𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐄 "𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐈" 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐊𝐂𝐈 — ( ayça ayşin turan )
32. perpetual question mark and part time clerk at the retro rack. croweater.
intro • threads • connections • character study • pinterest •playlist
𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐍 — ( meghann fahy )
35. receptionist at monroe's auto. soon to be ex old lady of cole hartman.
intro • threads • connections • character study • pinterest •playlist
𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐀 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐀 — ( renata notni )
32. racer / semi-professional getaway girl. affiliated with the demirci mafia.
intro • threads • connections • character study • pinterest •playlist
𝐏𝐄𝐘𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑 — ( phoebe tonkin )
35. bartender at angel's. product of former SOA road captain, harrison warner.
intro • threads • connections • character study • pinterest •playlist
open @charmingstart
location: ink and iron tattoo studio
"I'm about to order food, so you can sit here and sulk or eat with me." It's a non-negotiable. After four hours hunched over the back piece, if she didn't get some kind of food into her, the rest of the day was going to be some kind of hellish. For both her, and her client. "And honestly, I'm not giving you too much of a choice. You're looking a little pale." Cracking open a can of soda, she held another out for current company, "You pass out and I'm not responsible for who hears about it. No secrets here." A falsity in and of itself - the studio held many secrets for the club - but, very rarely did any of those in charming come for fresh ink, pass out - and ever live it down. "Come on, get up. Walk around. It'll help."
"⸺ nah," Peyton muttered, voice detached, wide eyes hollow, while she inspected Daniela's progress from one of the shop mirrors, "I'm pretty sure on death's door is just my default setting or some shit."
Made sense, considering these days she might as well have been moonlighting as a vampire. Up after dark, passed out just before sunrise, sustained by an almost entirely liquid diet—Slap her ass and call her a wannabe Cullen, fine, but after so many years of sinking ink beneath her skin she liked to think she had enough fortitude in her sparkle-less body to avoid passing out on an artist's table like a virgin.
Then again, nothing but the memory of last night's Jack in her system probably said otherwise. Taking one more second to track the new lines of jet carved around her spine she smiled—just a tiny, fleeting, flicker at one corner—before turning back around. "But if you insist, I guess I could eat."
Clutching the unfastened, backward zip up to her chest to protect what'd end up becoming a beauty of a back piece, Pey wandered toward Dani again and, that time, dangled what was almost a full smirk. "Do I at least get to pick where we're orderin' from, or are you callin' those shots too?"
Flat on his back. Still as he could be. The scene unfolded far too quickly for Braden's liking. He should have had enough common sense to not try the tricks he could have managed when he was a teenager while on a skateboard. It was a recipe for a disaster even if he was just trying to relearn to impress his son. It was a new fixation every day with the young boy, and the newest trend now was skateboarding. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. I just need a minute." He exhaled heavily not all confident in the being fine part, simply just trying to muster up the strength to stand up again after the wipe out he had moments ago when he tried to land a kick flip. His balance and timing was off which propelled him backwards straight to his ass.
Hailey had a feeling they shared vastly different definitions of the word 'fine' but, in this case, arguing as much only worked against her favor. No matter what the look on her face said, if Braden swore he only needed a minute to recover she'd give him thirty. Seconds, that is.
"Right, well." Crouching low, her expression shifting on a dime between doubt, concern, and what might've been faint amusement, she whispered, "Your wipeout just cost me twenty bucks, but you can help me win it back if you dust yourself off in the next—" Hails trailed off, glancing at her non-existent watch—"six or so seconds and get the hell up."
The tight press of her lips twitched. She was just barely holding in a laugh. "I have faith in you, kid—" she was only four years his senior—"and bet Trig over there thirty bucks you wouldn't be walkin' into work tomorrow wearin' a cast."
location: conti family pizzeria, located in downtown charming
status: open ! (0/5) @charmingstart
aurora had gotten a call from her grandma saying that her old man had thrown out his back and wasn't feeling the greatest. it was mid afternoon at this point and she insisted on heading over to the family business to hold down the fort until closing. thankfully, it was midweek and pretty slow at the pizzeria. while in the midst of almost completing the closing shifts duties, she heared the bell to the front door ring. "we close in like twenty, just letting you know. if you're looking for a fresh pizza or breadsticks, you're shit outta luck," she called from the back.
