★

Spaceballs (1987) dir. Mel Brooks

★

she took a step closer, her pale pink silks whispering against the stone floor, her presence nyielding - she never knew when to stop. never knew when to let up, constantly needing to have the final word in every situation and scenario. “but let us entertain the thought, just for a moment. you believe you’ve returned with something to offer, something to prove, but i see through it. you’re like nothing - fading, trying desperately to hold onto something that no longer exists.” her gaze flicked over devani’s bowed head, the mockery in it stoking the embers of her irritation.

“what could you possibly offer anyone now, devani? your roots were severed the moment you left, and no amount of coy glances or veiled words can replant them. what more is there for you here? fixing your brother's mess?” she scoffed, her hand jingling with the sound of amethyst jewels, white gold glinting in the sunlight. "it is my brother that will sort your mess, we all know it. and you will nod and say, okay...as if that would stop anything." there was a level of cruelty in her words now, almost in retaliation to the slow gaze that crept over her figure, and as much as she took pleasure in it, she also found herself bitter by it.

because it changed nothing. her body was just a body to devani toland; she was not special. she was not different. and it was enough to make her want to scream.

ruqaiyah’s laugh came slow, deliberate, curling like smoke in the air between them. she tilted her head, her amethyst eyes dark and calculating as they swept over devani. “oh, darling,” she began, her voice low and rich, tinged with that razor-sharp edge she wielded so effortlessly. “there is nothing to tell ravi. nothing.” her lips twitched into a smile that barely concealed the bitterness lurking beneath. “and even if there were, it would be so insignificant as to hardly warrant his attention.” she turned her head slightly, as though inspecting devani from a new angle, her gaze laden with a judgmental disdain.

“what is it you think i have to tell him, hmm? that two girls used to share a bed? that you used to spend far too much time within my house because nobody wanted you in yours?"

devani exhaled, a sound halfway between a scoff and a laugh. "fear, courage... there's a fine line between them, ru. and in the end, it doesn't matter what lit the fire under my heels. i am here." her words were edged with a note of finality. it did not matter what words ruqaiyah flung at her now, running could not be an option.

and yet, there was something devani could not deny. underneath ruqaiyah's piercing gaze and sharp words was a woman who knew the parts of herself devani had fought for years to hide, to keep concealed behind flippant smiles and smarmy words. here was a woman who knew her from the inside out, even after so many years looking at her through the lens of a teenage girl who still looked at her and saw betrayal.

her gaze dropped, flicking to ruqaiyah's hand for a heartbeat as it brushed hers off, as though to mask the look that crossed her face. when she looked up again, it was gone. "what could i possibly be hiding?" the answer to that was more than she thought even ruqaiyah could imagine. "honestly, ru. you and your conspiracy theories. you'll drive yourself mad." as though she was not the one slowly losing her grip, as though she hadn't accumulated enough secrets to bury her.

she did not answer, instead allowing her eyes to drag over ruqaiyah, slow and leisurely. she could slap away devani's touch, but she could not stop her looking, could not wash away what she wished to pretend had never happened. they had once been everything to each other, until devani had decided to be nothing, a name and a ghost and a memory, which no explanation as to why. even then, she had not shared the reality of life in ghost hill, though ruqaiyah might have guessed as to why she spent so much time anywhere but home.

she straightened, halting her trip through the maze of memories with a deferent bow of her head, but even in that gesture, there was mockery. "as your subject to be then, i suppose i ought to be properly repentant." her tone dripped with sarcasm. "tell me, princess ruqaiyah, how might i atone? should i get on my knees?" there was suggestion in her words, though she quickly dropped it, her tone becoming more thoughtful when she asked again.

"but what will you tell him? that fiancé of yours? because you're right about one thing, ru. nobody can hide forever."

