Miley Cyrus
It was four hours into the third ceremony and Ashley Tisdale was starting to show signs of the effects of an eight-day bender. She’d disappeared for a huge chunk of time during the video montage, then reappeared under the Red Bull tent drinking something vicious and green out of a mason jar. “I can’t trust you,” she told the Red Bull spokesman repeatedly, sobbing openly. “I love you, but I don’t trust you.” She hit him in the face before curling up in a patch of grass and falling asleep.

Miley sighed. This was supposed to be the third most important day of her life, and all she wanted was for her friends and family to have a good time and not talk during Liam’s scenes in the sneak preview of The Hunger Games II.

“Miley?” a voice from somewhere near her elbow asked, and Miley looked down to see Tracy, her wedding planner, wearing a headset and a nervous expression. “Miley, I don’t want you to worry about a thing – you look phenomenal, by the way, you look stunning, your eyebrows are really coming back in after the unity candle thing; I just wanted to give you a quick update about the swan ice sculptures -”

Miley stopped listening. She didn’t care about ice sculptures, swan-shaped or otherwise. She cared about Liam, about starting a life together, about getting Meghan McCain to co-author a series of marijuana-themed cookbooks with her. This wasn’t really about her; this was about everyone else. She might as well have taken Amanda Bynes up on her offer to put on a short wig and act as a stand-in.

Maybe then Amanda wouldn’t have ended up calling her from that Guatemalan jail last night, her voice high and confused. They think they have me, she’d chattered over the phone, but of course they can only hold me within this particular dimension, Miley. I have all the time-streams in the multiverse at my disposal. You can’t imprison a Time Lord. And I didn’t kill him, Miley. He was already dead.

“- so it’s fine, really, it doesn’t matter, we just found some regular swans and we’re freezing them right now, the caterer said he wasn’t sure how long it took to freeze a bird that size if they’re still alive but I think -”

Miley put up her hand. Enough was enough. “Tracy. Tracy.” Tracy stiffened and stopped talking. “I don’t need to know about the swans. I don’t need to know if my dad sprains his wrist chasing a dog in the parking lot. I don’t need to know if the Whitney Houston hologram malfunctions and starts choking people. I don’t need to know if Zac Efron crashes the reception and tries to sell copies of his rap album again.”

Tracy’s eyes widened. “How did you hear about Zac -”

Miley put up her hand again. “Tracy. I don’t want to hear about anything else that goes wrong today. Everything’s going to be fine, okay? Just hand me my wedding jorts and let’s do this.”

“About that, Miley,” Tracy said, looking sheepish.

“You can’t find them,” Miley guessed, and Tracy nodded. She looked ready to cry, and Miley found herself swept with a wave of infinite compassion. She rested a hand on Tracy’s shoulder. “Tracy. Listen. You’ve done an amazing job with these weddings and I’m going to see to it that you have your own island by the time this is finished. Not one of those abandoned global warming islands, either. A real one, with trees and everything. But you have got to learn to take it easy. The important thing is that I get to marry Liam today, and possibly also next month if we don’t have anything going on. Now I want you to smoke something and relax. I brought my own jorts. Just in case.”

Tracy’s face broke into a tremulous but genuine smile. Miley smiled back. Today was going to be perfect.

[Image via Wenn]