Phorm Q. BottleBottom @Phorm@dragon.style

Hello there, Fediverse!

I'm Phorm. I'm a vixen, and a chemist, and most importantly: I'm a genie. I spend a little too much time puttering about the internet, and a non-zero amount of time being shamelessly horny on main (Though admittedly a lot of it can be crypto-horny).

As I sometimes discuss sensitive topics, I'm a bit wary about followers. If you'd like to follow me, please note:

1.) Please be over 18 (I lean NSFW)

2.) Please send me a DM first, particularly if we have a previous connection

3.) Please note that I am BEYOND genie obsessed and if you follow me you will be getting a face full of GENIE.

#Introduction

Honestly

How can anyone be okay anymore?

A reminder for you all today that it is always ethical to Pirate, and viciously so, from Netflix.

✨✨❤️❤️✨✨

You're great and you deserve to have a wonderful day.

✨✨❤️❤️✨✨

*Me, rocking back and forth on my rocking chair on the porch*

"You kids wanna hear how Happy Days eventually caused the emergence of phenomenally huge, lurid, hyper dong as a mainstay of furry porn?"

It wasn't supposed to be like this, she told herself.

Some disheveled and eroding motel room. It always was, these days. Cracked walls and grungy bathrooms. But at least it served their purposes.

She took a drag on her cigarette, leaning back in the chair, sneakers on the table in front of her. Her eyes stayed fixed on the door. So did her shotgun.

She kept the barrel aimed steadily, gripped in her crimson-wrapped hand. Her silken Kumpur were frayed at this point, but they still did their job. Same as the rest of her.

A long exhale of smoke lingered long enough to reveal the setting sun, sickly and orange, setting behind the cracked blinds.

It'd be dark soon.

She was still and silent out of necessity - listening. Watch was always her duty. Watch was always what she assigned to herself. Her tired jacket and well-worn pants told stories of her duties, each one spoken in the language of stains and tears. Her shirt, which loudly proclaimed "Transgress", was where she showed her fashion.

Idly, she wished she was in the bar again. Operations such as these were so much easier there. Community felt possible there. It was safe. It was home.

She had expected that they'd kick down her door. That goons in gasmasks would bludgeon the bouncer and storm in with guns drawn. She expected that the dark shadow would stroll through the chaos and confront her on a busy Saturday night.

She expected a last stand. Even in defeat, she had thought she'd have one last shining, brilliant moment of defiance.

Instead they just raised the rent so high she had no choice. The city had a thousand and one ways to force them out beyond that. They had tools to smother them economically, it turned out, and that was so much more acceptable.

The community within was scattered. Each was displaced from their sisters, broken apart. They were driven into a society that had a million "reasonable" excuses for hate. A million reasons why their poverty and pain were their own fault. Where their existence was something they had to /debate/.

She cradled the shotgun in her grasp, keeping it leveled at the door of the motel room as she sucked slow on burning ash.

She still had a responsibility. She still had a future.

In the back room behind her, she could hear the work going on. The scared new girl, no idea who she was. She was confused, lost in plain sight. Hidden even from herself. Just like they all had been for so long. She had asked for help, through the back channels. So they were there to give it to her. Show her that she wasn't alone.

They'd give all they could to help. But the one thing they couldn't give her...

Time. Time was what had been stolen from them all. So many other things had been as well, of course. But the theft of time... That left wounds that could never heal. That's why, despite the dangers, they still helped anyone they could, whenever they could. Why they always showed people who they could be, rather than who they were expected to be.

It was an act of defiance, claiming back what time one still had ahead of them.

She sighed as she breathed out another cloud of smoke, eyes still on the door. It all felt so wrong. There was supposed to be celebration, and community, and brilliant joy. Euphoria and laughter, safe and bright. Solidarity in rejection, a kind of irreverent reclamation that rendered society's judgement irrelevant - turning it to their strength. Embracing their unjust rejection as identity, an identity they could forge into a gleaming weapon to defend and define themselves.

