Chapter Text
The spatula flips the food in the pan as his audio sensor picks up the sound of a spacecraft engine from outside, landing next to a small building at the edge of the universe.
The sound of mechanisms from the opening front door and footsteps can be heard as Herta enters her real age as a password and walks into the house with a couple of puppets following her, carrying a few bags.
"Screwy? Are you here?" she asks loudly, carelessly kicking off her boots and gesturing for the puppets to put them away next to his shoes under the shelf. The luggage is immediately carried away in articulated arms to another room, left there and frozen, awaiting the next order. "I saw Mistleton."
"I'm here," Screwllum responds from somewhere in the kitchen, where the pleasant smell of fresh food is coming from.
Herta heads his way, walking through the small hallways with beige wallpaper and a couple of paintings they bought together at some auction about a year ago, then hung themselves. More precisely, he hammered the nails, and she hung the paintings, climbing onto his firm shoulders while equally strong arms held her hips. When a stubborn piece of art refused to balance properly or simply fell, Herta would almost growl, trying again to decorate the house.
It turned out pretty well in the end. Naturally, along with the paintings hung their two portraits, but she left the task of placing them to the puppets because the first time was enough for her.
The delicious smell of dishes cooking on the frying pan hits her nose as Screwllum works diligently over them, examining something attentively, but immediately turns toward her, his optical sensors blinking brightly.
"Hi," Herta immediately walks up to him, glancing at the ongoing process, then pecks him on his modified lips. "How's it going?"
"Hello to you too," Screwllum replies softly, adjusting the stove temperature. "Analysis: everything is going according to my plan. If events continue to develop according to it, with a 93.7 percent probability, dinner will be ready in fourteen minutes and thirty-four seconds."
A satisfied hum from her side.
"Good, I'm hungry."
Herta hugs him from behind, kissing his shoulder through his clothes. His formal suit with the heavy coat has been replaced with a simple white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows so they don't get in the way, and trousers, keeping only his hat. No complex elements, accessories, gloves, tie, or anything else—just simple things anyone could wear. This is usually how Screwllum walks around the house—when changing into a robe feels too pajama-like, and his usual look isn't suitable for a home setting. This relaxed picture is complemented by a rather amusing element—a green apron with butterflies and gears, which Herta ordered as a joke a couple of months ago as a gift, but it seems he's grown fond of it.
"You're still wearing that stupid apron from Valentine's Day?" she asks mockingly. "Seriously?"
A nod.
"Yes, I value your gifts. Besides, it's convenient and practical," Screwllum replies calmly, feeling a flutter in his neural impulses when Herta turns her head and kisses his cheek.
Her forehead presses into his shoulder, and her arms tighten around his waist. After making sure all the necessary cooking parameters are adjusted, Screwllum quickly washes his hands and dries them with a towel.
"Question: how are you?" he asks softly, turning to face her, now hugging her back.
Herta sighs.
"Tired. That academic seminar was boring to death, even Ruan Mei started yawning after twenty minutes," she complains. "The station is a complete mess. After Irontomb, some people have probably lost their minds, because half the staff has turned from researchers into a bunch of idiots. I had to redo about sixty reports, if not more."
His mechanical hand runs through her hair, threading it through his fingers, enjoying its luxurious length. He's always loved her beautiful long hair, almost down to her calves, even if it's not very practical and Herta has to constantly put it up in a ponytail or a messy braid when they're home. Screwllum still ruins her hairstyle anyway, burying his fingers in it, pulling out the elastic or removing the clip. He likes Herta better with her hair down, as all that beauty is no longer constrained and flows down her body, falling onto her shoulders, back, and arms.
Screwllum once compared her to Rapunzel. It would be hard to argue with that comparison, because they really are similar in how they sit in their towers for years, engrossed in their pursuits. He wonders, if someone sang, would Herta's hair glow purple all the way down?
In character, she's actually more like Gothel, but that's a minor detail.
"You're amazing," Screwllum kisses her forehead. "You always work so hard."
She rolls her eyes dramatically, pretending it's unpleasant to hear.
"Yes, yes, yes, I'm smart, beautiful, and a peerless gem, I know," Herta mutters, involuntarily smiling. "I'll go change, and you finish up here."
Herta kisses him tenderly, then pulls away and, with a sparkle in her eyes, heads to the walk-in closet, leaving Screwllum with a warm aftertaste in his soul.
The puppets help, sorting through the abundance of clothing in seemingly endless closets—but it's almost true. Herta connected them to one of her space stations, which she uses as a huge warehouse for her accumulated purchases. There are recommendations from Ruan Mei, things Asta personally bought for her, her own choices, and of course, gifts from Screwllum for the same occasion, if a simple "I love her and want to cheer her up" can be called that.
Her eccentric witch-like attire is replaced by a spacious lilac dress with medium-length sleeves. The key pendant stays in place, resting on her chest. The articulated hands comb her hair, braiding it into a long plait, weaving in a ribbon of the same color, beautifully complementing the look and making it more harmonious.
She would never appear in public like this—it's too plain and simple, and Herta loves to show off with her appearance, displaying good taste and influence, even if she never leaves her tower until the very end, staying there alone with her dolls. But when they spend time here, Herta lets her guard down.
A couple of years ago, they jointly purchased a small planet, forgotten not only by all Aeons but even by the IPC itself, judging by how surprised the Corporation was when two geniuses submitted a purchase request, disguising it as another experimental site. Having signed a contract obliging all parties to the transaction to keep it strictly confidential, Herta and Screwllum acquired their own piece of peace in the universe.
There's no one here, no one lives here, and there are no useful minerals, so absolutely everyone doesn't care about this cosmic object with an atmosphere. But for the two of them, it was an ideal, maximally private option where no one could bother or disturb them. One could say her tower was quite suitable for such purposes, but it still wasn't the same. Not their shared place where either member of the couple could go and rest at any moment.
A small house built long ago from white stone with a gray roof now serves as their main refuge. Herta and Screwllum quickly settled in, buying furniture, decorations, various household chemicals, and other things—like bed linens or test tubes for the lab. The puppets worked well under their guidance, placing all these items, also planting a small garden with Herta's flowers and bringing along a couple of Screwllum's favorite insect species, which Herta prefers not to see in her life at all, but tolerates for his sake. She endures it for his joy when some representative suddenly lands on his metal while they're walking through their personal paradise, which they jointly named Arcadia.
