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menodoramoon · 4 months ago

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Assorted Scenes of the Butterfly-Johansens

Characters: Stella Butterfly, Menodora Perhonen, River Johansen (NPC) When: Various Times between 1999 and 2023 Summary Dedication: For the River Support Alliance. I'm sorry for what I put him through, so have some debatably happier memories.

Read: On Ellipsus, or Under the Cut

Menodora had been tense. River had been terse. Menodora can't help but feel like she deserves it. River never confirms such a thing.

Breakfast had been a nightmare.

Stella had been gone some days by now. Her mother had waved from a distance as Stella became little more than a disappearing speck at the airport. She'd turned some corner under those harsh lights, or perhaps vanished into the crowd. Moon doesn't actually know how they would have lost sight of her, in honesty. She had stopped looking, feeling something tug at her heart.

They hadn't spoken much. Well, her and Star hadn't spoken at all. But the person she wishes would talk to her was River, who simply couldn't look at her for long.

Why was it that Moon wanted nothing more than to be alone together again.

She reaches absentmindedly for a pastry. He does to. She doesn't notice until their fingers brush and she looks up. Technically, she didn't need reading glasses, but they did help. A little. She sees him over the frame, and he looks at her with such clarity that it hurt.

It hurt to know that River could see her so clearly and Moon could barely read him any better than she could the morning paper.

…

In the months after Stella's birth, people whispered about Moon. Did she not like being a mother, she is always so sad.

That's not true! Moon wanted to yell. Or say. Or even whisper. But what could she do when she barely wanted to even think?

Paperwork had to be done, she had to smile and wave and speak with officials… but so much of her did not even want to get out of bed. Her chest felt heavy, the only things alleviating it being holding Stella and River taking her hands gently, telling her about some nonsense that Moon couldn't help but find endearing.

It was when they were alone together that Moon couldn't help but feel that weight lift off of her, even for a moment. It didn't heal her, or cure her. But it did make it manageable. He held out a hand for her, and she took it gratefully. A step at a time, until gravity felt normal again, and she could drift once more about her life without that weight.

They'd been younger then, Moon's melancholy excusable to a degree by her age and inexperience. Now, though, was she simply so weak that the absence of a wildfire komtesse was too much to bear?

…

He's always been a better texter than her. Moon's rather bad at it.

River types a few short words. Puts down his mobile. Chirp. Repeat.

"Tell her I say hi."

River does.

Chirp.

River doesn't relay a message back.

"Tell her I love her."

River does.

Silence.

Moon wouldn't know what Stella had said, or if she'd even responded.

Moon's own phone remains silent at nearly all times. Stella's the only contact that is an exception to her perpetual 'Do Not Disturb.'

…

He takes her hair gently, brushing it. Moon's sitting on the edge of the bed, River standing adjacent at the corner. He's taking locks of her hair, brushing through them. Moon has always found it calming.

"I'm sorry," Moon says, softly.

She'd fallen into the habit of constant apology. River, for his part, did his best to tell her that she would be okay.

The things he did say: That they would be alright. That everything would be okay. That he loved her.

The things he didn't say: That Moon was forgiven.

River leans over, kisses the her temple.

He'd always come across 'brute-ish' to some members of The Commission, who had hoped Moon would pick someone else to marry. Moon couldn't see it. Sure, he was excitable and enthusiastic, but there was the matter of his kindness as well. And how gently her touched her heart.

People did not understand that about him.

She's just so sorry she's broken his heart over and over again.

…

Her fingers drum on his chest. The lights are off, but there's enough moonlight to light their bedroom. Is it a full moon? What night was it?

"How is she?" Moon asks, quietly. They try not to talk about Star as much. Or, rather, Moon tries not to bring it up. Loudly. Or in front of anyone.

River respects it. If anyone speaks of Star, he does. Star. Stella. She prefers Stella in the way that Menodora prefers Moon. Even opposites in that, it seems. Orbits that rarely intersect, and yet, when they do, it's always some sort of crash.

A collision course of celestial proportions.

"Fine," River says, softly. He takes her hand, and Moon glances at the way her illusionary magic fades away. Just stained hands held tightly by someone who has always loved her. "She finished settling in."

"Did it take her that long?" She cringes internally. Must everything be a criticism?"Sorry. I just meant—"

"I know what you meant," River says. Moon runs her thumb along the inside of her forefinger. Some soothing action. River doesn't stop her. "But I know what you want to mean. She just had trouble adjusting. She'll be okay."

She'll be okay.

Stella, on her own. Independent. Growing up. It's what everyone wanted, wasn't it? For her to grow up.

Moon feels an ache. She was missing it.

…

"Stella, don't run!" Moon yells over the crest of the heathered hill. I didn't matter. Stella barreled ahead, surely to lose her footing on the slope. "Ah, she never listens to her mother."

River laughs beside her, picnic blanket thrown over his shoulder. Stella would beat them to their picnic place, and then overshoot it. They'd likely find her in the rye fields at the rate she was going.

"You didn't need to carry everything, my love," Moon says, regarding River and his makeshift cloak.

"And if I wanted to?"

Moon shakes her head. "Then you're very noble, my lord."

They walk along the field, down the hill, her hand in his nearly the entire time. She had a nasty habit of taking a spill at once section nearly every time. River had once accused her of doing it on purpose for his attention. And then he nearly did so as well and Moon laughed as he cursed the hidden slip in the hill.

"She's gone pretty far, hasn't she?" Moon asks, once the picnic is nearly set up. Basket on the side, blanket rolled out.

Stella, 8 or so in this memory, is within sight, but barely a speck in all the stalks of flowers.

"She'll be fine. She always comes home, don't you remember?"

Even all those times she's run off and gotten lost, Moon has to admit River was right.

"You have a lot of confidence in her."

"And why shouldn't I?" River asks. "She's your daughter."

