bed: grief was more than terrifying enough.
Mira Grant, In the Shadow of Spindrift House
#Q:#mira grant#in the shadow of spindrift house#grief#monsters#misery#sadness#monster under the bed#book quotes#books
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"The ghosts which walk here are older and less forgiving than any childhood.dream could dare to be."
-Mira Grant, In the Shadow of Spindrift House
#in the shadow of spindrift house#mira grant#book quote#book talk#booklr#book#library book#horror#currently reading
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#107 Strange Beasts of China by Yan Ge (2006), translated by Jeremy Tiang (2021), read August 1-2, 4.0/5.0⭐
#108 Mrs Death Misses Death by Salena Godden (2021), read August 2-3, 5.0/5.0⭐
#109 Creatures of Passage by Morowa Yejidé (2021), read August 3-5, 4.5/5.0⭐
#110 My Real Children by Jo Walton (2014), read August 5-6, 5.0/5.0⭐
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#117 A Ghost in the Throat by Doireann Ní Ghríofa (2020), read August 23-24, 3.5/5.0⭐
#118 In the Shadow of Spindrift House by Mira Grant (2019), read August 26-27, 4.5/5.0⭐
#119 Kingdom of Needle and Bone by Mira Grant (2018), read August 27, 5.0/5.0⭐
#120 Time Is a Mother by Ocean Vuong (2022), read August 27, 5.0/5.0⭐
#121 Grief Is the Thing with Feathers by Max Porter (2015), read August 28, 5.0/5.0⭐
#122 You Have the Right to Remain Fat by Virgie Tovar (2018), read August 28, 3.5/5.0⭐
#123 In Praise of Wasting Time by Alan Lightman (2018), read August 29, 3.5/5.0⭐
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Reading challenge update!
52 Books in 52 Weeks Reading Challenge
Prompt #2: Featuring an inheritance
In the Shadow of Spindrift House
#Bookish#BooksBooksBooks#BookLove#Bookstagram#BookInstagram#BooksOfInstagram#BookLover#Reading#Bookworm#BookNerd#BookPhotography#Literature#Instabooks#BookBlogger#ReadersOfInstagram#readingchallenges
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Since I read Mira Grant's (Seanan McGuire) In the Shadow of Spindrift House, I've had this song stuck in my head. It's an AMAZING book.
Also, physical copies of In the Shadow of Spindrift House are still available and they're signed!
Here at Subterranean Press.
But it's a limited run so get it while available.
#Mira Grant#Seanan McGuire#Metallica#Lovecraftian#Is the best#Seananstar#In the Shadow of Spindrift House
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hello i finished reading in the shadow of spindrift house recently and i wanted to say thank you for writing it
Thank you for reading it! It's not one of my highest-profile works, and I sometimes worry it gets a little bit forgotten.
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