Archive of Our Own ^beta

Carla is in the Favela. Excitement floods her as her lever is flicked and she starts moving downwards, one block of height at a time. Her drills make contact with the first layer of blocks and she groans at the satisfying feeling of drilling right through them. Smooth and relentless destruction, just what she was built for.

Elsewhere, a jolt of fear goes through Felps Square. He's not exactly close to the Favela, but he can feel the destruction taking place all the same, the vibrations of drills systematically destroying every block that lies in their path. There's only one machine that can make this feeling stir inside him. It scares him - the knowledge of a machine active on the server, drilling into the ground, creating holes without effort, without thought. Powerful, smooth, perfect. It's not meant for him. It's terrifying, the concept of being dug out himself, by a machine like her. He's a proud, self-made hole, created by hard labor using nothing but a pickaxe and elbow grease, and Carla's existence goes against the very core of his being. It excites him as much as it scares him.

He can feel amusement coming from yet elsewhere. It's Tubhole, whose gaping depths have always seemed to outclass Felps Square a thousandfold. Yet Tubhole is also machine-dug, industrial, wide, yawning. A show of dizzying machine-built power. Nothing like Felps Square.

That's rich, Tubhole seems to say. Getting turned on over a machine like her. Where was this when I was being dug out?

Felps Square doesn't have an answer for that. He supposes Tubbo's drills were just... different. They felt different. Carla's destruction almost feels sensual, to him. Familiar. Almost a comfort.

Maybe it's to do with where they both came from. He thinks there are fond memories associated with the pickaxe strokes that dug him out, and the thoughts behind the hands that guided them. A fond blue and green blur that resonates with the vibrations picked up from Carla's work.

Hush, Carla interrupts authoritatively, and both Felps Square and Tubhole's attentions turn to her. I'm working.

And Tubhole, despite his earlier complaints, is silent at once.

Carla's drills eat through the blocks of the skyscrapers one by one, demolishing the building with no regard for who placed the blocks and why. With every few ticks, she moves another block downwards, and with every layer of blocks that bursts under her drills, Felps Square can feel his arousal grow stronger.

Tubhole says nothing. His interest is piqued, both by her authorative tone and the power of her drills, and... he wants to see more. Suddenly, he wants to be... expanded. He wants to feel her drills digging into the side of his walls, sinking into the stone and pushing in, leaving him pinned, helpless as she makes him gape—

And you made fun of me for being interested, Felps Square grumbles.

Calma, Carla admonishes, you'll get your turn. If you're good for me.

Another shiver runs through Felps Square, and a few pebbles inside him tremble. He can feel his stone relaxing, growing softer, more pliant against his will. He doesn't like this. He doesn't.

That's it, Carla croons. You too, Square.

The dirt in his side contracts. He doesn't want to be dug out, he doesn't, he—

Your stone would yield to me so easily, she continues. She's almost at the bottom of the building now. She feels powerful. You would be dug down to bedrock in a matter of minutes. I could do anything to you. I could ruin you. You would be unrecognizable. Everyone would know it was me. Everybody would be able to tell, you'd be ruined, you'd be mine.

Tubhole is so turned on just from listening to this, the words that aren't even directed at him, that his walls are shaking, almost reminiscient of a kind of localized earthquake. Carla notices this, and directs her attention at him, a momentary pause in her work possible as she finally reaches the bottom of the skyscraper and is reset, climbing the pole back into the sky.

Cute. She sounds almost dismissive. Weren't your other drills enough already?

Tubhole doesn't respond, just softens his stone further. Submissive, pliant.

Answer me, she demands sharply. She is replaced over the next skyscraper, ready to descend once more. Or I will make you.

Make me, then, Tubhole seems to say, almost a challenge. Carla's drills rev up as her lever is flicked once more, and she relishes in Felps Square's burst of renewed fear and Tubhole's shudder of arousal as she begins grinding her way downwards and eating through the blocks once more.

Oh, I will.