Moon laughs back. Scoffs almost, but in a playful way. Teasing. "When she acts like this, she's your daughter. Look at her. You're the one whoruns in the fields this way."

"You did too, once, Ms Perhonen," he says, smirk forming. A playful look on his face.

"River Johansen," Moon starts already standing, a warning tone in her voice, knowing exactly what he was thinking, "don't you — AH!"

And he takes off and she takes off. And by the time they reach Stella down by the creek, they're all laid haphazardly in the heather, River having both Moon and Stella in his arms.

The sun is bright. Nice. And Moon thinks she ought to remember the peace of this forever.

It's perfect. It may have been more perfect if the rain clouds hadn't threatened their picnic, but Stella's delightful yelling as they'd run back had been worth it as well. Especially when River threw the blanket around her, dripping with rain water in the front foyer.

It was a nice thought.

…

Sometimes Moon wonders if Stella always knew it was her father that held her more as a baby. It would explain their bond, Moon thinks. At least that would be easier to bear.

…

"She's speaking," River says, shaking Moon awake. It's the middle of the day, and she's groggy. Heavy. Out of it. "Moonlight, wake up, she's talking!"

It's strange. Even with the urgency, Moon rouses slowly, awareness coming back even slower.

River is excited. Happy. Smile wide.

God. It's a thousand watt smile, and Moon smiles back, if a bit weakly. She does her best to sit up, rubbing her eyes. Her hair probably looks frightful, she can tell it was a fitful sleep.

"What's happening? Who's speaking?"

"Our Starshine!"

Stella? Stella was speaking? Wasn't it too early for that? She was eleven months? The November air confirmed that to Moon, sensation returning to her.

Inside, Moon wants nothing more than to throw off the blankets and run down the hall to Stella's nursery, but her mind feels dark. Clouded. And even with the mid-day sun streaming through the windows, she can't find it in her.

What is wrong with her?

She's not always like this. Lately, she'd been happier, grown more cheerful in the daytime. Yet, now, she doesn't know what it is, but she can barely make herself rise.

"You'll miss it, she's babbling," River says, trying to pull her hand.

Moon wants to. She does. God. Gods. Couldn't she just…

What if she misses this thing, too?

"You go on. Tell me what she says," Moon says, softly.

The words echo in her like ripples, distorted water filling her senses and pulling her down.

He never blamed her.

He never told her she'd been wrong. He'd never told begrudged her her forced smiles and the way she said she was fine when she wasn't.

Moon wonders, really, what else she's missed. Stella had taken a step or two — her first ones — while Moon was entertaining guests during dinner. She remembers hearing that she'd missed it from River and part of her heart felt like splintered china.

She doesn't want to miss this, but she just. Just. Just…

Can't.

She hadn't even realized River had left.

And she hadn't realized he'd come back, thrusting Stella into her arms.

She'd looked at him wide eyed, and yet… there's nothing she can say that would do justice to her swelling heart.

Moon doesn't say anything. River doesn't either. They just watch Stella, Little Starsong, reaching for her mother's hair. Long, blonde. Curled somewhat, despite the bedhead.

'Mama.'

If her first words had been 'papa' or 'dada,' Moon wouldn't have even been mad. River deserved it. And yet, Moon can't help but burst into tears — happy ones — at the sound of Stella's affirmation.

She's a baby, she doesn't know what it is she's saying. But Moon knows. And Moon beams at that.

…

"Tell her I said hi," River says.

"I will."

"And tell her I love her," River says.

"I will."

Moon laughs. River goes in for his umpteenth hug of the morning.

"You are worrying too much, River. I promise I'll be fine and that I'll text you when I get there."

"Will you? You're terrible with a mobile."

"I will, I will. Now, you have to let me go so I can make my flight, alright?"

And that would be that, wouldn't it? Moon leaves, River stays and holds the fort in her absence. That's how it is, isn't it?

Goodbye.

Only he catches her hand and Moon's heart flutters for a moment. She turns. There's that expression of his. That truly earnest and kind one.

"Just so we're clear, I'm not letting you go. I love you too much for that."

Moon gives a hum of an exhale. "Technically, you are 'letting me go'—" But she stops with that look he gives her.

"You know what I mean."

She rolls her eyes. "I know what you mean."

He kisses her again.

"Public displays of affection are not a Butterfly Virtue," Moon states, plainly, as a response. But that false seriousness melts away just as quickly as it starts. "Alright, I really have to go or I'll be late. I love you."

"I love you too," he says, giving her hand a last squeeze. "I mean it, give her a hug for me."

"I will."

"And look after yourself?"

"I will."

"And know that we'll be okay."

"We will?"

"We will."

#ch: stella butterfly #npc: river johansen #self para #save #tw post partum depression #/ if that's a trigger /#oneshot.#one shot

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menodoramoon · 4 months ago

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Worn Threads || Stellaluna

Characters: Stella Butterfly, Menodora Perhonen, River Johansen When: Sometime in Spring, 2021 Summary: One of the last arguments between Stella and Menodora.

ft. @stellabfly

Read: Doc, or Read Below

🌙 Menodora Perhonen

—

[The Halls of the Perhonen Estate. Some years ago.]

"We are not discussing this anymore, Stella," Moon says, doing her best to ignore whatever excuse her daughter had planned. Her training was off-course, her magic was erratic. She was far too much a wild child than a proper candidate for countess. Moon's patience is thinner today than normal. "And if you must sulk, can you not do so like a ghost in every room? It's unbecoming."

Which truly is the best thing that Moon can say, isn't it?

Stella needed to stop being so emotional about such things. Travelling! Isn't it exciting? Shouldn't she be excited to have been encouraged this way.

'Baby' -- the nickname for her godmother -- had even helped Moon find suitable housing for Stella. A real house. And sure, it would be no estate, but Stella should be happy!

"Oh, don't give me that look," Moon says, attempting to soften. "You ought to be packing, getting ready for your grand adventure!"

