OK. I SAW THIS POST ON TUMBLR AND I COULDNT NOT GET INSPIRED
"Flowers and dresses." she muttered to herself as she trotted along the aisle sprayed with eucalyptus. Something that symbolised everlasting love. Or maybe the opposite... as a quick joke, an underlying giveaway.
The master of the crime you are all about to witness committed was a young woman named Lightbulb. Short of money, she had taken to false schemes along with her reluctant roommate in order to help her get by. Paintbrush, her long suffering friend whom she shared a flat in the centre of town with, had no power to stop her. Physically, or any other way (not that they wanted her to stop). She was just too damn powerful to escape; no matter what they did to try and cut her off, she would always come clawing back in, much to Paintbrush's absolute delight every time. Despite how much patience she took from them, Lightbulb's friendship would always be worth everything.
Worth everything. Worth everything, as in everything in this shop cost the earth.
"Damn Painty, feast your chubby eyeballs on these!
Paintbrush lazily tossed their eyes around in their head, reluctantly looking at the mad spray of flowers displayed in the corner, stabbed like a bushel of arrows into the bleeding floral foam. They were each a different rowdy colour of the rainbow. The arrangement was hideous.
"Can we just take these now bro? They make my head pound... they're so much. I love them."
Paintbrush gave a growling sigh, screwing their foot into the mud and passing the enormous bouquet without a single word.
"Aww hun, I get there we're only here to have a peek, but if I'm really honest I would kill a man for half of this stuff."
"If we blow our money on actually buying shit, we won't make a profit." Paintbrush replied succinctly, shutting Lightbulb's mouth like a clam shell. Walking onwards into the depths of bridal white, the freakishly tall person whipped their phone out from the front pocket of their flannel shirt, swivelling on their heel as they swiped their camera open. Lightbulb, noticing, beamed for joy and leapt for the displays.
"Ok, photo time! Which one do you want most? I had my heart set on that rainbow spray, but to be honest it would make us look stacked and it's also kinda gay."
"Shut up. But you're right, we want to look modestly poor or we won't reel in the really big catches."
Paintbrush surveyed the aisle of beautiful white blooms, scanning from one row of pinkish-cream to spiritual blankness; shreds of soft canvas. Eventually, they settled, gold in a pan. Fixated on a prize.
"Bingo!" they exclaimed playfully, rushing forwards to a medium sized basket of slightly wilted cherryflowers and other white blossoms. They were so fragile and so on the edge of their best that they had so far been overlooked, and the basket that held the spray was tagged with a neon yellow reduction sticker.
"Absolutely perfect! Painty, you have such an eye for these things!"
Rushing over in her short yellow heels, Lightbulb craned on her tiptoes to smooch her best friend's chin, who grumbled and pushed her away. Peeved, the woman protested.
"Aww, c'mon. Show some respect, we're supposed to be engaged."
"Yes, I know. But we're not. As soon as we take this image and head home, the second we get through the door, we're flatmates again."
Lightbulb appeared slightly disappointed, but positioned herself beside the thirsty lilies and white roses. Smiling mischievously at the camera pointed at her yellow dress, she gestured to the past-their-best blooms with long fingers. A reluctant grumble and the click of a shutter, and their trip was over.
Lightbulb thanked the florist sunnily when she left. Paintbrush left, rose-gold cheeks concealed within a refreshing storm cloud.
two months later
"Ok, looks like we're pretty much all set. We haven't got any replies yet, but we've pretty much asked every available billionaire in the area and even a few future afield. I mean, people like Steve Cobs or Starfruit would be difficult to get, but if we could - oh boy, if we could..."
Reclining on an old battered leather sofa in the corner, Paintbrush shrugged as they plunged their hands back into the packet of Salt and Vinegar crisps. They looked intrigued, but only vaguely, like a man passing by a newspaper stand in the early morning.
"How about MePhone? Think he'll remember us from college?"
Lightbulb's eyes brightened, two tungsten filaments that lit up the entire room.
"Yeah, no doubt he will, but maybe that's a good thing! Everyone at that ol' place was kinda hoping we'd get together." she joked as she keyed in MePhone's ancient contact details.
The email address came up green. It was still valid.
"No fucking way! He still uses his old email!"
