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DEAR READER
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@wickcdways
wickcd ways– a dependent mumu for charmingrpg, penned by socks.
AYDİN KAAN // 38, sons of anarchy vice president, serkan çayoğlu // intro. interactions.
HAKAN YAZİCİ // 37, attorney for the demirci mafia, şükrüz özyıldız // intro. interactions.
RIO DELGADO // 36, drug producer for the cartel & cook at riders' rest, carlos miranda // intro. interactions.
The bell gave a delicate jingle as she stepped inside, the sound almost too polite for the heavy quiet of the diner. Alessia paused just past the doorway, eyes adjusting from the dim parking lot to the warmer glow within, heels clicking softly against the tile as she took in the near-empty space. Espresso brown hair spilled over one shoulder in a sleek curtain, the gold anklet at her heel catching the light with each measured step forward.
She didn’t answer him right away. Instead, she slid into the booth across from his, long legs crossing neatly as if this were any café back home and not some roadside stop in a town she’d only known for four days. “Then perhaps I am lucky,” she said smoothly, accent curling around her words like smoke, calm and unbothered, forcing the English. “I have had nothing but airplane food and wrong turns since I arrived. Stale biscuits sound… honest.”
It should have been a bit more disconcerting, the way his newfound company didn’t immediately answer him and distinguish between friend or foe, but it wasn’t. Somehow, the atmosphere didn’t feel all that heavy, at least not in the manner it did in the moments leading up to something bad happening. It just felt…different, and different was something Rio could handle. Different was welcomed, considering his last fourteen years had been nothing but more of the same.
Dark eyes glanced up from the swirls of heat spiraling off the surface of his freshly brewed coffee and landed on the woman casually sliding into the seat across from him. He’d never seen her before, but then again, that wasn’t saying much in Rio’s case. He hadn’t seen much of anyone in quite some time. The corner of his mouth twitched with amusement, “Debatable,” he murmured, wholly unsure how anyone could land here and call it luck. But he’d play along. Honest. Rio’s smile widened around his cigarette. Had he ever heard biscuits described that way? He shrugged a shoulder, and blew a steady stream of smoke off to one side, “I’ll let you be the judge of that.” Dusting the ash off the tip of his Marlboro, Rio studied her, silently trying to place her accent, “Airplane food, huh?” He pressed, hoping to glean whatever he could from the gentle prompt, “What brings you to Charming?”
closed starter ✧ rio delgado. ( @wickcdways) location ✧ black widow.
Ilona knew within seconds that it wouldn't be a normal dance. The man before her was sitting too straight, his eyes flicking everywhere but at her, his hands folded in his lap like he was afraid to touch the wrong thing. The raucous laughter coming from behind the curtain only seemed to confirm her theory, and she leaned into the seat with a teasing smile, making sure she didn't crowd him yet. ''Your friends are generous, booking you a private dance with a pretty girl,'' she remarked as her body began moving, lightly at first, her gaze attempting to catch his. ''Did you not want a dance?'' she asked, keeping some distance now in case the stranger had changed his mind. ''We can just talk for ten minutes and you can tell your friends you left with my number. Pretty sure the tall one paid already,'' Ilona added with a shrug.
Nearly a decade and a half away took a toll on a man and Rio Delgado was living fucking proof of that. His breath hitched in his throat, his spine straightened to the point of driving a small ache into his shoulders, and his eyes…god, his eyes had no idea where to look.
Sitting ramrod straight in his seat, Rio willed himself to relax and ignore the laughter coming from the other side of the curtain, but the nerves swelled within him, reminding him of just how long it’d been since he’d indulged in the simple pleasures of the world around him– of a world outside of iron bars and orange jumpsuits. Glancing up as her body shifted, he nodded, smiling gently then. Generous was putting it mildly, but his mind actually stayed fixated on the use of the word friends. Would he call the cartel that? Not exactly, but that was one sour thought he didn’t want to linger on in a moment like this.
At her question, Rio’s eyes widened, almost as though he was snapping out of a trance, “I– no, no, sorry– it’s not that,” he stammered, not wanting her to think that he didn’t want to be exactly where he was. “I do, I just–” Rio paused, shoulders deflating somewhat as a sigh slipped out of him, “I haven’t been back for a while,” he attempted to explain, cringing slightly as he tasted the words on his tongue, “To the tune of nearly fifteen years, actually.” He realized that that of course didn’t actually explain his nerves or apprehension. If anything, it likely only added more question marks, but the truth had always been a bit hard for Rio to chew on, let alone vocalize to others. “Only women I really saw during that stretch were typically docs or lawyers– if you catch my drift,” he offered, hoping she might put two and two together, “The occasional guard too and that was…lowkey terrifying.” At that, he pressed his lips together, forcing himself to a grinding halt. Gazing up at her, he offered up a sheepish smile, “–I’m gonna shut up now.”