🌟 Stella Butterfly

—

Was she perhaps too old to be throwing a tantrum? Yes. But she was also too old to be treated like a child. So if that’s what her mother saw her as—a petulant baby with a bad attitude—that’s how she would act.

“I don’t think we’ve even discussed it! It’s just been you telling me what to do, over and over again like all you ever do!” She retorts, stamping her foot.

She leans against the wall, folding her arms. “it’s unbecoming,” she mimics in a high voice, quietly. But still loud enough for her mother to hear.

She pouts, her nose scrunching at her nostrils. Her brow furrowed grumpily.

Packing. Adventure. Like this was all some wonderful getaway. She knows what it is. She’s being sent away for not being good enough. She wasn’t countess material so they were getting rid of her until she was.

“If it’s so grand of an adventure, you go on it,” Stella snaps, rolling her eyes. “It’s not fair; you never got sent away for training!” What’s so wrong with her that she has to be sent away?

🌙 Menodora Perhonen

—

Moon tries to indulge listening to Stella's complaints, but it all goes awry when Star mimics her and Moon turns sharply, and gives Stella a warning glare. It's wordless, but clear.

Her own mother had only worn that expression once or twice in Moon's entire life that Moon could remember.

They're standing in the hall, outside one of the studies. Moon's cheeks flush as Stella snaps at her and Moon would normally not even tolerate this level of impertinence but, sure, Stella was angry and Moon did understand it. Still, her face flushes and she has to will those pink diamonds from appearing on her cheeks.

Don't, not now…

"Sometimes things aren't fair, Stella. And sometimes you just don't recognize an opportunity when it's right in front of you," Moon says, trying to level her voice. In earnest, she wasn't -- usually -- easily upset. Somehow, fights with Star shortened the wick significantly. "And my circumstances were much different, Stella, and you know it."

She says it but doesn't elaborate. Sure, Stella knew her mother became Countess at sixteen, the youngest countess in generations. The circumstances surrounding that, however, were something Moon did her best to obscure. Still, Star's words stung harshly. "I really don't appreciate this tone from you, young lady. You really should--"

Moon doesn't get the chance to finish, and she's glad of it. Her voice had risen and it would truly be unbecoming of her.

River opens the door of the study, and Moon turns away from him, still flustered. "What's going on out here," he asks, looking between his daughter and wife. "Are you two... Okay?"

🌟 Stella Butterfly

—

Her mother shoots her a look, but Star remains unmoved by it. Perhaps there was a time where it would have shut her up and shut her down. But right now, she’s too hurt to be compelled into submission. She was not going to take this lying down. She was not going to be kicked out of her home for nothing without a fight.

She just glares back at her mother. Not as hardened or intimidating, but it was a clear mirror.

“This isn’t an opportunity!! This is you all being mad that I’m not little miss perfect like you! So you’re getting rid of me!” She responds, her voice growing a little louder.

And she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know anything about that, not really. Because everything was kept so secret from her! How was she expected to learn and grow if they didn’t even trust her with her family’s history?

“And I don’t appreciate this tone from you—” she starts, but stops as the door opens. Stella hugs herself and looks away from both of her parents, pouting again.

Pouting made it sound so childish, though. It was hurt. It was a deep hurt that she couldn’t even begin to process. All her life she was told she was meant for one thing. And now she’s being sent away because she’s not good enough for that thing. It felt like not only was she being removed from her home, but like she was being removed entirely from the family. Being sent somewhere so they could stay here and say ‘what heir? The Butterflys have no heir.’

“Tell her I’m not going,” Stella says, still not looking at either of her parents, but clearly talking to her father. “Tell her she’s being irrational and annoying.”

🌙 Menodora Perhonen

—

"I really wish you wouldn't be so pessimistic about this," Moon says, exasperated. In a way, Moon was slightly envious. She'd never travelled. Her mother has. Star was going to. And besides that, saying what she had is an easy mask for all the other feelings she had about Star's words, roiling like acid in her heart. Little Miss Perfect... ha, Stella.

Sure. There were high expectations set for Stella, but Moon did the best she could to keep Star out of trouble and away from the Commission's scrutiny. Even with those efforts, it clearly wasn't enough. Star clearly wasn't taking any of this seriously.

It's all these caustic, lingering secrets that are corroding their relationship.

River looks at Stella, surprised. Turns to Moon with a searching look, then looks away. Towards Stella again.

"Stella, honey--," River starts, and Moon doesn't know why she does it, if something inside her has snapped, but she can't help it.

"Don't indulge her. Don't--"

"Menodora."

And it's the full name that nearly breaks her. River rarely used her full name, and especially not in that tone. She bites the inside of her lip. Raises her head, trying to maintain some amount of control in the situation.

"You're being, maybe not irrational and annoying," River says, trying to calm her, "but don't you think it's a bit harsh? This is the only home she knows."

Moon pinches the bridge of her nose, looks at Stella even if Stella's not looking back. "It's not entirely up to me, is it? You can call me cold, but the Commission was very clear about Stella's training. It's way off track. And starting fires in the rye fields and not even being able to pass some simple tests--"

She's getting worked up. She's being very Un-Countess-like. Moon takes a deep breath.

"It's decided, Stella."

"Moon, dear--"

"Don't take her side on this."

🌟 Stella Butterfly

—

So pessimistic? She wasn't being pessimistic--she knows she could have fun wherever she gets sent, it's the fact that she didn't want to leave. She didn't want to get kicked out of her own home because, what? she wasn't good enough for some stupid old traditions?

Her father tries to say something, but no. Moon wouldn't have that. That wasn't his job. His job was to support her, at least in her mother's eyes. That's how it always went when they argued. River was urged to take Moon's side. Or he took neither side. Nobody ever took Stella's side. At least that's how she felt about it all.

She doesn't like hearing her parents argue, though. She doesn't like knowing she's the cause of it.

