Gemütlich

[azure_mischief]

Author’s note: This 2017-2020 collection of small cozy (Gemütlich is a German word for just that) drabbles and arts about none other but Herr Drosselmeyer himself and his beloved Frau Martha. Martha is in no way my own OC. She’s from a steampunk adaptation of Hoffmann’s tale, created by a Russian theater (“S.A.D. Theater”, to be precise), but blends into the story so well that I no longer can imagine the old Godpapa unmarried. :) The actors who play Drosselmeyer and Martha do not mind about her being used in fanfics at all, and even liked my stuff - EVEN this cycle’s Russian version.

Moment 1. Uhrmacher Knurrmacher

Sep 10th, 2016 (illustration drawn in 2017)

 

It's their fourth Christmas together; for the fourth time, they are invited to the Stahlbaums, and here they are, Carl Stahlbaum himself greeting them in his mansion. Once more, a "Drossel, old boy!" and a hearty pat on the back – for her husband; and a "Martl, dear", followed by a small peck on her hand, – for her.
Once more, a Christmas feast – the one Mr. Stahlbaum had always been known around the town for – accompanied by a long talk, a few gentle "just one more bit, for me, Christian…" Martha manages to slip in as it lasts, and just as many slight nods and radiant smiles from Christian, meaning if this makes you happy.

"Watch out, Martha", laughs Mrs. Stahlbaum, nodding at her husband's sizeable girth. "You don't want him to end up like that". To which Carl just waves a hand with a chuckle. "Posh pish, the lad's been a twig for as long as I know him."

It is true: fiery magic flowing through him makes all food melt away like snow in the spring sun. Unlike his cousin, Christian will be a twig in no time, but the way he sits back right now, the velvet waistcoat curving outwards ever so slightly, just makes Martha's heart ache with tenderness. The Stahlbaums are too carried away to notice that – carried away with her spouse telling about Hans, Marie and how well and wisely Marie rules the beautiful kingdom along with her prince now.
Martha already is happy. This family is wonderful; worthy of being saved by her Christian long ago. They had always been treating him as a fellow family member – just like they treat her now: with love, respect and this little bit of jest – and it reflects on his face and entire being, the sheer delight, this time enhanced by her presence.

She leaves him in the chair as Mrs. Stahlbaum introduces her to a few newly-arrived guests, all of whom seem to be simply fascinated by her dress ("a little bit eccentric but so yours, truly yours, Mrs. Drosselmeyer!") – to find him later, standing at the window, aside from the crowd, and sneak up.

Christian winces a bit as her delicate hands rest on his waistcoat – only to cover them with his own bony one and lean into her arms with a sigh of content. Is that just him, or even the starry night behind the window seems warmer simply because she is here, rubbing soothing circles into his velvet-clad middle?

"So you love seeing me rival my cousin?", he smiles.

"Nuh-uh." Martha nuzzles his shoulder. "Just seeing how cosy you are, Uhrmacher…" She chuckles – probably from a little quiet noise of delight beneath her palm – and corrects herself, "...Knurr*macher".

---

* "Knurrmacher": roughly, "Growlmaker" as he had a bit too much ;) "Uhrmacher" just means "clockmaker". 
What greatly inspired me to make this was this screencap. What can be cosier than seeing Godpapa Drosselmeyer having just dined on something at the Stahlbaums', resting by the fire and ready to tell the evening story. ^_^ Except for this time, the story is about him, and I'm gladly sharing it with you.

Moment 2. Almondous Pair

July 6th, 2017

 

It was hard to believe. Had Drosselmeyer been a regular human, it would seem absolutely foreign and strange to him. But with his current, magic-enhanced, semi-toy body, it seemed only natural that it had just fit in about a couple jugs of almond milk, and that Martha, admiring him with utmost delight and love, strokes soothing circles on his middle – which, by now, was nearly resting on his lap, almost like his cousin's, the velvet waistcoat stretched over it.

