#dorothea x conrad

[tiny-as-a-firely]

@incalescentia // prev. post

Doctor sounds snobbish, doesn’t it?

Really? Was this guy serious?

Dorothea tries to blink back the tears that threaten to form as he says her worst fears out loud. Her mind spirals. Her scholarship. Her grade average. Her career. Her reputation. Her housing. Everything in her life right now is depending on her grade in this stupid class that she despises.

Dora looks into Dr. Hawkins’ eyes for a moment, and whatever she sees in them makes her tell him the truth, all at once.

“Dr. Hawkins, I am not a history person. I’m just not. And I’m stuck here in your class, no offense, because my academic counsellor from last semester went on leave and there was no one to replace her until a few weeks ago, when I was informed that I needed an elective credit to stay on track academically. And your class was the only one that had a spot this late, which also just so happens to be the only class that has an extensive summer reading list, thank you very much for that, as if we don't read enough during the school year, which, mind you, could use something other than one billion old crusty white men who loved to hear the sound of their own voice. Metaphorically, of course.” 

Her voice trembles. “Dr. Hawkins, I’m not a history person. I read this Star Wars book once, some spin-off of Clone Wars, and it said that there are people who look into the past, people who reflect at the present, and people who look into the future. I’m a present person. I don’t care about the thoughts of some straight white man from two hundred years ago who likely abused his wife. I care about truth, and justice, and change right now. And I can’t do that, I can’t write the truth and change the world one day if I don’t pass this stupid class. No offense.”

Dora lifts her hands to rub at her eyes, trying to be subtle about the tears that were starting to form, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

“That is what is stopping me from giving this class my fullest potential.”

[incalescentia]

@tiny-as-a-firely // prev. post

She said yes.

Meaning they were shoulder-to-shoulder on another busy New York street, exactly how it used to be. Stealing excited glimpses of one another, wanting to reach out to grab her hand to make sure it was real. That Dora was here and she was smiling and happy to see him, even if it wasn’t on her own accord. Conrad restrained himself, settling for accidentally grazing the cuff of her jacket and looking away with a knowing smile.

They were strolling with no direction. Quietly for a few moments before Dora spoke up, catching Conrad off guard. “I’ve never seen you wear a turtleneck.”

He chuckled. Suddenly self-conscious of the thick sweater and blazer, ruffling his curls with his fingers. “Is it bad? How about the glasses? Mom says I look like dad now.”

There was a surprising amount of comfort in the casual conversation, making him forget that minutes ago he was being scolded in front of countless strangers. His dad would have called it fate, that the universe brought them together because they were in the right place at the right time. Who were they to argue with that logic?

“How’s the soccer team?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t do that anymore.”

“What? You loved that team.”

“Well, I took a job at NYU about two years ago. I’m a professor now. Do you believe that? I teach about the Renaissance and the French Revolution. In exchange, I get free reign to write my silly little Medieval Magic essays that hopefully will get its own class in the spring. It’s a pretty good gig.” Conrad downplayed the career change, shrugging his shoulders as if it wasn’t a big deal. It didn’t feel like that at the time, despite all the energy he invested into getting his PhD, because the person he was supposed to celebrate the triumph with wasn’t there. “And I hated being called ‘Mr. Hawkins’. A solid reason as any to switch jobs.”

With a grin, Conrad glanced back and noticed Dora had stopped in her tracks, causing him to falter as well. Her expression was soft, and happy? She was glowing in the sunlight. “I’m really, really proud of you, Conrad.”

His heart sank from his chest to his feet. After all this time, that’s all he prayed to hear. That she was proud of him. That she loved the person he had grown into, even if it meant doing it without her. He licked his lips, nervous again. That was easy for her to do to him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and he wasn’t sure she could hear him over the horns honking. Staring at her mouth a little too long, wanting to be reminded of what she tasted like, if he would still get a whiff of eucalyptus and peppermint from her skin. If she would still wrap her arms around his neck so tight he couldn’t breath. If she would kiss him back.