Her mother starts to list off things Stella has done wrong. Not even being able to pass some simple tests. Stella feels her eyes well with tears. Maybe they were simple to her mother, but they weren't for her. It just didn't make sense. And the way that did make sense for her was wrong according to everyone else. It's not fair. She didn't ask for this--she didn't want any of this.

Stella pulls her wand out of her waistband, and slams her fist against the wall, the hearts on her cheeks flaring up a deep shade of red, almost glowing, as a seam in the wall spiderwebs out from where her hand made contact, something thick and shimmering like an oil spill starting to bubble out of the seam before it all dissipates, like its getting sucked back into her hand. The glow from her fades, and her grip on her wand is tight. No sign of what she had done ever there. But enough to get her mother's attention, even for a second. maybe enough to remind her that while she might not be good at the magic her mother and the commission wanted her to do, she was still pretty damn good at magic. .

"Why don't I get a say in this? Just because you didn't? That's not fair!" She doesn't care about keeping her voice down anymore. Her father's already found them arguing, and at this point, what would anyone else do? Send her away? "I'm not you! Stop trying to make me be you!"

🌙 Menodora Perhonen

—

Why couldn't Stella see this would be for her benefit? She may not like it now, but she would. Eventually. It was the change to explore new magic, and have some correspondence lessons with Glossaryck. And it wasn't like she could never come home. It was just that she would take her studies and training elsewhere. It wasn't like banishment.

Menodora's tired of this. She's ready to put this behind her, to simply walk away, but Stella's acting erratically. Slamming her fist on the wall, causing her magic to act unpredictably. This is why she has to learn control. Exactly this. These outbursts could one day hurt someone, and how is she meant to protect anyone if she wasn't able to control herself?

"Life's not always fair, Stella," Moon snaps back, again, more harsh than she means.

She knows it's harsh because River turns to her with a concerned look on his face. Don't do this, River, Moon thinks. And he does exactly what she doesn't want, which is walk up to her and take her hands. It was calming, it always had been. When he took her hands, or rested his palms on her upper arms, just trying to soothe her. She may not like to admit it, but she did have a habit of overstressing. Not just working herself up over Stella, but just over anything.

"Moonbeam, honey. Be kind. Please."

To which, Moon has to consider whether or not she's right or not. No matter how much she tries to think from Star's perspective, the sight of the oil spill and Star's heart cheek marks glowing just circled her back to the exact reasoning that they were sending Star to train elsewhere. Because–

"You're right, you're not me. I wouldn't be pitching a tantrum over this! Throwing an unbecoming fit over something like this! It's training, not exile!" .

River tightens his grip on her hands, and there's something there that Moon can't place. He's not letting go and Moon can tell another conversation was waiting after this one. Internally, she groans. Neither of them understood the predicament she was in. They were in.

"Stella, I'm listening," River says, though he's not looking at her. He's looking at Moon with a serious expression. One that she understands the intent behind, all too clearly. They're listening. Moon wasn't meant to interrupt what Stella was going to say and while Moon wants to protest and tell River that he was being unreasonable, she doesn't. She inhales sharply, then tries to settle on the exhale.

Fine.

Moon looks down at River's hands holding hers. Moon figures enough resignation had registered on her face.

"Okay, we're listening," River says, "what would you like us to hear?"

🌟 Stella Butterfly

—

She wants to just scream. Words aren't forming, thoughts aren't forming, she just wants to yell and scream and maybe make something catch on fire, but she doesn't. Just tightens her grip on her wand, growing more rigid. While her cheeks aren't glowing, the hearts are definitely a dark and stormy color. Televising her anger and frustration, at least a little.

Her father tries again to get Moon to listen. Taking her hands, trying to calm her. And there's a part of her that wishes he had come to her, to hold her and comfort her.

And then her mother snaps back with something else and Star does let out a loud frustrated groan that's definitely closer to a scream. Just short. "You don't understand ANYTHING!" she snaps back, the tears in her eyes from anger, not sadness.

River promises he's listening. She doubts it. She doubts either of them were listening. They might hear her, but they weren't listening.

What would she like them to hear? Well she has a few less than professional responses that come to mind. She could just scream really loud. She could curse, that would probably make her mother faint.

"I want you to hear that I hate this plan," Stella says sternly. "That I hate that you're listening to the commission over your own daughter. I HATE that you don't even try to get to know me!! You just see me as a thing for you to control! You just see me as a worse version of yourself! And I HATE HOW EASY IT IS FOR YOU TO JUST GET RID OF ME BECAUSE YOU THINK I'M NOT GOOD ENOUGH!!" She's yelling, she's crying. Her father isn't looking at her but even if he was it wouldn't matter, because she's just glaring at her mother.

🌙 Menodora Perhonen

—

How had they devolved into this? How had Moon lost her cold so quickly, how had Stella become so hot-tempered. When she was younger, Moon used to do her hair. She would braid small sections and give her little braided crowns. Now, Moon can't imagine them being so close again.

Expectations were crushing.

Stella starts and it's like a wildfire. It burns through her, all the anger and frustration and Moon knows her hands are shaking and she knows River can feel it too. He presses them tighter, trying to stead his wife. Moon is doing her best, she really is, to be understanding. But she just doesn't understand. That's the trouble with all of this.

Her daughter burns bright like the star she's affectionately named after. Moon can't blame Stella for that, can she?

The accusations leveled: Moon doesn't even try to get to know her, that she thinks Stella is something to control, that she sees Stella as a worse version of herself... That it's easy sending her away.

Moon is ready to fire something, anything, back. Address each of those items with a similar fire. Or perhaps it would be something colder... Moon really does feel herself losing energy for this. She feels herself burning out of this conversation. Burning out of patience for Stella and her argumentative attitude.

River has always been able to read her thoughts, hadn't he? He gives her hands another squeeze before stepping back. Back towards Stella, and Moon knows she shouldn't feel so betrayed, but at this moment, most of her feelings are that of being cornered.

