Which Author Writes About Kindred Spirits And Haunted Houses?

My shelf is basically a small shrine to Lamb and Wolf — I’ve lost count of how many pieces of 'League of Legends' inspired art I've collected over the years. If you're after merchandise that features that iconic kindred-spirits artwork, start with prints and posters: artists on Etsy, Society6, and ArtStation often do gorgeous Lamb-and-Wolf illustrations (some are reimaginings, some stick close to the original skin art). I snagged a limited-run giclée print at a con once and it still lights up the corner of my room at night. Enamel pins, keychains, and stickers are everywhere and make for the easiest, wallet-friendly way to wear the aesthetic. Look for hard enamel pins of the mask motifs or little wolf silhouettes; they’re perfect on jackets or lanyards. For bigger displays, acrylic stands and mini-figurines from independent creators can capture that haunting duo in a cute desktop scale. There's also apparel — tees and hoodies printed with stylized kindred motifs — and specialized gear like mousepads and phone cases on Redbubble and TeePublic. If you want official stuff, check the Riot merchandise store and seasonal drops tied to 'League of Legends' events: they sometimes include champion art prints, apparel, or collector boxes. For something truly unique, commission an artist: a custom painting or a personalized enamel pin makes the artwork feel intimate. Just be mindful of licensing if you plan to resell. Either way, whether you go official, indie, or commission, there’s a ton to choose from for anyone obsessed with that Lamb-and-Wolf vibe.

There's something about the piano motif in 'Up' that still makes my throat go tight—it's like a small, perfectly honest diary about people who find each other and build a life out of tiny, shared moments. When I hear Michael Giacchino’s 'Married Life' I see two silhouettes moving through decades: birthdays, quiet mornings, the silly rituals that become a secret language. To me that score doesn’t just underscore love, it celebrates the way two people become mirrors and anchors for one another—true kindred spirits who understand the grammar of each other’s silences. I watched 'Up' late at night with a buddy who’d just moved back to town, and we both kept pausing the movie to talk about the tiny habits we missed in our old friends. The soundtrack threaded those conversations together: light piano, warm strings, a trumpet here and there, like threads pulling two people into the same tapestry. It’s the kind of music that makes ordinary scenes feel like confessions, perfectly capturing friendship across years and the quiet knowing that someone else shares your weirdness. If you want a soundtrack that feels like a handshake between souls, start there—then try pairing it with a playlist of late-night road songs and watch how the simple melodies open up old stories you forgot you had.

Every time I find a fanfic that really leans into that kindred-spirits energy, it feels like watching a missing scene of a show I love finally appear. I get drawn in because fanficgers do what canon often can’t: they take the quiet, electric moments—those stolen looks, shared trauma, or uncanny mirroring—and give them texture. On a late-night train ride I once read a fic that turned a single ambiguous line from 'Sherlock' into a decade-long friendship-rivalry arc; the writer used flashbacks, found-letters, and ritualized jokes to show how two people became mirrors for each other. That’s the core move: transforming subtext into lived, repeatable behavior that reads like history rather than speculation. Fanfic expands kindred-spirit relationships by filling gaps (childhood scenes, private rituals), stretching timelines (slow burns that span years), and experimenting with perspective (POV switches, unreliable narrators, or epistolary formats). Writers build microcanon—consistent little habits, catchphrases, scars, or inside jokes—that readers adopt. Over time those shared fanon elements circulate in meta posts and wikis until whole swaths of the community accept them as canonical enough to reference in other fics, art, or cosplay. Sometimes creators wink back: an Easter egg, a line that echoes a popular headcanon, or a comic panel that matches a fan image. That’s when fan labor subtly reshapes how a relationship is read. I love how this is both intimate and communal. You get personal, tender scenes—characters whispering the same joke years later—plus the noisy chorus of a fandom refining and amplifying what resonates. If you want to see it in action, look for fics that prioritize ritual and small repeated gestures; those are the breadcrumbs that make kindred spirits feel real, canonical, and impossible to forget.

There’s a movie that lives in my head as the ultimate cinematic version of two souls circling each other across timelines and lives: 'The Fountain'. It’s the kind of film that doesn’t hand you a neat explanation but instead layers imagery, music, and repeating motifs until you feel the characters are less like people and more like echoes of the same soul. Watching Hugh Jackman and Rachel Weisz play connected figures in three different but thematically linked narratives sold me on the idea of kindred spirits being literally and spiritually intertwined. I first saw it on a rainy weekend, half-asleep and half-wide-eyed, and its cello-driven score by Clint Mansell lodged into my chest like a heartbeat. Aronofsky treats romance as metaphysics here — not the glossy, tidy love story Hollywood usually serves, but a stubborn, aching attempt to bridge death, memory, and meaning. It’s messy, poetic, and sometimes maddening, but if you’re asking about a film that adapts the concept of kindred spirits into a supernatural romance rather than a simple ghost story, 'The Fountain' is a beautiful, risky pick. It doesn’t give you answers so much as the sensation of two people orbiting each other through time, which, to me, is exactly what that phrase should feel like.

