MY SOUL IS UP FOR SALE
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dyre.bsky.social
MY SOUL IS UP FOR SALE
@dyre.bsky.social
1.1K followers 440 following 7.1K posts
Sad monster and coffee gremlin what writes about uncomfortable subjects and fantastical things that lurk in dark places.
|| A PIECE OF MY SOUL: books2read.com/WealdandWen ||
|| More pieces: books2read.com/AmberReinke ||
|| https://ko-fi.com/amberreinke ||
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dyre.bsky.social
MY SOUL IS UP FOR SALE @dyre.bsky.social · Jan 2
Do you like #horror, #darkfantasy, epic tales of terror and dread? Perhaps words you have to look up the definition of (perse is a color I swear)? How about characters almost constantly in peril? Blood-sucking trees? Hungry shadows?

Then I have good news!

>.>

books2read.com/b/WealdandWen
Cover for Weald and Wen featuring simple golden art of trees and mushrooms beset by shadowed claws
Reposted by MY SOUL IS UP FOR SALE
infinitescream.bsky.social
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH
February 6, 2026 at 10:11 AM
Reposted by MY SOUL IS UP FOR SALE
infinitescream.bsky.social
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH
February 6, 2026 at 7:11 AM
dyre.bsky.social
Okay one more and then I'll go do something else. This is from a #horror short story I am working(hahaha) on.

It is a bit gross. Probably. Maybe? My metric is broken.
More they took of her, fingers slipping so easily through her gown, her skin. As mist they passed into her, where they squirmed and cooed in the hot recessed of her muscles. Deeper and deeper, writhing in her marrow. In her. All of them. Three she had seen but more flowed from the moist loam at her feet. More and more and more swam through air and terror to press their mists into her skin. To share their ice and steal her heat. While she wailed, words choked for thin fingers thrusting out of her throat. Ones which curled to grip her jaw and pull and pull. And pull. Squelching agony ripped with the skin, crackling terror with the bone. Yet as all of her was wrenched wide and wet...she did not bleed. Became no ragged mess on the forest floor. Instead she splashed. Skin and flesh and haggard bone splashed as murky green as the river she woke near. Where it flowed to...without her. "Hello, hello, hello," the others whispered, freed of her bones and standing with her, beside her, arms out to gesture at what had been her. Her what. Her body? Her life? Who was she without the flesh, the bone, the blood and skin?
February 6, 2026 at 9:25 AM
dyre.bsky.social
Okay you're also getting a #horror flash fiction.
She disappeared on a Tuesday. Everyone knew about the creatures. They haunted gray skies and washed out light, only ever a shade or two darker than their surroundings. Docile things, never doing more than slithering through the gray and moaning on occasion. Right there in the periphery they played, and stayed. As long as you didn't look directly at them. If you did...well, you wouldn't remember after. Nor would any remember you. Unless they saw it take you. Like I did. I saw her run outside that day. On a cool gray evening, windy and washed of color. Didn't know her name, never will, but I knew why she did it. Why she looked directly at the biggest one, the thing taking up the sky. It wasn't the first cloudy day she'd done it and I can't say why they didn't take her on any other, but she was determined to be taken that time. I'd seen them take her son too, he weren't even looking at them but to a plane flying erratic through them. Big smoky hand broken the clouds and scooped him right up. Not a sound but her screaming at the window, running out to beg it to take her too. Got her husband a few seconds later, when he came out to scream with. But it left her. I saw it all... through a mirror. Not direct, see, good thing to keep in mind. She was alone all at once and they wouldn't take her. Nevermind how she stared right at them, how she cursed and flailed and stomped. Chased the clouds to keep on them even. Didn't matter. She wasn't wanted. Not until she was. Until she was desperate and starving, choking on sorrow. When she came with tears dry and heart shattered. I was on the porch, not watching them dance in the clouds and poke at trees through my little mirror when she fell out of her front door and stumbled down the steps to the walk. A dead thing she was, shambling slow and weak and still she filled with rage when she reached the asphalt. Bellowing up to the clouds. "Come down here and face me, you coward!" The biggest tilted the smoke gray of its silhouette, blinking empty eye holes as every other gathered close and tight, blotting out... everything. Dim and cold the world became, dim and cold and quiet. Not a bird, a car, a human voice or ethereal moan broke through their blackened bulk. My own breath came and went in utter quiet, body frozen to my deck chair. Its hand descended, wider than the street, longer than sense it devoured the neighborhood and filled my lungs with cinnamon smoke. Choking, soundless and still I could see but black on black on black. When it cleared she was gone, as were the clouds... Next they rolled in, no shadows brimming with shape and moaning haunted them. She disappeared on a Tuesday, taking the world as we'd known it with her, and no one remembers but me.
February 6, 2026 at 9:17 AM
dyre.bsky.social
The screaming will continue until morale improves.
February 6, 2026 at 9:12 AM
Reposted by MY SOUL IS UP FOR SALE
infinitescream.bsky.social
AAHHHHHHHH
February 6, 2026 at 9:11 AM
dyre.bsky.social
Apparently it means torturing you with snips from #WakeandGlare. Have sad tree and spooky shadows.
Mountainous eyes a fading glimmer on the horizon, Delgrij stood yet at the window, branches clutching bag to chest and sill to stomach. Quiet, he begged, a single breath of quiet... True, his woods never were, but they were a known chaos. A soothing din through his leaves and tendrils. The cheln offered no such comforts. It was alien, it and those teeming within, their fear and panic twitching through knotholes and reminding him evermore of all he lost. Fauns keened with piercing fresh agony while doe and stag alike wept along. Some muttered and paced, others pounded soft fur into hard inner shell, anger cracking old wounds. Orders were barked and heeded above it all while the squelch, slap and sizzle of residual Swell dissolving from gargantuan flippers sang in competition with raucous birdsong outside. Even the cheln whimpered loud and low for the sting of Wake and captain. Worse played beneath it all, a dirge groaning deep and starving, their shimmering scales a flicker along choppy waves promising to wrench more ichor from his insides. No. There would be no quiet in that beast. No comfortable silence to absorb the horror of the past turns at a reasonable pace. Instead they raked. Every one. As vicious thorns they tore through bark and flesh and smooth heartwood to ravage his senses and drop him to a floor too warm and breathing. Clutching bag and pebble tighter, curling into himself, Delgrij stained its yellows red as all those horrors leaked thick and aching from his eyes. Horrors yet ravaging the Spine as starving shadows thick and wet with offal, glistening for all they tore, all they chewed and lost to chittering laughter. So many hot meals screamed for them, fled from them, hid in shells too thin and cracked to bar them. They were delectable treats, if their Breath could never match the feast their shadows ached for. The feast the largest of their bulk sunk into the mourning lands to sup. The feast they could taste through clinging tendrils, swelling them with evermore hunger. Such hunger it leaked in streams from their mouths, blood-tinged for all they devoured. While deeper in the woods, far beyond the scar their little bites ran to--seeking refuge they would never find--more shadows grew. More and more. Fresh dark to add to their own, fresh teeth to bite, fresh mouths to feed. Yes, they were missing the grand feast in those wisping woods, offered but hints of its impossible taste...but they would join for the banquet. Together they would grow and grow until no Light could sear them, no sea dissolve them. Until the Heart itself trembled for their size, their hunger.
February 6, 2026 at 9:08 AM
dyre.bsky.social
Good morning, gay critters in my phone (don't try to lie to me, I see your posts) it is 2am and I have made the terrible mistake of deciding to stay awake all night.

