forged not born.

jason macavoy | twenty - nine | he/him | outlaws mc | enforcer & fighter " . . for there to be order, there must be c h a o s "

[jmacavoy]

{ finn cole, male, he/him } Is that JASON MACAVOY? I heard the TWENTY-NINE year old belongs to the OUTLAWS MC as an ENFORCER. I’d stay away from them if I were you. I heard they were HARD-HEADED, but they can also be LOYAL, so proceed at your own risk.

stats.

full name:  jason thomas macavoy nicknames: jay, jayjay, mac birthday: april 5th age: twenty- eight birthplace: los angles, ca (lincoln heights) star sign: ares gender: cis male pronouns: he/him sexuality: heterosexual relationship status: single gang affiliation: outlaws mc rank: enforcer cover: bouncer at neon dreams & occasional street fighter theme song: warrior by bonez

physical. 

face claim: finn cole hair color: dirty blonde eye color: icy blue height:  6ft 2in weight: 200lbs build: big, burly, and muscular, very tom hardy in the warrior tattoos: yes, similar to my tommy boy above scars: many, more scar than skin, each with a story. most notable a large stab wound on his left side from a cheap shot after collecting a debt in Mexico for the Outlaws. hair style: typically keeps it short

family.

mother: heidi macavoy, estranged stepfather: tommy fowler, deceased father: ma never mentioned him siblings: none that he knows of pets: none

personality. 

positives (+): determined, dauntless, loyal, strong negatives (-): reckless, hot headed, stubborn, uncouth  MBTI: ISTP fears: psssh none dancing & losing the people closest to him element: fire hogwarts house: gryffindor drugs/ alcohol/ smoking: rarely, thinks it throw off his fighting game/ yes/ yes aesthetics: a string of purpling bruises fresh from a fight, a pack of marlboro reds to take the edge off, raw knuckles, broken beer bottles, cigarette smoke clouding a room, gaping holes in the wall, more scar than skin, thick layer of sweat sheathing toned muscles & the ol’ 1, 2 straight to the dome. character inpso: tom conlon (warrior), ryan atwood (the oc), will turner (pirates), rip wheeler (yellowstone), billy hope (southpaw), j cody (animal kingdom), johnny lawrence (cobra kai), jon snow (GoT)

biography.

TW: fighting, death, alcohol toxic masculinity Jason Macavoy came into the world fighting, and he had been fighting ever since. His mother, a struggling actress, had just stepped foot on set when her first born son barreled into the world with clenched fists and a battle cry that would make his father proud. Not the washed up middleweight champ who couldn’t make it to the hospital on such short notice —the one Jason would grow up calling father— but the one night stand who knocked up Heidi Macavoy all those years ago. Growing up in Lincoln Heights Jason was a handful: rambunctious, brimming with unbridled energy, and a temper that would only grow with time. He had trouble learning how to read and was easily set off by a poor test score or an off-handed taunt made by a classmate, landing him in several schoolyard scuffles. By the time Jason was five, his mother fled to pursue the career and the life she had always dreamed of, leaving Jason in the care of his wayward step-father.  His step-father wasn’t good for much anymore except for drinking and coaching, but Tommy was there and he was the only one who recognized Jason’s potential. He saw that for what his step-son lacked in brains, he made up for in athletic prowess. Young Jason was a natural talent when it came to fighting, and Tommy helped channel all his energy and anger into MMA in particular. He bloomed into a fighting prodigy and Tommy helped him get into all the right fights, oftentimes road tripping to Vegas to get the buzz building around Jason. His determination was feral, and the boy wanted nothing more than to prove himself worthy of his mother’s love, one victory he’d never be able to manage. By the time Jason was 16, he became the youngest fighter in MMA history to secure a UFC contract. He was said to have the best left hook since Connor McGregor and was called a “child prodigy” by many in the fighting world. But as Jason’s athletic abilities continued to grow, so did his competitive edge and hot temper that continued to get him into trouble in and out of the cage. During a championship tournament of his short lived professional career, Jason had made a spectacle, allowing a foul to the boy’s side to ignite a wrath in him he didn’t even know he had. He went wild, shouting and swearing at the referee for the unfair call before striking him and leaving a trail of destruction in his wake. He was disqualified from competition and barred from the league before he even had a chance to prove himself.  Not long after Jason was banned from competition, his step-father passed away and his mother still wanted nothing to do with him. More lost than ever Jason turned to underground street fighting to get his fix. It was then Jason found the the Outlaws or rather they found him smack in the middle of a bar brawl at the tender age of seventeen. Young and hungry for a place that could appreciate and refine his raw potential, Jason was recruited by the crew. He now works a bouncer and street fighter and has spent the last eleven years with the MC, becoming one of their most loyal enforcers and fighters, growing more and more accustomed to the gritty underground lifestyle, the brawls, the arguments, the booze. He’s done "dirty work" for the MC on several occasions, gone on jobs for them all over, and has even disappeared for months on end to complete them. Most recently, Jason was sent to collect a debt in Mexico for the Outlaws and turned up back in L.A. a little while ago, just in time for the Hollow to strike and the chaos to begin. His step-father’s voice in his head had never been more clear to him: fight.