"What, the ChunkyCookies73 one?"
"Yeah! Oh my god, this be priceless me hearties."
Paintbrush's cheeky smile dropped back into their permanent resting bitch face when Lightbulb began the pirate accent, humming sea shanties to annoy them as she floated up to her feet. As if on a cloud and not the damp carpet, she began to sneak over to the supply cupboard behind the kitchen island, and rustle through it as quietly as possible. Paintbrush had gone back to their crisps, but nevertheless they knew exactly what she was up to in her rummaging little ways.
"If you're getting the pirate bandana and hook out then I'm suing you."
"Hey Painty... are you a creeper? Cause you just made me say aww man."
Paintbrush smacked their crisps directly into the centre of their forehead from the sheer amount of damage that awful joke had inflicted on their emotions. Cringing and wondering why they'd ever agreed to even so much as fake a marriage to this dumbass, they grunted in distaste at their shattered crisps inside the package. Still edible, they decided, but maybe not for right now as they were getting a little full.
"Lightbulb, stop messing around and send the email."
"Right ahead of ya, Paintyguy. I mean, Paintything. Oh god, that's worse. Uh, Paintyperson!"
Paintbrush laughed and snorted, causing Lightbulb to relax her shoulders in the knowledge that they were ok.
"So you sent it then?"
"Yeah, a- wait... he's-"
Lightbulb frowned, squinting in at the screen and rubbing her eyes.
"He's... replied? Already?"
Leaping to their feet and sending the crisps exploding over the petite rug in the middle of the room, Paintbrush sprang to read. Skidding and almost slipping over on the change of surface between the living room and the kitchen, they came in beside Lightbulb. One glance at her face and they knew it was bad. She was as white as a sheet.
-
Congratulations on your engagement! Lovely picture of Lightbulb with those flowers. I know you only asked me for a small grant, but seeing as I knew you from school, I think I could reward you with more than just that. 11th June is a free day for me - I'll be there!
Best wishes,
MePhone
-
"W-we're gonna have to fake an entire ceremony..."
June 11th? It was fine, the guests guessed, all blue sunshine and mallow fluff clouds. Confused at the short notice announcement and invitation to a wedding between two people who seemed to progress from being simple roommates to fiancés much too fast. But then, such is love sometimes, thought the guests as they crouched in the pews of the ancient church, almost feeling the sheer volume of woodworm vibrating through the timber beneath their Sunday best. There wasn't a single person under the roof that day who failed to feel happy for Paintbrush and Lightbulb in their new chapter of life as spouses, and began to dream. Perhaps they would get a dog together, or be surprised by a tiny baby that would push them gently from their city apartment and into a bigger house in the country, and maybe a few more pets and children would follow and grow and move away, by which time the two of them would decide to devote their time to a uselessly Lightbulb-ish project, before collapsing like stars into dust, surrounded by a half-built barn or youthful vineyard. But the future was unclear; looking into it was like gazing into a duck pond. Nobody knew what lurked beneath the surface. The organ buzzed into life.
MePhone straightened his suit and tie, standing upright with respect as Lightbulb began to sashay slowly down the aisle, grinning widely. She looked as if she hadn't aged a day past when he'd last seen her at sixteen, except maybe a tad less of a tomboy. When she was very young, she had been lost and confused, almost male-looking, but all of that had evaporated now. She was a woman walking on the pathway of light streaming through the stained glass window at the back of the church, patterns centuries old dancing over her soft skin. She was exquisite. MePhone could see the nervous wonder in Paintbrush's eyes as they stood in their bold black jacket and dress by the altar. Sweat glistened over their forehead. The priest stood between the two as Lightbulb reached the front, brimming with excited love. Paintbrush appeared very on edge, but when their wife-to-be's hand brushed theirs and they took it, the nerves boiled away into warm steam. The priest raised his arms to the heavens, lording loudly to the deity he'd devoted his life to, just how these two were soon to do to each other, then commanded the congregation to sit. MePhone eagerly did. It was years since he'd been to a wedding.
"We are gathered here today, in the grace of God, to unite these two young lovers in holy matrimony." the priest said, his voice existing a great gravitas that was mysteriously compelling. All the this was compelling. It was just so weird and odd-feeling, but not wrong.