"have you ever considered being a better husband?" alex countered with a smirk, figure angled toward the too familiar attorney. the light danced in her mischievous eyes as her gaze wandered from the hand roaming through curls in the same way her own had a few times to the phone on the bar in front of him. the bar owner knew all about digital sparring with a spouse, even if hers was former rather than current, and she was nosy about what was driving hakan to drink right now. sometimes she wondered if her own marriage would be more like the attorney's had what happened never happened. were all doomed to that type of fate these days? her parents still standing strong in union would argue, but modern relationships seemed to be lacking from previous generations. "oh, just some fancy bourbon," alex answered, glancing down at the last swallow in the bottom of her glass before her eyes returned to catch hakan's. "geez," the brunette laughed, "how bad is it?"
Snorting an amused laugh at her question, Hakan cut a wry, pursed lip look over at her and shrugged a shoulder, “Thought about it once or twice,” he supplied, winking then before turning his attention back to the drink in front of him. Hakan knew how it looked– he knew what he projected any time he spoke about his marriage, or lack thereof. He came off as flippant and uncaring, and maybe to a degree it was true, but that hadn’t developed overnight. No, that had taken shape once they’d both been totally sure that it was over. Hakan and his wife had tried just about anything and everything, and it hadn’t worked. The truth was that the quick, easy, and painless divorce he’d hoped for was proving even harder than the marriage itself. Shaking his head at the thought, he turned to Alexis again, smirking at her answer as he peered down at her drink, “Naturally.” Eyeing the bartender, he motioned for another round for both of them, then met her gaze, a soft smile creasing the corners of his eyes, “Ah, same shit, different day,” he answered honestly, casting one more look down at his phone. This time was no worse than the time before, and he figured it’d carry on this way until they both finally settled on divorce terms. “Nothing that can’t wait,” he added, his way of telling her that she had his full focus now. “How’s my favorite arsonist?”
civan wasn't a stranger to the afterlife, and it was his usual preference to go to if he was in need of a night of distraction, which was a lot lately. "i appreciate the unsolicited advice," he was half joking, but also it was a good reminder, "i wasn't planning on it anyways." he announced, before taking a sip of his negroni. he's heard stories of a least a handful of relationships crumbling once they were legally intertwined, even if there was no particular reason.
"hold on, i feel like that'll give me your luck," he motioned towards hakan with his free hand, "so shouldn't i be the one paying for this round?" he wasn't superstitious, he was a little stitious.
“Hey, at least it’s free,” Hakan offered, shoulders rising in a noncommittal shrug, “Solicited advice from me isn’t exactly cheap.” Hearing that marriage didn’t appear to be in the cards for the other man anyway, Hakan nodded, raising his drink to his lips and humming his approval, “Good man.” Inwardly, he wondered when he’d become so cynical, especially when he hadn’t always been that way. But that wasn’t a question Hakan was going to solve tonight, or with a drink in his hand, and so he dismissed the thought just as quickly as he’d welcomed it. Brows lifting at Civan’s counter-offer, Hakan nodded at the logic behind it, “You make an excellent point, kardeş,” he agreed, more than willing to drink on someone else’s tab for one round, “In that case, I’ll take a vodka. Neat.” Downing what remained of his current pour, he set the empty drink aside and angled more towards Civan, “What’re you trying to avoid tonight?” He asked, figuring he wasn’t the only one looking to get his mind off of something.
Sloane was never the type to find herself at a bar - well after she had Gracie - but it felt much needed in the moment. Her sister offered to spend the night with her daughter to let Sloane get out and enjoy a night to herself. It was something that she seriously lacked since having her daughter but she never minded it. She honestly loved spending time with Gracie more than she would want to spend without her. She had been sipping on a vodka cranberry when she heard a voice booming next to her. She glanced over at him and had to laugh at his advice. "You could have told me that when I was in my teens" she said, a laugh escaping as she shook her head. She didn't regret her marriage, no but sometimes she wondered where things would have went if she would have stayed. Looking back at her drink, she decided to down it before pushing the glass toward the bar. "Vodka cranberry. Make it a double." Moving her body toward him, she rested her arm on the bartop. "So, who asked for the divorce? You or the other person?"