She'd been admiring him like that since the moment he knelt by the Lake of Almond Milk and tasted the first handful of it. She handed him a wafer lily flower that would serve as a cup and would be more comfortable to drink from. She didn't say a word after the flower melted in his mouth after all the milk, – only planted a kiss just under his sternum, at the very beginning of the soft, velvet-clad curve.

With the massage and the way Martha was looking at him, all Drosselmeyer could do was relax and reward her with a radiant smile. It just looked like Martha found a somewhat tricky way to fill him up with her love – making it rather visible, as the waistcoat could no longer hide the living, batiste-clad semiglobe... Audible, even; he blushed, thinking how out-of-place these bubbles might possibly sound on a regular dinner… but not here, in one of the most quiet corners of the Land of Sweets. The clockmaker's face glowed again at Martha's touch, as if he still couldn't fully believe it all was happening to him.

"So this is what…", a mere glimpse of a thought crossed his mind before it got once again flooded with sheer bliss. "This is what being mar… being loved means".
The thought got echoed by yet another bubble – right into Martha's palm as she rested a hand on his waist. "Uhrmacher", she whispered, giving it a gentle pat. "Knurrmacher… So wonderful…"

Nestled by Drosselmeyer's side like that, she reminded him of a baby chick, – a thrush chick, for the first part of their surnames was Drossel, a thrush. Before long he felt the last remains of the wafer flower getting dissolved by magic – for there was too much milk for him alone. A big, strong thrush feeding his mate; what a wonderful thought. He gave Martha a quick, playful glance, as the magic coated all the way from his stomach to throat, and –
– pressed a kiss to her lips; or so Martha thought for the first few moments. Then came a delicate, nutty and a bit sweet, taste that startled her at first – but soon calmed back down as it dawned on her. Having spent so much time within her husband, warmed and saturated with his magic sparkles, the former almond milk turned into a true essence of Drosselmeyer, and this was what he decided to share with her.

"She's but a small chick". A warm thought washed over the clockmaker as he kept feeding his wife the elixir, little by little. "My tiny, hungry chick; I can't do less for you".

By the time their lips parted, the slightly slimmer Drosselmeyer gave Martha another glance – a much longer, almost fatherly, sleep well one, – before he drew her closer to himself and both closed their eyes, surrounded with a golden glow.

* See also previous ("sunrise") version of the illustration.
If the first drabble was inspired by a screencap from "The Nutcracker Prince", this one was born thanks to this scene with Bart Robinson Cook as Drosselmeyer. Seriously, so cute I even broke the usual "no embellyshing for Dross" for once. The story, however, is still about my favorite Lacewood one (though the movie one is also sweet enough to be painted someday) spending a honeymoon with Martha in the Land of Sweets. Nope, he won't stay like that for long - give him a day or so and he's back to his twiggy self :]
The term almondous is a rough translation of a Russian term миндальничать, meaning "to act all lovey-dovey/friendly" (usually with a person who doesn't deserve it. Martha deserves.)
...also, at Fanfiction.net, some guest praised this part as "the most subtle metaphorical lоvеmаking scene they've ever read". Given that I'm ace and adore bellies combined with Barbie/Ken doll anatomy, there's no words how much I wish ALL "lоvеmаking" looked like this - as in, you feed your love the food that will become their body in the future, thus, in a way, "making" them by yourself. :) 

Moment 3. Pearl / Alchemy

"...you are becoming more beautiful than the world,
and I become a dragon."
– Ivan Davydov, "The Other Tales" / "He tells Her"

May 28th, 2020

 

It was even better that both the Lake of Almond Milk and they themselves were mercifully hidden by the fog.

For some reason, Martha's own fingers felt cold – just enough for her to touch her husband's hands, long used to cold, and his face, but not under his shirt; how could she even think of touching the living warmth with hands that cold. Touching that fire magic, separated from the outside world by only a thin layer of flesh. How could she disturb it – not having warmed them with her breath first.

A colorful page of the book of Chinese legends floated up in Martha’s memory — she read it when she was ten years old, and this particular legend was especially memorable to her: a scarlet and gold dragon guarding a large pearl. Of the same pinkish color.

