dead men tell no tales.

stats.

full name:  jacob thomas garrity  nicknames: jake, garrity, jt, jay, jakey boy (no one calls him jacob & lives to tell the tale) birthday: april 5th age: thirty  birthplace: grimmvale star sign: aries through & through gender: cis man pronouns: he/him sexuality: heterosexual gang affiliation: lost boys mc rank: enforcer & underground fighter cover: will tell you he just works at renegade gym & bounces at local bars & clubs from time to time. theme song: warrior by bonez languages: english, a little spanish mostly slang

physical. 

face claim: alexander ludwig hair color: dirty blonde eye color: piercing blue height:  6ft 4in weight: 237lbs build: big, burly, and muscular, very tom hardy in the warrior tattoos: yes, lots. he was a couple from mythology & a couple from old pirate legends. he also has "dead men tell no tales" across his traps because he thought it was badass at 19. he has a couple of smaller, more meaningful ones on his hands…definitely has the lost boys emblem on him somewhere, too. plus a the obligatory skull and cross bones & the sun setting over the horizon in honor of his late uncle. scars: very many, more scar than skin, each with a story. most notable a thick gash on the left side of his torso from a cheap shot with a shank he took in the slammer. hair style: typically keeps it short, but without a doubt had a ponytail phase 

blood. 

mother: hillary garrity, estranged father: ma never mentioned him uncle: tommy garrity, seemingly deceased half-siblings: one younger brother or sister (plan to put in a wc for this) pets: none

personality. 

positives (+): loyal, strong, disciplined, courageous, protective, patient (with everyone except himself) negatives (-): stubborn, emotionally guarded, self-sacrificing, guilt-ridden, slow to trust, quietly self-destructive, hot temper if you push the right buttons MBTI: ISTP fears: pssh none. losing the people closest to him, what his anger is capable of if he unleashes it & dancing (can do the magic mike dolphin dive thing though) element: fire hogwarts house: gryffindor drugs/ alcohol/ smoking: no, fighting is his high / 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, the quiet just before a fight starts. disney character inpso: will turner (pirates of the caribbean) additional character inpso: tom conlon (warrior), james burns (jamesy boy), dom toretto (fast & furious), ryan atwood (the oc), shawn hunter (boy meets world), jon snow (GoT), if hulk & cap had a son (marvel), && just very 90’s kid from the wrong side of the tracks coded.

biography.

TW: fighting, death, fire, alcohol

Jacob Garrity didn’t just come into the world fighting—he clawed his way out of it. His first breath thick with the stench of cheap liquor and sweat, drawn in the back room of some seedy dive deep in the belly of Grimmvale. It was the very spot his mother worked the pole and met the stranger who'd wandered in off the docks one night and knocked her up. By morning, he was gone with the tide, forcing Jake and his mom to move in with his uncle, the washed-up middleweight champ and local cautionary tale, Tommy Garrity.

It wasn’t long before his mother walked out. She popped out another kid with a different guy, then soon after left seven-year-old Jake in Tommy’s cramped apartment above the gym he owned. His uncle wasn’t good for much anymore except for drinking and coaching—a game of eight-ball at the local dive if you caught him on a good night. He was a mediocre ol’ man at best and a liability at worst. Most of what he earned went to the bottle or the bookie, but Uncle Tommy was there—and to Jake, that counted for something.

From a young age, Jake was drawn to trouble. He was a brute of a kid often left to fend for himself. He had street smarts, sure, but school held no interest for him and his hot temper often got the better of him. The streets became his most formidable teachers and violence was the language Jake spoke best—a dialect Tommy understood all too well. Where most saw nothing but another lost cause, his uncle saw potential and funneled it all into MMA, forging Jake into somewhat of a fighting prodigy. He taught Jake that a man's strength wasn't measured by how hard he could hit, but by what he was willing to stand for.

By the time Jake was 16, he was well on his way to landing a UFC contract. He was being called "the next big thing" of the fighting world. But as Jake’s athletic prowess grew, so did his competitive edge and hot temper that continued to get him into trouble in and out of the cage.