“Better late than never, I guess,” Hakan supplied with a chuckle, raising his glass to his lips and finishing off the drink he’d been nursing. Easing out a sigh, he set his empty glass back down on the bartop and shook his head. Did he really regret getting married? Hakan supposed his answer depended on the day, but even he could admit that it hadn’t been all bad. “You got it,” he murmured before relaying her drink order to the bartender as well as ordering another vodka for himself. Turning his attention back towards her, he tipped his head to the side, visually mulling over her question and how to answer it, “Kind of a mutual thing? We married young, realized we wanted different things– separated about three years ago, but can’t finalize the divorce. Go figure.” He held up a hand and lightly twirled it in a circle over and over, mimicking a merry-go-round, “So around and around we go.” Pausing, he offered up an apologetic smile, “Sorry– that’s…probably more than you wanted to know. I won’t ask you to play marriage counselor, I promise.”
Mari got the text at the last possible second; excuses stacked one after another. Sick kid, family emergency, no ride. By the time she finished reading, everyone with sense and seniority had vanished, leaving the newest hire, the convict, to close the diner alone.
She lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling fan as it ticked and hummed, weighing the risk of a busted lock or a half-assed cleanup against the luxury of staying in bed. In the end, guilt won. She dragged herself up, pulled on the first tee shirt and jeans she could find, and headed back out into the quiet, half-lit streets of Charming.
The diner door was still unlocked when she arrived. Inside, the place was dim and humming softly, the night pressing in around the windows. He sat in a booth with his back to her, legs stretched out, looking far too comfortable for a man on the clock. Mari had to bite back a smile at the display of truly inspired customer service.
“You make the food here sound real appetizing,” she said, locking the door behind her before sliding into the seat across from him. She fished a cigarette from the bottom of her purse and offered it over with a tired grin. “I’ll take a light instead. Left mine at home.”
“Ah, shit,” Rio droned beneath his breath as he recognized none other than his boss’s voice cutting through the space between them. Flashing her a sheepish look as she slid into the seat directly across from him, he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, “Sorry– forgot to lock up.” Really though, he was less concerned about that and more mortified at how he’d basically insulted the food here. “Wasn’t expecting you to be walkin’ in either,” he added, not bothering to mask his embarrassment, “The food’s actually great, I just…” Rio trailed off, head shaking. Wordlessly, he scraped the pad of his thumb along his lighter’s trigger, igniting it, and held it up to the end of her cigarette. “I was about to leave,” Rio continued, feeling as though he needed to explain his reason for loitering around after hours, “just lost track of time and needed a minute.”
"right ..." charli breathed out, just inside the door that'd shut behind her entry. it'd been nearly a decade and a half and her eyes couldn't recognize the figure sitting there with his back to her, but the voice reverberated through her. memory made her blood run cold yet her skin felt hot. her hands fisted at her sides then released. suddenly there was too much emotion and thought running through her to be able to function. so, the hacker stood there buffering.
"well," the brunette gently cleared her throat as she came to life again, snapping to, "i wasn't planning on staying ..." there'd been none of that, actually. a plan. this entire interaction happened strictly on impulse and maybe she was some tough biker now, but her heart was still hammering in her chest.
"i guess i just had to see for myself," charli finally said, still unmoved from just inside the door. nostalgia flashed through her unsuspecting stillness and the brunette attempted to will it away ⸺ he'd been such a staple in her life and then he'd been gone. it'd been a lot to wrestle with, to feel all alone in the world, and to then have to figure out how to do it all on her own.
"welcome back, rio," she'd then said, wondering if the rumors were true that he was with the cartel now as she reached for the door.
Out of everyone who could’ve walked through that diner door, he hadn’t thought it would be her. In fact, for half a heartbeat, Rio had convinced himself that he only thought he’d heard Charli’s voice, but the way the tension in his shoulders seemed to ebb and flow like an outgoing tide until he visibly relaxed only cemented the reality for him. He’d never react so viscerally to something imagined, or a mere thought, so that could only mean two things– she was here, and she was just as real as he was. “Charli,” he greeted, though the gentle lift in his smooth baritone hinted at his surprise. Extinguishing his Marlboro just as quickly as he’d lit it, Rio slid out from the booth and turned around, dark, yet warm eyes finding and studying her for the first time in nearly fifteen years.
Swallowing thickly, he stood there, albeit a bit stupidly for a moment, while his mouth seemed unable to catch up to his whirling brain and produce any sort of response of substance. Charli was still just as beautiful as he remembered– more so, actually, if Rio was being honest. But that wasn’t what left him totally speechless– not entirely. It was the swell of nostalgia slamming into his chest with all the strength of a physical shove. How he remained upright was anyone’s guess. She’d been the first person to really understand him, and little by little, she’d cemented herself in his life as one of the most important people around him– if not the most at one time. And then he’d fucked up without even realizing it until the cuffs were around his wrists and it was too late.