Instead, he shook his head and said, “Tell me everything I missed.”

[randomestfandoms-ocs]

OC November Challenge

Day 3: People Change People (Crossovers) — @perfectlystiles​​

Arianne & Hazel Martin | Ariel Blossom x Elliot Thorne Blair Dupont x Callie Marshall | Cassia Potter x Kieran Alvarez Dorothea Bridgerton & Jasper Talbot | Elle Winchester & Rosalie James Kit Conrad x Jamie Brennan | Mariana & Bo Swan Riley Richards x Fitz Montgomery | Rosebud Reynolds x Rhys Thorne

Forever Tag List: @themildestofwriters @gottaenjoythelittlethingzz @perhapspearl @seaweedhufflepuffocs @the-october-reviewer @foxesandmagic @perfectlystiles @tessasocs @anotherunreadblog @peacheydelanhoes @darkwolf76 @randomfandomingwrites @ocfairygodmother @itsjustgracy @witchofinterest @neutralomens @ultraocfury @guardiansofheroes @malice1329 @ochub @cas-writesocs @butcherofblackwater @eddysocs @ocappreciationtag @fiercefray @stareyedplanet @farfallasunicas @jewelswrites-ish @amixedwitch @raith-way @stanshollaand @decennia @thecaillic — want to be added? shoot me an ask!

Arianne Tag: @farklelucas @lizziesxltzmxn @megdonnellys

Cassia Tag: @megdonnellys @lizziesxltzmxn @aceyanaheim

Kit Tag: @lizziesxltzmxn @darknightfrombeyond

Rosebud Tag: @lizziesxltzmxn

[themomsandthecity]

