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moonmaidensblessing · 11 months

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Jasmine Jolene x Anna Culpepper / BioShock AU / pt. 1

I originally got this idea from this post talking about different BioShock AUs! The idea of Jasmine and Ryan getting married to save face and have Ryan an heir is really interesting to me. Of course, I took it in a sapphic direction because of course I did. :) This is a scene where Jasmine shares the news to her closest friend, Anna Culpepper, who is not happy about the situation.

TW. alcohol use, pregnancy mention, general distressing tone.

“I… I told him!”

There was a shock like crackling thunder, ripping through the senses. “What?!”

“I told him I was pregnant!”

“Jasmine!” Anna felt breathless as she reflexively gripped Jasmine’s arms, held her as if she might suddenly slip away from her, out of grasp. Jasmine didn’t look right. Anna felt sick.

“Anna…” Bracing for the worst, Anna stared in wide-eyed horror, watching for something to make sense of it in Jasmine’s face. She waited for the punch, the wind to be knocked out of her, the worst thing finally to come true. “He.. proposed.”

Like a freight train, wailing horns and grinding wheels and screaming metal and then everything stopped.

“He.. he wants me to marry him, Anna.”

Anna Culpepper was speechless, absolutely floored. Her grasp on Jasmine didn’t relax as she held her now as if to study her, as if she may just be out of her senses. Naive, helpless Jasmine. Her Jasmine. Maybe she was just confused. Something might have been misunderstood. Anna couldn’t believe it. She felt her brow furrow, concern cresting itself in her expression, slowly shaking her head.

“Jasmine… Are you sure?”

There was a dazed gleam in Jasmine Jolene’s eyes as if she was not in this world but her own dream. Something else, too. Something that made Anna’s stomach turn, a creeping fear in her countenance, like something wasn’t right. Jasmine didn’t seem certain, her tainted happiness, an obscure sense of doom beneath a porcelain facade. “He told me we needed to be married. That’s what he told me, Anna. He said: we should be married as soon as possible.”

The sick churned and made Anna all the more tense. No, this wasn’t right. It didn’t make any sense. Andrew Ryan never was a good part of Jasmine’s life, killing her chances at reaching her dreams, using her and never seeming to consider her a real, feeling person. Stringing her along all these years just for his own pleasure. Anna couldn’t stand the way Andrew Ryan treated Jasmine. Not to mention his hypocritical nature undermining his whole scheme for utopia. Andrew Ryan was a man who got lucky in order to gain wealth, and who couldn’t see the faults for his own ego. Anna’s favor of the man only fell rapidly over her time living in Rapture. She had seen enough of his true colors to know he wasn’t a reliable leader who would put his needs over his own values. An intensely individualistic capitalist was selfish. Go figure.

Jasmine smiled softly, weakly. The blue color of her eyes was like misty puddles, welling with an emotion both wistful and sad. Anna didn’t understand what Jasmine was feeling, but she was apprehensive of her anyhow.

“I know you must not understand… It’s okay. I wanted to tell you as soon as I could.” Jasmine brought her own hands up on Anna’s arms and gently urged them back to her sides. Yes, that little, light smile playing itself beautifully on Jasmine’s lips made Anna’s heart ache. The ache deepened as Jasmine went on. “I wanted you to hear it from me, and not in a gossip column in the Rapture Tribune. I’ll be moving into his apartments tomorrow, and I wanted to see you before I left.”

Anna Culpepper felt like she had been dealt a blow, shocked and trying to grapple with what Jasmine was saying. It wasn’t what she had been expecting when Jasmine came over to her own luxury accommodations in Olympus Heights. It wasn’t like Jasmine was going to be far away, but under Andrew Ryan’s thumb, furthering his control over her, it made Anna afraid for Jasmine. She knew it wasn’t the right choice, that it would only lead to further ruin for Jasmine, but Anna didn’t know if she’d be able to convince her to break this off. Never had Anna been more worried for Jasmine than she was at this moment.