headcanons.

Jason is a simple guy with simple needs, especially when it comes to technology. He currently uses a refurbished Nokia phone with a T9 keypad, hence why he texts like a 12 year old. That said, Jay would much rather call someone than text and rarely uses social media. He does have an instagram account that was made for him against his will (WC?), and he pops on to like the occasional photo every now and again. Basically, he’s an old soul at heart and if he has to talk to someone he’d rather do it in person not behind a screen.

Jason rarely ever talks about his short stint in the MMA and denies that he misses it, but the excitement in his voice when he watches a match on TV betrays him every. damn. time. So naturally hand to hand combat is his preferred method of taking care of business and his fighting style in the field is to defend and disarm first but isn't afraid take someone out if it's necessary. He’s not a complete idiot and knows you can’t bring fists to a gun fight and is very capable with a weapon should he need it.

He has absolutely no love for traitors and snitches, and he sure as all hell believes they get deserve whatever the hell is coming to them. To him, it’s a crime far worse than murder and nothing pisses him off more than deceit on that level. 

Jason is a pool shark. His step-father taught him when he was a kid. Every Wednesday night they’d go to Foley’s Bar to play and Tommy would used Jason to hustle customers. Sure, he had essentially taken a kid to the bar with him and it was to keep him distracted while the man drank, but those are some of Jay’s most cherished memories with him.

Rare, but get Jason drunk enough and he can low-key rap along to the best of ‘em. Get Rich or Die Tryin was the first CD he ever bought nicked from the corner store and for better or for worse, he knows every single word of that album by heart.

Christina Aguilera stan. The Dirrty music video did something to his pre-teen brain chemistry & he wasn’t the same since. He totally had her poster hanging in his bedroom growing up, even took it with him when he moved out.

Jason owns a Ducati and a ‘96 Camaro. Both in his favorite color, red. The Camaro was his step-father’s before he died which he inherited and fixed it up himself. He’s super handy. The Ducati was his first big boy purchase after making some extra cash. They are both his prized possessions. 

Always has a pack of Marlboro’s Reds in his back pocket and turns one upside down whenever he opens a fresh pack because someone once told him that if you made it to the last cigarette in your pack it meant you lived to see another day. Whether he shares or not, remains to be seen.

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[staincdvermillion]

FEATURING    ›     kian & jason ( @jmacavoy ) LOCATED AT    ›     velocity motors

the shop had closed for the day, the last customer sent on their way with a pine scented air freshener dangling from their rearview mirror. it had always been the little touches in kian's opinion. or ways for him to entertain himself when the days stretched on. when the news had been the same as the day before, and the one before that. but lately, matters had been tedious. strained, with the recent yacht party that had found them all on a downhill slope. particularly, tommy. who had suffered blow after blow. facts that kian wouldn't allow to simply be.

" jay, " the name had been called out, towards the back of the shop. for kian knew at all times who was within the shop, and who was off elsewhere. it had been a habit from long ago, when he'd been nothing more than an enforcer. and the habit had developed, honed in more acutely. until kian was certain where each of his people were. in the event anything further went south. " think it ought to be about time we discuss retaliation. "

[jmacavoy]

Jason made his way to the back of the garage, each step a solid thud against the concrete flooring. The air was already thick, riddled with the scent of motor oil and simmering rage— and was that a hint of pine? Only Kian. But underneath it was the sweet, sweet smell of impending retaliation. The word alone hummed deep within Jason’s bones—a low, resonant sound that promised the very thing he’d been craving all along: to hit the fuck back.

