#╰ 【 filed under . . . 】 ━━━ ｡『 zehra . the space after the question mark 』

[bereaved-x]

( status ) ━━ open starter ! ( location ) ━━ somewhere near a gross alley lolol !

❛ ━━━━maybe—if it were a different day; if zehra had gotten up on the left side instead of the right side of the bed; if it had been sunny instead of dark and dreary and drizzling; if if the pizza she stole were better than it is; if she weren’t a fucking widow—maybe then things would be better.  not good, because there was a distinct understanding in the back of her her mind that things could never be good, but just a little more tolerable.

today has been intolerable, however. all she wants is to break windows or set a governmental building on fire ( because, honestly, what is the p o i n t of all of those administrative buildings if every single suit-and-tie is under the oppressive thumb of one of the gangs ). but—that’s not allowed, neither legally nor morally; zehra only cares because she wants to at least try and meet her spouse on the other side instead of diving headfirst in the fiery pits the moment she takes her final breath.

so, as a compromise, she steals a box of cheese pizza—even though she’s lactose intolerant—and settles down beside another who’s about to get caught in the rain, maybe sans umbrella like her.

“it’s ass,” she says, offering the box to the other while holding onto a greasy slice herself.  “no, really, it tastes exactly like ass, but it’s warm, so, if you want one, help yourself to a piece.” as she chews, she looks up to the sky, finally darkening enough to where one can confidently say it’d rain, rather than the looming dreariness of the entire day.  “god, i hate this weather,” zehra announces.  “i know some romantic poet out there in the city absolutely eats this shit up, but i hate how icky it makes me feel.  doesn’t it make you look back and reflect on your life?  it’s not just me, right? it’s the worst. and look, as if that wasn’t bad enough, my hair’s getting frizzy, too.  ugh.”  she paws at her her head, trying to smooth her hair out with her cleaner hand.  “so, what brings you out here, to this corner of a piss-smelling alley with some subpar pizza?”

[bereaved-x]

❛ ━━━━ ♥ hi hi!  i’m dova, she/her, garbage trash can of a woman.  nice to meet y’all!  sorry for the delayed intro; i’ve been slammed with work the past few days and i wasn’t expecting to pass out on the couch nightly, lmaooo.  anywhoo!!!  here’s my gremlin of a woman, zehra, an ex-member of the burning gods gang, but now turned widower/borderline hotel maid.  she’s basically the epitome of you holding your own shaking fist and telling yourself not to do it.

feel free to hop into my dms or pms!  i’m down to plot, but i think it’d be more fun to just throw a starter at you, closed or otherwise, and see where the words and vibes take us.  if you like this intro, that’s what i’ll probably do, bahah.

【 i’ll get a wc list up in a few days and start responding to the open starters already there!!  figured it’d be better to at least get bio and hcs out first c: 】

—gdocs.

[bereaved-x]

( status ) ━━ open event starter ! ( location ) ━━ at the gala buffet table !

❛ ━━━━zehra is a woman on a mission. she has no interest in the decor, the chandelier, the people clad in fabrics worth ten times her rent while she dons an old halloween costume.  she crosses the dance floor without a second glance at the couples that have to irritably step aside to avoid her colliding into them.

there are workers dressed in their finest bowties and masks, carrying silver trays with glass drinks that don’t smudge with your fingertips and hors d’oeurves that she can neither identify nor pronounce.  but she has her eyes on the fucking prize: the longest table she’s ever seen with a quantity of food that could feed the entire city and a quality where she could die happy.  the food is laid out for all guests to feast upon, both with their eyes and hungry mouths.  fancy schmancy parties for the rich always have the best vegetarian foods.  

zehra pops a stuffed mushroom in her mouth; the flavors melt against her taste-buds and she moans under her breath.  “oh my god, that’s good,” she says, and then takes a napkin from the table, wraps up 8 of the mushrooms, and shoves it in her purse. this was a great idea, she thinks. 

she takes a bite of a stuffed jalapeño bigger than her palm next and rolls her head back at the flurry of flavors and textures, both unaware of her obnoxiousness and uncaring.  “have you tried the stuffed jalapeño yet?” she says to the person beside her, shaking the jalapeño in her hand for emphasis.  “they’re stuffing it with crack, i swear to god.  i’m surprised they don’t have silverware here . . . perhaps because it’s all finger food, or maybe someone came before me and snagged it all.”  she sees someone set another tray.  “fuck, is that fried goat cheese?  that shit’s gonna go fast.”  she grabs a handful with a napkin and, with a thought of compromise, she turns back to the person and says, “here.  hurry up, before they see.  shove it in your pockets or your bag, whatever you’ve got.  it’s wrapped in a napkin; it’s fine! we’ve got the rest of the table to check out—quickly!”

[bereaved-x]

( status ) ━━ closed starter ; @oftrances​ ! ( location ) ━━ sans souci night club in the bronx !

❛ ━━━━zehra chugs her fifth mojito that hour and, with an annoyed wipe at her mouth with the back of her hand, grabs the long island iced tea from the counter beside her ( in front of the empty barstool ) before storming off toward the bathrooms.

"you think you can hide from me, asshole?” she mutters.  she pushes through a group standing in the way, flicking them a middle finger when they yell drunken obscenities at her back.  “always up for a stupid cooking class, but you can’t go forty minutes in a weenie-hut-junior equivalent of a night club before running off to the bathrooms?”

when zehra makes it to the end of the hall, she enters the men’s bathroom without sparing a second glance at the other rooms.  mustering her breath and the worst british accent known to man, she yells, “oi! i know you’re in here, you bloody melt!” there is a man at the urinal who looks at her with a horrified surprise and another one passed out in a disgusting corner.  two of the three stalls have shoes beneath them. “come on, you chav, are you havin’ a wobbly? didja think you could hide in ‘ere and i wouldn’t come in, you cheeky arse.”

after a quick eenie-meenie, zehra smacks the stall on her left and shoves her foot  underneath the gap.  “this you in ‘ere, mate?”

“sod off,” comes the reply in equally terrible british.

“fuck you, bloody wanker,” zehra snaps.

she turns to the only other stall—and tilts her head at the shoes suddenly disappearing upwards.  what a dumbass.  “uriel,” zehra begins, the accent going in and out due to her lack of talent and growing irritation.  “listen, mate, this shite cost $15.  inflation, don’tcha know”—she reverts to her original accent—“so i’m gonna need you to leave the stall and chug this bitch because it’s literally grocery money.” zehra raises the glass above the stall, trying to transfer it over the plastic wall if he’d just grab it.  “come on, darling, it’s sippy sippy time.  it’s good, mhmm.”

[bereaved-x]

[bereaved-x]

𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 . . .

general. — && —

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zehra — && —

❛ zehra ｡ from the one left behind ━━━ ❜ found under ( name ) ｡

❛ from the one left behind ━━━ ❜ zehra ( starters ) ｡ ❛ from the one left behind ━━━ ❜ zehra ( threads ) ｡ ❛ from the one left behind ━━━ ❜ zehra ( mirror ) ｡ ❛ from the one left behind ━━━ ❜ zehra ( musings ) ｡ ❛ from the one left behind ━━━ ❜ zehra ( asks ) ｡ ❛ from the one left behind ━━━ ❜ zehra ( tasks ) ｡ ❛ from the one left behind ━━━ ❜ zehra ( self-paras ) ｡