Every Baby Name We Could Possibly Think Of

Naming your baby is a big decision, and with endless options, it can also be a difficult one. Whether you're going the traditional route or want something more unique (if so, read this first!) it's helpful to have a little, or a lot, of inspiration. Ahead, you'll find nearly every baby name we could think of (close to 1,000!). These aren't just random names we found in a book or concocted ourselves - they're almost all monikers we've heard being used, or we actually know someone who goes by the name. If we missed any, tell us in the comments! A Aaliyah Aaron Abbie Abel Abigail Abraham Adalyn Adam Addilyn Addison Adelaide Adeline Adley Adora Agatha Aiden Alan Albert Aleph Alexander Alexis Ali Alma Alton Ama Amanda Amaryllis Amber Ameila Amélie Amy Anders Anderson Andrea Andrew Angie Angela Angelica Anika Anna Annalise Anne Annie Ansel Apple April Arata Archie Aria Ariane Ariel Arlee Arlo Arman Arthur Arun Arwen Arya Asha Asher Aspen Atticus Aton Aubrey Audrey August Augustus Aurora Ava Avery Axel Aziz B Bailey Barack Barbara Barney Barry Beatrice Beau Beckett Beckham Becky Ben Benedict Benjamin Bennett Bentley Bernadette Beth Bette Betty Beverly Bexley Bianca Bill Billie Bingham Bishop Bitsie Blake Blue Bobby Bodhi Bonnie Bowie Brady Braelynn Brandon Brayden Brecken Bree Brent Brenton Brett Brian Briana Briar Bridgette Brienne Brig Brigham Brinley Brio Britta Brock Brody Bronwyn Brooklyn Bruno Bryan Byron C Caden Caitlin Caity Cale Caleb Calla Calvin Camari Cameron Camilla Carena Carina Carl Carmel Carol Carrey Carter Cary Casey Caspian Cat Catherine Celine Chandler Chanel Channing Charise Charlene Charles Charlotte Chase Cher Cheri Cheriann Cheryl Chevy Chip Chloe Chris Chrissy Christian Christopher Claire Clara Clark Clary Claudia Clementine Clifford Clint Clinton Clyde Colin Collins Condoleezza Connor Conrad Constance Coolidge Cooper Cora Corban Courtney Cruz Related: 100 of the Most Beautiful Baby Names D Daisy Dale Dallas Damon Dane Danica Daniel Danielle Daphne Darby Darlene Darrel Daryl Dashiell Dave David Davina Davis Davon Dawn Dean Deanna Declan Dekel Delaney Delilah Delta Dennis Denzel Desmond Dev Devon Dexter Diane Dinah Dixie Dixon Dolores Dominique Donald Doris Dorothea Dorothy Dot Duke Duncan Dwight Dylan E Easton Ed Eden Edith Edmund Edward Effie Eleanor Elena Eli Eliana Elijah Elise Elizabeth Ella Elle Ellen Ellerie Ellie Elliott Ellis Elodie Eloise Elora Elroy Elsa Elsie Embry Emerson Emily Emma Emmett Eric Erica Esme Esmeralda Esther Ethan Ethel Eugene Evan Eve Evelyn Everett Evie Ewan Ezra F Farah Fay Felix Ferris Finn Fiona Fisher Fitz Fleur Flint Florence Floyd Flynn Ford Forrest Foster Fox Frances Frank Franklin Frederick G Gabe Gabriel Gaige Gail Gant Garrett Garth Gavin Gem Gemma Gene Genesis Gertrude George Gianna Gibson Gigi Gina Ginger Gladys Glenn Gloria Gordon Grace Grady Graham Grant Grayson Greer Gregory Griffin Grover Gus Gwen Gwyneth H Hadlee Hailey Hal Halle Hank Hannah Harding Harlow Harlyn Harold Harper Harriet Harrison Harry Hart Hartley Harvey Haven Hawk Hawthorne Hayden Hayes Hays Hazel Hector Heath Heather Helen Henley Henry Hillary Honor Holden Holly Holt Hope Hubert Hudson Hugo Humphrey Hunter Hurley Hutton Related: Based Off Last Year's Trends, These 30 Names Will Be Among the Most Popular of 2017 I Ian Ida Idris Ike Imanuel Imogen India Indy Ingrid Inizio Ireland Iris Irvin Isa Isaac Isabella Isabelle Isaiah Isla Israel Ivana Ivory J Jack Jackie Jackson Jacob Jacqueline Jaden Jaelyn