Every muscle in his body was wired for it, from the small clench of his jaw to the itch in his fists that he couldn't seem to shake since the party, since the fire, the murders, and whatever the hell else was coming. Because to Jason, an attack on one of ‘em was an attack on all of ‘em.

He answered Kian with a smirk at first—slow, deliberate, his mind already weighing possibility after possibility. "Thought you'd never ask." His blue eyes narrowed, the playful tone barely masking the steel beneath his words. "You hear 'bout that art thing comin' up, boss?”

[cfdeliicate-deactivated20260314]

Years of living under the same roof with a woman, who Gigi was now sure was completely void of emotions, had turned her own heart to stone because she barely flinched when Jason mentioned the fire. It was a tragedy — two young lives lost in the flames. Some said it was an accident; that's the official version the police supported, too. But there were rumors it was revenge. And Gigi was inclined to believe that version. Why hadn't they screamed for help? Tried to get out of the burning trailer? They could be alive right now; hurt, but alive. Instead they were soon going to be six feet underground.

Realizing her thoughts had gone too grim, too fast, her dark hues met Jason's as she silently nodded. She felt it was needless to ask what happened to the chicks now and if their owner was going to take them back in. "Do you even know how to look after chicken?" She mused, another smile pulling at the corner of her lips — the desire to change the subject to something lighter stronger than ever.

[jmacavoy]

Jason watched as Gigi's expression drifted, her eyes seeming to look out beyond him into some unseen distance. He met her gaze anyway. This time with a slow, small nod, his silent acknowledgment of the unspoken tragedy that passed between them. His eyes then dragged back down to the the little sucker nestled in his calloused hands, then back up to the brunette as she asked Jason the million dollar question.

"I got no friggin' clue," He confessed, his voice a low rumble, "but how hard could it be?" He tried to play it off as no big deal, a familiar, gruff bravado, but was immediately betrayed by the uncertainty in his tone. "Ya know what, actually, don't answer that." He shook his head, something less threatening than his ever present scowl in his features now. "I—uh could probably use a hand if you're bored and shit."

[alixharrigan]

The smirk she was met with curved easily onto her own lips, satisfied by the confirmation that she’d guessed right. Or at least sounded like she had. Truthfully, it was one of the few names she could rattle off in reference when it came to the sport. Just enough to pretend she knew what she was talking about. It's with evident curiosity that her blue eyes drift to that hand, the bruises, his lack of care towards it as though it were just another day. "You’ve got his left hook?" she echoed, one brow arching with teasing interest.

"Can I be honest?" A bold claim, considering she rarely ever was - a fact only further proved by the words that followed. "Doesn't sound like this is a real sport." The angle there was to pull a response, a reaction, just to see what he'd counter with. Perhaps not the smartest move with someone who just told her they could recreate a world champions left hook, but it was more entertaining than whatever was on the fucking tv.

[jmacavoy]

His scoff was immediate— low, guttural, a sound that held no humor, just the raw edge of challenge. "You're shittin' me right?"Jason arched his brow, his voice a mixture of amusement and genuine offense. "It's the oldest fuckin' sport in the world." He shadowboxed the air to further his point, cigarette between his knuckles and a silent challenge in his eyes to contradict him. "Like back to the caveman and shit. Before there was talkin', there was fightin'. It's in our friggin' DNA."

Jason took another drag from his cigarette like he needed the smoke to continue on with this conversation, the glow illuminating the hard line of his jaw and the faint scar above his left eye. "So, what's a 'real sport' then, blondie?" Jason exhaled, the question hanging in the air like it was a gauntlet thrown.

[amararoyce]

It's a small gesture, but one that pulls a satisfied smile to her lips as Kelly ceases nagging for the time being. She'd never been a mother outright, but there was something about fed is best or whatever the fuck. "I need to go see him. Glad he's got you though, it's important that he's not alone right now." Idle hands, as her grandma used to say. That and the allure of sliding face first into a vengeance that might make things worse for all involved. Not that she imagined Tommy being so foolish, but grief warped people into complete strangers, even to themselves. "So it's a permanent roomie situation then... Where ya thinkin'? Eagle Rock? Koreatown?"