“Jasmine, honey, please listen to me. You can’t do this. This isn’t going to end well…”

Jasmine made a small scoffing noise in spite of her pretty, tightening smile, a hardness, a guardedness, coming up into her gaze. “I know you don’t like him. I know you don’t trust him. But, this time, it was different. Please, hear me out! It was different this time, the way he acted was so serious, a seriousness I’ve never seen in him before!”

“Jasmine…” Anna began, practically pleading, shutting her eyes and dropping her arms in a defeated defiance. “I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in here.”

Jasmine lost her smile in pained disappointment, a wounded thing closing in on itself. Anna felt the ache deepen and cleave in half; she wanted to grab Jasmine again, hold her close to her, promise her that she just wanted to protect her! As Jasmine suddenly turned away, Anna frowned and sighed, submitting and balancing herself off of Jasmine’s reaction to a less assertive route in approaching her. The statuesque blonde woman took a few paces away from Anna, a soft sway to her gait that kept Anna’s eyes following her. Jasmine’s grace was effortless, an elegant creature of long dancer’s limbs and glittering eyes and smile and white-blonde hair. She was unreal, out of this world beautiful, and her whole being was as sincere and sweet as could be. Anna couldn’t stand to be the cause of making Jasmine frown, but she wasn’t about to let something bad happen to Jasmine.

“Why are you saying things like that? I thought you might be glad for me. I’ve been in love with him for so, so long. I thought I’d never be with the great love of my life. Now’s my chance, Anna! Maybe, this was actually a good thing…”

Anna couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but she didn’t react so strongly, keeping a clamp on her overwhelming feeling of dread. “Jasmine.. Are you sure about this? We were just talking about breaking things off with him. What changed? Aren’t you worried?”

There it was again; the flash of uncertainty troubled her lovely face, stealing the focus of her stare as she brooded with unknown thoughts. Anna wanted to stroke Jasmine’s hair until she calmed back down, assure her that things were going to be alright. She feared she didn’t actually know if that was true.

“No. I thought, as soon as I found out, that I should tell him. I was… scared. I didn’t want to tell him at first. But, after a while, I started to feel more and more urged to tell him. I wanted him to know. I wanted to see what he’d look like if I told him. It was.. Unlike anything I’ve seen before. He looked calm, a lightness about his movements that didn’t come from his confidence and ease… No, something changed in him when I told him. I saw it.”

“And you trust it? You trust him now?” The challenge in her voice began and, noticing it, softened. She didn’t want to drive Jasmine away, not now. She couldn’t stand the thought of her leaving here without hearing what Anna needed to say.

Jasmine looked gently offended, a pained frown and sad eyes.“You don’t think I can take care of myself? You don’t trust me?”

“Jasmine–” I love you. I do trust you. I don’t trust him, and I never will. Anna wanted to confess, drop at her feet and beg her not to do this. It felt like madness, like some trip through the looking glass into a world where suddenly things didn’t make sense to her. “--Please, I’m simply worried about you! You told me you were so afraid of him finding out, scared to death, Jasmine! You were sitting right here, crying your eyes out! What do you expect of me?” Anna ran her fingers through her short, dark, curly hair, creating a wildness to her look. She stood clenched in her crimson, silk peignoir, still damp from her recent bath. Anna had been alone before. Or, so she thought…

“I know, I remember…” That troubled look, closing her eyes as if that might dispel the memory. “But, please, trust me. I want this. I know what I’m doing.”

She was turning away again, lingering away from Anna, keeping a level of distance between them that hurt Anna to notice. Her paces took her along the room, towards the farthest wall; the wall was made of thick, heavy glass through which the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean shined with a deep blue that magically turned the room into a cool, dreamy oasis. Anna’s apartment was among the elite of Rapture, reflecting her love and appreciation for beauty and elegance. Many times, she and Jasmine spent time together here, even before Jasmine moved on up into the same neighborhood. They had known each other practically since she first came to Rapture. Anna instantly took a liking to Jasmine, and they had hit it off right away. Anna was a dedicated and loyal friend once you won her over, and she would go to great lengths to help the ones she cared for. Jasmine was the closest friend she had in Rapture, and she would be damned before she let the likes of Andrew Ryan destroy Jasmine’s life. This had gone too far.

