Bixby the Martian

(Originally posted here on July 1, 2025)  Chapter 3: Having to talk about my fucking feelings The stone had been smashed. There was a chunk of it sitting there, still. “Where’d the rest of the gravestone go?” I asked. “I think it’s all mixed in with the dirt,” Jacob said. “I thought they’d take it for evidence, but it was still here after the cops left. And the OSBI people, the first time they came out. Maybe whoever came out with the backhoe took it?” I nodded. “Possibly.” I drank some more water, and then knelt down next to the pile of dirt. It had rained a couple of times, and so it was mostly kind of a mound of not quite mud, but it also meant that digging around in it didn’t really give me any hints. If there’d been anything mixed in with the dirt, it was fine enough that I couldn’t figure out what it was. I also couldn’t find any bits of the gravestone around the edge, but I wasn’t willing to stick my whole arm in there and be certain. “What do you think?” Callahan asked. “I...

(Originally posted here on June 17, 2025)  Chapter 2- Actually do a Necromancy Callahan insisted we go back for his broken side mirror, which he fortunately found quickly enough that I didn't get too aggravated about the sideline, and then we headed to the gas station. By the time we got there, the sun was high in the sky, as the day heated up. My eye throbbed, and exhaustion was quickly catching up to me, so I headed in to put five bucks in the boys’ tank, and grab an energy drink. When I headed back out, Callahan was chatting with the boys, who'd already started fueling up. When I got to the truck, he pulled me into the conversation, even though I was kinda hoping I could just jump into the truck and ignore them. I'm not great with people, is the thing, they seemed like nice enough kids. “This is Miss Tabitha Greene, by the way. Tabitha, this is Jacob and Dylan Matthews.” He pointed to each kid. Jacob was the older one with pinky-peach hair, and Dylan was the younger one...

(Published on tumblr here on the same date roughly five minutes before this one)  Chapter 1: Call her a Necromancer I was on the porch sketching when Callahan showed up. Callahan works for the Council and investigates witchy doings. Mostly in the vein of ‘please lets keep the normies from trying to murder us all’, though that concern has gone down a TON in the internet era. You’d think it would be the opposite, right? Everybody has a camera, all the time. Surely they’d catch actual magic! Yeah. They do, all the fuckin time, and they call it something else. Or they do call it magic, and they’re called crazy. You've seen 'em. The internet is full of people who think giants or aliens built the pyramids, people who claim they see shadow people, or think their neighbor controls the cows, they just don't stand out. Anyway, work has dried up for Callahan and people like him, is my point. It's a much slower gig than it was back in the day. Is he a witch cop? Ehhhh... he’s the ...

( link to original post , posted on 11/15/2024) I was going through my folders looking for something and I ended up finding this poem? It’s from 2021 and I labeled it ‘this is a very stupid poem’ for some reason but when I read I was like… hold on… I don’t write a huge amount of poetry, and I’m thinking maybe I should do it more often. Anyway, this is about fatphobia, bad self image, and mentions some bloody/gory imagery, as well as inferences towards self harm (past tense), so mind your step (also if you enjoy this and wanna help me out, throw me a tip , if you’ve got something to spare) The Ugly Duckling Never Sat Right With Me when I was 12 I wanted to pop a pimple that ran so deep and large that all the fat in my body erupted out of it like a disgusting volcano I wanted to unzip my skin and step out of it bloody naked as a newborn and finally beautiful I was always told that if I would just lose weight I would be healthier I would be happier I would be real I could be oh so ...

Originally posted here on April 16, 2024:  writing-prompt-s : You were the caretaker for the mythical beasts of the royal family. Yesterday they decided to replace you with some incompetent noble, before kicking you out of the castle. You then spent the night in a nearby forest. However today you were awakened by the beasts who chose to follow you. I’m not good with people. I never have been. I’ve tried, but I’ve never been good with people. I’m always saying the wrong thing, and usually I don’t know what the wrong thing was until a lot later, until I’m thinking about what I said. In the town I grew up in, I was known for being simple. I don’t think I am, but I understand why they think that- I’m not good at making the words in my head match the words I say. But I am good with animals. Always have been. Lots of people are, I’m not special, or anything. Mam taught me. Animals speak their own language, and it’s a lot simpler to figure out. They’re not people, they don’t u...