andromeda unchained

ZELDA WATSON. XXII. PHOTOGRAPHER. i was always hungry for love. just once, i wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it — to be fed so much love i couldn’t take any more. — haruki murakami var sc_project=11945059; var sc_invisible=1; var sc_security="69679d42";

[zeldawatson-blog]

❀ ZELDA WATSON'S MOODBOARD SERIES ⇄ EPISODE 001. ❀

↳ ❝  Wild as a wood-bird note, fragrant as crushed red wine.  ❞   —LUCY EDDY

[zeldawatson-blog]

DRACO.

perhaps the most IRRITATING aspect of the sanctum was that the information given to you was all that you would receive. any questions further and a raised brow and questioning of loyalties ensued. it was the reason for the quiet obedience and acceptance of a small card had ensued, the card holding nothing but a single address, neatly printed onto the center of the crisp white rectangle. the dates and times were given in person, and knowing them, they were not to be repeated.

the day of, the time of, a sleek, black bugatti enters onto the scene, HAZEL hues scanning for any familiar faces. perhaps he had been partnered with someone new, but even then, with the amount of meetings the members were coerced into attending, even unfamiliar faces held familiar features.

this is not the case, however, when he finds himself pulling up on a more than recognizable face. a deep sigh shakes his chest before windows are rolled down. “why on EARTH would i be here if it weren’t for the same thing as you? get in the car. i’m not fucking waiting around.”

Hearing his voice made her feel seventeen years old again. All that frustration and insecurity and anger never truly faded away; it had remained dormant within her, waiting for Hunter’s unwanted presence to trigger it awake. Zelda always tried to see the good in people, but some people seemed to be put on this earth for the sole purpose of pissing her off, testing all her patience until it broke. Staring at him sitting in that car, waiting for her to do as he told, made her wonder what she ever saw in him.

❝ You won’t have to wait because I’m not doing this with you, ❞ she huffed, fishing her phone out of her camera bag before launching the Uber app. This was also a bit reminiscent of high school, back when she played hooky because she wasn’t “in the mood” for a math test. Only this time, her math test was the mafia and Zelda was just straight-up ditching him. But what Sanctum didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. If it hurt Hunter... well, he had it coming. ❝ I think you’re capable enough to handle this on your own, right? I can loan you my camera and you can just tell them I was there. That way, we won’t have to deal with each other. ❞ It was the perfect plan, really. One of Zelda’s best.

[zeldawatson-blog]

POLLUX.

– SHE’S JUST EXITING A BENEFIT GALA, LOOKING FOR THE NEXT ADVENTURE, when it comes in the form of rapid-fire text messages. she stands on the street corner, waiting for her limo to arrive as she giggles at zelda’s frantic text messages. is going out her wisest decision? no. but trying to decipher if some basic white hunk was an ex-bachelor sounded much better than staring at one on tv with a full bottle of wine in hand and a box of tissues in the other. nights like these kept her strong. not to mention, she’d have terrible fomo otherwise.

[11:02 p.m.]: omg on my way. send a pic? 

she can trust zelda not to send her to a fyre fest-lite dud, and in this instance, her intuition is right. the club is alive with people, and esme is in her element, saying hello to the ones she recognizes, taking a shot with an acquaintance, taking a photo with another. it takes a moment, but it’s not too long before she spots zelda. zelda is the kind of girl your eyes can’t miss, it’s uncanny. “z!” she greets with a hug, already alive with the high from the helpers in her makeup bag. “so, where’s the ex-kardashian? is he still here?” esme giggles, surveying the room. “or was that just part of your ruse to convince me to come out with you tonight?”

Esme floats in like a champagne bubble, perfectly radiant in her element. It made Zelda a bit envious, how she was capable of holding it all together all the time and how she managed to let it go just as easily. In Zelda’s eyes, it all seemed effortless, easy. Her mother could learn a thing or two about indulging in vices without letting them ruin everything around her. Find the fun in it, relish it, instead of letting it control her.

❝ Yes, this was all trick, and Ja Rule put me up to it, ❞ she joked. ❝ He said that I needed to invite every celebrity I knew or else he’d throw another music festival. ❞ Her blood is thrumming, singing in Esme’s presence. Zelda wonders if it’s possible to get high off of what’s yet to come. ❝ No, but really, this dude looks so familiar. I just don’t know which reality show he was on. ❞ Without any shame, she flicks her hand over to where the D-list celebrity milling about on the dance floor, as though fame is contagious and he can suddenly become relevant again if he shares a drink with the right person. It’s catty to think like that, but Zelda knows that even the kindest people are born in their world inherited a bit of cruelness.