Arcadia, though plain, is not devoid of nature. Rivers, shores, fields covering most of the territory, small forests—all of it is at their complete disposal. They can go anywhere, do anything, live however they want. Screwllum immediately equipped the entire planet with protection using personal ciphers that no existing person could crack.
Only he and Herta have access, so unexpected guests can't be expected.
Usually, no one comes here alone, making exceptions only for things like transporting new furniture that one of them suddenly spotted, or something else of that sort. Why? For that, they have their own personal domains, and Arcadia holds no meaning for each of them without the other there too.
The small planet holds many memories. Laughter from an excess of happiness in blood and systems, tears from failures and simple fatigue, anger during arguments, passion under the stars, tenderness and awe from touches.
Endless happiness from being together, here, with no one bothering them. That's what Arcadia is.
Dinner is finished cooking, the last strand of hair is combed, and Herta returns to the kitchen, finding Screwllum without his apron setting the table. She helps him, getting out glasses and utensils, plopping down in her spot. Remembering she forgot literally the most important thing—to put food on her plate—she's about to get up when his synthesized voice stops her.
"Sit, I'll do it."
Herta clicks her tongue, watching Screwllum transfer food with the spatula onto the plate in front of her.
"I can manage myself, you know," she reminds him. "I'm not disabled."
"You're right, you're not disabled, but as for being difficult," he briefly kisses her head before moving to his seat, "you have more than enough of that."
In response, Herta relaxes her face and half-closes her eyes, making her signature expression usually used when dealing with very annoying people.
"Should I hit you?"
"Better not," Screwllum turns his back, placing the pan back on the stove. "You might break your hand."
"You're very lucky I have nothing to throw at you right now," Herta replies flatly, pouring herself a glass of water from the beautiful decanter Screwllum brought from his planet.
"Yeah, just eat."
He sits down across from her at the small table against the wall, designed for only two people. The purple tablecloth matches Herta's dress in color, immediately indicating who chose that fabric. The napkin holder nearby, naturally, has green napkins, and a couple of small jars with salt and pepper.
Today there was no mood to cook anything too complex, so Screwllum settled on plain chicken with vegetables. Though he feels like Herta would eat anything from him, including him himself.
Herta can't cook at all. She once tried to bake a cake for Ruan Mei, but it turned out... poorly. Attempts to make herself anything more complicated than toast with jam failed repeatedly, and she would get angry to some incredible level of intensity.
Last Valentine's Day, Herta got the idea to organize a romantic candlelit dinner for her and Screwllum, but made with her own hands, without puppets, because they needed soul, attention, and all that sentimental nonsense she's been indulging more and more often in this relationship. Yes, the dinner did indeed happen by candlelight, one might even say almost by church candles, when the same kitchen nearly burned down along with the whole house. Screwllum, to put it mildly, was stunned, frozen with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates right in the doorway, watching a teary-eyed Herta at the table with some black mass in a pan before her and burnt curtains along with a strong smell of smoke.
But the evening ended much more interestingly than a banal romantic dinner. The sweets were quickly eaten by one upset brilliant madame, genuinely thinking she'd ruined the entire holiday, while Screwllum kissed and hugged her for a long time, thanking her for trying so hard, even if it turned out terribly. Gradually they both started laughing at this crazy situation, opening a bottle of wine and machine oil. The bouquet was accepted with a soft smile and placed in a beautiful vase on the table, and all the drinks were quickly drunk, interspersed with blurred kisses and embraces, declarations of love and warm feelings spreading in their chests, gradually turning into passion and revelation when they made it to the bedroom.
That gesture of hers touched and moved him deeply. After all, she knew she couldn't cook, that it always turned out badly—yet she still tried to surprise him. Herta can sometimes seem like a very angry and callous woman, but in reality, it's not true. For those close to her, she always gives her all, albeit in her own way.
Since that moment, only Screwllum cooks in their relationship. He's completely fine with it, and doesn't care in the slightest that he's, after all, a man, albeit an inorganic one, and it's him who greets his beloved girl with hot food. What difference does gender make? The main thing is that Herta eats well and satisfyingly, and he enjoys the cooking process—did he learn for nothing? Herta is loved precisely because one wants to please and take care of her, sharing responsibilities and removing extra stress from her life.
Screwllum even packs containers of food for her when she needs to go somewhere for an extended period without the opportunity to eat out, for which he always receives a gentle kiss and a warm "thank you, Screwy." He knows that Herta, instead of taking care of this in advance, would simply endure hunger for a whole day, working without being distracted by anything. So let her eat and not worry.
"Perfect as always, Screwy," Herta comments, swallowing. She always praises his cooking, no matter what mood they're in, she'll still give a compliment, because Screwllum really cooks deliciously, perfectly matching all her preferences.
He nods, simultaneously working on his own portion.
"Thank you."
Herta reaches for her glass of water, taking a sip, but immediately stops when she remembers something.
"Mmm!" Herta quickly swallows the liquid to tell the story sooner. "There was this incident today, an absolute nightmare. Do you remember a person named Lukacs? He is a Geopolitics researcher and...though I don't remember."
Screwllum thinks for about two seconds.
"Yes."
"Wen Mingde? The Head of the Implement Arts ?"
"Also yes."
Herta looks like she's about to explode with happiness, simply because he remembers a couple of names.
"I'm shocked, because until today I didn't know who these people were, but moving on," she leans in a little closer to him, mysteriously swirling her glass as if she's about to reveal the answer to one of the greatest mysteries in the universe. "Anyway, I needed a couple of things in one of the god-forsaken rooms on the station, and guess what? I caught them in the storage closet…"
Screwllum listens to her shock with all the attentiveness in this world. Listens to how she yelled at those two researchers. Listens when Herta suddenly switches to another topic, talking about errors in reports, pausing to elaborate on each one and answering his clarifying questions. Listens to how she's tired of reports, and now she's even thinking about how taking care of a dog like Peppy is obviously exhausting and she would never agree to it in her life.
The plates empty as Herta chatters away, sometimes gesticulating wildly, expressing her emotions and transmitting them to Screwllum. He expresses surprise, curiosity, asks for clarification. Listens to how her day went, what she ate, what made her angry. Even if it's some insignificant nonsense not on topic, he loves listening to Herta.