Its color was just the same, Martha said aloud, her warm fingers touching her husband's waist — still through the cambric. That pearl lay exactly the same way, between the ash-gray rock — the gray velvet of his breeches, ready to give up for already a while, gave way, — and the white sea foam — his loose shirt slid up easily, freeing — and this pearl was wisdom, harmony, and greatness itself.

And it became much easier for Christian to breathe. Through the almond-milk mist, he could barely see Martha — or maybe it really wasn't his wife in her usual guise; why else did it seem as if she was everywhere; what else could — could it? — make the milk and magic he was so full of respond, if not Martha's hands on his stomach, and her gentle whispers: my treasure, my pearl, all filled out.

It didn't matter at all that the legend didn't mention the softness of the pearl itself, the golden glow through its pinkish surface — and the pair of barely visible seams across its middle. In the legend, the pearl wasn’t warm enough that the milky mist settled on it like dew; neither was it covered with soft skin and magic silk, through which magic was shining as Martha rubbed the milky dew into them. And as for the scarlet and gold dragon, the wonderful guardian of the pearl — it could just as well be a dragoness, who held it in her golden claws just as carefully, afraid to harm it. It seemed like the whole world was hidden in the pearl, awaiting to be born. Or — a new fairy tale, now for the two of them, that had been slumbering within Christian for so long and was just waiting for his permission to wake up.

* …seemed like the perfect way to give their little love game a worthy final. ^_^
First, a dinner party at the Stahlbaums’, and Martha's slight touch through her husband’s waistcoat.
Next, the shore of the milk lake in the Land of Sweets, and that waistcoat gives way to the cambric of his shirt.
What if even his shirt gives way to his skin, and...
** As for the "magic silk" thing: see this pic. In Martha's case, the silk covers her entire body, like a leotard. In Drosselmeyer's case, it looks like just another pair of breeches.

Moment 4. Through the living mirror

October 29th, 2020

* No illustration for this one yet.
Martha's love for her husband goes deep. So deep that not even he can resist.
Drosselmeyer's heart sounds like this.

“So many times I've already seen you... from the outside,” Martha whispers. “Maybe if I in fact were made of marzipan and if you ate me, I’d so be living inside you."

Drosselmeyer's face feels unbearably hot – as if it wasn’t him who had just shrunk his wife to the size of a marzipan figurine. At her own request, temporarily, for sheer fun of them both – just so he would hold her close to his heart as he was resting by the window. He didn't even expect her to wish for something like... this. After all, a figurine made of almond paste is one thing, but Martha – half a doll herself, yet living, with a body of soft silk cloth, skin like light wax, and a love for him much bigger than she is – is a different one.

“Martchen, I…”
(how will you breathe – won’t you melt?! – the fiery magic – I don't even know what I’m like in there – aren't you afraid?! – what if my heart deafens you – what if-)

“...I don't know how you'll like it. I...” He stumbles. “...I'm not a mechanism. I don't know... how do I even work now. I don't want to... hurt you”.

"Don't be afraid,” Martha winks. “Just remember…”

She lightly, even more gently than being her usual size, touches him right under the arch of his ribs – watching as her beloved husband begins to glow in response. Magic; a warm wave through his body, and the wave of anxiety ebbing away. Back then, in the place where he was given this magic to drink after his transformation, Drosselmeyer realized – the liquid fire caused no harm to its host. It could turn food into life, to help life flow through him – but never dissolve a living creature.

“Here I go, Willow,” Martha finally calls him. “I am ready. Wait a moment – lift me up…”

Nothing bad will happen to her, his magic somehow remembers. And yet the master feels uneasy when Martha –

as if for the last time in her life –

looks at her reflection in his eye; gratefully kisses the tip of the beloved crooked nose, places her hand upon his thin lips –

“No, Martl,” Drosselmeyer breathes out. “No – please – wait… You're not food… Not in the throat… Through my mirror”.