Jagger Jake James Jameson Jamie Jane January Jason Jasper Jaun Jax Jaxon Jayce Jayden Jeannette Jed Jeff Jefferson Jenna Jess Jessica Jessie Jill Jillian Joan Joanna Joaquin Joe John Jones Jordan Joseph Josephine Josh Joshua Joslyn Joss Joy Joyce Judith Judy Jules Julia Julian Julie Juliet Julius June Juno Justin K Kai Kaia Kale Kalinda Kane Karah Katharine Kathryn Kate Kay Kaya Kaylee Keanu Keegan Keira Keith Kellan Kelly Kelsey Kendall Kennedy Kevin Khloe Kiah Kiele Kiera Kim Kima Kimberly Kingston Kinsley Kirk Kit Kitty Knox Krista Kristen Kurtis Kyle Kylie L Laith Lake Lana Landon Lane Larissa Larkin Laszlo Laura Lauren Lawrence Layla Leah Lee Leia Leighton Leilani Lena Lennon Leo Leonard Leslie Levi Lewis Leyona Lia Liam Liana Lida Lilith Lillian Lily Lincoln Lindsay Lionel Lisa Lisette Liz Logan Lois Lola London Loretta Lorraine Louella Louise Lucas Lucian Lucille Lucy Luke Luna Lux Lyle Lyndon Lynne Related: 100 Unusual Boy Names M Mabel Mabrey Mac Macallan Mackenzie Macy Madeleine Madelyn Madison Mae Maeby Maggie Mahershala Maia Makena Malcolm Maleeya Malia Mamie Mandy Marabelle Marcus Maren Margaret Margot Mari Maria Mariah Mariam Marilyn Marin Marion Marisole Marisse Marjorie Mark Marlene Marlon Marlowe Martha Martin Mary Mason Matilda Matthew Maui Mavis Maximus Maxson May Maya McKinley Megan Melissa Meredith Merritt Meryl Meyer Mia Michael Michelle Mika Mike Mila Mildred Miles Millie Milo Moana Molly Monica Monroe Montgomery Morgan Moses Muhammad Murray Myles N Nahall Nahla Nancy Nanette Naomie Nasima Natalie Nate Nathan Naveen Naya Neil Neisa Neo Neoma Newt Newton Niall Nicholas Nick Nico Nicole Nicolette Nigel Nile Nimah Nixon Noah Noel Nolan Nora Norma Norman North Nova O Obama Octavia Olly Olive Oliver Olivia Omar Opal Ophelia Ordell Oriana Orion Orlando Orson Orville Oscar Otis Otto Owen P Paige Paislee Paloma Pandora Paris Parker Patrick Patsy Paul Payton Pearl Peggy Penelope Penn Penny Perry Pete Peyton Phillip Phoebe Phoenix Phyllis Pierce Piper Polly Poppy Porter Posey Preston Primrose Priya Prudence Priscilla Q Quaid Quincy Quentin Quinn Quinten R Rachel Radley Rae Ralph Ramsey Rayna Rayne Reagan Rebecca Reese Reeve Reid Reign Remi Renly Rex Rhea Rhett Rhys Richard Rick Riley Ripley River Rivers Rob Robert Robin Rome Romy Ronald Ronin Rooney Roosevelt Rory Rosalind Rosalynn Rosamund Rose Rosemary Ross Rowan Roy Royce Ruby Rue Ruth Rutherford Ryan Ryder Related: 100 Unique Yet Beautiful Girls' Names S Sacha Sage Sahara Saint Sam Samuel Sandra Sandy Sansa Sarah Saul Savannah Sawyer Scarlett Schuyler Scout Sean Sebastian Selena Sena Seymour Shane Shannon Shea Shelly Sherlock Sherry Shiloh Shirley Sia Sidney Sienna Simon Skyler Sloan Sofia Solo Sonia Sophia Sophie Spencer Stacy Stanley Stella Stephanie Sterling Stetson Stuart Sue Sullivan Summer Suri Susan Sylvia T Tabitha Tad Tamera Tamsyn Tanner Tara Tate Taylor Teagan Teddy Terrance Thea Thelma Theordore Theresa Thomas Tim Tina Tinley Toby Todd Tom Tony Travis Travon Trent Trey Tricia Trinity Tripp Tristan Troy Truman Turner Tyler Tyson V Valentina Valentine Vance Vaughan Vaughn Vera Vern Victor Victoria Viggo Vince Vincent Viola Violet Virgil Vivian W Waldo Walker Wallis Walter Warren Watson Waverly Wells Wes Wesley Westley Whitney Will Willa William Willow Wilson Winter Wolfe Wren Wyatt X Xander Xavier Xeno Y Yanet Yani Yigal York Yuma Yvette Z Zachary Zahir Zander Zane Zaylee Zayn Zion Zoe Zola Zooey Zora Zuma Zuri Related: These Are the Most Popular Baby Names of 2016 http://bit.ly/2kR9iwY

