The One in a Wedding Dress. (part 1)
This story being regularly publishing chapters will be determined on whether the reception of this story is good enough. I am making this story out of impulse, and to have a break from other stories.
Hope you enjoy.
Ah, Manehattan. The city of endless energy, towering buildings, and at this particular moment—one very heated debate about what is, and what is not, a date.
Here we are, in a cozy little café, where the scent of coffee hangs in the air, and the late afternoon sun paints everything in a warm golden glow. Ponies are chatting, laughing, living their lives. But over in the corner booth? Well, that’s where the real show is happening.
Let’s meet our cast.
Picky Inkwell. Picky Inkwell is a unicorn with a pristine white coat and elegant, flowing mane of soft lavender and deep violet hues. Her striking purple eyes shine with intelligence and precision, reflecting her perfectionist nature. Everything about her—from her well-groomed mane to the way she carries herself—exudes discipline and an eye for detail. Despite her natural grace, there’s an intensity in her expression, a subtle determination that makes it clear she’s always in control—or at least, she tries to be.
She’s the one currently looking the most exasperated—is sitting up straight, tea in hand, desperately trying to explain why her upcoming dinner is absolutely not a date. Spoiler alert: nopony is buying it.
Across from her, we have Ivey String. Ivey String is a pegasus with a soft, pale green coat and a mess of vibrant, curly lime-green hair that falls around her face, giving her a perpetually relaxed, artsy appearance. Her large, expressive green eyes are framed by round glasses, adding to her quirky and intellectual vibe. She has an effortlessly cool demeanour, the kind that suggests she drifts through life with an air of whimsical curiosity. There’s something enigmatic about her, as if she’s constantly lost in deep thought—though whether those thoughts are profound or completely ridiculous is anypony’s guess.
Despite not actually being involved in this discussion, is watching it unfold like it’s the most interesting thing she’s ever seen. Which, to be fair, might actually be true.
Next, we’ve got Sunny Shades. Sunny Shades is a pegasus with a golden-yellow coat and a wild, windswept mane of jet-black with streaks of golden highlights. His bright magenta eyes radiate warmth, confidence, and just a hint of mischief, perfectly matching his laid-back, flirtatious nature. His wings, sleek and well-kept, add to his natural charisma, making him look effortlessly cool even when he’s not trying. There’s a casual, almost carefree energy to him—he’s the kind of guy who walks into a room and acts like he owns it, but in a way that’s more charming than arrogant.
His legs were spread wide, muffin in hand, looking at it like it owes him money. This is a stallion with one brain cell, and it is working overtime—mostly thinking about food and mares. Right now, though? He’s very invested in proving that a dinner without sex is, in fact, pointless.
And finally, there’s Bingaling. Bingaling is an earth pony with a rugged, well-groomed light brown coat, his fur lightly dusted with freckles across his face. His medium-length mane is a slightly darker shade of brown, tousled just enough to give him that effortlessly messy-but-stylish look. His sharp green eyes are always filled with a mix of dry wit and quiet observation, making it clear that no detail—or opportunity for sarcasm—escapes him. There’s an easy confidence in the way he carries himself, like he’s always in on a joke that no one else knows yet.
Currently he is leaned back, sipping his coffee, already armed with enough sarcasm to fuel him for the rest of the day. If there’s an opportunity to be smug about something, trust me, he’ll take it.
And so, here we are. Four friends, one booth, and an argument that, if we’re being honest, is probably going to go in circles for the next twenty minutes to Picky’s absolute dread.
But hey, what are friends for?
“For the last time, it is not a date!” Picky declared, gripping her tea like it was a life raft.
Across from her, Ivey String, the poster filly for maximum chill, idly twirled a spoon, blinking slowly like a cat watching a laser pointer. “But it sounds like a date. Like, scientifically speaking.”
Picky narrowed her eyes. “How does science have anything to do with this?”
Ivey shrugged. “Well, I read somewhere that if two ponies share food in a dimly lit place, their souls intertwine for eternity.”
And there it was. The madness.
Meanwhile, Bingaling, who had long since accepted that logic had no place in their conversations, took a leisurely sip of his coffee. “Ah yes, the classic law of dinner-based soul binding. Star Swirl the Bearded’s fourth law, I believe.”
Sunny Shades, who up until now had been giving his muffin the kind of longing stare usually reserved for ex-lovers, perked up. “Oh yeah, I think I heard that too. It’s why I never let a mare pay for her own meal. Too risky.”
Bingaling slowly turned his head, his face a perfect display of deadpan skepticism. “Oh, so chivalry? Not the fact that you’re terrified of splitting the bill?”
Sunny grinned, radiating the confidence of a stallion who had never let reality interfere with his self-image. “Two things can be true.”
