The Five Phases Of Being Bruce Wayne's Daughter Wedding Planner!
Part two of Asshole Tax and Wedding bells
Marinette Dupain-Cheng had always believed there were only three truly universal truths in the world:
3. And rich people making their personal problems everyone else’s problem
She had built an entire, thriving wedding-planning empire on that third truth.
Part of her success—besides talent, organization skills that bordered on supernatural, and the fact that she could stare down CEOs twice her size without blinking—was something she privately referred to as the Asshole Tax.
The Asshole Tax was not listed on invoices.
The Asshole Tax was not acknowledged out loud.
The Asshole Tax was, however, very real.
It manifested whenever a client snapped their fingers at her, questioned her credentials despite her résumé being thicker than a Gotham phonebook, or said the phrase, "Money isn’t an issue," as if that absolved them of common decency.
Money might not be an issue for them.
It was about to be a learning experience for everyone else.
Phase One: Denial (a.k.a. “This Is Fine”)
The wedding of Selina Kyle and Bruce Wayne—yes, that Bruce Wayne—started off deceptively normal.
"Normal" if you ignored the fact that the bride wanted:
• A venue that felt "romantic but dangerous"
• Floral arrangements that evoked "the memory of a rooftop chase"
• And a color palette best described as "moonlight, bruises, and regret"
Marinette had nodded, smiled, and written everything down.
She had learned long ago that reacting visibly to billionaire eccentricity only encouraged them.
Still, by the time Selina requested silk table runners hand-dyed to match the Gotham skyline at exactly 2:47 a.m., Marinette quietly added a zero to the labour estimate.
Asshole Tax: Applied gently, with love.
Phase Two: Bargaining (a.k.a. “I Can Make This Work”)
Bruce Wayne was polite. Disarmingly so. Soft-spoken, apologetic, constantly asking if she needed anything.
Which would have been fine.
Except Bruce Wayne had the uncanny ability to make extremely unhinged requests sound like reasonable suggestions.
"Do you think," he asked one afternoon, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "it would be possible to seat certain… acquaintances far enough apart that they don’t try to kill each other?"
"…Do you want them in separate sections?"
Bruce smiled tiredly. "Ideally separate hemispheres."
She did not ask follow-up questions.
She simply opened a new spreadsheet tab labelled Security Logistics (God Help Me) and quietly increased the venue insurance coverage.
Asshole Tax: Applied preventatively.
Phase Three: Acceptance (a.k.a. “I Need a Drink”)
It was around the time Selina proposed releasing trained cats down the aisle—tastefully, of course—that Marinette accepted her fate.
This wedding was not going to be normal.
This wedding was going to be a story.
And like all great stories, it was going to cost extra.
• The cats became symbolic cat imagery.
• The rooftop ceremony was moved indoors after Marinette threatened to quit and become a nun.
• The bat-shaped ice sculpture was… downsized.
Each compromise came with a smile.
Each smile came with another silent adjustment to the budget.
Asshole Tax: Thriving. Flourishing. In its golden era.
Phase Four: The Seating Chart (a.k.a. “The Universe Is Mocking Me”)
Marinette saved the seating chart for last.
Seating charts were delicate creatures. One wrong move and you triggered decades-long feuds, passive-aggressive speeches, or someone crying in the bathroom for reasons they refused to explain.
She approached it methodically.
With the confidence of a woman who had survived three separate weddings involving feuding aristocratic families and one that involved a live falcon.
All are neatly arranged across Table Twelve.
She checked the table assignments again.
✔ The Bride’s Personal Guests
Yeah, okay. That tracked.
And then, directly across from them, seated with the groom’s family—
Marinette’s soul quietly left her body, ordered a coffee, and sat down somewhere very far away.
The Realization (a.k.a. “Of Course It Is”)
She had recently learned—through a truly unreasonable chain of events involving reality-warping miniature gods, ancient magic, and a migraine she still hadn’t recovered from—that Bruce Wayne might be her biological father.
But Tom Dupain was still her dad.
The man who taught her how to knead dough, ride a bike, and throw a punch if someone insulted her family.
And now all three of them were seated together at a wedding between:
• The world’s most cat obsessed woman
• And the man who might be responsible for her existing in the first place
Marinette rested her forehead on her desk.
"Yeah," she muttered. "I’m raising the tax."
Phase Five: Acceptance, Revisited (a.k.a. “I Deserve This”)
She adjusted the seating chart.
And then she opened the invoice.
• Emotional labor compensation
• Existential crisis handling
• "Unexpected family revelations surcharge"
She didn’t label it Asshole Tax.
But as she leaned back in her chair, sipping lukewarm tea and staring at the Gotham skyline outside her office window, Marinette Dupain-Cheng felt at peace.
Because if the universe was going to put her at the same table as her possibly-biological billionaire philanthropist father at his wedding to Selina Kyle—
Then the least it could do was pay her very, very well for the trouble.
She was thinking of adding another zero.
Here it is! Your part two you've been requesting! I hope you had fun reading it as much as I has writing it!