“Jasmine…” Anna tried to offer something, think of something to say that would make her see the danger that lurked. The silence teetered for several moments, and, with nothing else to say, she simply smirked and crooned, “Let’s have a drink.”

Jasmine hesitated for only a moment. They both knew neither one enjoyed a long, drawn-out fuss. They hardly argued, but when they did it was always intense but quick. The smile returned to her face like two curved petals, tender and fleeting. Her eyes were weary but persistent, that spirit that shone in her despite it all, falling deep into her stare like freefall in a cloudless sky. The look was like a touch, gentle palm cupping cheek, an apology, or maybe a truce.

“I’ll drink with you, but just club soda.” She said this now as she peeled the white gloves from her hands and put them into her handbag, following Anna as she made her way to a gilded, geometric bar cart all glittering and gold with its menagerie of bottles. Anna loved exotic booze, and she wasn’t going to let living at the bottom of the ocean ruin that…

“Club soda? Are you on a diet again?” Anna chimed curiously as she handled three crystal glasses, ice twinkling against the glass as she lined them along a nearby credenza. She lingered a moment before she selected the liquor she preferred for the night, a fruity rum from Cuba that cost more than she was willing to admit. The third glass fizzed with a burst of club soda, dribbling and popping with froth.

As Jasmine approached, Anna turned with two glasses in her hands; a playful look, the two women exchanged mischievous glances. “Why did you make three?”

Anna chuckled richly, a sparkle to her brown gaze that lit up her entire demeanor. That special magic she had was coming to shine: the show-woman, the powerhouse, the diva. Her laugh could fill up the room like light, infectious as Jasmine smiled wider in genuine amusement.

“One’s for the baby, of course.” Immediately, she drained one of the glasses with a hearty eagerness that made one wonder if she truly was celebrating or snubbing out her anxieties. When drained, she placed it, ice glittering against glass as it moved, upon the credenza once more. She took the club soda that was standing by and handed it to Jasmine; a tingle danced up her arms as the two met eyes as Jasmine’s smile filled up her lovely face. Like the face of the moon, all dazzling and pearlescent, soft pink cheeks and lips framed by the sleek, curled hair. Anna could’ve kissed her, over and over, like reuniting with a lost treasure, like something precious that could slip away.

Jasmine took the drink gratefully, tipped the glass in the style of a toast. “Cheers.” She hummed before taking a sip.

The two women settled upon a nearby couch, crushed velvet in rich burgundy, and nursed their drinks respectively. A tall, green palm fanned and shaded them from the glow of an elegant, vibrantly colored lamp overhead. The blues of the sealight and warm white-gold of the lamp met and softly blended into a cool, dreamy haze that complimented the lush colors of the furniture and walls.

Jasmine and Anna sat in silence for several moments, the tension between them lessening into a calm lull of mutual respect and care; neither one could stay angry at the other for long. Jasmine knew Anna cared about her. Anna understood that Jasmine was free to make her own choices. They held a healthy boundary with one another most of the time, very rarely crossing a line out of genuine affection for one another. Anna knew she would need to cross a line tonight if she was going to save Jasmine. She was going to try and do it as gently as possible.

#bioshock #bioshock au #bioshock fan fiction #anna culpepper #jasmine jolene #jasmine jolene bioshock #anna culpepper bioshock #video games #video game fan fiction #bioshock fan fic #wlw fanfic #tw alcohol #im bad at tags lol #the dame writes

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moonmaidensblessing · 1 year

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BioShock x Mad Men AU pt. 1

The Characters:

Betty Draper is the wife of handsome, charismatic yet troubled Don Draper, the protagonist of the TV series, Mad Men. Set in the 1960s, Betty Draper is thought of as the perfect, beautiful housewife.

