A changeling named Phallus

by Silent Whisper

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, Changelings, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy, Sex
Length: 3282

Changelings have peculiar names. Some are more unfortunate than others.

Phallus didn't get to choose her name. She's the butt of so many jokes, it isn't funny. All she can choose is how she reacts. Will she shrink from the teasing, or will she stand tall and take it?

... yeah, I might have had too much fun with this.
Written in my existing changeling hive, Hive Quarry, which is featured in my upcoming fic A Change of Heart.
Written for Cynewulf's worldbuilding fanfiction contest.

Readers, there be dick jokes and worldbuilding. You have been warned.

Published 2017-12-14 05:30:07 UTC
Last updated 2017-12-14 05:30:07 UTC

For the record, she's not straight

“Hey, dickhead,” a drone sneers as he nudges me awake. Unfortunately, he rocks my hammock a little too hard, and I topple out of it with a yelp.

“That’s not my name, you love-drunk parasite,” I mumble sleepily back from where I’d faceplanted on the hard packed-earth floor. It’s a struggle to pick myself up off of it, but I manage, brushing myself off and fanning my wings. Mornings suck, especially in the delivery core, because we get the outstanding honor of waking up before everyling else.

At least we get coffee. I buzz my wings and descend unsteadily from the alcove I call home towards the tables. They’ve got coffee, tea, some strange herbal Zebra drink that I’m not brave enough to touch, and cocoa, all lined up and labeled. The one time they forgot the labels… yeesh, a bunch of us were literally bouncing off the walls, high on an overdose of double-strength Lovebrew espresso. Since then, I don’t touch the stuff. Coffee brewed with liquid love from an unnamed source… yeah, that’s risky, in so many ways.

“What’ll it be, Phallus?” another nymph asks me as she hands out plastic cups filled with caffeine concoctions. I point towards the regular over-sweetened brew, and she smiles as she hoofs it over. She’s probably the first and only ling that will say my name without snickering behind a hoof, and I appreciate it. I mean, I didn’t ask for a name. A note to the breeder lings: don’t name your grubs as a joke! Especially if they’re female!

But yeah, I’m totally over it. For a while, I used to try to get others to call me Phally, you know, like Ally or whatever, but it didn’t stick. The sad bit is, most lings still haven’t gotten past the fact that the wise-ass mother of mine thought a dick joke on a mare would be hysterical. I still haven’t heard the end of it.

“Hey, Phallus, glad to see you up!”

Speak of the love-drained husk of the devil. I groan and try to pointedly ignore the drone that’s sauntering up to me. A jagged grin splits his muzzle and I sigh at it. Sighing at it, of course, does nothing to make it go away.

“What do you want, Zyprex?” I hiss through my fangs, sipping my coffee. The rush of sugar does little to brighten my agitated mood, but every bit is appreciated.

The drone leers at me, chittering between snorts of giggles. “Ready to work hard, Phallus?” His grin, I notice, is crooked and lopsided. I hope he gets spinach and stuff stuck to his teeth during lunch and looks like an idiot for the rest of the day. Somehow, I doubt he’d mind as much as I would. He seems far too pleased with himself.

“Wow,” I say, rolling my eyes. Drones are the most immature little bugs. He’s acting like a freaking grub, I swear. “I’ve never heard that one before. Please, awe me more with your astounding wit.” I chug my coffee. Maybe if I crumple my cup into a ball I can throw it at him. There’s only a 50% chance he’d make a ‘touching your balls’ joke in response, so it could be worth it.

He takes a deep breath, and I decide to take my chances. I chuck the remains of my cup at him and walk off. I can hear him chortling behind me. Drones. Ugh, I’m glad I was born a nymph.

My hivemates may annoy me to pieces, but I do love my job. Thank the Mother I was born without claustrophobia, because being a deliveryling involves running in the web of tight tunnels running underneath the Hive. Most lings would find it boring, but I love what I do. I trot out of the entrance to the delivery core rooms, where we all sleep and eat together, and take in the view of Hive Quarry.