This barbie is desi

★

"the wyl of wyl, with all his mirth and misplaced confidence, continues to be a source of unexpected amusement at his own expense. how exciting." ruqaiyah uttered, her tone laced with a scathing form of sarcasm as she flickered her lilac gaze up and down his frame, as though she wanted him to know she were inspecting every part of him.

and then her expression changed, to one where she seemed to have taken great and obvious offense. "prove? what do i have to prove to the likes of you?" she demanded, her tone rising slightly; almost as though she were in shock and disbelief at such a statement. and perhaps she seemed as though she were swirling her emotions because she wanted him to momentarily wonder if someone would hear him irritating her. upsetting her. "i am, and will be more of, your better. you come into my home and tell me i need to prove myself to be your princess?"

there was false distress in her voice now, her hand resting upon her silverish pink fitted blouse, looking around. as though she were needing someone else to step in.

some people simply did not know how to get what they wanted, or what they needed; they needed an example to set the tone for them. to pave the way, to give some sense of confidence - and she would do just that. "your persistence is lacking. when i sit beside my martell husband in sunspear, you will know. and you will learn how to obtain what one truly wants, from my own example. it would be some benefit to you."

her eyes glinted with a mixture of disdain and amusement. "it is quite the spectacle to witness such ungrounded confidence. after all, being a mere bannerman of armaan yronwood must come with its own unique set of delusions." with this, she were not entirely certain of the knowledge she seemed to be sprouting - but there was no part of her which gave that away. confident face, confident voice - overconfident.

"so what do you do as a bannerman? fetch his chai? i wouldn't know, you see."

Ryon looked at her, a brow raising, "why would their be a celebration for you?" He continued to speak in their shared tongue, amused at her arrogance. Clearly, it was a family trait. They thought more of themselves then they should and with their student and unsurprising rise, to anyone with eyes, their arrogance would only grow.

And then, then she said she would be their princess and that made him laugh. And he made sure he laughed loudly, his bright smile seemingly even bright as he found himself overly amused. Would the Martell Prince truly marry the Dayne sister? Were the Dayne's so politically shrewd while being social inept?

"I've nothing to prove, lady Dayne. Not nearly as much as you who wishes to be a Princess one day." His words were mocking but he said it with the same smile. Wyl's were not known for their friendly disposition, it was what made Ryon stand out againster the reputation of his house, one did not know where his mind was or where it was going. Even when soaked in blood there was the hint of glee in his dark eyes. after all, it was all a great game.

Much liked the sister of House Dayne, Ryon wielded his words and tongue as weapons of their own. When it was time for a Wyl to sheath their blade it was time to fall back on the other tools a man must keep sharp.

"How many more years shall we wait for a great ball for the future princess?"

★

ruqaiyah leaned back slightly, her glossy lips curving into a slow, calculated smile. the torches cast a golden light over her pale lavender gown, their glow playing across the delicate white gold embellishments that shimmered as though stars themselves adorned her. her hands remained extended, palm up, though her posture was anything but open.

“the stars are willing to speak, you say?” her voice lilted with amusement, soft and melodic, though laced with something sharp beneath. “how convenient for you, zahra. they always seem to have just enough to keep people intrigued, don’t they?” she tilted her head, dark hair cascading over one shoulder like a waterfall of silk. her amethyst eyes, so renowned in the courts of dorne, locked onto zahra’s with an intensity that made lesser women falter.

as zahra’s hands traced hers, ruqaiyah feigned a contemplative expression, though her thoughts were less charitable. strength to lead? to endure? how utterly unoriginal. does she think this is what i wish to hear? she resisted the urge to snatch her hands away, opting instead to let her fingers twitch, an unsubtle display of impatience.

“great responsibility,” she repeated slowly, her tone a perfect mimicry of zahra’s gentle cadence. the girl then let out a cruel giggle, a jewelled hand resting upon her jawline as she looked upon the woman who sat across from her. such beauty, it woud be enough to turn her green someday. ruqaiyah’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments as zahra’s words settled into the air between them. “a decision that weighs on me?” she echoed, her tone deceptively light, though her fingers tensed slightly in zahra’s grasp.

her amethyst eyes narrowed, studying the seer with the intensity of someone probing for a hidden insult. does she think to pry into my betrothal? does she dare to insinuate that the choice is not already made? she resisted the urge to strike the seer that sat across the table from her. the thought rankled her more than she let show. ruqaiyah was a master of poise, after all, and the court of sunspear was no place for a crack in one’s armor. but still, zahra’s words lingered, needling her like a thorn caught beneath her flawless skin.