❝ I think I’ve narrowed it down. He was a contestant on The Bachelorette, actually. Or, maybe, one of Kourtney’s exes after Scott? A former SNL cast member? ❞ It’s pretty damn clear Zelda has no idea who he’s supposed to be, but she’s having fun guessing.

[trashybooksforladies]

[zeldawatson-blog]

@pcllx

[emilysblunt]

[zeldawatson-blog]

@persecvted

[kim-jisoo]

[zeldawatson-blog]

location: central park availbility: closed @poiscnveined

It was fucking cold. Even with all her layers and her comically large puffer jacket, Zelda could feel those brutal winter winds sinking into her bones without remorse. Her stupid touch-sensitive gloves weren’t working as advertised and were too stiff and bulky to handle her camera, so she was left with blue fingers and photos that were, honestly, probably not worth all that effort. But fingers could be reattached after falling off from hypothermia, right?

The sun was not cooperating the way she wanted it to, which meant Zelda would have to spend even more time manipulating them in Lightroom, that they came out halfway decent and she could post them on Instagram to prove that she didn’t waste all those years after deciding to skip out on an Ivy League. ❝ I will beat th-the sun, ❞ she muttered determinedly through rattling teeth.

Her unlucky streak continued when an unwanted shadow appeared in the middle of her shot. Of course, the park was public property and she couldn’t get mad at other people for occupying it the same way she was. Zelda knew that; she wasn’t irrational. But Dante’s presence chilled her in an entirely different, more unsettling way. ❝ You’re in my sh-shot, ❞ she said in a small voice, not too sure if she was stuttering from the cold or because he still unrattled her even after all this time.

Zelda had monologues prepared for the next time she’d seen him, amazing comebacks that’d put him in his place and make him regret ever hurting her. But despite all the opportunities that she was given, she always lost her nerve when confronted by Dante. There was never any closure, no clean break, just a betrayal that left her feeling hurt until an even greater tragedy occurred. The hurt wasn’t gone but everything grew more complicated, his mere presence was too complicated. ❝ Can you, uh… move? Like, j-just a few feet. ❞

[zeldawatson-blog]

location: coffee shop, upper west side availbility: closed @angelharrison​

Zelda had a theory, that she was more productive when surrounded by other busy, productive people. If that were true, she was sure to get through editing all 300 raw images on her camera’s SD card in just one afternoon at the trendy, tiny coffee shop. The cramped, little coffee shop had some of the best coffee in Manhattan and more people than available seats. If that meant spending nearly fifteen minutes on her feet with a thin laptop in her hands and her eyes on the lookout for the next available seat, then so be it. Natives and tourists were both equally ruthless when it came to swiping seats, no matter who had technically gotten there first or who had been waiting for the longest. 

When the Bukowski-wannabe finally closed out of Reddit and came to terms with the fact that his Word doc was going to remain empty, Zelda saw her shot and took it. She slid right into the newly-vacated seat, ignoring the stink-eye from private school girl who was trying a bit too hard to emulate Blair Waldorf. Zelda felt triumphant – until she glanced at who was sitting right across from her. 

Eight million people in the city and she kept running into the same ghosts of her past. Ghosts that should have faded from her heart by this point, but it still panged every time she saw a flash of red hair. Zelda was so focused on watching chairs, that she didn’t bother to take a good look at Angel until they were only separated by a coffee table. Zelda felt her tongue go numb, as it always seemed to do when confronted with Angel. 

❝ I’m not leaving this seat, ❞ she said before Angel had the chance to speak first. It felt important for her to get the first word in, after Angel left without one, all those years ago. ❝ Sorry if you don’t want me here — ❞ Why was she apologizing? She’s not the one who messed things up. ❝ — but there’s no place else. And I have... work. ❞ Zelda then realized that she still had the laptop clutched to her chest like a lifebuoy, and she awkwardly set it down on the table while making sure it didn’t touch any of Angel’s stuff. Though she knew right then and there, she wouldn’t be able to get any photos edited that day.

[zeldawatson-blog]

location: underground mma club, the bronx availbility: closed @persecvted

The first rule of photographing Fight Club: Protect your lens with your life.

Zelda expected to feel squeamish when she was thrust to the front of the crowd, encouraged by the club owner to get as many bloody shots as she could. It wasn’t her job to question why they would want to promote an upcoming tournament with gory close-ups of broken noses, but Zelda grew to become strangely fascinated with her beat-up subjects, with the way the wielded their muscles like a weapon. And the crowd’s energy was infectious; Zelda found herself cheering on competitors as she quickly snapped away and tried to make sure none of the blood fell onto her DSLR.