The Outskirts are beautiful in the mornings. I enjoy taking my time to enjoy them as I get ready to work. Around me, neon lights flicker on, casting the haphazardly misshapen buildings in a rainbow glow. The tubes themselves are filled with colorful and harmless mana, and it’s breathtaking to watch artisan lings work with neon, shaping them into anything you can imagine. My favorite sign flickers to life as I walk past it. It’s a changeling in a bubble bath, and the bubbles float above, bobbing up and down. Someday, I swear I’ll go in there and see what they sell, but not today. Today I work.

Around me, the relative silence is fading, replaced by the sounds of changelings opening up their shops. I prefer the quiet but I must admit, I’m also fond of the hustle and bustle of my siblings as they open their shops. One even waves cheerily at me as he props open a display case. Oooh, chitin flakes used as scale mail. If I were into collecting armor, I’d totally be all over that. It looks delicate, and like it took a long time to make. I bet it costs a fortune!

But on I walk, towards the Delivery Core building. It’s going to be a long day, I can feel it, but I don’t mind. It beats a lot of other jobs, and it’s all for the good of the Hive. The one thing I’m really dreading is interacting with my coworkers. Some of them are respectful enough, but others think my name is still the funniest thing since Pinkie Pie.

One ling walks up to me, a younger one, and I mentally brace myself. “Phallus?” she whispers, her head cocked. Aww, she must be new, I think. I try to give her my friendliest smile.

“Yes? Is there something I can help you with?” I ask politely, and she freezes up. Her cheeks flush, a dark magenta that I find adorable. No, no, not allowed to think that, don’t be a creep, Phallus!

She runs off towards the cubbies, hiding her face, and I sigh. She probably thought it was a cruel joke someling was playing on her. I wish it was, but I’m not going to let that bother me.

Hey Phallus, one of the nymphs, Nassik, calls to me through the hivemind as I head towards my cubby. Why’d your mom name you after a tool?

I try to grin as I snatch my vest and trot towards the entrance to the tunnels. Why, she named me after your mom’s best feature! I hope she can hear my satisfied smirk. Finally, I have a good comeback for that. She’s been teasing me for months with that line. I hope it was worth the wait. Her teasing is good-natured, thankfully. She repeats the same lame greetings over and over until I think up a decent response. It’s what friends do, I guess.

Wanna meet me after work, Phallus? Nassik asks. I can see her waving at me from inside the tunnels, her vest already glowing a cheery blue. I’ve got some new pictures of Rainbow Dash that I just HAVE to show off to someling!

Sure, I agree, waving back and watching her form disappear into the tunnels. She’s a Rainbowite, a huge fan of Rainbow Dash. I don’t really get it, I mean, Rainbow Dash is undeniably awesome, but her fangirling gets a little excessive at times. I shrug on my delivery vest and step into the tunnels. Rarity, though. Rarity is clearly the superior pony.

The tunnels are laid out underneath the city of the Hive in a crisscross pattern. They’re dark, silent as a graveyard, and cold. Thankfully, our vests are fur-lined and bright, and we run pretty fast. They’re made from spun plant fiber, which sounds uncomfortable but it’s treated with a chemical that ensures it doesn’t rub up against our chitin. The glow itself comes from some form of bioluminescent algae that feeds on something in the vest material. Or, at least that’s what the science lings said. All that means for me is that every so often I need to replace it or risk getting stranded in total darkness underneath a city of stone.

The tunnels are way too small to fly around, which means it’s the perfect job for smaller lings like me. And, down here, noling questions what my name is. All they care about is how quickly I can run deliveries. Which reminds me, until I get called on for a delivery, I might as well slow down to a walk to save my energy.

The hivemind guides me where I need to go. I set off at a sprint, away from the light of the tunnel entrances. When I was a little nymph, the dark used to scare me. I thought there were monsters waiting to jump out behind every corner, and I could’ve sworn that I could hear them breathing. It took me a while to get past my fears and to trust the hivemind, but I’m glad I did.