Picky groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead, already regretting ever mentioning this dinner. “You guys are impossible. It’s just two ponies having dinner. Without any romance. Or kissing. Or—”
Ivey leaned forward, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Ooooor sex?”
Sunny frowned, clearly baffled by this concept. “Well, then what’s the point?”
Picky shot him a glare sharp enough to slice through steel. “Friendship?”
Sunny recoiled as if she’d just suggested they spend the evening reading tax laws. “Ew.”
Bingaling smirked, taking another casual sip of coffee. “Sunny, your commitment to emotional shallowness is truly inspiring.”
Sunny shrugged, completely unbothered. “What can I say? I like to keep things simple. Like, ‘Hey, you’re cute.’ Boom. Done.”
Ivey nodded thoughtfully. “You know, in some cultures, when two ponies share a meal, it’s a contract for eternal companionship.”
Picky looked like she was on the verge of throwing herself or Ivey out the window. “Oh, for the love of—”
Bingaling smirked. “Ivey, is this real, or are you just making things up again?”
Ivey smiled serenely. “Does it matter?”
Sunny leaned forward, his grin widening like a stallion about to unveil a very questionable life philosophy. “Look, dating is easy. It’s like a sandwich—”
Picky groaned. “Oh no.”
Bingaling grinned. “Oh yes.”
Sunny pressed on, completely unfazed. “You got the bread—small talk, light flirting. You got the filling—the charm, the eye contact, the confidence.”
Bingaling immediately countered, “The desperation?”
Sunny ignored him. “Then you top it off with a little spice—boom! Perfect date.”
Ivey tilted her head, looking genuinely curious. “What about the plate?”
Sunny blinked. “What?”
Ivey gestured with her hand, as if this was the most obvious question in the world. “Well, a sandwich needs a plate. Otherwise, it just falls apart. So what’s the plate?”
Sunny opened his mouth. Paused. Visibly panicked. “Uh…”
Bingaling leaned forward, delighting in the chaos. “Oh no. His entire philosophy is crumbling.”
“No, no, it’s fine!” Sunny waved a hand, desperate to recover. “The plate is… um…” He stared at the table, as if the answer might materialize in the crumbs. “Confidence?”
Picky crossed her arms. “Didn’t you already say that was the filling?”
Ivey tapped her chin, deep in thought. “Maybe love is the plate.”
Bingaling smirked. “Or in Sunny’s case, a disposable napkin.”
Sunny scoffed, placing a hand over his heart like he’d just been deeply wounded. “Hey! I treat mares with respect.”
Bingaling barely blinked. “Right. You respect them enough to forget their names after breakfast.”
Sunny sat up defensively. “That was one time!”
Bingaling arched an eyebrow. “Oh, so you did remember?”
Sunny hesitated. “No… but I knew it started with a ‘C’!”
Picky threw up her hands. “I don’t even know why I’m explaining myself to you three. Ivey thinks ponies share souls over soup, Bingaling is a walking eye-roll, and Sunny just compared dating to a sandwich.”
Ivey nodded. “A soul-binding sandwich.”
Bingaling chuckled. “That honestly sounds like something she’d name a song.”
Ivey gasped, eyes shining with inspiration. “Ooooh, I should totally write that!”
Sunny leaned toward Picky, a knowing smirk on his face. “You know, for somepony who doesn’t care about this ‘not-date,’ you sure are talking about it a lot.”
Picky huffed. “That’s because I have to keep defending myself!”
Bingaling shrugged. “Sure, sure. It’s not a date. Just two ponies, a candlelit dinner, a little eye contact—”
“There won’t be eye contact!” Picky snapped.
Ivey gasped dramatically. “Oh wow, so you’re just gonna stare at your food the whole time? Bold move.”
Sunny grinned. “That’s kinda hot, actually.”
Picky groaned, dropping her head onto the table. “I hate all of you.”
And then, the café door opened.
Enter Bright Inkwell, a unicorn with a slightly messy mane, deep blue eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard. His fur is a soft, natural shade, and his horn stands prominently. He often wears round glasses, giving him a thoughtful and scholarly look.
Right now however, he's looking like somepony had personally walked up and kicked his soul out of his body. His mane was a mess, his posture was slumped, and he carried the distinct energy of a pony who had spent the last twelve hours staring blankly at a wall.
He dragged himself over to the booth, dropped his bag onto the floor, and muttered, in the most lifeless tone imaginable:
“Hey.”
A beat.
Sunny Shades turned to the group, expression completely neutral, and casually stated, “This guy says hello, and it makes me wanna kill myself.”
No apology. No hesitation. Just pure, objective fact.
Bright, as if he hadn’t even heard that, collapsed onto the couch like his bones had been removed. He let out a long, dramatic sigh, his foreleg draped over his face like he was some tragic hero in a stage play.