"Look at how well he's sitting. He's being so nice. He was always the asshole at school." Lightbulb hissed quietly through her veil. Paintbrush didn't say a word back. Their eyes darted like tiny minnows in the fishbowls of their eyes. Awful lot of people here today. All they could muster was a small nod and a glance down at the musty, reeking carpet.
"Aw honey, don't be like this. It's going to be ok. We can fake a divorce or annulment in a few years, or disappear off the face of the earth and get a complete identity change, continue tricking more billionaires for wedding gifts... we've already got a huge haul off this lot. We've more than paid for this ceremony. Being scared isn't like you!"
The couple were cut off by a short cough, and turned to see the vicar frowning down his nose haughtily at them.
"Vows?" he asked, voice sailing around the minster, riding the stone columns like a wave.
"Oh, erm-"
Paintbrush sprang into motion, digging a hand in their pocket to fetch a small sheet of paper, scribbled on in blue pen. Vows? Lightbulb hadn't written any vows at all whatsoever. She'd completely forgotten they were a thing, but Paintbrush obviously had not. They finished ironing the creases out with their hands, giving a deep breath in.
"Lightbulb. When I first met you, I thought you were an idiot. Scatterbrained, random, pretty full of yourself, terrible music taste and dress sense. But then, uhh - nothing changed at all, actually."
A pandemic of entertained chuckles spread throughout the congregation. Smiling and gripping the paper a little more comfortably, Paintbrush locked eyes with Lightbulb and continued.
"Lightbulb. When I think of that name, the main thing that comes to mind is happiness. You're like a little island of sunshine in an ocean of tears. Whenever I see you, I'm reminded of how much I love you, and how I might not have been able to live without you. Much as I pretend to hate you, you've always been there no matter what the weather is, outside or inside, rain, storm, snow or shine. You have the power to leave me speechless. I love you. I'm - I'm so excited to spend our entire life together."
Lowering the piece of paper and gulping, they could hardly keep eye contact with the astounded friend across from them. It was unlike them to feel like this; so vulnerable. So unsteady on their feet.
"Wow."
Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. The priest smiled knowingly, turning over to Lightbulb, expecting another list. She produced none. Swallowing back the seeds of what may have become tears, she rubbed her hands together.
"So, I - uhh, I haven't actually prepared anything. I feel like I'd rather have my speech come from the heart than anything else."
Laughing goofily to break the uncomfortable, alien tension she was feeling in her soul, and cracking her knuckles, she exhaled and began.
"Years ago, I met this wonderful, attractive person who I just couldn't resist being around. There's just something about Paintbrush that I'm sure all of you here know exists. Just some sort of infinite depth. Behind their short temper exists something else. Some sort of soft capability and capacity to love, something I've experienced a few times before. Like when I fell and shattered my kneecap on my rollerskates on the way back to that silly school dance from the water fountain. They sat beside me and talked to me. Then..."
She reached a barrier, paused, then forged on through it.
"Then, they - kissed me. And it was wonderful. I remember we told each other we'd never speak of it again, but look at us now."
She took their hands, bravely flicking eye contact between the floor and Paintbrush's deep mahogany irises. She whispered.
"I couldn't have asked for a better person to have my first kiss with."
Stunned is the only word to describe the both of them. Floor-staring idiots, they both gawped away from each other. Too breathtaken and shy for any more eye contact.
"Very touching." the priest said to himself softly, beckoning the ring bearer, who pranced forwards with a velvet cushion, on which sat a band as bright as Mercury's rocky surface. Next to it was a slim ring bathed in moonlight and carved from lunar rock. Cheap, but wonderful in this oddly wholesome new environment which gave to them a greater lustre than anything else could. Loveless, the atmosphere was not. It was electrically confusing.
"Lightbulb Lopez, do you take this person as your lawfully wedded partner, in sickness and in health, forevermore."
"I - I do..."
Paintbrush couldn't hear what the vicar was saying anymore. The white of Lightbulb's dress was turning pink, spinning as if they'd just inhaled a sharp breath of paint fumes, almost crunching them down to their knees in helplessness.
"I do."
"By the power invested in me, I now pronounce you, married."