[jmacavoy]

Jason didn't touch his beer yet. Just leaned back and nodded— small jut of his chin at Kelly's words. Glad he's got you. The words settled, and then he helped himself, guzzling down a long pull to wash down the grub. "Yeah come by whenever, Kells." He set the bottle back down, usually stoic stare settling on the flicker of concern in her eyes. "Really don't know yet, though." His shoulders lifted into a shrug as he brought a hand to the nap of his neck. "But anywhere's a step up from the shit hole at Green Oaks. Which one you like better?"

[jmacavoy]

── CLOSED STARTER

for: @deadlyalibis (dilan!) where: street outside a bar

The streetlights hummed, casting long shadows as Jason emerged from the alleyway, fresh scent of sweat and triumph still clinging to him. The cheers of the rowdy crowd had long since dissipated, leaving behind the quiet thrum of the city in his wake. He flexed his bruised knuckles as he rounded the corner, the familiar ache a reminder of the fight he'd just won.

That's when he saw her. Under the glow of a neon sign from a nearby bar— a face he hadn’t seen since he’d abruptly left for Mexico weeks ago. One he hadn't expected to see either— at least not here, not like this.

And so, Jason sucked a tickle of blood off his lip before she could see, then lowered his hood. “Dil?— uh hey.” He might have played it off, but Jason could recognize that smile anywhere. "What're ya doin' 'round here?"

[aqxatofana]

"God help that woman," Jack muttered just loud enough for Jason to hear as she kicked off her shoes, relishing the feeling of her bare feet against the ring floor. "If you wanted my attention, Jay, you should have said so sooner." The smirk that plays across his face reflects upon her own soon enough, the subtle crack of her neck as she works the muscle loose feels like an old friend as she steps further onto the mat. "Wherever she is." He'd never spoken much of his family - though, neither had she, but she hadn't missed the slight comments here and there that made it all the more obvious he'd never had much to do with her. Jack didn't get this far in their world without learning to listen, even when it was the last fucking thing she wanted to do. "Boring," she stifled a fake yawn as her hands flexed at her sides, another step closer, another breath of proof that she never felt more at home than right here; and once, she knew he'd felt the same. That said, she lusted after the kill in much the same vein; like a fucking bloodhound. "You better make this interesting for me," beyond those that paid for her expertise, there were very few she sparred with just for the hell of it. It kept too many eyes from seeing the truth of what she could do in the ring - and then some. "Or you're really going to regret this.."

[jmacavoy]

Jason slow-clapped, hand wraps and all. A shit- eating grin was craved into the corner of his mouth, widening slowly as Jack finally entered the ring. He wasn't a complete idiot; he knew full well the weight a Jack Taylor sparring session carried. It was an unspoken challenge, a raw burst of primal energy, an undeniable spectacle that could draw eyes and hushed whispers from all corners of the gym. And Jason— he wasn't just ready; he asked for it.

His stance shifted, a subtle adjustment of weight as he pushed off the ropes. There was a slight bend in his knees now— a familiar prelude to a back and forth they both knew better than breathing.

"Ya gunna talk my ear off," Jason countered. His voice was a low rumble that barely carried over the murmur of the surrounding gym. He took a step, blues never leaving hers, then another and another, circling slowly. His smirk widened, not with amusement now, but with an anticipation that mirrored her own. "Let's fuckin' go."

[staincdvermillion]

FEATURING    ›     roman & jason ( @jmacavoy ) LOCATED AT    ›     neon dreams

" anything i need to know before the night gets going? " the question came out at the sight of jason. the bouncer had been both a blessing and a curse. so to speak. for despite how he couldn't exactly fire the kid even if he wanted to. roman had found that he was a decent hire. jason knew how to keep the riff raff out. and how to stop, or even prevent, some of the fights from breaking out. some being the keyword. which is why roman wanted to know if there was anything he needed to do before the crowds got going for the night.

[jmacavoy]

Jason hadn't been clocked in for more than a couple of minutes, posted up to work the front door this shift. His blues ticked over to the bossman— slow, lazy like he had all the time in the world to reply. Because, the man might have owned the joint on paper, but it was the MC that was really pulling the strings around here, and Jason, well—he sure as all hell knew it.