"And that's basically it..." she finally finishes, having talked, probably, about every topic in this world.
"Interesting day you've had," Screwllum replies, getting up to clear the empty plates. "I just disagree with you about Peppy. I don't think he's that hard to take care of. The problem with regular feeding can easily be solved with special equipment that dispenses food at the right time."
Herta gets up after him, helping to put the dishes in the sink.
"And you want a puppy?" Herta asks mockingly. "Or a cat? I thought insects were enough for you."
As soon as the last plate touches the bottom of the sink, Screwllum turns around and takes her in his arms. Herta drapes her arms over his shoulders, while his mechanical arms pull her closer by the waist.
"Clarification: no, I wouldn't want more pets. Insects are just a hobby. Besides..."
He leans a little closer to her face.
"I already have a cat at home."
Herta just snorts in response, but Screwllum notices her face has turned slightly pink. Her organic nature gives her away completely with its reaction, no matter how much she tries to pretend it's nothing, that it's unpleasant and annoying.
And he genuinely likes that. Alive, with bubbling blood, feeling—all of this stirs his neural impulses, flooding him with awe and warm feelings toward Herta. She can be endlessly angry about this, try to keep a straight face, pretend it's unpleasant and that she's the angriest, coldest person in the world, but they both know that in reality, she melts in his arms, softens from his touch, and quietly purrs when Screwllum kisses her cheek and gives her a compliment.
Stubborn, but endlessly loved.
"If I'm a cat, then I should chew through your wires. For preventive purposes," Herta replies, touching his faceplate with her warm breath.
His forehead touches her own.
"You can do anything with me."
Screwllum pulls Herta into a sensual kiss, seeing her immediately blissfully close her eyes and lean closer, wrapping her arms around his neck.
His mechanical hands rise from her waist, sliding along her back, shoulders, until they bury themselves in the hair at the nape of her neck, slightly messing up the hairstyle the puppets worked so hard on. Herta responds with a satisfied sound, pressing even closer, deepening the kiss, her fingers running along the back of his head.
"You're messing up..." she mutters between kisses. "...my whole braid."
Screwllum lets out a quiet chuckle against her lips.
"Maybe that's my goal?" he says without pulling away, using his speakers. "I prefer you with your hair down. You don't hide all that beauty."
His modified lips move to her cheek, pressing a soft kiss.
"You know it's impractical and sometimes gets in the way," Herta replies, squinting happily and smiling. "I thought you were in favor of logical actions."
He laughs softly in response. That same sound that Herta loves so much and which has become truly familiar over these couple of happy years of her life with him as a romantic partner.
"Disappointed?" Screwllum asks cheerfully, his lips touching her chin, nose, cheek, forehead.
Now Herta laughs too.
"Not at all, Screwy."
Pressing another tender kiss and waiting until he stops kissing her like a believer venerating an icon in a church, Herta suggests:
"Let's go to the couch, I'm tired and want to lie around with you."
A few minutes later, Screwllum was lying on his back, and Herta had sprawled possessively over his mechanical frame, hidden under his shirt, tucking both hands under her head and pressing her cheek to him, listening to the steady hum of his energy core.
The large purple couch easily accommodates two adult Geniuses, their legs immediately intertwining as soon as Herta settles on top. A large blanket hangs over the back, ready to be grabbed and used for cover if needed, but now it's warm in the house, and her organic female body isn't cold, nor does it want to sleep.
What's more, she's warmed by the metal deliberately heated for her, radiating warmth through the thin layer of clothing, making her want to press closer not only because of that, but because it's Screwllum. His metal fingers run over the back of her head, touching her hair, then begin to massage her scalp with small movements.
Her nervous system immediately appreciates this.
"Perfect, keep going…" Herta murmurs, blissfully closing her eyes and melting on his chest from the pleasant touch.
His modified lips curl into a slight smile. Screwllum doesn't often use his modification for expressing emotions, but he has access to only a few: a smile, a mouth open in shock, or something else of that sort that involves only the lips.
This addition serves one single purpose—greater access to touching Herta. They were both quite sad that simple full kisses were unavailable to them, let alone bites, hickeys, or small licks. You want to feel your loved one through every available way, love them through every means, not limiting yourself to only hands or something else, but using your mouth as well, like all other organic life forms do with each other.
After the first discussion of this, Screwllum quickly found a clever technician who installed modifications for him. The result was simply wonderful, almost perfectly replicating an organic mouth, but slightly different in sensation. Smooth mechanisms, cavity heating, synthesized saliva whose production can be regulated like the internal temperature, teeth, pliable lips that immediately restore if bitten, and of course, the tongue—slightly firmer in sensation and not quite rough, but still functioning well. At least Herta never complained when Screwllum used it on her.
Screwllum couldn't stay off her for about a week and a half when the modification was first installed. He kissed endlessly, bit, left marks all over her body—from thighs to neck, ran his tongue over her skin, alternating with kisses. Every evening inevitably ended with another kind of pleasure that had suddenly opened up to them. Anywhere in the house. In the bedroom, on the table, on the countertop, on the windowsill, God, even on the shore or in the middle of a huge field, because the moment was right, the mood was right, and curiosity was strong. Herta sometimes had to use her trembling hand to forcefully push Screwllum's head between her thighs to make him stop, because the hypersensitivity gradually became uncomfortable.
Herta thought she would die from an excess of tactility during that period, but to be fair, it was very pleasant. If a person could die from happiness, she would have done so long ago, because intimacy with Screwllum, who is her man, is always pleasant and joyful.
Eventually, he satisfied his curiosity, having learned everything and forever memorized what feels good to her and what she likes, which touch and movement elicits the most reaction.
Now he uses his lips to gently kiss the top of her head, burying his face in her hair and picking up her scent with his olfactory sensors. Herta smells very pleasant and delicious; Screwllum can't even pinpoint exactly what it is, but he likes it. It's not perfume, nothing specific, but simply... Herta. Most likely, it's just her natural scent, since every person smells different and uniquely. Screwllum can't boast of this, like other Intellitrons, because metal is the same everywhere, so he appreciates it even more.