Vivi wasn't sure what else she expected. She had two eyes. Could read the hours posted on the pizzeria windows outside. She'd also done this song and dance—hoping for a hail mary just before the clock ran out—too many times to count.
Still, she moved through the quiet shop with unhurried patience and reached for one of the chairs still firmly planted on the floor. Didn't matter that she wasn't an employee. She'd worked enough waitressing gigs in various establishments across the country, and closing routines were closing routines. She could walk through it by muscle memory alone.
Turning it upside down and propping it seat first against a worn tabletop, she called back, "And what if I said I was fine takin' whatever leftover slices you have that're probably about to be tossed to the trash?" There were always a few that sat under a heat lamp too long. Whether they were still edible or more akin to sauce lathered leather was anyone's guess, but Viv was used to living one gamble to the next. "What would you call my luck then?"
It was safe to say that the vice president’s mind hadn’t stopped whirling since the night of Arabella’s murder– on and on without much of a reprieve or soft spot to land, save for when it dared to settle on Samiye. Thinking of her wasn’t any less confusing, but it differed in the way that more questions than answers didn’t fill him with dread. Instead, his curiosity just burned, ignited by someone he’d tried to keep at a distance for far too long. If anything, Arabella’s death only served to remind him of that and had forced him to stare down the walls he piled up miles high. Would it really be so catastrophic if he simply let them fall for once? Memories of the kiss they shared that night told him no, it wouldn’t be, but caution had always been the hardest thing for him to kill.
And yet, as he wandered the clubhouse late that evening, trying to use his steps to unravel all the thoughts twisting into knots inside his head, Aydın ended up outside her door anyway. Finding it open, he didn’t announce himself right away, but lingered for a moment, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe.
She was hard at work on something, from what he could tell between the books and papers scattered across her bed, but that wasn’t where his focus lingered. He’d noticed her glasses first, and then the slight furrow of her brow as she concentrated on whatever she was reading. His lips tipped into a soft, yet crooked smile before he even realized that they had.
“Nice glasses,” he murmured into the silence, finally giving himself away. He hoped that by his lingering smile, she’d know he didn’t mean it in a mocking way. Quite the opposite, actually, if the way his gaze stayed trained on her was any indication. He nodded down at the materials on her bed, “What’re you workin’ on?”
"⸺and eight meters per second on the second throw, what is the difference in kinetic energy between the two bowls?"
Sami muttered the prompt out loud, but if she didn't remember how to solve it the first time around, the fourth wasn't any better. The practice questions on her laptop might as well have been in a foreign language. She'd been staring at them for so long her eyes threatened to cross.
On some level she knew she should call it quits. Close the computer, put away her papers, and spare herself an inevitable migraine. She knew that yet, still, she pushed on.
"A five kilogram bowling ball is bowled twice. If it's thrown six meters per second on its first throw⸺" Though little more than a low murmur, gravel and steel crashed through her focus. Choking on a quiet gasp, she jolted, eyes wide and honed in on the doorway. On that voice. On him. Aydin.
Her fingers flew to the glasses in question, an old pair due to be replaced at least two prescriptions ago. They hovered there, as if tempted to rip the frames off her face and toss them to the floor, but something stopped her. Maybe it was his smile. Maybe it was the sudden flood of memories from a unexpected night spent together in a dark kitchen for a few brief, mind-altering moments.
Either way, the glasses stayed. Her cheeks stained pink.
"Oh, uhm..." Sami fumbled to clear up the pile of notes and hastily scrawled math equations strewn over her mattress. "Just... just studying for a test."
What test, she didn't clarify. Admitting she never finished high school was always mortifying, but even more so when it came to Aydin—Especially when she could still remember the taste the cherries and chocolate and melted ice cream mixing with whiskey on his lips.
Everything went to shit shortly after that, and they hadn't talked since, but she wondered if he still thought about that kiss as much as she did, or if he'd already erased it from his mind.
"Did you—" Sami paused, gaze lingering over the harsh and devastating relief of his features. Was this official business, or a social call? Did it even matter? Regardless of the reason for his sudden appearance at her room, she couldn't tamper the slow curve of a smile. "Did you, uh, need something, or is this visit just a happy accident during another hunt for a new hideout spot?"
isn’t that 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐄 ❝ 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐈 ❞ (𝑺𝑨𝑯-𝑴𝑬𝑬) 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐊𝐂𝐈? heard you’re a 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑, working as a 𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐊 𝐀𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐎 𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊, and have been here in charming for 𝟖 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒. you somehow remind me of...
