lindsays work

me: I’m so happy for jordan and lindsay, they worked so hard and are both so talented and I’m glad they won

me, a lindsey stan: LINDSEY AND MARK DESERVED THAT MIRROR BALL THEYRE SO GOOD AND HAVE SUCH AMAZING CHEMISTRY AND I CRIED EVERY TIME I WATCHED THEM DANCE TOGETHER WHAT THE FUCK

gavin, walking up behind a red haired lindsay, intending to kiss the top of her head: hello love
lindsay: sup
gavin: shit.
lindsay, to the red haired meg in the other room: yo TURNEY guess who just stole your BOYFRIEND
meg: KEEP HIM

So there’s this club, right? Everyone knows it’s the place to see, the place to be seen, anyone who’s anyone in this wretched town wants to spend their nights dancing and drinking and taking in the sights at FAKE’S. No matter what time, what day, there’s always an endless line down the road, always a hoard of people turned away at the door, the club more than popular enough to be selective about their clientele. Not that this means upstanding, oh no. FAKE’S is a guaranteed good time for sure but part and parcel of its appeal is the ever present undercurrent of something dangerous, the hint of shady business in the background, the aggressively attractive edge of something quietly sinister in every employee, the promise that no matter what happens the night is bound to be exciting.

There’s a stunning woman at the door, red hair or blonde hair or sometimes pink but always smiling, open and amicable and not at all what one would expect in a bouncer. At least she is right up until someone acts up, thinks to try their luck, disregard the authority of the gatekeeper just because she’s sweet. A mistake no one makes more than once; Lindsay’s ability to near instantly level an arrogant gym-rat jock rivals any stereotypical thug of a bouncer, with the bonus humiliation of her unfazed laughter ringing in their ears as they slink away. Some nights she’s joined by another young woman, as meticulously dressed and presented as the girls hoping to enter but with all the confident command of a drill sergeant, Mica sashays up and down the line picking out favourites and shooing off undesirables before they even make it to the door.

For those who pass muster the interior of FAKE’S is no less intimidating; packed dance-floor rolling with the music below an elevated DJ platform, semi-private booths lining the walls, long curving bar rolling out everything from standard spirits and beers to impressively flaming cocktails, and a large cordoned off VIP lounge tucked around the back. Clean, with a great vibe and decent layout, but what really makes the venue and draws in the crowds are the people who run the club. There are plenty of background workers of course, both literally behind the scenes and those who are simply showing up and doing their jobs, casual employees without any deeper connection than a steady paycheque, but it’s the characters who intrigue the clientele. The staff who rule the joint, as tied to FAKE’S as the boss himself, like the oldest of friends who have always been here, tightknit as family with enough authority to conduct themselves and their work just about however they see fit.  

It’s pretty uncommon to see the big boss down on the floor, normally tucked away behind tinted windows in the office overlooking his kingdom, but Ramsey does make the odd appearance; coming and going, entertaining VIP’s and talking with his employees. Slick and suited he cuts an imposing figure, emanating confidence and near constant amusement though the few times he has lost his temper in public have been notable enough that all know to be wary of his sharp eyes and easy grin.

They say the club is only one of Ramsey’s business ventures, though it is surely the most profitable; the man seems to be on friendly terms with near every big name in crime in this city, has even the chief of police eating out of his palm, and it’s a damn near open secret that FAKE’S is not exactly a clean-handed establishment. Not that anyone seems to care, not that it harms their business in any way, Ramsey is sitting pretty on an empire, calling every shot as he sees fit, and he knows it. He’s got no time for fools and all the time in the world for his own people; there is no the customer is always right at FAKE’S – Ramsey’s always on his employee’s side and he’s not shy about making that known.

His business partner, Jack, is his right hand and financial manager and she spends nearly as much time tucked away in the office as he does. When she is on the floor Jack strides to and from where she’s going with purpose, smile polite but wasting no time on pleasantries or idle chitchat with anyone who doesn’t work at FAKE’S. The employees have perhaps too much of her attention, told off for skipping breaks and hustled along when she wants them off the floor, clearly affectionate even as they grumble; it seems none are immune to Jack’s disappointed glares. The one exception to her general disinterest in interacting with the clientele is the occasional instance of overhearing anybody refusing to take no for an answer, in which case Jack charitably provides them with a brief, terrifying summary of harassment and the importance of consent as she shows them the exit.

Beyond the ladies on the door there are two notable members of security within the club with more authority than the handful of nameless guards wandering around at any given time; Jones and Haywood. They should stand out, forgoing the apparent security dress code of all black suits in favour of jeans and leather jackets, but both are alarmingly talented at sinking into shadows and materialising out of thin air at the first sign of trouble. Jones is always around somewhere; directing the other guards, doing rounds, constantly keeping a keen eye on the floor so long as he isn’t dealing with a problem or being dragged off to entertain the blond haired man behind the bar. He’s not the biggest guy around but everyone has witnessed the infamous fury of his temper and even men twice his size hit the floor when they refuse to abide by his law. Haywood is a bit more sporadic; he’s around most nights, a sardonic looming presence that spikes fear into the hearts of even the rowdiest drunkards, but if Ramsey is absent so is he. It stands to reason that he’s playing guard dog somewhere else, personal security on whatever business the bossman is off to conduct, the gossip mill whirling into overdrive anytime he returns with a visible bruise or bloodied knuckles.