"what do you have in that empty head of yours?" ruqaiyah asked, her voice purposefully getting louder, as though she sought to embarrass her by ensuring others would hear their conversation. a fake, poisoned smile was still plastered over her glossed lips. "do you suggest that prince ravi would seek to marry another but me?" they were both stupid; zahra and that foolish sister of hers, that did not know how to take a joke. that did not know how to let go of her shawl.

the warm hum of conversation and music around them felt distant as zahra faced ruqaiyah, her words cutting but absorbed with quiet resilience. the dancer's fingers lightly smoothed the edge of her gown, grounding herself as she stood before the high lady. she had long learned that responding to remarks like these, no matter how sharp, was a path fraught with trouble. her smile was small but steady, a shield against the sting of the words.

“of course, my lady,” shesaid gently, her voice calm and even. she let her gaze drift briefly to the glow of torches illuminating the grand hall before returning to the other. “the stars are always willing to speak, even when we may not wish to hear them.” ter tone held no malice, only quiet patience.

she stepped closer, now, lowering herself gracefully onto the cushioned bench opposite the lady of starfall. taking the other's outstretched hands, zahra felt a familiar mix of uncertainty and resolve. though the night’s tension tugged at her, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. reading palms had always been a comfort—structured, almost meditative. a way to find meaning, even when her own questions remained unanswered.

“the reach has been kind to you,” she murmured, her touch light as her thumbs traced the lines of ru's palms. “there’s strength here—strength to lead, but also to endure. i see someone who carries great responsibility, and with it, great expectation.”

a faint crease appeared on zahra’s brow as her focus deepened. “but there’s something else… a decision that weighs on you, perhaps. something you must choose, though the choice isn’t clear yet.”

looking up, zahra searched ruqaiyah’s face, her expression kind despite the edge in the woman’s earlier words. “does this sound familiar, my lady?” she asked softly. a flicker of unease brushed the edges of her thoughts, though she pushed it away. Whatever weighed on the other wasn’t for the dancer of salt shore to know—unless ru chose to share.

★

ruqaiyah blinked, caught off guard, her lips parting slightly before she snapped them shut again. she had not expected this—this approach, this sentiment. for a moment, she almost laughed, not out of cruelty, but from sheer disbelief. ravi martell, princely and poised, wanted to try. it was flattering, yes, intoxicating even, to think that he saw beyond the politics, that he considered her worth more than the alliance she represented.

but was it so complicated? really?

“ravi,” she began, her voice soft, though there was still a trace of incredulity in it. her fingers toyed absently with one of the rings on her hand, a nervous habit she refused to acknowledge as such. she did not want to see this slip through her fingers, especially considering how she had spoken so often about it. “you make it sound as though we’re embarking on some impossible quest. we’re betrothed. it’s been all set for years.” her tone was laced with her surprise as her aemethyst gaze flickered at him, the sea breeze cause her hair to move around her as she looked at him.

her gaze lifted to meet his, and for a moment, something flickered in her dark amethyst eyes—something vulnerable, quickly masked by a small, composed smile. “but... you want more than that.” the admission felt strange on her tongue, like tasting something both sweet and bitter. “you think we could be... happy?” the word was almost a whisper, as though testing its weight. her arms, which had been folded tightly against her chest, relaxed as she let out a slow breath. “i can’t deny that the idea is... appealing.” her voice softened, losing its earlier edge, though her words still carried a hint of scepticism.