❝ a fresh picked flower tucked behind her ear, a crushed pack of Marlboros tucked in her back pocket, and a switchblade tucked into her boot. a thin rim of candle wax clinging to the bottom of the jar. borrowed books and stolen t-shirts. ben and jerry's half baked. the strap of last night's dress dangling off a bare shoulder. a go bag waiting by the door. citrus and sugar with a hint of bourbon and smoke. peach rings. spiked tea. holding on by the skin of her teeth. stargazing over sunbathing. secrets kept underneath loose floorboards. ❞
𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.
pinterest board - note: this is her old board and i'm too lazy to switch certain things like fcs over yet , biography , full connections , headcanons , playlist
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬.
full name: undisclosed
alias: samiye bardakci
nicknames: sami (sah-mee)
age: 32
birthday: undisclosed
zodiac sign: according to her current ID, she's a cancer
ethnicity: turkish
faceclaim: ayça ayşin turan
sexual orientation: bicurious heteroromantic
relationship status: single
positive traits: nurturing, creative, compassionate, fiercely loyal to those who've earned it, accepting, confident (on the surface), resilient, resourceful, steadfast, unfussy, street smart
negative traits: secretive, haunted, doesn't trust easily, nostalgic, flighty, closed off, uncertain, paranoid (for good reason), suspicious (also for good reason), jealous, doubting
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐥𝐝𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲.
origins unknown, sami rolled into charming ten months ago on the back of aydin's bike and it could be said that, with few exceptions, nobody knows her any better now than they did that day. she's not the type to open up about herself easily (or at all) and most of what she does share is as surface level as surface level can get.
as far as anyone in town knows she's just a bit of a good time girl living life fast and free, enjoying the perks of being a croweater for the club while she's at it. that perception isn't entirely wrong, so she'll take it, but anyone who looks close enough can probably see there's a whole lot of hurt she's hiding behind her smiles and even more secrets she's keeping buried deep.
𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬.
friends she's made since moving to town - please note that for the most part, barring a few exceptions, even the closest friends she has in charming won't know much of anything about her past
former club hookups - i mean. samiye is a croweater so it stands to reason that within the last 8 months she could've slept with a member currently in game.
someone from her past prior to charming - your character swears they met sami in tuscon back in 2023. sami swears they might've been hit on the head, does she need to call a medic?
someone from her hometown - tbh this would require a loooot of plotting and possibly even an entirely new chara created? but the option is there for the taking
what do u mean you don't know how to throw a punch? - listen. idk how she's made it this far, either, but it's no secret that samiye doesn't actually possess many physical combat skills. charming feels like the perfect time and place to change that though, right?
The entire shift had been the sort of dogfight that Cameron liked to avoid, particularly when the chaos reigned from deep in the night well into the early morning hours. He was exhausted, his limbs weighed down by the sort of weariness that sleep couldn’t fix and his vision blurred from lack of sleep. Such was the life of a trauma surgeon, but even for as heavy as the load often felt, Cameron knew he wouldn’t change it, because by the time the shift had ended, most of the patients that had come through the bay overnight were stabilized– most of them would be okay, and that was enough for him. It had to be.
On the way home that morning, he’d decided to stop by the cafe for just that pinch of caffeine needed to get him through the rest of his trek. Naturally, he’d wandered in during the morning rush, had nearly fallen asleep standing in line more than once, but somehow, he’d made it to the front– all for a simple cup of coffee, nothing special about it to be named, but it felt like a lifeline. He dug out his wallet, forking over the cost of that all conquering cup of black coffee and reaching out for it like his sanity depended on it– and maybe it did, after the night he’d had. He went to pocket his wallet then paused, “Wait–,” Cameron started, reaching for a few more bills and sliding them across the counter, “For the person behind me too,” he clarified. He’d always been taught to pay it forward, and after last night, cashing it in felt like the right thing to do.
Imagine Demi's surprise when, upon reaching for her wallet to pay for her lavender buttercream matcha latte and chocolate croissant, the barista informed her it'd already been paid for. That never happened. That sort of thing implied possessing an ounce of luck which, lately, she seemed to be in deficit of.
Shocked, and a little lost for words, she was quick to keep the trend going by offering to pay for the person behind her, and then just as quick to head for the pick up end of the counter in hopes of catching up to Cameron. Sneaky man.