Mary Winslow is my headcanon name for Jasmine Jolene. In this AU, she never took on an alias to join the world of performance. Instead, her husband, Avery Jones (OC), convinces her to settle down in surburbia and start a go at having a family. Turning her back on a wealthy suitor (Andrew Ryan), she agrees to marry Avery and give up her dreams of stardom in exchange for a life more like her own mother had. She seeks peace and happiness from this move. The opposite seems to occur.

This is only part one, if I even continue it, and it will most likely feature more characters. I had a nice emotional carthsis from writing this, as I focused on an area of life I’m struggling with and just ran with it. Share your thoughts, if you like. I just ask you to be kind about it. :)

Heads up: views expressed by characters are not always reflective of my personal views. I try to write in character, take what I interpret from their canon media as their POV. Just FYI.

“Oh, Betty!”

The tone was pitiful--- such sorrow, a dove crushed, desperate to seek flight to safety. She fell through the door, eyes twinkling with tears that were pure sadness, a drunkenness in her clumsy motions that were usually so graceful.

Her friend noticed it; her lips set hard, blue eyes icy. But there was a hint of genuine concern beneath it all. She didn’t block the other woman from entry, a hand that came up to support her before she stumbled into the umbrella stand.

“Mary, what on earth-? What’s happened?” Betty sputtered, bringing up her other hand to steady the woman. Tears rolled free, watery streaks of mascara that tarnished the usually pristine and perfect face, a face Betty had often envied with quiet resentment. A perverse enjoyment nestled within Betty at seeing her friend, Mary, like this. But it was cloaked underneath her concern, which she played up in her expression that studied the other openly.

“Oh, Betty... Oh, god... I---”

Mary, a beautiful, bubbly blonde with the demeanor of a doe, looked like a wounded creature, seeming to only be held up by the woman she came to visit. Betty was much like Mary, a beautiful, young blonde, and yet there was something icy underneath those eyes, something unsatisfied and angry. A crack in porcelain, as Mary often pondered to herself. Nothing in her had the strength to question her friend. She was so desperate for help that she would throw herself to anyone’s mercy for comfort. Betty was the first person she thought to seek out. Betty, who was beautiful, in control, with a perfect life and beautiful family. Betty would know what to do. Betty would help her.

“Mary, what’s the matter? Here, come into the living room. I’ll get you some coffee.”

Mary could’ve sobbed, knowing her friend realized she had been drinking. Mary was often so embarrassed when she wasn’t able to hide it and didn't try to make it apparent. She liked to think she had too much self respect, but she was such a mess that she had been drinking since the early morning. Had she even stopped from last night? She covered her face in shame. A pitiful, little noise left her throat, a whimper of agony.

Betty held Mary's arms, loosened her grip as she could tell the other woman wasn’t going to fall out on the floor. That was the last thing she needed. She guided the crying woman into the living room, a colorful, sunny room freshly redecorated. She was glad the kids weren’t home. What a mess, she bitterly thought. She was sure Don wouldn’t be coming home soon, either. She didn’t like how Don smiled at Mary. It made her furious, yet she tried to calm her mind as she focused again on Mary in her current, sorrowful state.

“Mary, what’s wrong?” She implored, a bite to her voice that she tried to play into a firm, motherly concern.

Mary peered back at Betty with pools of vulnerable pain. The last several days shot through her drunken mind like a bolt of lightning. The cheating, the lying, the fighting. Fresh tears pooled up in her eyes, falling free as she covered her face again.

“Oh, Betty... It’s.. Avery! God, he---!”

Already, Betty knew it had something to do with Mary’s husband. Mary was a flirt. Mary was too pretty and stupid for her own good. Of course she encouraged her husband into cheating on her. That had to be it! She felt a strange relief knowing it wasn’t just her....

“What, Mary? What did Avery do?” Betty felt like she was coaxing a child into admitting a problem. While there was a part of her that understood Mary, another didn’t like to be forced into taking on the woman’s issues like this. Betty had her own problems. Couldn’t Mary keep all this to herself like everyone else did? A sense of superiority came to her from this. Betty, the stronger woman. Betty, the one who could stay in control, or at least appear like she was.