But right now, Herta detects a light scent of steel, expensive cologne, a bit of fabric softener from his shirt, and all this mixed with the smell of food. Extravagant and slightly strange, but so homely and familiar. This scent captures all of Screwllum: his mechanical nature, his skill and desire to cook, cleanliness, and good taste in choosing cologne.
Once she commented that she really liked how he smelled, and Screwllum immediately abandoned other options, using only Old Fashioned by Killian. Now this fragrance constantly hits Herta's nose when she hugs him, breathing in the scent coming from his clothes, which she will remember for the rest of her life.
"Screwy…" Herta suddenly calls to him quietly.
"Mmm?"
"How about you? How was your day?"
She's also interested in how his day went, and he's just lying there silently, not saying anything.
"Everything's fine," comes into her hair. "but boring. Nothing interesting happened like with you. I was sorting through documents. Some had particularly… audacious demands, but I simply asked them to reconsider."
"Did they ask you to sell a planet?"
He laughs softly.
"No, but there was a situation..."
The explanation smoothly transitions into a retelling of what was in those papers, how long and painstakingly he sat and read every paragraph, comparing it with other proposals and choosing the best option, while Herta listens attentively, of course inserting her two cents about how she would have done it and how some writers are incredibly stupid, seasoning it with phrases like "how do you even tolerate them, I don't understand."
During his speech, Screwllum continues to touch her head and hair. Massages with his fingers, runs his fingertips along her hairline, strokes the back of her head, touches the spot behind her ear, before returning and repeating everything again. The tender touches are very relaxing, allowing her brilliant constantly working brain to finally relax and start thinking only about what Screwllum is telling her.
At one moment, Screwllum's metal head fully reclines on the armrest, exposing his neck, which Herta immediately takes advantage of. She turns her face forward, lifts herself slightly, and presses her lips there, tasting the familiar metallic flavor. This makes Screwllum pause for a couple of seconds before continuing.
"Hard worker," Herta says quietly between kisses. "You should dump your title on some other Intellitron and finally go into science. Like working on the Simulated Universe..."
This makes Screwllum smile.
"The Simulated Universe is undoubtedly an outstanding project, and I have the honor of working on it with you and the other Geniuses, but you understand," his hand strokes her head again as Screwllum looks at the ceiling, "I can't abandon my people."
"Well, I'm not serious," her lips brush the joint between his neck and head. "Though if we're talking about the prospect of taking you for my personal use for scientific research, that sounds terribly tempting..."
Herta lifts her head to touch his chin, but immediately meets his lips when Screwllum unexpectedly lifts his head and gives her a brief kiss, finally stopping touching her hair and embracing her with both arms.
"Correction," he says into the kiss. "You already did."
She freezes, but immediately smiles, because, well... he's right.
Screwllum has been her academic partner for many years. That doesn't mean he doesn't work in pairs with anyone else, no, Ratio was his colleague for a long time, but first place has always been held by the great Madam Herta. Not because she demanded it (though if she found out Screwllum thought otherwise, she'd definitely be offended), but because Screwllum himself believes it and he himself wants it.
She is his priority not only in work matters but in others, even the simplest.
If Herta needs help outside of scientific pursuits, he will always be there for her. If she's clearly upset about something, angry or sad, Screwllum always asks what's wrong and definitely finds a way to cheer her up using methods he's developed over years of collaboration. If she doesn't have time to finish something for work because she was distracted by other things, sitting at her desk late at night in a half-asleep state, Screwllum will kiss her temple and tell her to go to sleep peacefully, taking what seem to be her direct responsibilities upon himself, spending his personal time. It's not difficult for him—his inorganic nature makes him more resilient than organics, which often openly annoys Herta and makes her feel weak, but Screwllum doesn't think so. On the contrary, he sees great strength in it.
Even though she tires out much faster, needs to eat, sleep, and drink, can get sick, suffer physical injuries, or experience physiological processes that irritate her time and again—all this makes Herta beautiful in her own way, like other organic life forms. Her biology is the most unique variable, inconstant by nature and often unpredictable. Given that Herta is a woman, this is even more intensified by the menstrual cycle, when hormones decide how she'll feel today, and combined with her explosive temperament, it turns into a real lottery, but Screwllum doesn't complain. It would be foolish to complain—he's not the one suffering from what nature decides to throw at him without asking permission.
He wouldn't want to change any of this for something more comfortable and stable. He has enough stability in his life: like today, which tired him considerably with its monotony and lack of any other paths besides sitting in his office digging through paperwork. With Herta, he finds things interesting, fun, and easy, just as she does with him.
They're quite different in their behavior. Screwllum is a predictable partner, with no hidden pitfalls or double meanings—or perhaps he's simply a consummate actor, having managed to hide it from Herta for an Amber Era. Metallic, solid, unyielding in his principles and promises, infinitely reliable and faithful. With him, you don't need to think about how he'll behave in any given situation, don't need to calculate twenty moves ahead with thirty possible outcomes, because he will act with 99.9 percent probability the same as always: benevolently, calmly, and, specifically in Herta's case, with all the love and tenderness in the world.
Herta is different. Herta is hot and emotional, trying to restrain herself but ultimately losing to her own nature, bursting into vivid emotions and feelings, deeply ashamed of them, but eventually calming down because she meets not the confirmation of her fears, but infinite understanding and acceptance from him.
She can yell at Screwllum for the stupidest reasons, get upset over nonsense, not understanding herself what came over her.
Once Herta even suddenly burst into tears because she accidentally dropped and broke a mug while already on edge, because that day she had been driven up the wall by station staff, reporters trying to pry into her personal life, and an experiment she'd been working on for weeks just wasn't working out. And besides, Herta had been holding herself together all day, trying not to lose it, not to hit someone with her mechanical puppet hand, not to be rude to Asta, who had nothing to do with any of it...
But it all built up so much that she eventually lost to her nervous system, covering her face with her hands and breaking into tears over a small thing like that unfortunate piece of dishware now shattered across the kitchen floor.
But Herta always calms down quickly when Screwllum comes over and asks why she's sobbing throughout Arcadia. Listens to her "I'm so sick of all this, I can't take it anymore." Silently removes her hands from her face, hugs her, kisses her head, pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes her face, telling her he's there and not to get so upset over everything. That she's doing great and she's really trying, and it's just a mug that can easily be replaced.