What keeps most lings away from doing this job is the quiet. There’s no gentle hum of wings, no clip-clop of hooves against packed earth and stone, no chittering of our spoken language. The only sounds we hear are the ones we make ourselves. Some delivery lings sing during their runs, and others try their hoof at voice acting. It’s amusing to hear their voices echo as they rush past in parallel tunnels, but the silence is actually my favorite part. It makes it easier to concentrate on the hivemind.

The hivemind. Oh, boy, where to begin. It’s like being in a cafe, and hearing a million calm conversations at once. They all kind of muffle together, until you try to concentrate on one. Then, it’s like eavesdropping, hearing little fragments of other ling’s lives. This one time, I listened as a ling ordered a custom-built bathtub for his burrow! I don’t know what he planned to do with it. He doesn’t have running water. Will he sit in it? Or build a nest in it? Or maybe he plans to store things inside of it. I have no clue, but the mental image of a drone curled up inside a bathtub with a plushie rubber duck made me giggle for hours.

Runner, your assignment is Hive Central, location 4X3H. I perk my ears and take off at a quick trot towards that zone. Since it’s in Hive Central, it’s probably bundles of paperwork. You will be transporting 2 medium packages. Wonderful. Those are a bit bulky, but I can carry them. The arrival location is Village, location 5S23B. Ah, good, the Village! I love bringing things there.

Down here, noling teases me, I ponder as I run. I’m truly just a voice in the hivemind. I could be anyling, as far as those above the tunnels are concerned. It’s nice, being anonymous for a while. It clears my head, and makes everything else more tolerable.

I listen in on a few conversations as I turn and race underneath the Hive that I call home. There’s nothing exciting going on at the moment. Most changelings are just waking up. A few of them fell out of bed, just like I did, but other than that, nothing much noteworthy happened. A couple have alarm clocks, and set them to play annoyingly perky music to wake them up. I can hear the tunes through their ears, and one of them gets stuck in my head. I’d sing along if I could stand my own singing voice.

I arrive at my destination, or, well, underneath it. My wings buzz as I fly straight up, neatly missing the door entrance by inches with my wings. I press a button, and a polite dinging noise sounds as they slide open, powered by mana. Personally, I find the whole system to be a waste of magic power, but most of the lings in Hive Central like the aesthetic.

A ling in a suit (really? Why would you wear a suit to work? Why would you wear clothes to work, if you don’t have to?) coughs politely as I trot up to her. I can see the parcels stacked neatly by her desk.

“Name?” she drones in a bored voice, not even looking up from the form she’s filling out. I put on a great big innocent smile. Oh, this ought to be good.

I wait for the nymph to pick up her tea and take a sip before answering. “Phallus.”

“I beg your pardon, young miss?” she manages to respond, coughing. Apparently, tea is not meant to be inhaled. Who knew?

My shit-eating grin grows a little wider. I hope she appreciates the variety I add to her day. “What? It’s not that hard. It’s not long, either, so I don’t get why you’re choking on it.”

I mean, if I have to take crap about my name, the least I can do is dish a bit of it out to stuffy office lings. Judging by the nymph’s wheezing, I doubt she’s able to vocally respond, and part of me hopes she won’t. It’s better when they don’t. I don’t like getting talked to about ‘workplace appropriate topics’.

She doesn’t say a word, thankfully. Instead, the hoof that isn’t pressed to her chest points towards the packages, and I tuck them into the large pockets on my vest before giving her a cheery wave and flying over to the tunnel doors.

The moment they close and I’m swallowed in the darkness of the network of tunnels, I double over laughing. That was pretty fun, it really was. It almost makes my name worth it, to see the look on their faces.

I sprint through the tunnels, the light of my vest making the stone wall shimmer. I love my job, I really do. The best thing I’ve ever delivered was a clutch of eggs to the hatchery. Some nymph wasn’t prepared to lay them, and I got the privilege to slowly and carefully walk them through the tunnels. They were delicate cargo, and it’s an honor to be close to them. Over the hivemind, I could feel the tiny places where their minds would be. It sounds like they’re dreaming, and it’s the most heartwarming feeling.