River throws an arm around their daughter, pulls her into a hug. "Hey, Starshine, let it out," he says. Still standing somewhat between the two of them. Moon feels chastised, even if River hasn't said a word to her. Stella can glare all she wants, but it wouldn't change a thing. She was still leaving soon. And she hadn't packed.

Maybe if Moon was thinking more clearly, she could have hugged Star and told her exactly what she was thinking. Not the angry thoughts, the other ones she buried. About why she was so protective, and where it came from. And how it warped and how it broke them over and over again.

Moon doesn't have the awareness for that, though, does she? She's the perfect Countess, how could she ever be wrong?

"You don't have to coddle her," Moon mutters, and it seems that that's the cruelty that has River mad at her. Properly mad.

"What is wrong with you?" He asks, and it's more heated than she'd heard him in a long time. Usually he was the calm one in situations like this. Sure, when things were meant to be fun, he was excitable and enthusiastic, but he rarely got mad at either of them. And if he did, he rarely spoke up like this.

Menodora looks at him, incredulous. "I have no idea what you mean," she says, tersely, "it's already been decided, River. Stella's going to Swynlake, a place she chose, may I remind you."

"Even so, we can't appeal this? We can't appeal that this is a strange and possibly cruel punishment. You keep saying it's an opportunity for her, yet she doesn't want it. Anyone who can teach her magic is here. Why do you want to send her away?" Want to? Want to. "I don't!" Moon snaps, exasperated. "I don't want Stella to go, I want her to remain here and we would work something out. Unfortunately, though, my vote got overruled by the Commission, and that's where we are. Both of you. I'm sorry that we all can't make our own choices, Stella, I'm sorry you feel that this is unfair. It's what's being done, though, and I'm not going to argue with you about it anymore." .

"You can't make an exception to fight this because she's your daughter?" River argues, leaving Star's side. Standing properly between them. Maybe Moon wouldn't argue with Star, but she would argue with River. "You need to be her mother, Menodora."

"I am her mother," Moon fires back.

"You're being a Countess," he says, biting back irritation.

Moon knew that expression, she knew the way his voice shook.

"You're not thinking of Stella as your daughter, you're thinking of her as a successor," he adds, only slightly softer.

Moon puts a hand to her temple. Pressing it. Pressuring it. She can't, she really just can't handle this right now. There really could be no peace for them, could there?

🌟 Stella Butterfly

—

River puts his arms around her and for some reason, there's no comfort to it. Usually a hug from him made everything feel so much better, usually she felt safe and comforted by him. But the anger is still there. Her eyes still burn with tears, but she doesn't crumble into a sobbing mess in her dad's arms like she half expected. She barely hugs him back.

And Moon's chiding little remark feels like a knife through her heart. You don't have to coddle her.

It's not coddling! Stella wants to shout. It's actually giving a shit about you kid!

But it's River's voice that echoes through the room, and Stella almost can't breathe. And then her parents are arguing with each other, about her. She can't move in her spot.

Moon claims she doesn't want that. She claims she wants her to stay here. No you don't; you would've fought harder if you did.

But River is saying the words. This hurts more than arguing with her mother. Because her mother will hear River's words better. Because now they're arguing and it's her fault.

Anything she could've said, her father says instead, in a way where perhaps it will hit deeper into Moon, or perhaps it won't and it'll just create a rift between those two as well.

She should say something else, but she doesn't know what to say. She should do something but she can't move. She feels like she's miles away from her own body. None of this would be happening if she could've just been better. Maybe she was the problem…

Stella turns to walk away, quickly. "I have to pack," Stella's voice is sharp and burning. "Don't bother me."

🌙 Menodora Perhonen

"Stella," River calls after her, and Moon feels guilt rise up in her throat. Like bile. Like regret. But Moon couldn't be wrong. She's not wrong. This was what was right for Star. She just didn't see it yet.

River turns to her, and a switch flips. Moon looks... Upset. Not because of her actions, or exactly because of her actions. Everything that had transpired here... Was she being more Countess than mother? Isn't that what was necessary?

Someone needed to be rational. Someone needed to make sure everything kept working as it should.

"You have to go apologize to her," River says to her, and Moon looks up. Surprised.

"She just told us not to bother her," Moon replies, feeling distant.

River closes his eyes. She recognizes that steadying breath.

"Is that the only thing you heard her say, Menodora?"

She really wishes he'd stop using her full name. It feels... Weird. And altogether more serious.

"I heard her throw a tantrum over a perfectly reasonable decis--"

"Don't give me that," River snaps back. "Don't give me a diplomatic speech, I know you. I've heard you do this. You and Stella aren't always in the best of terms, but this is--... She trusted you to stand up for her, and you didn't."

"Don't you---"

"No, Moon. You can't treat her like this. Like a child and expect her to be a grown up. She's your daughter and you're so wrapped up in making sure she can handle being a Countess, you're forgetting that she's a person!"

It feels so strange for River to be saying these things.

Moon... Is at a loss for words. She's angry, yes, but she's also... She's hurt. She's hurt River didn't see the rational point of view. She's hurt he'd take Stella's side.

They'd always gotten along better than Moon and Stella had. River was the fun parent. Moon was more serious. That counted for something, yes? No. Not in matters like this.

"I'm tired," Moon says, quietly. And she really does just want to retire for the night. Their room was in the opposite direction. She's already two steps down the hall when River says something. Quiet. But she hears him.

"I'll sleep in a guest room," he says.

She turns back to him sharply. Not angrily. Not about this. More surprised. And the hurt keeps happening.

"What?"

River looks away.

"I think we need to be honest about what happened. And I think I should give you some space."

I don't want space, River. I don't want to be alone.

"I'll check on Stella later. Even if she doesn't want to be bothered, we should. I should. I'll let you know."

Something in Moon splinters. But she nods, understanding the minimum of this.