He can swear to god it’s she herself  who touches the surface of the mirror right over his heart before the master can even gasp. For a moment it feels like melted ice with sparks floating behind it; then it flashes golden; the light envelops Martha, drawing her into the mirror, and she – unexpectly even for herself – disappears within her husband.

She's light. That’s all that comes to Drosselmeyer’s mind. Or it’s the magic holding her like this. Because there is absolutely nothing visible on the outside – only the warmth below his ribs, where she must be by now. It's not all that different than carrying Hans, back when he was a nutcracker, in his arms. Besides, Hans, covered only by his uncle's coat and cloak, did not feel any cold – and Martha would not feel it because – oh lord she brushed me-

...she just won’t feel it through him.

He still hesitates a bit, doing the second button of his waistcoat – what if he squeezes her accidentally; but no – it’s calm like at the bottom of a well, and there’s a strange, light and pleasant, tingling feeling when he tries to imagine how she must be by now. It dawns on him only at the door of his workshop: Martha’s laughter.

And there’s also another feeling, long forgotten: it's like he has two eyes again.

---

Fire? More like golden milk, Martha thinks with surprise. Or did the magic realize that now it holds a being that is alive, beloved, and dear to its host? Martha can hardly see a thing – except for the “golden milk” around her, covering her almost up to her shoulders, and the fog with fiery, non-burning sparks flashing in it. And – even in here – she can breathe.

It’s like a lake. A magical, very warm lake, no deeper than a bath, with a soft invisible bottom –

her husband –

for a moment, Martha's own magic unfolds like butterfly wings behind her back, touching –

her husband –

the wings flutter, disappearing into her back again as flakes of snow begin to fall from above. Before Martha can wonder how could it even snow within her loved one, it dawns on her – the snow falls outside, in Nuremberg; it's just that Christian sees it now, and she sees it through his mirror, as if all around herself.

---

“A dame within-n-n-n”, the church bell booms out good-naturedly. Through Drosselmeyer, Martha can hear it – not as ringing of the bell, but as a living voice – and laughs: the bell does know what others don't. The lanterns in the streets know, too – the light in each one seems to be looking directly at her: “red-headed, our dear, little sister”. But as for the passers-by, not even one of them can guess. After all, a look directed somewhere into themselves, a dreamy smile at something, and an occassional gentle touch at their waist may as well happen to someone who has just had a good dinner.

It's almost like the day a stork brought her – no longer a doll – to the Wendelstern family, remembers Martha. Back then, all she had on was but her own skin and silk – almost the same thing. And, as she was told, that was a warm August day; and, with the same warmth and gold of August, the entire being of Christian now responds to her. And:

kkkrrrl...bamm-k-tick-k... ‘rlbam-kentokke-tik-ken; bamm-ken-tik-ken, glokke-tokke-tik-ken... There, above the arch of his diaphragm, the incredible, semi-mechanical heart of her husband sings to her in a secret toy language, forging out sparks of magic. Martha’s own heart aches with tenderness and amazement – she, almost a doll back then, watched it being built, and her very own mirror then lay on Christian's chest, becoming a living part of him forever.

“Look – and – tin-ker”, sings the heart, and Martha looks around and can not get enough of how lively and beautiful their city looks through her husband. The snow is falling, and her back feels so warm – either from Drosselmeyer's magic, or from her own, sprouting out as glowing wings once again. Her wings flutter, and a low, velvety hum breaks through the ticking of the heart – Christian can hardly contain his laughter – and it seems to Martha that she will never, ever get enough of being here.

---

...And only at home, in their bedroom, he loosens the collar of his shirt: it's time. With no trace of his old fear for Martha, he looks at the ray of light from his mirror – as if there is nothing more natural than to release this ray and watch it crumble into a swarm of sparks, and then merge into a living, unharmed Martha, of her own real size. It’s true, however, when you are a half-toy wizard, the happiest one in this world. Not even an accidental, begging grumble of hunger and a blush of embarrassment can spoil his happiness – not when Martha, having just imprinted a kiss upon the very spot she herself spent so much time within, gently whispers: “My poor dear Uhrmacher Knurrmacher; hungry, aren’t you; just wait”.