Even this new girl, where would she go? They'd tell her that she wasn't alone, that there were others like her. They would show her what she could be, what she actually was. They would tell her that there was strength in reclamation, that if society would call her a monster, then there were monsters who would love and cherish her.

They would tell her all this, and then leave. They couldn't bring her in. They had no bar anymore. No commune. No space to call their own.

She was supposed to be helping bring them all together, strengthening them all, she told herself...

Instead, here she sat. Keeping watch in a filthy motel, while a scared and confused girl became aware of her truth for the first time amid the roaches and mildew.

Poor girl. She was about to embark on a difficult journey. A painful one. A dangerous one. But such was their lot, it seemed.

Better to earn that pain in struggle for your own truth. The alternative was a pain that wasn't yours. A pain that killed joy, and color, and light. You could get numb to that pain, but you'd never be _alive_ that way.

That's why she did this still. Why she was there in that motel. Not on the dancefloor. Not behind the bar, mixing drinks. Not celebrating with her sisters. No, instead, she was sitting here with a shotgun ready to destroy anyone who'd interrupt. Anyone who'd stick their nose where it didn't belong. Anyone looking to steal more time.

Even if they were tattered and frayed, Vect still had purpose.

And she still had dreams.

Want be smol soft genie girl

Want curl up in bottle

Do not want work and existential dread

Today I was party to a disagreement surrounding the term "Fren"/"Frens".

My understanding was that this term was co-oped by alt-right assholes, but I was told (emphatically) that such was incorrect.

To those of you in the know: What's the take on this term? Is there a citable source, like the SPLC?

"Breaking news today: Many are deeply concerned about the ongoing rise of hyper inflation. Many competing interests are penetrating deeply, depositing vast, seemingly unthinkably large infusions. Assets continue to rise and swell as a result."

"Numerous key players are keenly aware of these turgid, overwhelming circumstances, attending HUGE staff meetings for hours on end - navigating hostile takeovers, or even more friendly oral agreements, in order to direct the flow of unstoppable, incoming production."

"As many find themselves delving into even backdoor exchanges in an effort to increase their holdings, one must consider that hyper inflation is, for now, here to stay."

*Swivels in her seat to face camera 3.*

"... Turning our attention to the economy, now..."

*Pressing my face up against the window, watching the crypto market implode catastrophically in real time*

Yes... Ha ha ha... YES!!

I realize that I am not much fun recently. Absent, and when found, moody and upset.

I apologize.

I'm in a dark place right now, and I don't quite know how to deal with the pain. Particularly not without causing indirect harm to people I care about. Please forgive me.

Work-wide Email: "Focus an Hour or Two on your Mental Health this month!"

Me, who has been having anxiety attacks all day: "OH, GEE, IT'S THAT EASY, IS IT???"

Wearing my hair in twintails today because even though I look awful it still makes me feel good.

Things are awful right now, but rather than bitch deeply, I will instead share another favorite commission of mine.

Here's a piece done by the illustrious @anthracite, where I've become her tropical genie granting her tropical wishes.

Very good thoughts I revisit frequently. And very good sizes, too ❤️

Someone just replied-all with "Please remove me from this email list" and then fifteen minutes later replied-all to THAT email with "My mistake please do NOT remove me from this email list" and I am _dying_ laughing.

ELECTRONIC MAIL

A comedic corporate farce in three acts

ACT I. The Company Wide Message
ACT II. The Reply All
ACT III. The Reply All, "Do Not Reply All"

Yes, I know I gush about this art often, as well as its inspiration.

But things recently have been awful and difficult, and I want to share good things instead.

Like this shot of me as a big-tiddy-bimbo-genie, by @/TeeRsDirtyTweet on Twitter.

In an effort to make things nicer, please enjoy this - One of my favorite commissions ever.

It's from BSB, and is based on the backglass to Gottlieb's pinball table "Genie", which I positively love (And have a shadowbox of). BSB absolutely nailed it.

Guest starring @xinjinmeng and @anthracite.

Art source: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/30376058/