blackberreh-art:

so. women, huh

So. That one-shot I promised 👀

Genderbend name guide:

Jon = Joan

Elias = Élise

Tim = Tina

Sasha (already gender neutral)

Martin = Marja (is Polish ☝️)

A preview:

“Joan, dear, I know you’re going through a lot right now, but you can’t stalk your co-workers.”

“Élise, I’m not ‘stalking’ them—”

“—Tina caught you going through her mail. That’s a crime. You’re lucky she didn’t report you. The way she’s been complaining to me, she just might if you don’t knock it off.”

“I’m sure she was just confused,” Joan grumbles, shooting Élise a sidelong glare. You’re next, she thinks.

The Head of the Institute sweeps her way across the grand entry hall alongside Joan, the click of her heels on the tile and the billow of her elegant shawl behind her lending a certain air of command to her presence. Being next to her always made Joan feel shabby in comparison, despite the neat lines of her own pressed slacks and button up, the shine of her oxfords. It’s worse since Joan started letting her appearance go, too focused on getting to the bottom of this mystery (and terrified of what she’ll find) to bother with such trivial things as ironing her clothes and cutting her hair.

She pauses at the top of the stairs to the Archives when Élise catches her arm, a gentle but inexorable pressure turning her to face the older woman, who cocks an imperious, perfectly manicured eyebrow at her.

“I can’t keep turning a blind eye. Next time someone complains to me, I will have to discipline you.”

Then, strangely, her grip softens, almost a caress. She reaches up and adjusts Joan’s suspender strap. Such a proprietary touch. It makes her shudder, to be so… looked at by those curious, hooded grey eyes.

“I don’t want to have to do that to you, but I hope you know it’s for your own good. Disgruntled employees do tend to go to higher powers when they don’t see the proper actions being taken. I’d rather we handle this little workplace disagreement in-house than take it to the authorities. So let’s rein it in a bit, hm?”

“Fine,” Joan grits out. She pulls herself free and turns down the stairs with a huff. If her face is a bit warm after that encounter, she blows past the bullpen fast enough that her assistants don’t have time even to notice, let alone comment.

It’s not like any of them besides Marja are on speaking terms with her, anyway.