The cake was cut. Cheers and congratulations received. MePhone caught up with (he was very well, thank you, stocks just keep on rising).
Now was for the first dance, very shortly, too shortly, and here they were in the gender-neutral bathrooms of the most inexpensive pool club in town, slapping cold water over their face. They weren't actually married. This resurgence of... feelings would die away. It would, wouldn't it, outside the boundaries of love within law? That priest had performed the service incorrectly. The documents they had signed in front of everybody were duds. Paintbrush and Lightbulb were both single as can be, only held together by social pretence, a weak bond that could be broken with the cake knife they'd held together for the photographer. So why in hell were they falling in love so hard? Because that's what this was. Paintbrush knew their own mind. They weren't one to go swooning about wondering what these strange emotions in the pit of their chest could possibly be. Love. They were in love with the girl they'd just faked a wedding to.
And now they were hiding from her in the bathroom with a face frozen and soaking from trying to splatter out the affection. Curling themself into a little ball on the side of the sinks, they have one tearless heave into their own chest, allowing it all to soak in, before they were interrupted by a wild kick and a creak.
"Paintybro! There you are, I've been looking for you all over, it's time f- whoah, are you ok?"
Paintbrush jolted urgently out of their huddle to be faced with the last person they wanted to see.
"Yeah, I'm fine. How did you know to check the disabled bathrooms?"
"If there's anything I learnt during my transition, it's that accessible toilets are gender-neutral toilets. Also, who doesn't use the bog for a quick sob?"
She gave a half-hearted laugh, and Paintbrush smiled, running a hand through their damp hair. They rose from the faux-marble side, dropping to the ground and approaching their best friend in the world.
"I think... I think I'm ready for our first dance."
"Bruh, I've been ready for like 20 minutes. Not a big deal. Come on!"
The both of them crashed like a whirlwind through the doors, running together between the labyrinths of people and tables. A loud alcohol fuelled cheer rose up amongst them all.
"And here they are, the lucky couple! Ready for their first dance!"
Who gave MePhone the microphone? Oh well, now wasn't really the time for asking. Eyes bright but concerned, Lightbulb looked back to Paintbrush, extending both her hands as the rest of the room and its noises melted away.
It was only them and Lightbulb.
The music began to play softly.
Intertwined in her arms, Paintbrush felt as if they were walking through space, grasping a living being to them as proof another life existed. To prevent them from wavering and being lost to the universe. But the time has to come when you break away, they thought, alone on the floor as Lightbulb left their side, holding their spouse's noodle arm and pirouetting gracefully beneath.
"I can't dance."
"Don't be scared. Hold tight."
She engulfed them, becoming one with them; fusing into friendship. Paintbrush gasped to feel her burrow her face into their neck and begin to sway slowly from side to side.
Remember, Paintbrush! Nobody else exists but us, ok? All those stinky guests are long gone. It's just me and you Paintybaby. Us against the world.
"I'm in love with you."
The slowdance was eternal, it seemed, spinning in orbit around the dance floor. Paintbrush repeated the same words over and over as if Lightbulb was deaf and would never hear them, trembling with the release of what had plagued them since the altar. Her hands in their hair, their faces met.
The pianissimo tapping of the keys on the CD slipped away, as the black room cane back to focus. The clapping was so loud it was painful, petals and confetti descended into the masses that flooded the area to pick up their heels in the next jaunty number, high on other people's success. Lightbulb nuzzled into Paintbrush's neck once again.
"That dance was amazing. It made me feel so real and alive, and myself. Thank you."
Paintbrush wrapped their arms around her body.
"Thank you, me too to be honest. I love you. But not in a marriage way! N-not yet!"
"Me too, hun. And yeah, I'm glad you got the priest in on our scheme thing."
The tall human snorted in laughter and drew back from their crush, who smiled up at them like a little spot of sunshine on a cold winter's day.
"Honey, I thought you'd taken care of the documents?"
"No, my job was to get the clothes ready and order the flowers. You were supposed to talk to the vicar and forge the documents."
They both realised at the same time, with a rush of hands and widening of eyes. Too late of course.
"Oh my god-"
"We're married."
YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW FUCKING FUNNY THIS IMAGE IS TO ME
the music began to play softly.