And after a while, Screwllum indeed buys a new, more beautiful mug, presenting it to Herta along with a lovely bouquet of flowers, for which he receives a warm embrace and long kisses with one simple message:
Thank you for being the way you are.
She can laugh loudly and genuinely until her stomach hurts and tears stream down her face because a joke was incredibly funny or some situation struck her as hilarious. Screwllum finds her laughter and smile charming, bringing his systems a special joy from this phenomenon, even though it's so simple and characteristic of absolutely all people, but Herta makes everything special, putting something into all her reactions that makes his gears spin faster.
Or perhaps Screwllum is just hopelessly in love.
Most likely, it's all of the above, because Madam Herta doesn't offer easy paths.
It's she who deepens the kiss, capturing his lips. She lightly bites his lower lip, immediately running her tongue over it. One of her arms, tucked under her head, reaches forward, touching his metal cheek, stroking it with her thumb and pressing even closer.
Pushing off with his elbows, Screwllum sits up on the couch without releasing Herta from his embrace; now she sits on his thighs, holding his head with both hands, kissing with more intensity. He responds, stroking her back, sides, thighs with his hands, finally stopping at her waist, making Herta hum contentedly.
Leaving her lips, he moves to kissing her face, gradually descending to her neck, lightly touching with his lips, alternating with small licks, making her melt from the caress.
"You're sometimes so sweet it makes my teeth ache," Herta comments, offering her neck for his kisses.
He rises higher, leaving her neck and again touching her face with his lips.
"I don't know," a kiss on her cheekbone. "you're more like," to her temple. "a plum pastry," to her nose. "somehow."
Her violet eyes roll with feigned irritation.
"And you're like a sycophant."
"Clarification: is loving you sycophantic?"
"Sometimes. I have many fans who love me, and they're quite sycophantic."
"Question: do you consider me your fan?"
"Oh yes, and how."
Now it's Herta's turn to kiss his faceplate.
"The biggest," her lips press to his chin. "most active," to the center. "most devoted," to his forehead. "most inorganic," this part is said with particular amusement as she kisses his cheek. "and my most beloved fan."
Screwllum laughs along with her, again touching her lips with a tender kiss.
"Not the worst fate."
"Of course. You have more privileges than any being in the universe; you should be flattered."
"I am flattered. For an entire Amber Era as your friend and colleague, and for the last four years as your romantic partner."
"Not enough."
"Question: what's not enough?"
"I don't get enough of you."
Her feminine hands find his steel neck, running fingers along it, then stroking with her palms, moving lower and slipping under the snow-white collar of his shirt.
"I would prefer to see you in my life not only for an Amber Era, but for a longer time," Herta says, briefly licking his cheek—her favorite gesture expressing affection and tenderness. "Preferably posthumously..."
Herta gasps when she's immediately pulled closer, pressed chest to chest, making her drape her arms over his firm shoulders, resting her chin.
Screwllum immediately buries his face in her neck, stroking her back with his mechanical hands. After making a leisurely trail of kisses from her neck to her earlobe, he says:
"It's mutual," he whispers directly into her ear, making Herta instantly break out in goosebumps, shuddering slightly. "I would also like to spend my entire life with you."
Her cheeks immediately flush red.
Truth be told, they both thought long and hard about where their relationship would lead. From a long denial of their own feelings and complete confusion about what to do with them, they've come to this—tightly embracing each other on their own planet, which they jointly acquired and regularly spend time on, alone.
It all feels like one very long honeymoon that has stretched on for several years and shows no signs of ending. Buying an entire house would look quite strange in a casual relationship where neither expected anything more, didn't think about it, or didn't imagine that in the future they'd want to formalize it with a ring, then with marriage.
Naturally, Screwllum has thought about this. He's a serious man with many obligations; frivolity has never been characteristic of him. Thought about opening a velvet box one day and asking if she's ready for such a step as building a whole family with him. Thought about how the kiss would feel when she says "yes." Thought about how the other Geniuses, the Express, the station's main staff, the whole world would react when the mechanical aristocrat, ruler of Planet Screwllum, announced his engagement. Thought about how he and Herta would prepare for this event: taste wedding cakes from Ruan Mei, choose a venue, time, invitation design, worry a thousand times about what the dress code and atmosphere should be.
Screwllum wonders what Herta would look like in a wedding dress.
Would it be something classic and white, or would she choose her usual purple palette? What hairstyle would the puppets create? What bouquet would she carry? Would she decide to walk down the aisle herself, or would Screwllum lead her by the arm? So many things he'd like to know the answer to, see with his own eyes, feel, and remember forever.
They're good together, they suit each other perfectly, and it seems they have no intention of ever parting.
Perhaps it's time to order rings and say, "Will you marry me?"
Screwllum will definitely attend to this matter as soon as free time appears. They're adults, after all, Geniuses with considerable years behind them, and they should behave accordingly.
They sit for a while longer, just embracing, listening to her organic heart and his energy core beating in unison. How warm and soft Herta is in his mechanical arms, and how solid and comfortable Screwllum is when she hugs him.
Herta pulls back first, kissing him sensually, closing her eyes, and Screwllum immediately responds. Tenderly, softly, but deeply, putting all his love into that kiss. All his joy that her desire for intimacy and foolish infatuation are mutual, and that he chose her as his star companion for life, even considering how irritating she can sometimes be—but it seems he likes her just the way she is.
The living room fills with quiet breathing and smacking sounds as her organic lips press against his modified ones again, continuing to caress them until Herta gets tired of it or until she runs out of oxygen.
It's the second option, because she could kiss Screwllum forever.
Her eyes slowly open, gazing softly into his optical sensors. Herta slowly pulls away from his face, inhaling and exhaling, her warm breath touching his faceplate.
"How about spending a couple of hours with me in the lab for the rest of the day, while I still have the energy for scientific work?" she asks with playful tenderness, tilting her head slightly.
His metal fingers gently stroke her cheek as Screwllum considers how to best find out her ring finger size.
"With pleasure."
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If they had to choose the most interesting and colorful room in their house on the edge of the universe, it would undoubtedly be the laboratory.
Since they spend most of their time here, putting effort into setting up the room was an undeniable necessity. They debated over it the most—what to put where, how to arrange things, what to add or, conversely, remove as unnecessary clutter.