"Goodnight, then," she says, turning away.

She doesn't hear River move until she's around the corner.

#ch: stella butterfly #doc threads.#mjaunie.#stellaluna #para.#npc: river johansen #doc threads

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menodoramoon · 5 months ago

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idle nights | self-para

When: sometime, 1991

Summary: A small glimpse into Menodora and River's wedding night.

Warnings: mildly suggestive content <3 not explicit, but there are references to sex?

It starts with breathlessness and ends with noise. This falling that happens and continues once and twice and again and again.

Their lives are a series of careening drops and slow but steady recoveries... Falling in love and falling apart and falling into bed the night of their wedding.

River unbuttons each complicated bead and clasp on her dress, slowly and with care. Her faith in everything she is laid bare, threadbare. The silk and lace of her dress feel light in material but heavy in meaning.

Confidence and comfort turn to carelessness as she finds herself fumbling for the clasp of her necklace and the pins in her hair. They're laid haphazard on her vanity. A rare occurrence.

Blonde curls cascade down over where her dress is open, and she knows it's time to pull it away but she's afraid she can't pull it off. This idea of herself. Performing what everyone thinks of her. And her dress, which she feels would have been easier to sew her into than deal with the buttons of the bodice.

A perfect countess, she reminds herself at nineteen, should be thinking foremost about her people and family line. She's what's left of that line, isn't she? Or, rather, she's been told, she's the only one left who matters.

So they tumble awkwardly into bed after Menodora has thoroughly folded their discarded clothes. He'd told her not to worry about it, but she's learned to worry about everything.

It was her job after all.

Her hands shake as she sees, for a moment, what they truly are. Her cheeks glow for a brief moment with the effort it takes to right them again.... River kisses her lightly, softly. She reciprocates.

There is no passionate tangle of sheets. Or heavy panting as they lay there. Into light, tentative touches and careful, exploring sighs.

The bedsheets, for the most part, remain undisturbed...

Moments tick by. Minutes. Hours. Minutes, Menodora decides, before she feels something in her click. Or unclick. Or come undone.

Her eyes shine with something she doesn't know. Blue with magic? Watery with tears? It must be the latter, for he asks her what's wrong.

She doesn't reply, only shakes her head. Pulls him closer. Flesh to flesh. The feeling of his warmth trying to warm her nerves.

He runs his hand lightly on her arm, and she thinks he may kiss her once again. Her lips, her neck. Maybe lower. Maybe not.

Menodora closes her eyes.

She takes in the feeling of everything. The room and the light draft from their ever so haunted house.

River's home was never like this. It was filled with lively chatter and chaos in a way hers would never fall to...

She's inexperienced. She expects he is too, it would make sense. Menodora's never heard of another woman in his life. Though she feels that she is barely a woman now.

She feels... Small.

It takes a moment to realize she doesn't feel him anymore.

When she does open her eyes, it's his own gaze looking back. Watching her. Her face. Her cheeks. A soft pink glow reflects in his eyes and she can't discern exactly what it is that -- oh.

That light of her uncertainty. Her distress. All manifesting as diamonds on her cheeks, illuminating softly with magic.

Worse than a blush. And a tell of her inadequacy...

"Let's stop," he says, just as soft and kind as his touch. "We don't have to, not tonight."

Menodora feels the deepest ache of disappointment in herself. She opens her mouth to protest, only for him to rest a palm on her cheek and lean forward to kiss her head before crawling off of her and pulling on a robe.

She watches him carefully, waiting for him to express him disappointment in her too. But it doesn't come. And Menodora realizes that she's likely spent too long laid on the bed, undressed.

She sits up, curious. Every breath a question, ringing empty in her ears. How was this acceptable? It wasn't! Not for her position.

He walks back, bringing her own robe. Softer than the silk one she swept down to breakfast in, still maintaining the appearance of regality. That almost haughty look that had people second-guess their demands of her.

Instead, he hands her a plush one. Sky blue. One she wore in the privacy of her own suite, just herself. She almost asks how he knew, but she remembers one of the times he'd come by and she had been so embarrassed to have not been properly dressed yet.

When she was growing up, she was reminded constantly that whoever she married would move into her house. Not the opposite. Because she was going to be the Countess and had an obligation to her home.

She doesn't feel like she's much befitting her title now.

Menodora takes the cloudy fabric. River kisses her on the forehead. It is calm. And loving. And there is no malice or upset that follow.

It's almost too much for her, actually.

"Would you prefer I slept elsewhere?" He asks, taking a step back.

She can tell that he so desperately wants to hug her. And also that he doesn't want to overwhelm her. And also that he loves her.

Menodora shakes her head. Smiles delicately, her heart in much the same state, and murmurs, "stay."

She feels fragile, yet unbroken. River feels safe when he holds her that night.

They lay down to the drowned out sounds of the radio. A storm brewing as they settle in bed, clothed and comfortable. The rain sets in as they fall asleep. The radio static is the last memory as Moon drifts off.

#npc: river johansen #post: self para #Not swyn smut #Idk I actually think it's sweet #save

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menodoramoon · 5 months ago

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A Note Sent To R. Johansen, Early July.

My Husband,

Did I tell you about this spill I'd taken the other day by the lake? Surely, I must have.

It was laughable, really, this folly of mine. Fall-y? Ha! I'd tell Star if she'd speak with me, but she will not. And surely not after a joke that poor.

It was embarrassing, or might have been, back where you are. Mjaunie, with it's beautiful purple fields that feel more royal than our supposed regal ties.

Do you think that those fields are gifts left over? Or simply a happy coincidence of a sort? They're a gift of nature, to be sure.Is our picnic spot intact? Still baren by whatever means? I think I'd rather take a fall there then here. But would I?

River, you call me perfect often, but it's never felt right. I am far from perfect. My hands remind me daily.