One championship tournament ruined it all. The fight was his. He had his opponent beaten, the crowd behind him, and a UFC contract practically waiting to be signed. That was until his opponent landed a cheap shot and the referee looked the other way. The bastard made wisecrack about his mother. Years of abandonment and resentment came rushing to the surface all at once. Jake went after his opponent, and then the referee when he tried to intervene, earning himself an immediate disqualification and a permanent ban from the league.

Not long after Jake was banned, his uncle’s gym and any shot at redemption went up in smoke in the dead of night. Some say it was nothing more than a drunk’s forgotten cigarette and too much rum that caused the fire, but others knew better. Tommy owed a lot of money to a lot of people, and his death hardened Jake in a way no punch or beating ever could.

With his world reduced to ashes, Jake was adrift and his short fuse continued to get the better of him. This time during a bar fight gone wrong, landing him a short stint in prison. He was sentenced as an adult despite still being a minor and did eighteen months of hard time.

It was behind bars Jake found the Lost Boys—or rather, they found him mid-punch in the yard, hungry for a place that could put his restless fists to good use. The MC saw something in him Jake couldn’t. They never backed down when he brandished his knuckles and bared his teeth at them. They never asked him to change or tried to douse the fight Tommy had instilled in him. No, the Lost Boys taught Jake what Tommy never could. They taught him how to use it—how to aim it. 

By the time Jake got out, the MC had a place for him. He was exactly the kind of young blood they liked—brutal, disciplined when necessary, and most importantly, willing to go to whatever lengths to prove his loyalty. From the grunt work of polishing bikes to handling debts and taking care of the shit no one else wanted to, he stepped up. While most might have been satisfied with becoming just another patch, Jake wanted to do more. He saw the MC as more than just some band of bikers who ruled the streets—he saw them as family, his crew. 

And so, Jake didn’t just climb the ranks—he carved his way up with fists and blood. He earned himself a reputation over the past eleven years and worked his way up to become the Lost Boy’s most loyal and lethal enforcer and underground fighter. 

And for the first time in a long-ass time, he had an anchor. Because Jake finally learned that blood never made a family—loyalty did.

headcanons.

Jake is an old soul who uses a refurbished Nokia 3310 phone with a T9 keypad. Hence why he texts like a 12 year old. That said, Jake would much rather call someone than text or handle his shit in person then from behind a screen. He also doesn’t use social media and would have thrived in the 90’s.

tw fighting, guns, weapons His fighting style in the streets is to disarm but will not hesitate to take someone out. His left hook is in fact deadly and brute force is his specialty. He also knows all the pressure points and how to put someone to sleep. In the ring, he’s very no frills, no fanfare. If he can get the job done with one punch, snag his cash, and bounce, he will. Fighting is very clinical to him; it’s not a show. He also carries a Glock 17 wherever he goes, but the weapon he trusts most is the knife he keeps strapped to his boot. Guns get the job done, but blades and fists are personal.

Jake has never been a man who gave shit about following rules. But he does live by a code: You protect your own. You keep your word. You don't betray family. And you don't harm innocents—ever. He also has absolutely no love for traitors and snitches, and he believes they deserve whatever the hell is coming for ‘em. To him, it’s a crime far worse than murder and nothing pisses him off more than a rat.

He’s secretly into mythology and old legends, mainly stories about heroes and warriors, of gods and sacrifice, and adventure and treasure hunts—stories that mimic a world that isn’t so different from the one he’s come to know now. Sometimes, he even finds similarities between those myths and his own life, confirming his own belief that violence and loyalty are the only true measures of a man.

Jake is a pool shark. His uncle taught him when he was a kid, and every Wednesday night they’d go to the local dive to mess around and hustle customers for cash. It’s one of Jakey boy’s most cherished memories of his uncle.

Jake rides a custom black 2012 Harley-Davidson Dyna Super Glide Sport (FXDX). It was his first big boy purchase after finally making enough money to afford something of his own. He also drives a '70 Dodger Charger that he inherited from Tommy. It's red with a black stripe. Jake takes meticulous care of her and calls the Charger his Baby—his Black Pearl. No one else is allowed to drive her. No one.

Jake wears a thin gold chain with a compass medallion that his mother told him belonged to his father. It's the only thing he has of the man, and he never takes it off. Some of the Lost Boys swear it's made from Aztec gold. Jake thinks they're full of shit.