Herta fought for dark purple wallpaper, saying that green or even mixed colors would make her feel like she was sitting inside a plant stem. In exchange, she conceded all the decor to him—now the walls featured photographs of Screwllum's beloved insects with scientific clippings from various articles, and the same for poisonous plants, a couple of which currently sat on a separate table, more to please the optical sensors than for use.
They also hung mistletoe right in the middle of the room. Christmas or not—it doesn't matter; it stays there, watching how two brilliant minds regularly kiss under it or engage in more interesting activities, having stepped away from experiments.
Countless boards, tables, flasks, stands, shelves, cabinets—an enormous number of surfaces to easily set up anywhere. For example, to stack a pile of needed compendiums or debris left over from testing curiosities. A true abundance of technology: from converters to holograms that can be expanded to the desired size. A printer, two computers with multiple monitors, microscopes, and some strange devices whose names any average person could never guess. Plenty of space, and plenty of funds invested, so that by Nous's grace they never lack anything or suddenly realize they forgot to install some machine in the midst of scientific discovery.
Show this laboratory to anyone connected to science, someone who loves and is passionate about their work—they'd instantly explode with envy, because Herta and Screwllum have everything one could possibly imagine.
The symbiosis of two brilliant, extraordinary minds yields serious scientific progress with maximum efficiency, far greater than if they worked separately. They are academic partners for good reason—they mesh perfectly in this regard, achieving excellent results without wasting much time.
For Herta, this is a particular thrill, because she needs nothing more than to quickly solve a mystery, get satisfaction, and move on to the next, absorbing even more information. Considering she's also in constant proximity to Screwllum, which for them is a personal way of spending time together—it's a jackpot.
It works both ways. His mechanical consciousness seems to structure and analyze better when Herta is beside him, contributing her overall vision and guiding thoughts in the right direction. Strange, since he should be logical to the extreme, yet with her, his systems begin processing incoming data more actively, producing results in mere seconds. Screwllum sometimes starts believing that Herta truly is a witch, because what she periodically does with him does indeed resemble real magic. Perhaps she sprinkles him with some special potion when he's not looking.
But it's likely a love potion, not one that enhances attention and computational speed. Not that he'd complain.
Bright light from the lamps envelops two bodies, gazing at an artifact on the table. They recently acquired a new, extremely interesting curiosity that needed careful study. They've only just now gotten around to working on it together. Their schedules are packed, and they can't live permanently on Arcadia, but taking it for separate study somehow... didn't feel right. Not the same emotion as standing together and figuring it out.
"Hand me those small tweezers," Herta extends her hand blindly, opening her palm in a specialized glove. Her beautiful purple lab coat with golden embroidery rustles with the movement, gleaming slightly under the lights. As if she'd ever wear a plain white one. Madam Herta must look exquisite and always stand out.
Obediently, Screwllum hands them to her, watching her rotate them in her fingers before bringing them to the subject of study. He had been leaning toward a classic choice for lab attire, but Herta insisted he also show off a bit. As always, he didn't regret listening to her, because the result—a dark brown coat with green flecks reminiscent of his usual coat—pleases Screwllum immensely.
It's obvious who the two fashionistas are here.
One violet eye is closed while the other peers into the microscope. Herta pries at a small, fragile coating on the curiosity, carefully peeling it off and placing it in a special container. Screwllum immediately takes it, beginning to examine it, but without a microscope, using only his own visual parameters. Organic life forms need such gadgets; Intellitrons can manage on their own.
"Analysis: the object contains silicates, sodium ions, calcium, traces of frozen ammonia, complex carbon chains. Conclusion: ordinary solidified cosmic dust."
In response, Herta just hums, continuing to carefully clean the curiosity, which gradually begins to reveal a bluish-grayish hue.
"Looks very boring," she comments.
"Too early for final conclusions."
The tweezers catch another piece, which turns out to be particularly successful, because as soon as Herta moves her hand, a large area of coating comes off in one go, prompting an approving hum from her.
"Observation: the subject of study is blue, almost gray, with an amorphous body. Texture..." Screwllum picks up a special rod, poking the curiosity a couple of times. "...hard. Composition includes nickel-iron, silicates, specifically olivine, pyroxene, feldspar. Also plagioclase and troilite. Logic: as the discovered factors indicate meteoritic origin, characteristic of stony-iron meteorites, specifically mesosiderites, I conclude. Conclusion: this is a mesosiderite. Question: do you agree with me?"
Herta thinks for about a minute and a half before nodding in agreement.
"Yes, completely. But why did we need this piece of iron? The scientists who discovered this curiosity practically begged me on their knees to take it for examination," she says thoughtfully. "A closer inspection is needed."
"You're right."
Pushing aside the microscope, Herta replaces it with a magnifying glass, her other hand finding a dissecting needle to poke and pause when needed.
During the examination, as if on cue, a strand of hair begins falling into her face, having escaped from her braid thanks to a certain mechanical aristocrat who ruined her strict hairstyle. Herta blows at it a couple of times, but the annoying hair immediately falls back, getting in the way, so she chooses to simply endure it, since both hands are occupied.
Suddenly, she feels someone's fingers carefully touch her face, still in an untouched glove, tucking the irritating strand behind her ear.
Her body barely perceptibly shudders at the touch.
The fingertips gently trace behind her ear, sliding lower, lightly touching her jaw, before withdrawing.
"Beautiful..." Screwllum says quietly, watching Herta diligently examine the meteorite, trying not to think about how his fingers just stroked her face.
It's all lovely and tender, but they have work.
"Thank you," Herta replies dryly, not clarifying whether her thanks is for help with the stray hair or for the compliment.
After a couple of minutes of silent study, she speaks:
"I found something. Lean over here."
Screwllum complies, focusing his gaze on the indicated spot.
"See?" the dissecting needle taps a small protrusion, slightly darker than the rest of the meteorite. "There are several of them across the body. This doesn't look like part of the rock, but more like something foreign. As if there's something inside."
"Hypothesis: the mesosiderite is not the curiosity itself, but merely the vessel containing it."
Herta nods.
"Let's open this package, Screwy."
Identifying the weakest points, Herta marks them with a marker, indicating the proposed split. Screwllum places the curiosity in the hydraulic press, fixing it in the correct position on the lower plate. While he adds soft pads to distribute the pressure, Herta double-checks the positioning.