"Nah," The enforcer folded his arms across his chest as he answered, under no real pressure to report any riffraff to him even if there had been something worthwhile. "Just make sure ya get me that cash," He straightened himself up, tightening his stance as his features hardened into his signature scowl. "I'm collectin' tonight."

[amararoyce]

"You'll thank me when you're not wastin' away." Somebody had to look out for Jay after the bullshit as of late. They were all angry for their own reasons, some interlinked in the loss experienced by one of their own and others zoomed out to the larger picture at hand. Kelly waffled between both lenses. "Of all the animals..." She exhaled with a shake of her head. "Yeah, I know." The weight of obligation was there even if Tommy never outright asked. It's what loyalty meant in the club. "You talked to him recently?"

[jmacavoy]

"Yeah, yeah." Jason nodded along, a low grumble lifting from his chest as he spoke. He might not have exactly said the words out loud— thank you, but his gratitude was there, somewhere. Camouflaged between bites of food he didn't want to eat and in each and every stab of the fork that followed, and the next one and the next one and the next. "You're tellin' me," His shoulders lifted into a shrug, and he shoveled down some more grub. "But yeah, a 'lil bit. He's been crashin' at my place." Jason explained, reaching for his drink next. "We were thinkin' 'bout findin' a new one though."

[cfdeliicate-deactivated20260314]

If she wasn't involuntary dragged in and partaking in this strange form of a hunt, Gigi probably will be laughing her ass out right now. Instead, frustration built up inside her. Why couldn't he just admit the defeat? A tiny yellow chick with fluffy tail had managed to trick him. So what? Her lips were sealed, no need to even be asking that of her. And there was no other soul in sight to witness this shame. No one would know he got beaten by a chick.

A sigh, a clear sign of her exasperation, slipped through her parted lips. Her hands rested on her hips as she listened to Jason mumbling about a new plan. The rest happened too fast for her brain to fully grasp — her dark hues darting off to the chick walking peacefully beside her, picking seeds and death bugs from the grass. She froze, fearing any movement might trigger another chaotic sprint. "Maybe he reevaluated his options." Her lips curved into a smirk as she watched Jason scoop the little fucker up. "You didn't tell me what's all this about, though?"

[jmacavoy]

Jason still didn't answer right away. Just stayed crouched for a couple more seconds—careful in his movements as he got the little fucker up and into those rough and calloused hands of his. "Belongs to a buddy of mine." Jason finally explained, lowering his blues down to the chick now safely cradled in his grasp. There was a small flicker of pride that tugged at the corner of his mouth — triumphant for just a moment, before it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, the weight of what had brought about the chicken wrangling in the first place settling down onto his shoulders.

"He —uh lost his trailer in the fire." Among other things. The pause that followed was deliberate, allowing the words to hang for a moment, figuring she would have heard of the tragedy by now. "So..." His shoulders lifted into something that resembled a shrug as he stood up from the ground and found his footing again, gaze traveling over towards Gigi. "Ya know." It was least he could do.

[alixharrigan]

FOR: @jmacavoy LOCATION: sip happens

The purpose was to escape the heat that clung in the air within the bar amidst the UFC fight that flickered over the dozens of screens. To no such prevail, she's met with the thick heat of a California summer once she'd stepped out onto the patio, an already lit cigarette situated between her lips. Perhaps it was a focal point of the match—she didn't know, nor did she care—but it was relatively less busy in the area she'd claimed. Close enough to observe the patrons, televisions still visible, the stench of beer hanging at the edges.

The same went for him, who stood a few paces to her left. Once blue eyes gravitated to the bruises that littered his knuckles, evidently still fresh, her intrigue piqued ever so slightly. "Don't tell me," she'd started, smoke drifting from her lips as her gaze returned to the screens, "life's inspiration is Khabib, or better yet, McGregor. Or was it just bad luck?" A nod of her head to the side to reference the origin of the bruises.