And here, why, there's no pressure to be! No one expects perfect Undaunted Menodora to be -- well -- Undaunted. I've shrieked at the odd bee that has crossed my path, as if it is more fearsome than a monster!

Could it be?

But bees are a mortal problem, and Monsters are from our Fairy Story lives.

Cass is well, I know you're always wanting to know. Charming and sweet as ever. And kind, too. I still think about our night at prom, this thing that felt magical, much like all the galas we've attended together.

I've enclosed no photos because, well, what would you think of me? It wasn't a Countess-ly look on me, I'll admit. But it felt right. And freeing.

Is that rubbish to say? I'm so sorry, I never know where my head is at. My writing seems to be where my words feel most free.

River, I miss you dearly. I hope you're faring well with, or against, the commission's many demands.

Wish them the best for me. I am sending my love. And if you are so inclined, ring Stella and tell her I love her as well.

All of my Love,

Your Moonbeam.

#post: self para #npc: river johansen #Save

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menodoramoon · 7 months ago

Text

The Story of Moon and River

Summary: Some insights to Moon and River's marriage. Characters: Moon Perhonen Butterfly-Johansen, River Johansen (NPC), Stella "Star" Butterfly (mentioned) Word Count: 2,130

He’d charmed her when they were children, sitting together in mid-summer, watching their families play Game of Flags. A ‘brutal’ fight for dominance, a variation of King of the Hill. With magic, and wrestling, weapons, risk…

River Johansen, 14, too young to play. Menodora Perhonen, 13, too valuable to play.

They sit a respectable distance apart, seeing as Menodora was a future Countess and River was from a noble family but not nearly as ‘important.’ Menodora thought that was a useless comparison.

It wasn’t until she was sixteen that she had played Game of Flags. What a terrible, terrible year.

🦋 —------- 🦋

…”You won't be playing Flags today,” Moon would tell her daughter one day. “Why not? You played Flags when you were my age,” her daughter would protest. “I did a lot of things you won't be doing” …

🦋 —------- 🦋

The next summer: River, 15. Menodora, 14. The same place, under the summer canopy.

He sits closer to her then, only by a few inches. They sit and laugh, ignoring the brutal game before them. If asked, neither of them would remember who would win.

“You’re the future Grevinde,” River had said, realizing he was getting too familiar.

Menodora had laughed, the use of the future, formal title tickling her. “That doesn’t make me so special.”

River blushes. “Well, I think you’re special no matter what.”

Was it flirting then? Was it being friends? She wondered how many times River had made her laugh in those earlier years. He had come by the estate a few times, against his parents' wishes, bringing flowers from his own home. She had found them quite charming, a departure from the heather that grew around hers.

She’d invited him for dinners, walks on the moors, an odd swim in the river (much against everyone’s advisement.)

It was never an issue. River treated her with the utmost respect.

If Moon was more cynical, more aware, she might have admitted that – aside from her mother – River was the only person who really treated her like a person.

🦋 —------- 🦋

“I don’t understand why you like him,” Hekapoo had said, rolling her eyes at the notion of River having another dinner with the family. “Oh, leave her be,” Comitessa had said, pulling yet another pie from the oven. “He’s just a friend, Hekapoo.” “And if he becomes more than that–?” Was the reply. Menodora sat quietly in the corner, her history books in front of her face, relatively ignored.

🦋 —------- 🦋

Menodora had invited two people to that fateful banquet. Her advisor, tutor, and closest friend…. And River. River, who had sat next to her at her special invitation. Sure, his father gave her a sideways look, but he also seemed to appreciate the way she was kind to his son. The way she didn’t lead him on – since River’s own insistence was that they were friends.

He’d been the one to walk her to her room when she’d gone nearly comatose from the shock of the evening. After all her tears had been used up and countless people had failed to pull her from the bloody hall.

River had pulled her up and supported her as they walked somberly through the halls.

“She was a good woman,” River had said, his words barely above a breath.

Moon sniffed. Part of her wanted to snap and she that her mother is a good woman, or is the best person… but the fire dies in her as River squeezes her hand.

They hadn’t kissed or even hugged that night. He’d left her off to her room before traveling home at night himself. She’d been grateful, but unsure how to express that gratitude in all her mourning.

🦋 —------- 🦋

“Maybe w-we should let Moon decide. She is the queen,” River says, meekly. They were standing over a makeshift war table. River, herself, some lords and ladies, Hekapoo and Mina, and the rest of the Commission… Moon had smiled at him. Another Lord, Mildrew, had protested. “She just lost her mother, River. She needs time with her feelings.” Moon had tightened her smile, and attempted to look regal. (She was only sixteen.) “I am the Countess now, so I will make the decision. My decision... is that I will make a decision at dawn.”

🦋 —------- 🦋

Why had she said decision so many times?

River had caught up to her, both of them in their mourning blacks. Some others had been so kind as to don them, but not many. Power struggles brought out the ugliest of people.

He’d brought her some food while she paced nervously in the hall. Protein-rich, she’d noted.

“It’s how we Johansens apologize,” River had said, and suddenly he seemed self-conscious of it. The Countess Menodora was a lady. Apology Meat wasn’t the thing she needed. Maybe it was…

She hugs him, carefully not to topple the plate in his hands. He’d awkwardly rested his hand on the small of her back. She had appreciated it greatly.

When they did finally break apart, she took the plate gratefully and went back to her room to think about her decision.

And with strength, or cowardice, she didn’t understand…

She turned to unknown, unspeakable help.

🦋 —------- 🦋

“Countess Moon! You did it!” “Oh, my gosh, River!” A hug. “Thank you!”

🦋 —------- 🦋

“Menodora, your hands,” he’d murmured when they were finally alone, waiting in the War Room for the Commission's arrival.

She’d barely noticed by that point, adrenaline pouring from her like a flood. She was exhausted, the magic of the Darkest Spell overwhelming,

“It’s nothing,” Moon had said, brushing him off. She was not going to look weak in front of The Commission. She was not going to have anyone question her.