Safety goggles go on, protecting her organic eyes. Other parameters are also checked, and after satisfactory results, Herta gradually lowers the upper plate of the press until it contacts the sample, applying pressure while Screwllum quickly records the process on a hologram.
"Increasing pressure," she comments.
The mesosiderite begins to crack.
"More."
The sound intensifies further and further as the parameter increases.
"I see a crack."
One, two, three, four, five, six...
The meteorite splits in half with a characteristic sharp crack, and the pressure immediately drops.
Work immediately stops, the mechanisms fixed in their final position, allowing mechanical hands to retrieve the split object and transfer it to the nearest table, to which Herta rushes with burning curiosity, pulling off her safety goggles as she goes.
Screwllum grabs the contents, pulling them free from their peculiar prison. A human could never do this, but inorganic strength greatly aids him.
"It's..." he examines the curiosity with fascination.
"A gear?" Herta raises an eyebrow.
The size is comparable to the central gear on Screwllum's chest, currently hidden beneath his white shirt. An ordinary black part made of pure metal, covered in scratches, clearly worn by time.
His inorganic vision detects microscopic text on the inner walls of the aperture.
"Wait, there's something here..." Screwllum immediately sits down, bringing it closer to his sensors. "One moment."
Herta crosses her arms, patiently awaiting the result.
His finger runs over the inscription, wiping away some dirt and finally discerning it.
"Member of the Genius Society №27, Rubert," Screwllum reads, shifting his gaze to Herta before him.
And finds her mouth agape, eyes wide.
Well, she's clearly shocked.
"You mean to say..." she begins, "that we now have a gear from Rubert I in our collection?"
Screwllum looks again at the object in his hands.
"I suppose so."
Herta remains stunned for about five more seconds before closing the distance, standing beside him.
"Let me examine it."
Her hands in gloves begin enthusiastically touching the gear, running over every tooth, every unevenness and scratch.
Her fingers accidentally run over some spot and...
A green light wave sweeps across the curiosity, shining brightly on the metal.
Now not only Herta's mouth falls open, but Screwllum's as well.
"You saw that, right?"
"The occurrence has been recorded."
Herta tries to find that spot again, frantically touching until she locates the source.
It happens again.
"Unbelievable..." she exhales, and Screwllum completely agrees.
They turned the curiosity this way and that. Examined it under the microscope, in light, in darkness, heated it, cooled it, touched every part, protrusion, tooth, poked fingers into gaps, wet it, dried it—they did everything imaginable with that unfortunate object that had fallen into their hands. They recorded everything that happened from start to finish, from the simple black color to the intensity of the glowing wave that passed through the gear upon touching a specific spot.
They never understood the reason or function, though. Perhaps it's significant and carries some hidden message, or perhaps it's completely meaningless and they're worrying over nothing.
The scientific session ends late in the evening, but that's only the practical experiments. Active discussion doesn't stop even now, with Herta, out of her lab coat, leaning one hand on the kitchen counter, biting into an apple. Enough time has passed since their last meal for her body to demand some energy, so as soon as they finished, Screwllum immediately insisted she eat something.
Surprisingly, Herta didn't even argue, simply silently accepting his request, grabbing the first thing she found in the fridge, which was covered in all sorts of silly magnets.
Some brought by the Express from their travels, some from Ruan Mei and Asta. A lopsided duck made by Stephen, which he'd casually left in Herta's office on the station. Beautiful pictures from Ratio, which he occasionally shares with Screwllum. Naturally, there were a couple of gear-shaped magnets, green butterflies, and purple flowers along with a hat. A list of upcoming projects, a text praising Madam Herta, old reminders like "Screwy, please tell the puppets to wash the flasks, I forgot," or "I'll be at a meeting late, don't wait up for me, go to sleep. Your salad is in the purple bowl. Love you."
The most interesting items are undoubtedly various letters that Herta occasionally receives, which she found so hilarious that she set up a sort of shame board. There are requests to sell the space station for five thousand credits, the Guild's complaints for her to stop using the word "obviously" as full justification, and the Trailblazer's silly messages sent purely as a joke to her personal name, for which they later received an unscheduled Simulated Universe test.
Lived-in door, to say the least.
Screwllum is actively engaged in the discussion. Shares hypotheses, refutes, provides arguments, and acknowledges when she's right. It's typical for them—just standing and talking about scientific topics even outside the lab, just because. They even have a score in intellectual quizzes, which Herta long ago stopped tracking, handing it off to a puppet, so she doesn't even know who's winning, but she doesn't care. She engages in such conversations for her own pleasure, not to compete over who's better.
Because it's obvious that Madam Herta is better. Does that even need explaining?
She washes her hands of apple juice, dries them with a towel, tossing it aside carelessly. Herta stretches, tilting her head from side to side a couple of times, then turns her back and grabs her notebook.
"We have so much, Screwy, we need to mark this down..."
Before the pen can touch the paper, she feels mechanical hands on her waist and someone's lips gently touching the back of her neck.
"Observation: it's already quite late," Screwllum says quietly, stopping his kisses and resting his chin on her sharp shoulder. "Suggestion: let's leave this for tomorrow."
Herta struggles with herself, still jotting down necessary things on the page.
"So, are we actually going to sleep now? " she asks with a smile in her voice, forming letters with the pen.
A kiss on her shoulder.
"If that's what you want, certainly."
The plans are written down, the notebook immediately set aside, and Herta swiftly turns to face Screwllum, running her hands over his chest.
She kisses his metal cheek, giving it a light lick, then moves her hands lower to pull out the edges of his shirt neatly tucked into his trousers, giving it a slightly rumpled look.
"You know what I want?" Herta asks with a seductive smile, sliding her hands under his clothes, touching bare metal.
Her fingers trace over the three plates on his abdomen, which at first glance resemble abs but are actually simple ventilation to allow heated air to escape and not stagnate.
Herta hugs his metal frame, pressing her whole body against him, kissing him sensually.
"I want you," Herta confesses tenderly between kisses, caressing his modified lips. "Very much."
Screwllum returns the kiss, raising his hands to cup her head. He buries his fingers in her hair, runs them along her long braid, finds the ribbons, and deftly unties them, finally destroying her hairstyle and freeing the strands, which immediately fall down Herta's back.