[jmacavoy]

Jason kicked a boot up to brick just outside the bar area, a cigarette dangling lazily between his knuckles as he leaned back. His latest work from the slaughterhouse was on full display — raw and angry, still deepening in red as the television ref demanded a nice, clean fight, and the boneheads he had come with hollered from the inside. Jason merely inhaled — long and slow, sucking in exhaust and fractured memories as he looked on. Fight nights like these —the sanctioned kind, were shrouded in obscurity now.

His eyes flicked to the stranger just beyond his periphery — the shadow of a woman shifting into focus. Her insinuation earned the ghost of a smirk from him, subtle but knowing, as he tilted his head just slightly, stare settling on the blonde. If only she had known how close her little jab had actually hit.

"McGregor," Jason played it straight up and flexed the knuckles that incriminated him, smoke curling out of his mouth in a lazy stream. His smirk deepened in way that treaded the line between fact and fiction. "Some even say I got his left hook."

[cfdeliicate-deactivated20260314]

Catching the tossed keys at the last minute, Gigi eyed Jason suspiciously. By now she was sure catching the chick was mission impossible and was ready to give up but it didn't seem like the man was sharing that idea. She knew little about chickens in general, but she'd heard of cats and dogs finding their own way back home so maybe it was applicable to chicken, too. Maybe not. There was something else, though. Something bothering the man. Something which made this small creature important in some way and Gigi doubted it was because of the eggs. "J, it's time you accept the defeat." Her lips twitched, a soft chuckle suffocating her as it tried to claw its way out. Seeing him being outsmarted by a chick was... something. She wasn't even able to put a name to it, but she imagined how hard it'd be for someone like Jason to admit defeat. Someone who had no problem with jumping straight into a fight with someone double their size. "You seriously believe he'll run straight to your yard? For all I know, he's already lost. He'll be lucky if he escapes getting run over by a car and flee to his freedom instead." She attepmted to reason with the man. "Why is that chick so important anyway?"

[jmacavoy]

Jason had never been the type to back down, hardwired to face opponents, assholes, threats—even teeny tiny, annoying chickens, head on. To never give up and clock in for his people, no matter the cost. It was his curse—his cross to bear, unable to accept the defeat Gigi spoke of even as it scampered off into the distance with no shot at being found. "Nah, nah. Its gunna work, Duvall. We just gotta—" There was a pause, and Jason tried to restrategize in the moment, officially losing sight of the target now.

"Dammit." He clasped his knuckles together and ignored her question. His hands were at the back of his head now, settling just above his the nape of his neck as he began to pace back and forth, racking that thick skull of his for another bright idea. "We just gotta think of sumthin' else. We can—" Bugawk! Jason didn't get the chance to finish, mid-step, stopping dead in his tracks. Those blues shot down to the dirt just beside Gigi, easing up on his stance as he heard it again. Bugawk!

And there, right in front of his damn face and next to Gigi was the little sucker. Calmer now, looking up at them with wide, curious eyes. Slowly, Jason crouched down to the his level, calloused palms open as the chick waddled over, and he looked up at Gigi. "Think the lil fucker might like us after all."

[aylaxbinici]

Ayla tried her best to smile through it and not let it show that she was still reeling from what she had seen on the boat. Some nights she still had nightmares from all of that blood. It may be surprising to anyone who knew she worked for the LAPD, but Ayla was not a cop. She was not trained for the violence or even prepared for it. Her job consisted entirely of interviewing victims of crimes or witnesses to help put together a sketch of the perpetrator. She never had seen violence before.

It should have been a little surprising that even after all this time, that Jason could see right through her. But Ayla wasn't surprised in the least bit, he always had been able to read her. While her smile dipped a little in defeat, she still kept it up. "I suspected you might say that." She let out a little laugh. "But that was on me for thinking I could get you to shrug it off." Ayla just wasn't sure if she should tell him anything, or even part of it. It was a lot to unpack on someone and they had only run into each other in the street. But as he spoke, Ayla sensed the urgency in his words. She turned to look over her shoulder, to see what was causing him to urge them to leave. She knew better than to question that tone though, learning long ago that he only took it on when something dangerous was happening. "Okay." Ayla quickly agreed, walking with him towards his car even though this had not been her plan at all for the night.

