(Since this topic is one of my main comfort ones and will get mentioned here often, the readers may need to keep in mind a couple things.)
Exactly the same as explained by the wonderful LunŠ°rbŠ°bŠ¾Š¾n in his comics –
– and as said by a certain kind soul from around here: “I just want to stare and be amazed that such a beautiful thing exists”.
The only kind of belly you will see here is male (anthro or, in rare cases, human) and cartoon or fairytale.
( Read more... )Like ā¤ļø = “Have read and understood”
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.
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.
( Read more... )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.
( Read more... )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…”
( Read more... )
Summary: ...you'd been missing me, Zeli.
Characters: Zeliboba the Dvorovoi and me ^_^
Side note: Like most of my fics about and for Zeliboba, this one is part my dialogue with him (parts written in italic), part my own thoughts about him (parts written in plain font).
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Iād so let all this clear summer sky, along with its swallows, winds and clouds, beneath your pelt: the birds chirp as they fly, as if they really touch someoneās raw nerves, and their chirps, each one, are sweet impulses the touched nerves respond with. Swallows in your blood. Maybe they already are in you and I only now managed to guess it.
I'll show your entire self to you entirely, just give me time: who ever told you just how handsome you are.
No one. Had. Ever. Kissed you. In the muzzle. Like that.
Between your eyes. On your lips. Nuzzling against your blue whiskers.
Letās pretend, says the dvorovoi, that the summer had been sleeping inside me all this time ā Iād been sheltering and warming it, there was enough room for it and still is, check it yourself if you want to. Then he gently runs through my hair with his hand, like the summer wind: go ahead, lay your head on the fluffy warm fur.
Okay, I agree. Thereās a small glk heard under his fur, like from a pebble thrown into a river; and here is the river itself, probably warmed by the sun; and here comes the wind: his breath, raising waves, rocking to sleep.
I remember the time you got teased with a cookbook, and I was just dying ā from either sympathy, or tenderness and pride for you. My beloved spirit boy, just standing there, not even able to get his eye off the pages (in fact beautiful and rich), and only gulping hungrily. And Iām only loving you more, and even seem to see these thin sticky āstrings" of drool in the corners of your mouth ā and love even them, Lord, what's wrong with me, what are you doing to me, Zeliboba.
Youāre creating me.
Creating from the very beginning, and re-creating all over.
( Read more... )
Summary:
A short drabble about Zeli and me - kind of messy and pretty tangled one, because ran purely on love to him and the amount of pure serotonin that an image of his belly suddenly being part sentient gave me. But if you get it, you get it.
Feel free to skip if you arenāt into belly noises. If you are? Welcome~
Characters: Zeliboba the Dvorovoi and me ^_^
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ā¦with just his eyes, he says yes to me, and lifts up his blue fur coat.
ā¦and I just canāt take my eyes off this golden, squishy, taut, warm and fluffy globe, free of it at last.
Why Zeliboba even had to be that shy and not breathe normally, with his belly, for that long; I love him so much, love this and love when he eats that much.
( Read more... )
Characters: Count Razoff; Begoniax (mentioned)
Summary: A true aristocrat sure knows how to indulge in sweets. First off, take off the fancy garb so no berry juice gets on it...
Count Razoff had taken this saying to heart since he was a wee Swamp Garganteensie, and always obeyed it every time the Season of Giving came to the Glade of Dreams. This year, the Count also happening to be about to shed his old skin during it. And was glad that it’ll happen far away from everyone’s eyes...
...Shedding an old skin is a long and tedious thing. Sometimes it may make you wish you were a plain old gray Teensie, for they don't have to shed like their larger swamp relatives. But once the skin comes off... It feels like a whole mountain falling off your shoulders, and you forget everything that's been upsetting you. Almost like being born again. Both you and the whole world feel so new and fresh you barely even want to get back into your fancy clothes.
But today was different. Today was the tenth day of the Giving Season, almost the equator of it, the “cream of the time”, so Razoff didn’t even need his hunting garment. He left it it at home: it was going to take him a good while before he fits back into it anyway.
No one even noticed the green-skinned Count sneaking through the reeds to his secret spot. Wonderful, isn’t it. Razoff wouldn’t dare to even think of accidentally giving this spot away with his bright red jacket...
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