“It feels like somepony reached down my throat, ripped out my liver, and tied it around my neck like a cursed amulet, forcing me to relive every terrible mistake I’ve ever made.” He let his hand slide off his face, his tired eyes staring at the ceiling. “I am… but a hollow shell of a stallion.”
The table hummed in understanding.
Picky, ever the responsible one, finally decided to fill in the gaps. “Amber moved her stuff out today.”
The group nodded again, all at once, like this piece of information had just explained everything.
Without another word, Picky got up and made her way toward the counter. She’d be damned if she was dealing with this without caffeine.
Meanwhile, Bright, in the slowest and most defeated way possible, slumped even further into the seat Picky had just vacated.
That’s when Ivey String, as unpredictably whimsical as always, leaned forward, narrowed her eyes at him, and slowly began… plucking at the air around his body.
Bright blinked. “What… are you doing?”
“I’m cleansing your aura,” Ivey explained matter-of-factly, flicking invisible bad energy away from his shoulders. “You’re like… all full of sadness and dark energy. It’s just ugh.”
Bright stared at her, unamused. “Stop that.”
Ivey continued plucking.
“Ivey,” he repeated. “Stop that.”
Ivey plucked faster.
Bright groaned. “I’m fine.” He then added, with all the enthusiasm of a pony reading a legal contract, “I wish Amber a happy life.”
A long beat of silence.
Then, Ivey, not even looking up from her invisible aura cleansing, casually remarked, “No, you don’t.”
Bright immediately cracked. “You’re damn right I don’t. To Tartarus with her!” His voice broke slightly before he forced himself to regain composure. He huffed. “She left me.”
Before the mood could settle too much into pathetic heartbreak territory, Sunny, being Sunny, tilted his head and asked the real question:
“How did you not know she was a lesbian?”
Bright, in the calmest and most rational way possible, closed his eyes and stated, “If she didn’t know, how should I?” Then, he opened them again, giving the group a tired look. “Can we please stop fixating on this?”
Right on cue, Picky returned with a coffee cup, about to hand it to him. But before she could—
Bingaling, who had been reading a magazine in the background this whole time, suddenly said,
“Sometimes, I wish I was a lesbian.”
A pause.
Everypony turned to look at him.
Bingaling, still casually flipping a page, didn’t react right away. Then, slowly, his brain caught up with his mouth, and he froze mid-page-turn.
“…Did I say that out loud?”
Picky sighed, dropping Bright’s coffee onto the table in front of him. “Yup.”
Bingaling nodded, as if processing his own existence. “Huh.” Bingaling stared into the void for a moment. Then, deciding there was absolutely no recovery from that, he went back to his magazine. “Well, that’s something to think about later.”
Ivey gave him a thumbs up. “Live your truth, Bingaling.”
Moving on.
Bright, deciding that questioning his life choices in silence was preferable to whatever this conversation had become, sighed and took a sip of his coffee.
That’s when Sunny Shades, ever the helpful love doctor of the group, leaned forward and clapped his hands together. “Alright, buddy, let me ask you something.”
Bright raised an eyebrow. “What.”
Sunny grinned, eyes twinkling like he was about to impart some deep, meaningful wisdom. “Do you know the answer to pain and anger?”
Bright blinked. “…Therapy?”
“Nope.”
“…Emotional growth?”
“Nope.”
“…Forgiveness?”
Sunny leaned in closer, voice dropping to a dramatic whisper.
“Strip joints.”
Bingaling sighed into his coffee.
Picky rolled her eyes.
Ivey looked mildly intrigued.
Bright? Bright just stared.
“You’re single now, dude!” Sunny continued, as if he were offering the key to happiness itself. “You should be celebrating! Having fun! Meeting ponies!” He threw his hands in the air, as if the very concept of Bright’s misery was offensive to him.
Bright, not even blinking, muttered, “I don’t want to be single.”
His gaze fell to the table, and with the same heart-wrenching sadness of a lost puppy in the rain, he sighed,
“I just want to be married.”
And then it happened.
SLAM.
The café doors burst open with the kind of force that suggested either a robbery or a very dramatic life crisis. Everypony turned their heads just in time to witness a mare in a wedding dress—yes, a full wedding dress—sprint into the café like she was being chased by a pack of Timberwolves.
She was visibly panicked, breathless, and completely oblivious to the absolute scene she was making as she bolted toward the counter, heels skidding slightly on the floor. “Excuse me! Hi! I need—” she gasped, catching her breath before frantically waving a hand at the pony behind the counter. “—I need a strong drink. Right now. Like, right now right now. And a napkin. And possibly a time machine. No? Just coffee? Fine. We’ll start with that.”
The group at the booth just stared.
Sunny grinned, leaning forward with intrigue. “Oh, this is good.”
Bright, who up until five seconds ago had been a walking tragedy, suddenly sat bolt upright, blinking as if fate itself had just slapped him in the face. “Did—did I just do that?”