“but ravi, i’ve been raised my entire life to think of this as a duty. to expect... well, not this. not you, standing here, asking for something so—” she gestured vaguely, searching for the word, “—real.”

ruqaiyah stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking as she studied him, her expression carefully guarded. “but let’s not get carried away, your highness,” she added, her tone light, teasing, though her gaze remained steady - this was all practiced. she needed it to be perfect. “i’ve spent years perfecting the art of expectation. if you fail, i promise i’ll let you know.” she was not joking; she meant every word she said. she smiled then, a genuine, if tentative, curve of her lips. “fine. we’ll have dinner. her voice dropped slightly, almost conspiratorial. “and i don’t despise you. you have given me no reason to despise you.” there was little reason for ravi martell to know of ruqaiyah's narcissistic ways; not yet, at least.

"when is dinner? i am currently watching what i am eating, so if possible, keep it leaner."

the prince of sunspear stood tall, his gaze steady as he regarded ruqaiyah, the flicker of amusement in his eyes tempered by something deeper—earnestness. “i know what this is,” he said, his voice calm, princely but kind. “a match like ours isn’t about just us. it’s about our families, our houses, and the future of dorne. i understand the weight of that. i always have.”

he paused, his tone shifting slightly, softer but no less resolute. “but if we’re to be tied together for the rest of our lives, shouldn’t we at least try to understand who we are beyond our titles? to ensure that we can navigate all of this together? a marriage can’t be built on politics alone, ruqaiyah. it’s not enough to survive—it has to work.”

the faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, a small effort to lighten the mood. “and forgive me if I don’t want to spend my days locked in a union with someone who might secretly despise me for all the ways i fail to meet expectations.”

he stepped closer, his movements deliberate but unthreatening, the weight of his kinder demeanor matched by a genuine humanity. “dinner is a small thing, i know. it won’t solve everything or answer all the questions. but it’s a start, a chance for us to figure out if we can work together, not just as prince and princess, but as people. i’d like to know if you’ll be able to stand me in the quiet moments when no one’s watching, and i’d like you to know the same of me.”

ravi’s voice remained light but carried an edge of quiet insistence. “so, let’s sit, let’s talk. for ourselves, not just for the realm. if nothing else, you’ll have the chance to tell me exactly where I fall short over a fine meal.”

who: @raviofthesun when and where: the royal apartments of prince ravi martell context: following her little temper tantrum, ravi followed through with the promise of a dinner.

she arrived precisely ten minutes early - expecting everything to be set up and perfect, as no man in his right mind would leave anything of this nature so last minute. she did not knock. ruqaiyah had never once announced herself like a servant waiting to be received, and she would not start now, least of all at the threshold of the private martell apartments, where history had already decided she was to one day belong. and she very much agreed with that rhetoric.

and so, the guards glanced at her, but none dared question her entrance; what could they say, with the sun itself stitched into her lehenga and a gaze that did not ask for permission?

the corridors glowed amber beneath the sconces, but they paled against the pink heat of her attire, the silk whispering against her skin with every step, embroidered thread catching the candlelight in glimmers of gold. each anklet, each bracelet, each chain at her waist and glittering around her neck added to the crescendo of her presence—she moved, and the world jingled in acknowledgment. her heels clacked unapologetically, arrogant and sharp, the kind of sound meant to precede news.

ruqaiyah could see herself walking these halls everyday. telling the governess to tell the children to be quiet. making the servants display her outfits lined up.

she had worn pink—not rose, not blush, not any dusty rose, but pink—hot and commanding, like the inside of a pomegranate freshly torn. it clung to her waist, her sleeves sheer and beaded, the skirts full enough to swallow entire population of smallfolk girls whole. her lips were glassy, unapologetically reflective, and her long hair—every strand straightened to a blade—cascaded down her back like a curtain of ink.

she stood now in the outer solar, though no servants were in sight. fine. let him find her here, composed, statuesque. she smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her sleeve and let her gaze drift to the arches and pillars carved with sandstone vines. the martell taste for excess was more subdued than dornish fire might suggest—peach marble and muted earth tones. it made her seem even louder by comparison, a gem mistakenly placed in a bowl of stonefruit. "so this is it," she murmured aloud to herself, fingers trailing lightly along the edge of a table carved with sun motifs. "the belly of the beast."

she had imagined it before, of course. had imagined countless evenings where he would finally remember the promises laid out for them before they could even speak in full sentences. imagined him, not as he was—cool and absent and impossible—but as he might become, if only he would stop stalling. "tell the prince i am here." she did even bother to introduce herself - in what world would she need to? the most beautiful in dorne, on the continent; the sister of the sword of the morning, and the oldest lady of house dayne.