[jmacavoy]

Jason didn’t hesitate. Just moved them along, stepping in and shifting a half-pace behind Ayla to use his build as a shield should he need to. It was instinct— old habit. For Jason, beneath all his rough edges — the jagged scars and worn ink, had always been a protector at his core. An instinct that could override the urge to turn his ass right back around and charge the asshole for not getting the message the first time. But he didn't want Ayla to see that, not again anyway.

“I'm not lettin' ya off that easy though,” Jason played it cool as his car came into view. It was blatant, an attempt to distract from the presence that loomed a block or so away now. She didn't need to know of the potential threat if he could help it, seeming to him like more of a false alarm now anyway. Instead, he merely snagged his keys from his back pocket and unlocked the door, reaching around to get it for her. “I — uh, know a spot downtown if ya wanna, ya know.” Talk about it. "Or I can just take ya home. Whatever ya want."

@brckenways (ayla)

[leon-orozco]

León took the stack of cash without fanfare, thumbed through it once, twice, before dropping it on the table beside him. The bills hit the wood with a dull, satisfying slap. “I’m not saying it was a vacation,” he said, tone even. “I’m just saying if I went all the way to Mexico and came back smelling like gunpowder and cheap soap, I’d expect at least a tan.”

He didn’t smile. León rarely did when the real shit bubbled beneath the surface. His gaze flicked to the beer bottles as they clinked together, then slowly dragged up to meet Jason’s. That scarred, worn-out loyalty—the kind built in blood and back-alley beatdowns—was written all over the kid’s face. And that made what came next heavier.

“You think I don’t want to?” he asked, voice low. “You think I’m not pacing at three in the fuckin’ morning, dreaming up ways to send pieces of Aslan back to his boys in Tupperware?” A beat. Not a crack in his mask, not quite. But the fury was there, just beneath the skin—controlled only because León had learned a long time ago that rage with no aim was just noise. And he didn’t deal in noise. He dealt in results.

“Shit's more complicated than that, though. They're expecting us to come out swinging and I ain't going to give it to them. If we go to war, I wanna be picking the battlefield, not them." Then, with a tilt of his head, he added, quieter, “But if we hit? We hit so fuckin’ hard they forget how to say our name without bleeding.” León took a large swig from his bottle then. It wasn’t celebration—it was a promise. "We owe Taylor that."

[jmacavoy]

Jason handed over the cash, the air in the garage shifting along with it. His jaw tightened, and he let León's words fuel him, a hunger rising from the pit of his gut with every damn one of them. It was a vicious, reckless little thing that always seemed to gnaw at his insides in moments like these, longing to be unleashed and wreak havoc.

And oh, how he wanted to let it gnaw at him, tempt him, and goad him into the punk-ass kid he tried to keep in check. The kid with too much fight, and nowhere to put it. The kid who had first met León before he offered him something Jason had been desperate for: purpose. That kid would have gone full throttle, run a fist through the first asshole he knew was Kurtlar, and not given two shits about it.

But it was Jason's loyalty— ironclad and unyielding—that was reflected back at León instead through a set of steely blues. And his words —we hit so fuckin’ hard they forget how to say our name without bleeding— settled onto Jason's shoulders like he was swearing a solemn oath to him. Read loud and clear.

"For Taylor." Jason nodded with just the jut of his chin, a downward tick to confirm his solidarity. He threw back a swig of beer as if to douse the fire that threatened to burn wild then added. "Their time will come."

[amararoyce]

who: @jmacavoy where: sunset grill

"You gonna eat that or just scowl at it?" Kelly's brows gestured to the unfinished plate in front of Jason before her hands even needed to leave the table. Not questioning for her own benefit, she didn't fuckin' want his leftovers, but out of faint concern masked behind some blasé attitude. A dark cloud hung around the MC and most of Los Angeles as of late, the least she could do was play temporary umbrella for him. "We also need to come back around to the chicken topic. I have questions. Namely how many and what the fuck? In that order."

[jmacavoy]

"Alright, alright. I'm eatin', I'm eatin', shit." Jason grumbled and his scowl deepened on principle alone, sparing a rogue piece of red meat no mercy as he stabbed it with his fork and choked it down. His real hunger had been focused elsewhere, stewing in the pit of his gut since the night of the fire. "Not this again, Kells— I told ya, it felt like a shit ton." It wasn't, more like 4 or 5, yet Jason shrugged anyway, shaking his head as he finished chewing his food. "And they're Tommy's, so ya know." He added, the rest of the sentence implied, figuring the weight of his name alone could supply the words Jason didn't. That he just had to do something.