“He- He...! God... He’s gone, Betty! He’s left me!” A burst of sobs left Mary as she folded over herself. The whole world felt like it was ending for Mary. Maybe it was the vodka of Avery’s she had chugged like water before walking over in the early morning, but she felt like she was falling, twisting, in a cold, empty void. Dizzy, detached, like a bird falling out of the air. “Betty! Oh, what do I do? He’s left me!”

Betty remembered Avery Jones, Mary’s husband. A failed musician with a hard, intense face and broad shoulders, eyes that shined like a torch. He had sandy blonde hair that complimented his red-toned skin, always wore button-ups with his sleeves rolled up. Betty knew, from Mary’s own confession, how resentful he was that he never made it as a trumpet player, forced into an office job to support Mary in their cute, well-kept, little home down the street from Betty and her own family.

Avery wasn’t as good-looking as Mary was, despite her plain name. Mary was as beautiful as Marilyn Monroe or Grace Kelly, which filled Betty with her cruel, cold envy. If Betty was Grace, then Mary was certainly Marilyn. Betty, who used to be a model, was no longer the lone, beautiful blonde on the block. Betty, who wanted desperately to recall her worth in her beauty, felt threatened by Mary, who seemed oblivious to her own looks. At least, she acted like she didn’t own a mirror. Childless, she was a threat to every family in the neighborhood, her giggles and sugary words for everyone’s husbands that made many of the women dislike her. But Betty stuck by her. Why? Well, it made her look quite saintly at least.

She summoned her voice up from her thoughts, “Oh, no. Mary, I’m so sorry.”

Of course, this brought fresh pelts of sobbing from Mary who stayed curled over like a wounded animal, seeking shelter within herself. Mary shook her messy, blonde-haired head, knowing full well that she must seem a fool, smudging her perfect makeup, her unbrushed curls frizzy and wild. Maybe she was crazy for doing it, coming here to talk to someone, anyone, looking like she did, acting like she did. A ruined idol, something beautiful crashing to the floor and breaking into a million pieces. All she could feel was pain and sorrow.

Through her sobbing, she choked, “What am I going to do? What do I do?!” The questions ricocheted all throughout her mind like shards of metal, wild debris tearing its way through. She felt Betty’s slender hand on her back, gentle as could be. This was what she wanted, something gentle after so long suffering the wild, angry behavior of her husband. She knew Betty was a sweet, put-together woman, someone she could rely on, someone she could lean on in this chaotic time of crisis. Mary responded to this touch, this comfort, by sitting up, revealing her tear-streaked, red face, splotchy and trailed black from her eyes, red smudged the shape of her trembling mouth.

She looked like a terror, Betty thought to herself as she went to offer a tissue. She almost wished she could take a picture to show the other women in the neighborhood. Francine would eat this up with a spoon. It was perverse, for sure, but Betty couldn’t help it. Mary looked unlike anything she’d seen before, a woman in ruins, and, after being the hot talk of the town since moving in, seeing her in this state was sickeningly pleasing. The word would get around, certainly. It might make Mary’s situation worse, but everyone would know soon enough. Especially if Avery didn’t come back, which Betty figured he wouldn’t. Mary had to know the way she acted would eventually drive him away. A woman doesn’t flirt and coo and simper at every man in the neighborhood and expect her husband not to catch wind. She almost felt bad for Avery, remembering the way Mary paraded around in those tight shirts and pencil skirts and those body-hugging dresses that left nothing at all to the imagination. During the summer, Mary was spotted in her front yard in a bikini even Mamie Van Doren would’ve felt was too much, sunbathing and pawing through some book. Betty wanted to say, “Of course he did. What did you expect?” But, instead, she offered,

“Poor Mary. What happened? Why did he leave?” Now pleased, her tone was softer and reassuring, but it was certainly artificial. If anything, it was more tinged with her genuine curiosity as to what precisely happened. She wanted to know the fine details. Maybe she could learn a thing or two…

Mary sniffled and wiped her eyes, head rolling from the liquor. She felt like this all could’ve been a dream. Maybe it was. Maybe, with desperate hope, Mary was still in bed and all this was some wild fancy weaved together in her head. It would be nice if she could wake up and all of this not be true, not be real. But it was. She knew this as she thought back over what had happened last night. Through the haze of her drunkenness, she remembered what happened, but she tried to keep herself composed long enough to spit the story out to Betty.