The club wasn’t technically official and had a lot of leeway with rules, which made Zelda’s photos dynamic. But it also made security laxer and made her more susceptible to unwanted advances by rowdy attendees. Zelda was all-too used to it and had her rebuffs poised and ready. Most people took a hint once she told them she was working, but this time her nerves grew jittery as they made promises to wait for her once the matches were over and seemed to almost... circle around her. It was an intimidation tactic and Zelda knew that she could handle it because it was just a few belligerent drunks and she was a grown-ass woman with (expired) pepper spray. 

But her fingers acted on muscle memory, opening up a new message to Kai and sending the club’s address with a very casual, “would u be able to pick me up rn?” Zelda told herself that most likely, the men would have gotten bored by the time he got there. She could play the part of a spoiled socialite and just tell Kai she was tired of holding her giant lens and make it up to him with sandwiches from that place he likes.

In case it didn’t go down like that, she followed the second rule of photographing Fight Club: Always have backup.

[zeldawatson-blog]

location: ja rule’s nightclub, upper east side availbility: closed @pcllx

There was an onslaught of crude texts and belligerent voicemails coming from her mother, and they didn’t stop even after Zelda had literally pried the nearly-empty vodka bottle from the heiress’ shaky hands. Zelda then spent the better part of an hour scouring her mother’s obscenely large penthouse, checking off the long list of the usual hiding spots and making sure she didn’t miss a bottle or a pill. By the time she was confident their home was dry (for the time being) and her mother had been tucked into bed, Zelda took out her phone and sent a rapid-fire text to Esme.

[10:13 p.m.] down to crash ja rule’s club opening on the UES? text u the address

A therapist would have a field day dissecting Zelda’s ironic coping mechanisms, but she was too busy getting shitfaced at some D-list celebrity’s newest attempt at gaining relevancy. The second Zelda strutted past the bouncer and downed two drinks, she had a tequila-kissed smile on her lips and was sending more texts to Esme, impatient for her usual cohort to show up and share in her newfound bliss. The girl was practically superwoman, winning gold medals and drinking games with finesse. If anyone could take her mind far, far away from here, it was her.

[10:37 p.m.] soulja boy is here essie he’s here!!! here let me kiss u thru the phone mwah

[10:42 p.m.] i think i just saw scott disick but that could also be an ex-bachelor contestant or a hockey player. idk he just looks like a basic white man, come here and help me determine who he is

[zeldawatson-blog]

·.·★ hercules ★·.·

he wasn’t the worst photographer in the world. he’d taken some good images in the past, yet he always felt they were more like exceptions. sure, his job didn’t really call for him to be at professional level with using cameras. but there was nothing wrong with trying to improve a skill, even if it was one of the very few things he didn’t naturally excel in and that frustrated him a lot. “do you want to be a part of this picture?” he asked the person in the way of the objects he was attempting to snap.

Zelda’s own colorful camera strap was dangling off of her thin shoulder as she walked down the street, always right on the edge of slipping off. Her sleek DSLR had gone unused after a client canceled his session for engagement photos. It put a damper on her day, but her countenance quickly shifted at the sound of a familiar voice asking a question she wasn’t too used to being on the receiving end of. Her curls whirled around her as she spun to face the lens. ❝ Let me put my model face on, ❞ she teased, and puckered her lips into the perfect Instagram pout. ❝ Just make me look beautiful, get my good side, blah, blah, blah, ❞ she drolled, mimicking every high-maintenance, inept client who seemed to think that photographers had some superpower allowing them to manipulate God-given facial features through an ordinary camera lens.

[raphaelsantigo-deactivated20180]

[burtmacklinsfbi]

rollercoaster // bleachers

[uks-gifs]

[zeldawatson-blog]

@nailarose​

[zeldawatson-blog]

hows it feel to be naila's bitch?

honesty day !

❝ Don’t be a dick. Naila’s my friend. Maybe you’d have a friend, too, if you weren’t so rude. ❞ — ( @nailarose )

[killthekvng-blog]

fmk: zelda, esme, evie

“fuck, marry, k —what’re we, in middle school? … fuck, alright i guess my girl EVIE for fuck since we’re already fucking, i’d marry ESME, and that leaves kill for ZELDA. my bad, b.”

@zeldawatson / @pcllx / @eviewolff

[zeldawatson-blog]

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