"You know—" she hedged upon sidling up next to him, her back to the display of napkins and colorful sugar packets— "it seems a little backwards for you to be buying my breakfast when it looks like you've gone days in the trenches without any yourself."
A pointed look dropped to the plain black coffee in his hand because, no, that didn't count. Not in her books, at least. But by the time bright blue eyes returned to his face her expression softened, landing somewhere between teasing and genuinely concerned.
"Looks like it was a long one." His shift, that is. "You wanna split my croissant? And know now if you refuse I'll likely spend the rest of my day riddled with nauseating guilt."
A tiny fist jammed against her eye socket. Little toes dug into her ribs. Warmth. The scent of oatmeal baby shampoo and, just beyond, it a hint of—Helena jolted into sudden awareness, dark eyes blown wide and body stiff. Not as much as it used to be. Not like those first few times she woke to the undeniable presence of a third person fast asleep beside them.
Max—Not him.
Three months in and she’d grown used to it. Mostly. Panic still clawed at her chest each time, as if it took a second to remember where she was, who she was with, but then the strangest thing happened. Even stranger than finding Max Sheppard in her (technically, his) bed. Lenny settled into the sort of peace she hadn’t found in years, not even in sleep.
Max was familiar. Safe. Calming. And absolutely not where she expected him to be.
That would’ve been the couch—His too long form sprawled over every inch of the cushions, Theo protectively cradled atop his chest and within his arms.
They’d looked so content and untroubled she didn’t dare wake them. Taking a blanket off the back she’d just covered them up, snapped a few pictures to melt over later, and came back to the room to fold laundry. Considering tiny sleepers and cut off t-shirts still lay scattered across the bed with them, she hadn’t been all that successful.
God. He was going to think she was such a slob.
Carefully, Lenny began to ease away from the little ball that was Theo tucked against her side, intent on making things right before Max could regret even opening his door that night. Except she must’ve moved too quick, or bounced the mattress a little too hard. Her son still slept, but a shift in breathing told her he was the only one.
Slowly, hesitantly, her eyes lifted. They locked with Max’s open gaze. Embarrassment over the mess she'd left still raged, flaming pink across her cheeks, but, still, she fought for a smile. Small, and faint, but a smile all the same. “You, uh, you two aren’t where I left you.”
It'd been several minutes of peaceful silence before Lenny's question cleaved through the air, seemingly unbidden. Her dark eyes didn't lift from the stack of ones she'd just finished counting from the drawer but, considering Cass was the only other person in sight, it didn't take much guessing to know who it'd been directed at.
Was it the kind of conversation she'd normally kick up with a boss? No, but somewhere along the way Cassidy started feeling less like the one who signed her paychecks, more like... a friend.
"I mean, it's been almost three months now." Since she started crashing with Max, depleting half of his hot water and taking over every available surface with all things five month old infant. Her fingers hovered over the money, as stuck as she seemed to be in her thoughts. "He'd tell me if he was ready for us to go, right?"
✧ open starter ✧
for ✧ anyone ( @charmingstart )
location ✧ black widow, private room.
''Took you long enough,'' Elijah sighed, wasting no time as he rid himself of his shirt, fingers toying with his belt buckle when he looked up to notice them hovering in the doorway. He'd had very little work in his time in Charming so far, primarily out of paresse, though he'd missed getting back into the groove of his craft.
''What, no phones?'' A smirk tugged at his lips, hand shooting out to grab the phone he'd placed on a tripod, shutting down the camera and advancing on the new arrival. ''That's fine, I can work with a practice run.''
"⸻ a practice run." Lenny glanced from the tripod to the phone he pocketed, from that pocket to the undone belt, then back to his face again. What the fuck? "I'm sorry." A breath huffed through the seam of her lips, not quite enough to be considered a laugh. "What, uh—What?"
Cocktail waitress. Bartender. Those were the positions she inquired about over the phone, neither of which could be demonstrated in—A private room. As the confusion wore off she realized that's where she'd been sent. Not an office.
"I don't—I don't think I'm who you're waiting on." Couldn't be. Could she? Her thoughts took a frantic detour back through the call, lingering on the woman's final statement: come on in at eight. I'm sure we can find something for you.
Realization dawned across her face in real time. Well, shit. "Not Elijah, as in a manager then."