Baby grubs are hungry once they become a part of the hivemind, though, and it’s critical to feed them within a few hours of their laying. Their shells aren’t as delicate as a chicken egg, but they still crack all too easily if hit the wrong way, so I couldn’t run, but I couldn’t exactly creep slowly in the tunnels. So, picture me speedwalking through tunnels with hoof-sized eggs strapped to my sides and back, and you’ll have a pretty good idea of what happened. I bet it would have looked pretty funny to anyling else, but I took my job seriously.

With paperwork, though, I can run as fast as I want. The worst thing that could happen is that a few pages could get crumpled if I brush against a wall. Before I know it, I’m underneath the Village.

The Village is a wonderful place. I walk up the ramp and knock on the trapdoor it leads to. Hopefully, someling is there to greet me, or else I’m stuck trying to track down whoever I’m supposed to deliver these to via the hivemind.

The door creaks open, and bright light shines down, making me squint and flinch back.

“Oh, darling! What a pleasure it is to see you! Why, you look simply dreadful, covered in dust in that truly icky tunnel! Come up in here, and I’ll see what I can do to fix you up!” Rarity smiles and offers me one of her pristine white hooves.

I accept it, praying that my cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel. “It’s… it’s no problem, really, ma’am,” I mumble, untying the paperwork from my vest and setting it neatly next to a rack of clothes. So this is where Carousel Boutique is. I’ve always wondered which tunnel lead here.

Sewing machines are set up around the room, and rolls of fabric are sorted by color and style. It’s beautiful in its own right, organized as neatly as anything in the Village is. Another Rarity is busy at work behind one of the sewing machines, but she waves at me and calls out “Hello, daaaaaarling!” before focusing back on her work.

I grin sheepishly at the Rarity who let me in and point at the delivery. “Here’s your packages, Miss Rarity.” The other Rarity jerks her head up upon hearing her name, but then goes back to work. I bite my lip and nod awkwardly, swaying back and forth. Oh, please don’t ask it, I don’t want Rarity to know, even if she is just a changeling living out a fantasy…

“Thank you so very much, miss… what is your name, dearest? I seem to have forgotten!” She smiles at me, and I feel my cheeks grow redder. Chrysalis drain me and throw me to the hellhounds!

“It’s, um, Phallus,” I squeak, cringing as her expression and form flickers for a moment in a flash of silvery light. I see the stunned look on the face of the drone before he manages to recover his shapeshifted form.

“I see,” Rarity says, and takes a deep breath. Oh, stars and sapphires, she’s blushing too! “Well, it was wonderful of you to stop by, darling, but I’m terribly afraid I have dresses to attend to.” Her horn glows and the trapdoor to the tunnels slams open unceremoniously. I jump down onto the ramp and look up. My gaze lingers on the Rarities as the sliver of light narrows, and I am left in total darkness.

Welp. That could have gone worse, I suppose. I take a deep breath and head back towards the main section of the tunnel system. At least I didn’t break the drone’s concentration for too long. The Village is supposed to be immersive, after all. It’s a place for changelings to practice holding a form and for them to live out the lives of whatever ponies they idolize most. I’ve always wanted to go, but work’s been my number one priority for as long as I can remember.

It would be nice to be somepony else for a change. Nopony would laugh, I wouldn’t have to fret over whether or not whatever I say is an accidental innuendo, and I could be up there with all the other Rarities, sewing uneven stitches in outfits, speaking in a demure ladylike way, and enjoying life as a pony. That's a lovely thought.

Runner, your assignment is Outskirts, location 7U9Z. You will be transporting 3 small packages. The arrival location is Outskirts, location 12J2N.

I take a deep breath and dart into the tunnels. Playing pony will have to wait for another day. Today, I work my shift in the tunnels, pressing on, diving in and out until my job is done. And yes, I’m aware of the pun. Trust me, when your name is Phallus, you kind of see them coming.

Author's Note

This fic is entirely Wobble's fault, for claiming that one of my changeling's names sounded too much like "Phallus".

Will Phallus get her name legally changed? Will Rarity ever acknowledge the presence of her superior self? Will dick jokes ever stop being too immature to be laughed at?

Find out all of this and more in my next fic! ♥ I love and cherish every one of you, dear readers!