[tiny-as-a-firely]

@incalescentia // prev. post

Dorothea couldn’t help but peer in when the door to his office swings open.

It wasn’t what she was expecting. The journalist in her files each item away in the back of her mind - the plant that’s surprisingly not dead, the dark green sofa that surprisingly reminded her of the one in her suite. 

Her attention snaps back when he offers her the first book in the reading list. Her face deadpans at his comment, unimpressed, but she reaches out to take it nevertheless.

“You don’t even look old enough to be a professor, to be honest. You look what, three, four years older than I am?” Dora walks over to the bookshelf, suppressing the urge to run her hands across the spines. 

“Did you write all these?” Dorothea points to a shelf that is filled with academic history journals and textbooks with his name dancing across the covers and spines. “More material to torture unsuspecting students with, no doubt?”

[tiny-as-a-firely]

@incalescentia // prev. post

Dora didn’t look the type?

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Dorothea was fuming. She stayed in place for a moment, watching Dr. Hawkins as he walked out of the room, and for a split second considers walking away from him forever, dropping his class, and never seeing him again.

But she knows she can’t afford to do that, and so she grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder, following him out of the room and down the hallway. 

“I’m a journalism major.” She says proudly once she’s caught up to his stride, still seething from their previous interaction. If her future didn’t depend on this class she would give this man a piece of her mind. “I’m usually on the other side of the building, which is why you probably haven’t seen me before, and I definitely haven’t seen you.”

She didn’t know why she was saying this. She knows she should be thanking him profusely for helping her out with her grade, but there was something about how cocky he was that brought out her thorns.

“Besides, I wouldn’t say you look like the type either, Dr. Hawkins. Maybe we’ll both surprise each other.” 

[tiny-as-a-firely]

closed starter for @incalescentia

Dorothea Taylor was usually a perfect student.

That is, until two weeks ago when she sat in the academic counselor’s office and learned that she needed to pick an elective. She had allowed it to slip through the cracks, which meant that she had to sign up for the first class that would accept her with late notice.

The Age of The Renaissance and Reformation.

Blegh. Even the name made her cringe as she made her way across the literature building which housed all the written arts classes. She longed to be in one of the classrooms she was walking by, talking about journalistic integrity and writing about truth. Instead, she was rushing to her boring history lesson that she hadn’t done any of the summer reading for, because she had only been assigned to the class for a week.

Dora forced herself to not look at the front of the class as the door opened with a soft groan. She walked straight to the back, ignoring the slight pause in the professor’s lecture as she sank into her seat in the back row next to her history-geek friends.

“You’re late.” One of them whispers.

“I know.” She grumbles.

“You missed it. He reaches up to turn on the projector earlier and you could see his arm muscles under his shirt.” 

Dorothea rolls her eyes before finally glancing up at Dr. Conrad Hawkins, "NYU’s hottest professor". Or at least that’s what the history girls say. Dora opens her computer and pulls up the school portal, eyes scanning for her grade that she should have received near the start of this class.

D+.

Dora slams her computer shut with slightly too much gusto, causing the students around her to glance back at her, Dr. Hawkins pausing to look at her.

Someone set me on fire right now.

“I’m sorry.” She says, and something like amusement flickers across Dr. Hawkins’ features before he continues to speak, pacing at the front of the class. Asshole.

Dora tries her best to listen to the lecture, and even her friends eventually go back to taking notes, obviously engaged with the material. She settles for opening her computer and scrolling through the website of the New Yorker, skimming through the Arts & Culture section that had been updated this weekend.

“Miss Taylor, can I have a word before you go?” Dr. Hawkins’ voice pulls her away from her reading, and that’s when she notices that class has been dismissed. Her friends give her knowing glances as they walk down the lecture hall and out of the room, leaving her to face the best. Traitors.

She scoops up her things and walks up to the front of the room, exhaling a sigh. 

“Hi, Dr. Hawkins. You wanted to talk to me?”

[tiny-as-a-firely]

@incalescentia // prev. post

Dorothea hums happily when Conrad kisses her, allowing herself to melt into him completely.

This is Dora’s perfect place in the world. She’s quite literally swimming in him, the warmth of his coat enveloping her body completely, while his body shields her front. His lips are so soft and he kisses her with such tenderness, just like he used to. Like she’s his most precious thing. I traveled every inch of the world and never found anything quite like you, she thinks to herself. Never found anything as good and right and real. She’s hoping that her kiss will convey this to him, that he understands now that she never ever stopped being his, even when he didn’t know it.

Dora’s body starts to shift before her mind registers the movement, crawling into Connie’s lap so she can be closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck tightly. Her body trembles slightly from the overwhelming feelings, the pounding of her heart, she butterflies frantic in her stomach, the way her fingers shake nervously as she plays with his hair. In a way it’s like the two of them being teenagers all over again, re-learning one another, Dora baring her soul to him, asking him to see her, asking him to love her back.