"for our private dinner." she did not want them stood inside.

★

ruqaiyah tilted her head, a cascade of dark waves brushing against her shoulder as she regarded devani with an expression both amused and cutting. the faint flicker of vulnerability in devani’s words—i’m not going anywhere—was enough to make ruqaiyah’s lips twitch into a slow, deliberate smile. “not going anywhere, are you?” she said, her tone as smooth as polished glass. “i suppose the winds of essos didn’t carry all your courage away, then. or perhaps...” she paused, her violet eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“you’ve simply run out of places to hide.” there was always something else, some other reason; it was never truthful. it was never simple. everything always had a million reasons.

she took a step forward, deliberate, as if each movement carried its own weight. the years had added a new polish to devani, but ruqaiyah could see the cracks beneath the surface—the hesitation, the weariness that lingered just behind her carefully curated smile. she had seen devani all but stripped bare once before, not just in body but in soul, and the memory lingered like a brand. she had seen her too, in ways no other had ever seen her. no one but her.

“you’ve always been good at playing pretend.” ruqaiyah continued, her voice light, almost conversational, though her words were anything but. “did you like the view?” she asked, her voice dropping, rich with something almost predatory. do you enjoy watching me? “back then, when you slipped into my bed and whispered things you only ever dared in the dark? did you enjoy seeing how far you could push me, how far i would fall for you?” her jaw tightened as a shadow flickered over her expression.

ruqaiyah's words were intended to slice, to cut through the many, many defences devani had thrown up over the years to prevent anybody from knowing her and her secrets. devani could take the jibes and the insults, could let them roll from her back without much trouble, but what bothered her was that ruqaiyah saw the truth of who devani was. it had been years, and yet she saw devani plain, and that was an unsettling thought.

"does that make you the flame?" she replied, smoothly. "burning so bright? you are still here, ruqaiyah, when you are free to turn and walk away. you could have done the moment you saw me, if you wanted me to stay away. funny, that."

they both knew it would do no good. walking away might have ended the conversation for the day, but devani would have sought her out again, like a dog needing to be chased off each morning, and returning without fail the next. and so, around it goes.

"habit's broken," her words were a little more decisive than her previous airy tone. "i'm not going anywhere, ru. i'm getting too old to run."

it was not the whole truth, but it was enough of it. she hadn't known, when she'd arrived back from essos, if she would stay or not, and though a part of her still longed to go again, to leave these shores without a trace of herself behind, she was resigning herself to the fact that wasn't a path left open to her. she needed to stay.

only a mere trace of her careless smile lingered on her lips. for a moment, the two merely looked at each other, the silence stretching for a beat longer than it should. and then, ru stepped back, and it was all broken in an instant. and there was a flicker of something, too fleeting to name, and too sharp to ignore, that she pushed away before her own response came.

"feels like standing too close to the edge of a cliff and hoping the wind doesn't tip you over," the answer came to her tongue a little too quickly, too easily. "but," she shrugged. "i like the view from up there."

★

ruqaiyah tilted her head, her earrings catching the low light as if to emphasize her. always her. the hubbub of the ball carried on around them, but in ruqaiyah’s mind, the room had narrowed to this singular, unwelcome confrontation. devani’s nonchalance was a far cry from the reckless, thoughtless girl she remembered. ruqaiyah didn’t know whether to find it amusing or infuriating. perhaps both.

“oh, how enlightening,” ruqaiyah purred, the sweetness in her tone so cloying it was venomous. “you don’t know why you’re here. typical devani, fluttering in like a moth to flame without thinking about what you might burn.” her lips curved into a smile so perfect it might have graced a painting, though her eyes remained cold.

she smoothed the silken folds of her gown, deliberately elegant, her nails glittering with gemstones as she waved off devani’s comment. “you speak of clinging as if it’s a fault. and yet here you are, circling back to things you claim to have let go.” she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a low murmur meant only for devani.