"I thought you were tired."
Herta hums in agreement against his lips.
"That's true, but," another kiss, "I always have the strength and desire for you."
She pulls back for a second.
"You know, you're so hot when you're engaged in scientific work. I look at you and everything inside me turns over," Herta declares. "especially when you're covered in dust and chemical stains. The humidity between my thighs immediately rises..."
Herta laughs genuinely into the kiss when Screwllum doesn't let her finish, capturing her lips. He runs his tongue along hers, lightly sucking her lower lip, pausing for a microscopic moment so she can gasp noisily and let out a soft moan in response to his touch.
"You have some very strange... preferences sometimes," Screwllum comments, pulling back slightly.
"Are you judging me?"
"Not at all. Just an observation."
He pulls her back into a kiss, this time less tender and more assertive. Their legs begin moving toward the bedroom as they sway slightly, reaching it in each other's arms without breaking contact.
"And as for what's between your thighs..."
Herta falls back onto the bed, watching Screwllum climb on top of her, planting both hands on either side of her head. Smiling, she immediately starts fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, undoing them one by one.
"...I'll definitely conduct a thorough analysis."
They both laugh, kissing again and stripping off each other's clothes.
And the evening ends perfectly.
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Indecently early in the morning, Screwllum's phone rings loudly while Herta is still quietly snoring, sprawled out on the bed. Her light lilac hair is spread across the pillow, touching both organic and inorganic naked bodies. Screwllum presses his chest to her back, his face buried in her neck, legs intertwined with hers, quietly resting after a long recharge.
As soon as he hears the sharp sound, for reasons unknown, he pulls away, reaches out his hand, and simply... knocks it off. He knocks it off without even looking at the incoming number.
Screwllum drapes his arm back over her slender waist, pulling the grumbling Herta closer, pressing his whole body against her and burying his face in her hair.
Good...
It's good until he hears that annoying sound again.
"If you don't turn that thing off right now, I'll have no problem asking a puppet to smash your phone with a sledgehammer," Herta threatens irritably, immediately yawning.
She's awake, apparently.
After briefly kissing her head, Screwllum pulls back with a reluctant "mghhhhh," sitting up in bed and answering the call.
"Lord Screwllum, with whom am I speaking?"
All the lovely morning mood evaporates when it turns out to be a secretary informing him that a representative of the Interastral Peace Corporation has demanded a meeting. Immediately and urgently.
This troubles him.
"Question: did they not even give a reason?"
"No, nothing. They simply requested an audience."
Screwllum sighs wearily, throwing off the blanket and swinging his legs off the bed, causing Herta to immediately turn around, squinting sleepily and looking at his back.
The multitude of long scratches on his metal, which she immediately notices, makes her smile contentedly like a cat who's gotten into the cream.
"Understood. I need about... seven hours? Will that work for them?"
"Yes, quite."
"Excellent. Thank you for your work."
Screwllum hangs up and starts doing what Herta categorically does not want right now.
He starts getting up and looking for his trousers.
What an outrage.
"And where do you think you're going?" she asks, bending her arm at the elbow and propping her head on it, clutching the blanket with her other hand, pulling it more tightly over her naked body. "Do you see what time it is? Come back to me."
A sigh from him.
"Sorry, but I can't. There's something urgent from the IPC for work," he finally finds his trousers and begins pulling them on.
Herta raises an eyebrow and reaches for the bedside table, quickly finding the remote to summon a puppet, which promptly trots into the room.
"At this hour?" she gestures meaning "help him find his clothes." "Did someone die?"
Screwllum thanks her for the assistance and takes his usual fresh shirt.
"I don't know. They didn't tell me the reason, just demanded it." his fingers quickly fasten a couple of buttons. "Typical of them."
Fully dressed and having quickly tied his tie, Screwllum quickly walks to Herta's side of the bed, kissing her tenderly.
"Go back to sleep. I'll text you how it goes."
Before he can pull away too far, Herta grabs him by his tie.
"Clumsy, that's how it's going," her fingers deftly fix his tie, ending with a brief kiss to his metal cheek and a couple of pats on the shoulder. "Go already, before I tie you to the bed."
Screwllum laughs quietly, cupping her face and quickly kissing her forehead, then heading to the hallway, putting on his boots, coat, and hat.
"Bye, love you!"
"Love you too, good luck."
Grabbing his gloves and Omele's keys from the shelf, Screwllum quickly steps out the door. Herta hears the sound of the spacecraft's engine as she turns onto her stomach, gathering the pillow and pressing her cheek into it, her eyes closing sleepily again. She'll head back to her tower later; for now, she can get some proper sleep.
"Damn politician."
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Through the promised nearly seven hours, Screwllum was already sitting in the meeting hall of his mansion, waiting for the people he needed, his hands folded on the table.
Imagine his surprise when Pearl walked into the room, dressed in her official suit.
"Lord Screwllum, greetings," her mechanical hands, gracefully folded at her waist, separated and extended for a handshake. "I don't think we need introductions—we're already acquainted."
Screwllum immediately stood up, bowing with a special bow among Intellitrons, pressing his hand to his chest.
"I'm glad to see you, Madam Pearl," he shook her hand, then gestured toward her seat across from him. "Please."
She inclined her head, quietly thanking. The two Intellitrons immediately sat down, looking at each other.
"Question: what brings you here? I wasn't told the reason for your visit, only that it was urgent, and to be honest, it's making me a bit uneasy."
Pearl smiled modestly.
"My apologies, but the Corporation demanded complete confidentiality: your staff, like yourself, was not to know the topic of discussion until the last moment," her fingers pressed against her wrist, projecting a hologram directly from her arm. Not a bad modification. "However, your concerns are not entirely unfounded. The matter is serious."
She paused for a couple of seconds while opening the necessary file with an image of one of the planets, evidently the focus of their discussion.
"I am here to convey a proposed deal from the IPC," Pearl said coldly.
His optical sensors blinked with interested green light.
"And what deal would that be?"
Pearl was silent for about five seconds before shifting the file.
Now on the screen appeared Planet Screwllum alongside the previously shown planet.
"A political marriage. With your direct participation, Lord Screwllum."
He felt a couple of his mechanisms freeze for a fraction of a second.
What?...