“Oh, he was so angry! It was horrible! He had been drinking, I could smell it on him, and he was so very angry…” She fought the want to sob, the emotion that welled up from that statement, fresh pain like a torn wound. “He.. he was yelling at me, calling me names… I won’t tell you what he said exactly, but it was terrible… He was threatening me. I thought he was going to hit me. He was waving his fist around, emphasizing each word like he wanted to hit me each time.” This time she couldn’t resist getting a little choked up at the memory, how terrified she had been, frozen in place until he got too close, then taking flight across the room, behind the sofa, against the wall. “He got angrier every time I got away from him, then he’d throw something, vases, records, my mother’s lamp…”

“That’s what I heard last night…” Betty uttered, looking away in recollection before affirming, “I thought it might’ve been some alley cats fighting.”

Mary shook her head, taking Betty’s hand while she dabbed at her eyes, lip quivering. This silently surprised Betty, but she didn’t pull away as Mary went on, “No, it was him. He was crashing everything like he wanted to bring the place down. I told him I would call the cops if he didn’t stop it!” Still, fresh as a wound, the horror replayed itself in her eyes, a heavy drunk swinging and swearing and shouting, threatening to kill her, to ring her neck until the eyes popped out of her head. Betty could almost see it herself, the tension that feels like it’s going to crush you, can’t breathe, heart flying like it wants to escape, when the hands touch you like you’d never believe it, like it never could’ve happened. His anger, his hands pushing you hard away. Feeling like you could throw up because he’s never looked like that before, looked at you like that before. Suddenly, everything changes. Happiness gets harder and harder to bring back. He’s different. Or, maybe he had always been that way.

A softening began to undo the icy defense, and Betty couldn’t help but squeeze the woman’s hand. She understood. She knew what it felt like. She knew.

“Oh, Betty…” Mary whimpered, returning the gesture and, with a bit of effort, turned her eyes elsewhere. It brought a great comfort to Mary to see the earnestness in Betty’s stare. She suspected Betty would understand her situation, as she wondered just how perfect everything truly was at home. Betty’s husband was rumored to be taking long hours at work, staying out of town, very rarely was he seen at home unless there was some event going on. Some thought it was truly just his work, but others had different ideas.

Both hands took Betty’s. Mary felt like her heart was breaking and would fall out of her chest. Part of her wished it could, so the agony of it all would be over. Betty’s hands were soft, small, with pretty, well-manicured nails like little pink pearls.There were a few moments where both women were one in their emotion; such wounds their men could leave and then, like nothing, run away. To be left alone, confused, hurt, afraid. Yes, it was like a weighted veil draped over them both, obscuring the world, inside and out, lost and isolated from everyone else. The secret they carried, the darkest parts to always lurk like devils inside. Keep them quiet and try to keep moving.

Betty blinked hard, frowning, cleared her throat and took her hands away. She stood up, a floating white thing in frills and lace and shiny, candy shoes. She looked like she had walked off the set of a fashion shoot, like the girls in Harper’s Bazaar. Mary wished she could achieve that fresh, wholesome, girl-next-door appearance like Betty did. Mary wondered if men hounded Betty the same way they did her. Did they look at Betty and see the cold goddess, the untouchable beauty? Were they more like followers, devotees, worshippers? She hoped so. Mary was used to wolves. Mary more often felt like something to be unwrapped and devoured.

Mary looked down, wiped her eyes of tears, wanting all of this to be over. Betty lingered only a fraction of a second before she headed for the bright, little kitchen with a murmur of, “Let me get you some coffee…”

#the dame writes #that's it thats the writing tag lol #idk i may delete this post #bioshock au #mad men au #crossover #fan fic #jasmine jolene #jasmine jolene bioshock #betty draper #au #tw domestic violence #tw alcohol #unfinished #my post #my headcanon #tw sexism

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