And he does, she tells herself. He wouldn’t be kissing her like this if he didn’t.

The door to the roof opens, and Dora hears someone clear their throat as it shuts behind them.

Dora bashfully breaks their kiss, biting her lower lip as the heat rushes to her face. She instinctively buries her face in Connie’s shoulder, giving him a tender squeeze as she tries to catch her breath, hiding from their audience.

“Connie, take her home, please.” Connie’s mom’s voice breaks the quiet that had surrounded them, amused and tender.

[tiny-as-a-firely]

@incalescentia // prev. post

"You called me 'love'." Dora giggles again, humming happily as she curls her fingers around Conrad's coat and tugs it tighter around her. "Mm, smells like you." She murmurs, inhaling deeply. Her heart was singing loudly and happily now that her Connie was near. Dora tucked the ring in her pocket and scooted closer so that their knees were touching.

“I was looking at the stars. I’m trying to find the Dora.” She glances up again for a moment before tilting her head down again, not wanting to strain her neck. Dora recalls doing this exact same thing while on her travels, looking up at the sky on her saddest and happiest nights, trying to find the brightest star in the sky, wondering if Connie was doing the same somewhere. Even in her drunken state, something kept her from revealing this intimate truth to him.

“Connie, you’re so handsome.” She continues rambling. Dora’s smile widens as she lifts her hands to cup Conrad’s face, brushing her thumbs across his cheeks, feeling brave. It was all she wanted to do since seeing him again on that horrible double date - she wanted to touch him all over, relearn every inch, discover everything that was new. 

“You look different, you know? Your hair is longer.” She runs the tips of her fingers through his hair softly, tucking a stray lock behind his ear. “I love your eyes. I’ve always loved them so much. Your eyes are…deeper now. I always feel like you can tell exactly what I’m thinking. It’s really scary.” The tips of her fingers explore the curves of his face, and she dares herself to brush her thumb across his lower lip, softly, relishing the way that he exhales in response. She touches the the pad of her thumb to the new scar on his chin. 

“You look…really good.” She exhales, voice rough, features softening. Dora looks up into Connie’s eyes again, leaning forward to touch her nose to his, a nervous laugh dancing out of her as she places her palms against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “Connie, do you still want to kiss me?”

[tiny-as-a-firely]

@incalescentia // prev. post

Dorothea’s heart sank when Conrad dropped her hand. 

Her cheeks reddened slightly once more, not from butterflies this time. She shoved her hands back into her pant pockets, embarrassed that she’d worn her ring here, in front of so many people. 

She turns and forces a smile at Josephine and Ava walking in their direction.

“Hi Jo. Hi Ava, it’s nice to see you.” Dora says politely, using the opportunity to lean in and give Conrad’s mom a kiss on the cheek, putting distance between them both. 

“Hi Dora.” Ava replies while taking Conrad’s hand into her own. The same Dora had just been holding. She forces herself to look away, look towards the art piece they had been observing, the one that Conrad’s mom had made just for them, when she overhears a not-so-quiet whisper from Ava. “Why is she here?”

Anger boils over in Dora’s chest. This was Dora’s family. Her life. She belonged here. 

“Oh, Jo and I are best friends.” Dora says, plastering a sickly sweet smile on her face as she loops her arm through Connie’s mom’s own. “From when Conrad and I were married, remember?” 

Ava opens her mouth to say something, but Dora cuts her off.

“Jo, will you come with me? I wanted to ask you about some of your paintings.”

“Let’s get to it, then.” Josephine gives her an amused smile as the two of them walk away. Dora forces herself not to look back.

***

Dorothea is drunk.

She’s never been one to drink too much at these functions - usually one or two glasses of red, but they had real Champagne, and she was by herself. She couldn’t have asked Josephine to babysit her the whole night.