I am, of course, making this your problem.

Are we ready to dance? (I don't know what this means I just like dancing ice bear)
a cartoon of a polar bear dancing in a room with people
Alt: a cartoon of a polar bear dancing in a room with people
media.tenor.com
February 6, 2026 at 9:05 AM
Reposted by MY SOUL IS UP FOR SALE
infinitescream.bsky.social
AAAAAAAAHHHH
February 6, 2026 at 5:43 AM
dyre.bsky.social
So, I dunno what other #authors write about sexual assault as the violent and terribly thing it is but a little heads up; Bookshop(.org) seems to be marking it as 'erotic' content and blocking it from their ebook releases.
February 6, 2026 at 5:40 AM
Reposted by MY SOUL IS UP FOR SALE
infinitescream.bsky.social
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH
February 6, 2026 at 3:41 AM
dyre.bsky.social
I managed to write a bit today. They weren't the words I am supposed to be writing but I've accepted that I will have an erotic novel about a vampire trucker and the incubus he thinks he's rescuing drafted before anything on my list.

The more I fight the more it yells, so I better just write it.
February 6, 2026 at 3:06 AM
dyre.bsky.social
I have 'save' as synonym from #Hitch and it is naughty, #WIPSnips so...beware. >.>

I was going to try a setup as explanation but you know what I don't have that in me so enjoy being confused I guess.
Desire burst from her fingertips to seep and shiver as she caressed his cheek. "Mm, you will call me that again...while we see just how trained you are." Ignatius was no stranger to the game at hand. If not for his upbringing demanding knowledge and experience in all of man's games, Melodia delighted in humiliating him for time uncounted before putting him out on his new assignment. Never with her own hands, of course, humiliation was imp work—or it wasn't as embarrassing. She took her promotion from fieldwork to handler far too well, insisting he call her 'Mistress' whenever they spoke. But the mistress tending him now did not play how he expected. After fetching a leash and latching it to his collar, she broke the rules. In such games the women in command tended not to touch anything reminding them of what made their pet a man. Save to hurt him, perhaps. Plays of power aside the idea was to make him what he wasn't. To enjoy forcing him to act, even to believe after a time, that he was something else than his body suggested. So no touching, no teasing, no acknowledging at any point that what hung between his thighs was there. The corrupter at his back, however, did touch. With leash taut, wrapped tight around her fist, she set her other firmly on his thigh and bent to cover him. To lick and nibble his ear as she ran her hand higher, sliding to tease above the white lace panties she'd put him in. Groping, stroking, ever careful to keep above the cotton and lace.
February 5, 2026 at 10:09 PM
dyre.bsky.social
Bookshop is taking quite a bit to accept #WealdandWen and #Infog as ebooks... which has me wondering if they actually check for keywords or something to denote content.