“Plans are overrated,” he supplied with a soft smile, finally snapping himself out of the spiral his thoughts were leading him down. Unsure of what to do with his hands, but unwilling to allow them to fidget in plain view, Rio tucked them into the pockets of his jeans and shrugged his shoulders, “Been a minute.” That was an understatement if there’d ever been one, but one he used to fill the silence out of fear that if he let it linger too long, he’d lose the opportunity in front of him. He nodded, wondering what it was exactly that she was seeing now. Could she still see him as who he’d been nearly fifteen years ago, or did the ink that lined his hands and arms and the jagged scar through his left brow paint him in an unrecognizable light now?
“How’d you know I’d be here?” He wondered aloud, taking a few steps towards her then. Rio had always been curious– prison hadn’t dulled that about him. Had she known about his release or was this all instinct and impulse? Not that it really mattered one way or the other, though– he was glad to see her either way. “Wait–,” he started as she reached for the door, head shaking loosely, “Stay.” It was a soft, yet earnest plea as he gestured back towards the counter, “Let me get you a coffee or somethin’.”
SERKAN ÇAYOĞLU on INSTAGRAM
Jet always had been a night owl. There was always that warning, nothing ever good came after midnight but he thought the opposite. But there was something more peaceful about night and the darkness it brought. The silent hour of it all was his comfort. However, the inconvenience was there and how there was nothing ever open at this hour. Until he saw a "We're Open" sign at the local diner. His stomach was deceiving him and since the past few days had been more hectic or how it seemed to be, it over-ranked the simple task of having gone grocery shopping. Upon getting entry into the place, he heard the voice of another. That's what he got for having hope, even just a slither. Hope is a corpse. A dead thing. "Not according to the sign." It was just a simple observation, Jet wasn't that entitled to expect anything to be really open at this hour. He conjured up in that moment that someone must have not changed the sign back after their shift. "Shit coffee is better than nothing. Beggars can't be choosers. I am sure I have had worse." If anything, the biscuits could be dunked into the liquid to mask the staleness. Moments like this could make any one with will desperate.
Fuck, of course he’d forgotten the ‘closed’ sign. Every other part of closing the diner down, Rio thought he’d nailed, but he’d fallen short on the most important part of making sure the damn place was actually closed. He couldn’t fault the stranger for pointing that out though– sure enough, it was as clear as day, posted on the door– open. “That’s my bad,” Rio answered, finally turning around to face the other man, “Forgot to flip the sign.” But again, that wasn’t this other man’s fault, and if Rio was being honest, maybe some company right now wasn’t the worst thing for him. Rising from the booth he’d been sat in, he made his way around the counter and scavenged up a clean coffee mug, “You and me both, brother,” when it came to having worse coffee, that was. For the last fourteen years, Rio had had just about the worst of everything and wasn’t about to start getting too picky now. “Want any cream or sugar or anything?”
﹒nazli & aydin ( @wickcdways ) ﹒samcro clubhouse
had it been a blessing , or a curse , that nazli's passion had settled so firmly within the field of medicine ? though she took solace in the idea of helping others , of ensuring they were given a fighting chance , more often than not , she found herself in the throes of what many would deem illegal medicine . tending to gunshot wounds , stab wounds , and other ailments she refused to consider beyond their most superficial truths . that too was a blessing , or curse , being born into a family like hers , the motorcycle club a constant presence throughout her life .
❝ maybe next time you could call me at a more reasonable hour , ❞ she advised , though fully aware she would come no matter when he called . that was what family meant , after all . ❝ or you could just go to the hospital like any normal , sane person . ❞
This time, he’d caught a split in his brow from a left hook that had caught him off guard in the third round of his most recent bout. By the fifth round, Aydın had realized that it wasn’t going to stop bleeding, no matter how much it’d been tended to throughout the fight, and so when it was all said and done, he’d called in a professional. Glancing up at his cousin as he peeled the gauze away from his brow, revealing the oozing cut, Aydın shot her an incredulous look followed closely by a tiny, albeit playful smirk, “When have I ever given you the impression that I’m normal or sane?” Sure, it was meant to be rhetorical, but he was still counting on an answer from Nazli. “Plus, you know I hate hospitals– it’s why I don’t ever bring you coffee. Definitely not because I’m cheap or anything,” he supplied, feigning an innocent look before sobering with a long exhale and subtle shake of his head, “I’m kidding. I really do appreciate this. Bastard got me good with a cheap shot.”