He doesn’t let her brush him away. He takes her hand, insistent. She could say something, argue with him. Spit back words that could be hurtful and terrible.

She doesn’t. It’s at this moment she realizes he knows what she needs.

He holds her hands close, kisses her magical scars, and gives her another hug. Something more than what it had been before. Something supportive and not so hesitant.

Moon cries then, as she hadn’t let herself do since the actual banquet. The sting in her hands and wrists is persistent, and she doesn’t know what it is she can say now to make it go away. She doesn’t think she can make it go away.

He’d found her a book, later, on glamours and illusions. She was no illusionist herself, light magic having been her specialty, but she was able to master one spell. Her hands appeared as they once did with such a spell, no longer showing the dark magic, or the burns she acquired in her training.

Things could have been ideal.

And then they sort of were.

🦋 —------- 🦋

Summer, once again: River, 20. Menodora, 19. The Veranda.

She had said ‘yes.’

🦋 —------- 🦋

They got married under a similar canopy as the one they’d first met under. Even the heather seemed to sing in celebration as Moon had walked through it, white dress and all.

It was strange to have a wedding like this, with no mother or father to walk her down the aisle. It was offered to her by some relatives, but she’d evaded their generous suggestions. She walked by herself, her train staining purple in the heathered-dew.

🦋 —------- 🦋

“She’s perfect.” “She has your eyes.” “That doesn’t say much, my eyes change as easily as the weather.”

🦋 —------- 🦋

It was years until Stella was born. Almost long enough that Moon may have given up hope. Your late twenties was borderline unacceptable, according to some members of the Commission.

How archaic to expect her to provide an heir.

In some ways, they blamed River. Moon thought that was wholly unfair. It was her fault, it had to be. Something was telling her she wasn’t ready to be a mother. Or maybe it was something she hadn’t wanted.

She could admit she was wrong when she first held Star.

River had held Stella out to her, but Moon had hesitated. Her hands were stained like pitch, There was something so unclean about the idea of holding someone so perfect as Stella with hands that had come even close to killing.

But Star reached for her first.

And then there was nothing to keep Moon from her daughter.

River had taken a photo of them that day, locked in a box away from the rest of the world. It’s the only photo Moon has with her stained hands. And it was…. It hurt.

Is that hiding? She’s always hiding things from Stella. It doesn’t make for the best relationship.

‘Because I said so,’ isn’t the best parenting. But it’s what Moon knew.

🦋 —------- 🦋

A conversation that never happened: Star: Why?! What happened to cool warrior countess Mom?! Moon: I was never a cool warrior countess, Star. I was a happy-go-lucky girl like you. Or… it hasn’t happened yet.

🦋 —------- 🦋

“You’re rubbing your hands again,” River says, approaching his wife. He holds out his own hands, and Moon does as she always does. She reaches out and takes them, allowing River’s thumb to run over the backs of her hands.

It’s soothing. Calming.

Star, 10, plays out in the garden, chasing butterflies outside the grand windows. Moon sits by the window seat, River joining her.

“You worry too much, my dear,” River says, quietly. His voice is lower, and he’s grown into his features. He’s handsome, her’s kind. Sure, he can be rambunctious and, affectionately, absurd. He loves her, though. That’s something Moon would always appreciate. “You’ll wear your hands smooth.”

Moon smiles wryly. Says nothing.

River pulls them closer and kisses them. Her palms, wrists… slowly, the darkness washes over them, the glamor melting away. He’s the only one who gets to see this weakness. He’s the only one she’ll permit to see this failing of hers. Only one other person had seen it, besides. And they didn’t matter anymore.

“She won’t hate you for these things,” River says, what he means remaining unsaid but loudly understood.

What he means: Going to drastic lengths to protect the County. What she thinks: For becoming a monster myself.

“It’s because she doesn’t know yet,” Moon says. “The moment she does…” She pulls her hands back, “she’ll turn from me. I expect it, I know it. She’ll be disappointed. She is too good and too kind for the world she’s inheriting.”

It’s a bitter thought that River is far too familiar with.

“You, my dear, need to be kinder to yourself,” He chides. “You say such horrible things about yourself, and think even worse. You forget that I know you, and I love you despite all the faults you think you have. I think you ought to do the same.”

Moon shakes out her hands, the illusion resuming. She finds herself tired, suddenly. River stands with her, offers his arm. Let’s go for a walk in the heather, my love. It would do you good.

🦋 —------- 🦋

“I don’t want to fight you!” Moon cries, light sword in hand, ready to swing. Hands tense. “Then don’t!” River says, calmly, dropping his own flag. A betrayal to his family on such a day as this. “You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone. Especially me.”

🦋 —------- 🦋

The Game of Flags was an annual occurrence. Possibly a fight to the death, in the name of honor and bragging rights. It was a silly Mjaunie custom, but Moon found that any tradition had at least some place. They wouldn’t be anywhere without the past lighting the way to the future.

River walks towards where the two of them had been sitting, Moon laying back against the grass. They are exhausted. Tired. Her hair is pinned up off of her neck, her dress looks like it had been through a war of greenery.

Had Moon won? Yes. Did she feel she earned it? Not really.

Comitessa Perhonen is nearby, packing up the copious number of dessert tins that she’d brought. Moon’s Aunt Etheria was busy talking Moon up to another lord of another house.

“I– I brought you some water,” River says, sitting beside her.

Moon, an arm over her eyes, smiles without looking at him. “That’s very nice of you,” she says, sitting up. She takes the water, sipping it down, keeping her eyes averted from River. Then, after a moment, “I’m sorry you didn’t win.”

River smiles softly, and it strikes Moon in a way. A flutter in her stomach. In her chest.

“I think we both won today,” River says with that same soft smile. “When you win, I win, Moonbeam. I think that’s pretty fair, don’t you?”

#post: self-para #npc: river johansen #about: moon

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