Bingaling, never one to waste an opportunity, immediately threw his hands up and loudly declared, “…and I want a million bits!”
…
Nothing happened.
Bingaling frowned. “Okay, rude.”
Picky, on the other hand, was staring hard at the mare. Her eyes narrowed, her mind clicking into place as recognition dawned on her.
“Oh… oh my Celestia.”
She shot up from the booth, making her way toward the counter. “Satin Luxe?!”
The mare—Satin Luxe—whipped around, her bright blue eyes locking onto Picky like she had just found salvation.
“Oh my gosh!” Satin practically launched herself at Picky, grabbing her in a bone-crushing hug. “Thank Celestia! I knew I’d find you! I went to your building, but you weren’t there, and this big stallion with a broom told me you’d be here, and YOU ARE! YOU REALLY ARE!”
At this point, the entire café had collectively decided to pause their own lives to fully witness this soap opera happening in real-time.
Picky, caught completely off guard, stood stiffly in Satin’s grip before hesitantly patting her on the back. “Okay. Right. Yep. Still got ribs. Let’s keep them that way.”
Satin exhaled sharply and nodded, finally letting her go.
Back at the booth, Sunny leaned toward Bingaling. “So, uh, just checking—this guy wishes for marriage and boom, runaway bride. You wish for money, nothing.”
Bingaling shook his head. “Feels personal, honestly.”
Picky turned back toward the group, gesturing at Satin. “Everypony, this is Satin Luxe.”
The group got a proper look at her now—a stunning, stylish mare with a sleek grey coat, long flowing black mane with natural white streaks, and deep blue eyes that could probably stop traffic. Even in a disheveled wedding dress, she still looked effortlessly put-together… except for the whole frantic energy of a mare who had just abandoned her wedding.
Picky turned to Satin and smirked. “And do you remember my brother, Bright?”
Satin gasped, perking up. “Oh, of course!” She immediately stepped forward for a hug, hands outstretched—
Ivey, without missing a beat, threw out a hand to block her path.
“I wouldn’t do that,” she said seriously. “His aura is bad right now.”
Bright blinked. “Gee, thanks, Ivey.”
Satin hesitated, confused. “His… aura?”
Ivey nodded solemnly. “If you touch him, you might catch it.”
Bright stared at her, unamused. “Ivey, it’s not contagious.”
Satin, not entirely sure how to respond to that, awkwardly slid into the booth next to Bright and Ivey instead. She let out a deep breath, finally sitting still, a forced but polite smile on her face.
She was still wearing a wedding dress.
The group just stared at her.
A beat of silence.
Then, Picky—because somepony had to say it—leaned forward, crossing her arms.
“Sooo… are you gonna tell us what’s going on now, or are we waiting for the bridesmaids?”
Satin groaned, slumping onto the table. “Okay, okay! I know how this looks.”
Bingaling flipped a page in his magazine. “Oh, do you?”
Satin exhaled. “Alright. Half an hour before the wedding, I was in this room with all the presents, right?” She sat up, eyes darting between them. “And I was just looking at this gravy boat—”
There was a pause.
Bingaling blinked. “A what now?”
“A gravy boat,” Satin repeated like it was a completely normal part of the story. “It was gorgeous. All shiny and elegant, like… art.” She took a deep breath, voice rising in distress. “And then I realized—I was more turned on by this gravy boat than I was by Timeskip.”
Another silence.
Four sets of eyes slowly flicked toward each other.
Satin groaned. “Oh, don’t look at each other like that!”
Ivey, completely serious, tilted her head. “Sooo… where’s the gravy boat now?”
Satin threw her arms up. “I DON’T KNOW!”
Picky sighed, rubbing her temple. “Okay, and Timeskip is…?”
Satin grimaced. “He was supposed to be my husband.” She groaned dramatically. “And THEN, in the middle of my gravy boat crisis, I suddenly really looked at him. And you know what? He totally looks like Gladmane.”
There was another pause as the group collectively grimaced.
“Oof,” Sunny muttered. “Yeah. That’s rough.”
Picky sighed. “Satin, you chose to get engaged to him.”
Satin threw up her arms. “I KNOW! I don’t know what happened! One minute, I was planning a life together, and the next, I was picturing him in a flashy white suit scamming ponies at a hotel!” She took another breath. “And then I just started wondering—‘Why am I doing this?’ and ‘Who am I even doing this for?’ And I panicked.”
She glanced at Picky sheepishly. “And even though we drifted apart, you were the only pony I knew that lived in the city.”
Picky blinked. Then, her expression flattened.
“You mean the pony who wasn’t invited to the wedding?”
Satin cringed hard, ears flattening. “Okay, I was really hoping that wouldn’t be an issue.”
Picky just stared at her.
Satin grinned nervously.
Sunny, thoroughly enjoying this, leaned back with a smirk. “This just keeps getting better.”