"Yeah, you can say that again. I think the worst part is going to be tomorrow. It's true what they say, once you turn thirty everything goes to shit." He could only chuckle at the predicament. It was his own fault so he couldn't even be mad. Braden nodded at the offer of the hand, sighing before taking it. In that moment - he was on his feet again. Standing. Then quickly releasing the grip. "Thanks. Hell, that skateboard didn't hit your motorcycle or anything right?" That now being the main priority. He would deal with the aches later, nothing Tylenol could fix. Or at least he tried to remain hopeful of that premise. Hues briefly scurrying around to lock in where the board had ended up. "My kid's new thing now is skateboarding. Figured I could impress him by the tricks I used to be able to handle when I was younger. Obviously, I had more confidence then I should have allowed."
“Wish I could say it gets better, but,” Aydın paused, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth before sporting a crooked grin, “I’m pushing forty and the horrors persist.” Helping Braden to his feet, Aydın shook his head, quick to dispel any worry that his bike might’ve been involved, “No, no, not even close. I’m on foot today.” His bike was safe and sound back at the clubhouse while he was out taking a stroll, another attempt to clear his head. Hearing why the mechanic had found himself on a skateboard, Aydın smiled warmly, “Little rusty though, huh?” He teased, shooting him another wry grin before shrugging a shoulder, “Nah, I think it’s cool you’re doing this for your kid. Just try not to bust your head open, yeah?”
WHERE: The Afterlife WITH: OPEN ( @charmingstart )
“Word of advice?” Hakan began, turning on the barstool just enough to angle himself more towards the patron perched next to him, “Never get married.” Placing his phone facedown on the bartop, he carded a hand through his salt and pepper curls and blew out a long sigh, signaling that whatever text he’d just read from his estranged wife clearly hadn’t been a pleasant one. But then again, the one he’d sent her first hadn’t been either. It was just a vicious cycle that went on and on, though he didn’t harbor any ill will towards her despite that. In fact, if they’d never been married, Hakan suspected the two of them might have been good friends. Sidelining that thought, he turned his attention back towards his newfound company, “What’re you drinking? Next round is on me,” he offered, raising a hand to signal for the bartender, “May your luck be far better than mine.”
WHERE: Riders' Rest, after hours WITH: OPEN ( @charmingstart )
Rio could count on one hand the number of days he’d been working at Riders’ Rest. Factor in a second hand and he could count how long he’d been out of prison. Numbers felt so concrete and yet somehow, it was all so relative, considering how quickly he’d been catapulted into closing shifts at the diner. Rio didn’t mind though– the solitude gave him a moment to think, to reflect in ways the busy work day could never afford him. More than that though, the diner gave him something to put on paper– just enough to satisfy his parole officer and keep him on this side of iron bars. Still, it wasn’t enough, but he didn’t linger on that as he poured himself a fresh brewed cup of coffee and settled into one of the vacant booths, a cigarette already poised and ready for lighting. And then– Silence. Just the click of a lighter and the faint crackle at the end of his Marlboro burning to life. Rio inhaled a long, steadying drag, one hand loosely clenched and the other tucked around his cup of coffee. It was then that he heard the light jostling of the bell just inside the entryway of the diner, signaling the arrival of a newcomer even after hours. Who’d forgotten to put the “closed” sign on the door? Oh– right…him.
“We’re closed,” he mumbled around his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke off to the side before continuing, “Unless you’re here for shit coffee and stale biscuits,” Rio supplied, never bothering to turn and look at who might have joined him. Was it friend or foe? Could he even discern the difference now that so much time had passed? Come what may.
On a sidewalk around town.
OPEN TO ALL: @charmingstart
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.
Aydın hadn’t seen it happen, but the all too familiar sound of flesh and bone smacking against asphalt told him all he’d needed to know– whatever had just happened had really fucking hurt. Abandoning his trek deeper into town for the moment, the biker rushed over to the scene, quickly recognizing none other than Braden Strome laid out on the pavement. While he couldn’t claim to know the man incredibly well, he’d had enough work done on both his bike and his truck over the years to know that Braden was one of the best mechanics in town, and one of the few the biker actually trusted with his Harley. “Ate shit pretty good there, man,” he noted, peering down at the other man and cracking a half-smile, “You alright? Hit your head or anything?” Aydın leaned down and extended a hand towards him before jerking his chin towards the skateboard a few paces away, “do I even wanna know?”