There's a novel that still sneaks into my thoughts on slow evenings: 'The Time Traveler's Wife'. I picked it up on a whim while waiting for a late-night train and ended up sobbing quietly into my coat because of how tenderly it handles reunion after loss. Henry and Clare are, to me, those textbook kindred spirits — their bond stretches across impossible gaps in time, and every reconnection is soaked in the grief of what they can't keep. The book treats loss not as a single event but as a series of small absences that the two of them learn to meet again and again. Reading it felt like staring into a mirror of memory and longing. The structure jumps around — one chapter will be Henry's perspective, then Clare's, then a scene from their younger years — and that makes the reunions even more powerful because you constantly have the past and the present colliding. If you like adaptations, the TV version captures some of that ache, but the prose in the novel has this intimate, messy honesty that stuck with me. I recommend it when you want a story that shows how two people can be tethered to each other even when loss keeps pulling them apart; it's the kind of book that lingers in the corners of your days afterward.

I get what you mean by "kindred spirits" in a couple of ways, and I usually split my thinking into literal ghosts/spirits and the more metaphorical soulmate-y stories. If you mean literal supernatural companions and hauntings, my go-to studio names are Blumhouse and A24 — they’ve been the most consistent backers of intimate, creepy, low-to-mid budget projects that feel like they’re chasing the vibe of a close, eerie bond between people (or between people and spirits). Think of the unsettling intimacy in 'Hereditary' (A24) and the found-footage, closeness-of-fear in 'Paranormal Activity' (Blumhouse). If instead you mean stories about soulmates, twin flames, or those uncanny connections that feel supernatural but are really emotional, then streaming giants like Netflix and HBO keep snapping up and adapting novels and indie pitches. Netflix in particular has been buying the rights to lots of modern romantic/fantastical pieces and turning them into shows or films. Also, if you enjoy anime-style spirit stories, Studio Ghibli is basically the house of gentle, whimsical spirits — 'Spirited Away' is the poster child. So my short guide: for horror-tinged spirit tales look at Blumhouse and A24; for literary or serialized soulmate-type adaptations check Netflix/HBO; for animated, magical-spirit vibes look to Studio Ghibli. Personally, I love hopping between all of them depending on whether I want to be chilled, moved, or quietly enchanted.

Whenever I'm in the mood for those soulmate-or-supernatural vibes I start with the obvious streaming heavyweights and then wander into the niche corners. Big services like Netflix, Prime Video, Hulu and Max often carry a rotating mix of spirit-y dramas — think 'The Haunting of Hill House', or other ghost/soulmate-leaning shows — and they sometimes host international picks too. For a title named 'Kindred Spirits' specifically, the Travel Channel aired that paranormal series and Discovery+ is the streaming home that usually carries it, so I always check there first. Shudder is my go-to for curatorship when I want horror mixed with emotional ghost stories; they've got that carefully selected, spooky-but-heartfelt lineup. If you want Asian takes on kindred-spirit themes, services like Rakuten Viki, Viu, iQiyi and Netflix are where I've found K-dramas like 'Guardian: The Lonely and Great God' (aka 'Goblin') or Taiwanese series with ghostly soul threads. For anime, Crunchyroll and Funimation/Crunchyroll’s catalog have titles like 'Natsume's Book of Friends' and other spiritually themed shows. Don’t forget free and library-backed options: Tubi, Pluto TV, Kanopy and Hoopla sometimes host older supernatural dramas for free with ads or through your library card. Two practical habits that save me time: use JustWatch or Reelgood to search your country and set an alert, and check broadcaster apps (Travel Channel, BBC iPlayer in the UK, CBC Gem, SBS) for region-locked gems. If a show isn’t on any subscription you have, renting on iTunes/Google Play/Vudu is often cheaper than chasing a new subscription. I like to keep a short watchlist and a rainy-night queue of a few solid spirit stories — nothing beats that cozy, spine-tingly feeling when the lights are low.

Man, if you're picturing messy urban alleys, monstrous faces stitched to rotten feelings, and a crew of people who can see and punch negativity into submission, you're thinking of 'Jujutsu Kaisen'. I got hooked the way a late-night binge hooks you — one episode turned into a weekend, and I found myself pausing to scribble down character nicknames and episode numbers so I wouldn't lose track. The show leans on this neat idea that curses are born from human negativity, and the fighters (sorcerers) have to track, trap, and exorcise them — sometimes the curses are ancient, colossal things like Ryomen Sukuna, and sometimes they're petty, sad little spirits that still manage to be unsettling. What sold me beyond the fights was the cast. The protagonist's empathy, the teacher's swagger, and the slow reveals about why the world is so saturated with cursed energy made the stakes feel personal. If you like tight choreography and a soundtrack that punches you in the chest, MAPPA delivers: every showdown feels cinematic. For a softer contrast, I've jumped between 'Jujutsu Kaisen' and 'Natsume\'s Book of Friends' — two shows about spirits but with wildly different moods. If you want to start, watch Season 1 and then the movie 'Jujutsu Kaisen 0' — it gives a compact, emotional origin that hooked me even harder.