“you don’t really let go, devani. you just run. a habit, it seems, you’ve yet to break.”

she paused for a moment, dragging her amethyst orbs across devani's face and her frame. it were intentional; and if she had little pride or self respect, she would happily let devani toland take care of her in a range of manners.

pulling back, ruqaiyah laughed lightly, a sound utterly at odds with the tension between them. “but how silly of me. we’re not here to dig up old grievances, are we? we’re grown women now. mature, as they say.” her eyes sparkled with mockery. “so, tell me,” she continued, taking a sip from her goblet as if this were all a game she was winning, “what’s it like, proving you can still get it? how does my attention make you feel, fool of fools?"

"what can i say? i have always been a giver," devani smiled sweetly, though there was just as much sarcasm in her tone as in ruqaiyah's. her eyes followed the arc over ruqaiyah's shoulder, into the path of those stood behind her, and devani offered them an apologetic glance.

it was not true. for most of her life, devani had given little, but she had took, and she took, and then moved on before any could ask anything of her in return. the habits of a lifetime were not so easily broken. "and what is the alternative, ruqaiyah? to cling to everything that i have ever held in my hands and get dragged down under the weight of it all?" perhaps she was too quick to let things go, but at least she was letting go at all. looking at ruqaiyah, she knew how she would rather be.

she paused for a second, mulling over ruqaiyah's words. she was not privy to the coffers of ghost hill, her mother and brother trusting her not with such matters. was that why aditya had done what he did? no, she did not think so. he was an arrogant fool, but not utterly stupid. "that can't be it. even aditya knows that is no way to get a woman's dowry." she spoke not as if ruqaiyah was trying to insult her, but as though they were discussing this normally, rationally.

"it is amusing," she insisted. "and it's silly. all this fuss over something you will never wear again. why does it matter to you so much?" it was the question she had never quite gotten the answer to. the things that seemed so irrelevant, so meaningless to devani always seemed to be of the utmost importance to ruqaiyah. perhaps it was a side effect of living the life that was expected to live, and never broadening her horizons beyond that.

ruqaiyah posed a question of her own, and for a moment, devani struggled with the answer. there really wasn't one, or at least, not one that would satisfy. "i don't know," she admitted. "perhaps just to prove that i still can get it."

who: @dancingshores when and where: lann's day celebrations within casterly rock, ruqaiyah dayne comes across a nobody who has been climbing the ranks of importance within the court of sunspear. how she hates it.

she had noticed it briefly first, orbs passing over the scene as she found herself engaging in conversation with the hand of king cedric of house tyrell, and then her gaze snapped back to it again.

a familiar figure and voice, all sweetness and honey with long thick dark hair behind a mask; and a head of blonde hair she did not recognise, dancing upon the floor. it was enough to cause her to look upon it, making no attempt to even be subtle; what a scene. this was hardly a surprise, was it? the woman had seemingly given up on her mission of being the most unreliable, detached string in the realm and had instead decided to climb the ranks of court - and climbing the cocks of reachmen.

the music came to a slow as the dance began to end, and she found herself winding her way toward the woman she suspected, and the man that would later be confirmed to be lord gael hightower. and when the dance ended, ruqaiyah had no issue with a slow, sarcastic clap for the duo; slipping right to the side of zahra sand, the dornish court seer.

"amazing." ruqaiyah spoke, her tone gushing in falsehood; and yet, she maintained the gaze of them both. would the reachman see her deceit? no doubt zahra sand would, instantly.

and then she switched to their native tongue, a smooth and seamlessly transition as she feigned a friendly move of putting her hand on zahra's forearm, as though to usher her away. "is the court seer too busy planning on spreading herself on the white man to do the ridiculous job given to you out of pity?" myriam allyrion's favourite pet, was what ruqaiyah called her. all the while, not once did she think of the sister she had left for dead on the borders of the tor. the blood that was never upon her hands.

"i want my palm read. save embarrassing us for later and do your job."