[emildelcastillo]

Emil finally looked away from his phone, only to look up at the sky and then dropped his cigarette and stepped on it, a deep breath leaving his mouth. "Alright, what do you want? Like why are you talking to me, is this going anywhere? Because I really just want to play my game and I'm not patient enough to entertain you, whoever the fuck you are." Not that he cared, a weird trait for a doctor to have, perhaps, but that was neither here nor there. He was on his break and there were plenty of doctors inside, so this better be good and not small talk. "If you're about to make a weird request, I'm saying no, just so you know."

[jmacavoy]

Jason didn't answer. Just arched a brow and took one final drag of his cigarette, the cinders glowing faintly before tapering off into darkness. He tossed it to the ground, stomping the nub with the heel of his boot as smoke still curled out from his mouth. "Shit, relax there tough guy." His blues settled on him, getting a better look from head to toe as a lazy scoff rolled from his chest. “It’s really not that friggin' deep.” Jason made a move to leave, already on strict orders to play nice anyway and not draw anymore heat the MC's way. Had he hung around; he already knew where this would go.

[tomhatch]

"Early bird these days, huh? Mexico shake up your internal clock or somethin’?" Tommy drawled, the dryness in his tone unmistakable. Never mind that Jason hadn’t actually crossed a time zone — details like that had never been Tommy’s strong suit, nor had they ever really interested him. He wasn't exactly a globetrotter; hell, the furthest he'd ever made it outside of Utah was Los Angeles, and even that had felt like stepping into another goddamn universe -- sometimes even now, almost seven years later. Worldliness just wasn’t something that had ever been in the cards for him.

"I know. I just -- I couldn't sleep anyway, and I was past the point of tryin'." He left out the part about not wanting to burden his friend, knowing that would more than likely get him a slap upside the head. Logically, he knew Jason didn't view him that way -- hell, he was his best friend, the closest thing he had to family aside from the little of it he had left that actually kept him around. But there were some wounds that ran so bone-deep that it was hard to unwind from them. A short laugh fell from his lips when Jason mentioned Obi-wan, though it didn't quite meet his eyes. "Yeah, he ain't used to this much light in the mornin'. Usually I'd keep 'em in the coop a little longer but, uh -- y'know. No coop anymore." A pause, and he took another drag of his cigarette. "I miss 'em too. And -- I'm lookin' for a new place so I can take 'em off your hands. I am. It's just, uh, a bit slow going right now." And by slow going he really meant not going.

"I don't know bro." Another sigh, tapping the ash once more into the empty can. "Everything is so fucked up, I can't even keep track anymore. Now my parents are comin' around for this bullshit funeral and it's just -- it's a whole fuckin' mess."

[jmacavoy]

Jason didn't say anything — not at first and not with words anyway. Just leaned forward, took a slow pull of cheap beer, and let Tommy's rambles fill the space — to get it all out or whatever. 'Cause Jason had never been any good with this kind of shit, comfort, sentiment, words. He was a punk-ass kid from the heights built on reckless abandon and destruction, firsts and blood, forged to to suck it up, bury it deep, and keep his shit concealed beneath layers and layers of hardened exterior he wore like battle armor.

Yet, somewhere beneath all the scars and the hardened edges, his concern was still there, even if he showed it differently than most. It was in wrangled chickens and the hand Jason clapped over Tommy's shoulder, offering him the support that his words never could. Two firm pats — his solemn vow that he'd ride for him, Taylor, the MC, and do whatever it took to deliver the payback.

The heaviness stretched, then settled onto Jason's shoulders as if to bear some of the weight from Tommy before he finally broke the silence. "I know, and those fuckers aren't gunna get away with shit, ya know that right." His jaw was set now, recalling what Leon told him. That they would hit back and when they did — oh when they did, no mercy. The emotional shit he might not have been any good at, but anger, anger Jason could work with.

"But for now crash here, bro." Jason offered, though there wasn't a lick of choice in the matter, and like hell he was going to take no for an answer. "Got no problem draggin' your ass inside myself if I gotta."