>.>

<.<

They won't make it if they do.
February 5, 2026 at 5:03 PM
dyre.bsky.social
It's fascinating when depression reminds you of how much you love writing... by not letting you fucking do it.
February 5, 2026 at 6:44 AM
Reposted by MY SOUL IS UP FOR SALE
infinitescream.bsky.social
AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
February 5, 2026 at 6:11 AM
dyre.bsky.social
Writing is less like a journey and more like being shanghaied by your subconscious.

You may not enjoy the places it takes you... but you're going anyway.
February 4, 2026 at 11:47 PM
dyre.bsky.social
Draft2Digital is partnering with Bookshop(.org) to release ebooks there, so you'll soon be able to get most of my stuff there and support your local book stores. ^.-

It won't allow erotica in ebook format for some reason, so no horny clown but the nonbinary monsters and their knifeplay made it in.
February 4, 2026 at 10:28 PM
Reposted by MY SOUL IS UP FOR SALE
jldurona.com
Thanks, #HorrorWritersChat. I'm late to the party thanks to work, but I'm here!

My website is down while I change hosts, but you can check out my spooky tween books wherever books are sold: books2read.com/bergesisters

I also have a Ko-fi page set up to fund a Freewrite 🖤

ko-fi.com/jldurona/goa...
February 4, 2026 at 9:19 PM
Reposted by MY SOUL IS UP FOR SALE
trishcwilson.bsky.social
Great #HorrorWritersChat, Mary!

If you'd like to read "The Oily", which my original publisher described as "one of the most disturbing horror stories we’ve ever published", it appears in "It Calls From The Veil: An Anthology of Paranormal Horror". Here's the link:

www.amazon.com/Calls-Veil-A...
February 4, 2026 at 8:14 PM
Reposted by MY SOUL IS UP FOR SALE
frolicpress.bsky.social
Thank you, @marywyrd.bsky.social !

Frolic Press has launched with a special edition of Fritz Leiber's 'Conjure Wife' featuring two essays by @ramseycampbell.bsky.social
Available for pre-order wherever books are sold. More information is here: frolicpress.ink/Conjure-Wife/

#HorrorWritersChat
February 4, 2026 at 8:16 PM
Reposted by MY SOUL IS UP FOR SALE
anna-orridge.bsky.social
Thanks so much, Mary.
As I said earlier, I don't tend to linger on interiors. But all the buildings in Phengaris languish under a kind of greasy, drab suburban malaise.
The problem is, what exists in the way of green space is far more sinister.
#HorrorWritersChat
payhip.com/b/58paC
February 4, 2026 at 8:43 PM
dyre.bsky.social
I don't have the energy to participate today but I'm sharing the promo thread (and will reblog qps I find >.>) so others can go see the awesome authors what did. Loves you, #horrorwriterschat, thank you for existing.
marywyrd.bsky.social Mary Wyrd (she/her) @marywyrd.bsky.social · 1d
Thank you for attending #HorrorWritersChat and sharing your horror with us.

Once you’ve answered the questions, it’s time to share your stuff!

It's promo time.

Let’s also uplift each other and reshare what we see.
---

Join us again next Wednesday...but don't be a stranger.
THAT’S IT FOR THIS WEEK. There is no algorithm here, so visibility depends on engagement with others. Answer the questions, use the hashtag, share each others stuff and comment on their posts. FINALLY. Have you got something to sell or shout about? Share those promos and links now. See you next time! #HorrorWritersChat - Background composite image of abandoned interior rooms with a purple filter. On either side of the opening to the next room, a pair of shadowy hands presses against the walls. Or are they pressing against your screen?
February 4, 2026 at 8:58 PM
dyre.bsky.social
From the thing I'm not supposed to be writing.
#WIPSnips #Hitch
Day in and day out Ignatius walked highways and old country roads and hidden back streets, all connected, all traveled by various fiends and friendlies alike. Despite said highways connecting all the world, he was relegated to those in the United States, which he found especially cruel on Melodia's part. For it meant boundaries. A cage. Ignatius didn't care for cages. As for the highway itself well, that he quite enjoyed. Few could walk them as he could, that was a gift for demons...and cats... ghosts... vampires and once he swore he saw mothman. Humans, however, could not perceive the connected nature of the lonely roads. They merely traveled them in their own time and place while Ignatius watched all of them at once, waiting for the red glow of listed sin to call him. A list. There was always a list. None may take a soul without a mark and Ignatius' job was to mark souls tainted by lust. Not any lust, mind, most were safe to pursue their desires freely, but if they harmed another in the process... A list. A never-ending list. With their sin glowing so bright he could spot them a mile away. Precisely one mile. One burning at him as he lamented his new position, and the ones the approaching soul would surely insist he take. One simply listed as 'killer'. It was bloodied, that soul. Leaking out of the battered station wagon in dark, wicked reds, staining the asphalt behind it.
February 4, 2026 at 7:13 PM
dyre.bsky.social
I've never seen this and it was magical. Thank you.
February 4, 2026 at 3:02 AM