There’s a third who slips seamlessly into line with Jones and Haywood when a night grows too unruly, or guards the VIP lounge when Ramsey’s entertaining, but for the most part Lil J plays the role of in-house DJ. Jeremy is generally friendlier with the patrons than the rest of security but when something’s going down he can have a shorter fuse than even Jones, fierce and scrappy in a fight though there’s no denying that he’s clearly far happier to be up in the DJ booth. He’s good at what he does, part of what makes the club so popular, and the days he’s off or playing muscle are often met with hearty complaints from the regulars no matter how competent his replacement is. The one exception to the rule is Axialmatt, who normally works out the back but occasionally takes over the booth; he interacts and plays around with the audience far less than Lil J but has a way with the music that quickly wins over everyone on the dance floor. 

Ramsey’s got a pet, a ward, the apple of his eye if you believe the hype; lord knows the kid must have some favour to get away with playing the way he does. A crowd-pleaser who is all too aware of his own appeal, all painted-on jeans and fickle affections as he dances with the patrons and teases the staff, distracting security and even shimmying his way up the platform to rile up the dancers and badger the DJ. When they can get him to behave himself Gavin tends bar, and on those nights there is a constant sea of people clamouring to hand over their hard-earned money, outrageous flirting netting Gavin not only an absurd profit in tips but also a wealth of rumours and secrets and all kinds of interesting titbits. Not that the full-time bartender (part-time babysitter) doesn’t do well enough on his own, Trevor’s wry humour and friendly chatter easily deflects most from the undercurrent of steely self-assurance he carries. It only really slips out in moments of alarmingly confident threats when someone’s overstepping the boundaries of what he deems acceptable, cold eyes even with his teeth still bared in a parody of a smile, tone polite and laced with promise; Take your hands off him or I’ll take them off you.

It’s a theme with FAKE’S employee’s really; cocky, amused, deeply concerned with one another’s welfare and seemingly far more dangerous than anyone expects. It’s a bad idea to test security at any decent club but FAKE’S muscle seems to miss nothing, formidable and no-nonsense they pull no punches; anyone who acts up or causes a scene is quickly ejected, and anyone caught harassing the staff will be escorted to the alley out back. On the rare occasion Jones or Haywood miss something, busy or distracted or already engaged, the rest of Ramsey’s people are all capable enough to at least hold their own, even the flighty little bartender has something sharp and dangerous tucked behind his teeth, flickering beneath the sneering snarl saved for those who think to take what isn’t theirs, but it’s Jack you really have to watch out for. Jack who will appear in a heartbeat, who will cut through the bullshit and run down even the slipperiest, most self-important asshole like a bloodhound, delivering them to security with a demand that they be dealt with or, worse, having them dragged up to see Ramsey himself. Those troublemakers never again darken their doors; forget cover charges, this is the price you pay for dancing with the devil, this is the risk in playing with the FAKE’S.

For most, though, the night is just a party, just on the right side of thrilling, and by the time dawn approaches FAKE’S is shutting down and the last die-hard revellers are being herded out into the street. For those very few who manage to stick around a little longer, to duck out of sight for an extra moment as the security team does their best to kick out the last desperate stragglers, the tail end of the night is a completely different experience.

The inhabitants of the club are as soft and tired and human as they’ll ever be, cleaning up and resetting for the next night’s work; lights on, music off, and slowly losing their shield of sharp smirking shine. Trevor will be trying to tidy up around Gavin, who’s usually sitting on the bar by now, draped around whichever co-worker has come up to growl and chase off the last of his lingering fans, Jones, Haywood and Lil J all congregating to debrief on the night’s events, Lindsay and Mica slotting in as the rostered guards take over to lock up out front. As the last of the casual staff trickle out a young woman will emerge from out back to flit about taking stock, rolling her eyes at the various voices calling out to her from the head of every area, all ‘Steffie we need more-‘ ‘Steffie we’re almost out of-‘ ‘Hey Steffie did we get the-’ ignoring sweet-talk and puppy-dog eyes but dutifully noting it all down anyway. Finally, Ramsey will descend from on high with Jack at his side, the two seamlessly slipping into the huddle of their most loved and loyal, folded into conversation without a hint of deference from their people. The pair will listen to the latest barrage of complaints and amusing stories, will hand out praise and suggestion and, with tired eyes still bright with something wicked, will share the highlights of the day’s less savoury business conducted behind closed doors.

But before then, of course, even the wiliest of stowaway partiers will have been uncovered, hustled out with perhaps slightly more force than strictly necessary, left out on the street as the sun starts to rise and the green neon glow of FAKE’S sign flickers out, nocturnal beast of a building settling down to sleep until its doors are thrown open once more.

4

Yes, I DO know the original post was from a different fandom, but you can’t tell me that you couldn’t see this actually happening.

So I’m back I guess??? Truth be told, I’ve wanted to make a comic like this long before @lindsayjones announced she was pregnant, however Iris’s birth made me want to push through all the crap that currently is my life and actually finish some flippin’ art… ♥♥♥

OMGI’msohappyforLindsayandMichael!!Iris10/10BESTBABY!!♥