Plus, Connie was always with her in the before times to make sure she was feeling okay.

That’s how Dora finds herself on the roof, high heels beside her along with a mountain of expensive cheese piled on a plate and a bottle of Champagne that she stole from the serving staff. She’s pulled her curly hair up in a high bun, her makeup starting to fade.

Head fuzzy and warm, she lies down on the cold ground in the chilly air to hold her wedding ring up above her face. She giggled every so often, squinting one eye while using the gold band as a makeshift telescope.

“Dora?” She hears a familiar voice call out, a door closing.

“Connie!” She squeals, turning to look at him through her ‘telescope’. He looks so good in his turtleneck and matching suit, and the thought causes her to giggle again as butterflies dance around in her stomach. “Connie, will you come sit with me? Please?”

[tiny-as-a-firely]

@incalescentia // prev. post

Dorothea was pouring herself into her work.

It was all she could do to get through the days. To try to forget the fact that the love of her life was currently seeing someone else, she gave herself entirely to her other great love - her words.

That is until Conrad would send her a text in the evenings, talking about whatever silly thing happened in class today or sending videos of Charles barking a squirrel up a tree. The two of them would talk all night, a smile plastered to her lips as he made her laugh, asked her questions, told her stories. 

One night, she finally accepted one of the endless calls she’d been receiving from James.

Where the fuck have you been? He asked.

I think we should break up. She replied.

She was surprised by how easy it was. 

And so the days went by, and so she sat at her desk in the mid-tier hotel room that work was still paying for and every-so-often asking how the apartment hunt was going. Wrong. Every place is wrong.

And so she found herself staring at Conrad from across the room at the art gallery that his mom ensured he wouldn’t be at. Dora can’t help but smile a bit. That woman always has her own agenda.

The look on his face as he turns to her takes her breath away. The utter relief that she sees in his features, the immediate smile that she brings to his face. She tries not to think too hard about the fact the last time they saw each other their lips had been an inch apart. 

Dora freezes momentarily when Conrad stretches his hand out to her. She knows what he’s doing. She knows that he needs this. And she does too.

But there’s no way to take his hand without him noticing the thin gold band on her ring finger, currently hiding from view as her hands curl into fists in the pockets of her flowy pants.

I would not wish any other companion in the world but you.

Dora hadn’t meant to start wearing it again. She slipped it on the night of their almost-kiss after staring at it for hours. She wanted to feel it again, the smooth metal on her skin a reminder of the promise that he had once given her. Something of Connie's that was only hers.

Fuck it, she thinks to herself as she closes the distance placing her hand in his, threading their fingers together like they’d always done. Dorothea forced herself to face the painting in front of them, begging her hands not to shake, not to betray the effect that he had on her now, so many years later. Trying to ignore the fact that her wedding ring adorned her hand once more.

“You know your mom was on the phone with me when she painted this one?” Dora starts to ramble nervously, his hand in hers sending electric currents up her arm and down her back. “She said that she wanted to see what it was like to paint a landscape with only sound as a reference. So she called me while I was in Venice, every day for like, a week straight, and asked me to put her on speakerphone so she could hear everything. She’d occasionally ask me what I was looking at, what was going on, but mostly we just sat together, her painting and me writing on my balcony. It was my favorite week there.” 

Somewhere along the way, as her words tangled together, Dora leaned in closer.

[tiny-as-a-firely]

@incalescentia // prev. post

Dorothea exhales quickly, every molecule of air leaving her body she second that Conrad touches her face. 

She places her hand over his chest, right where his heart is. Feels his heartbeat under her palm, wonders if his is pounding as hard as hers. How many times has she dreamt about this moment the past five years? How many nights has she looked up at the stars from a foreign balcony and tried to recall exactly how it felt for him to caress her skin, touch her cheek, look at her like that. Like she’s it for him. Like she’s the center of his world, the only thing that matters.

Dora gives into the feeling, lets the magnetic field between them guide her, brushing the tip of her nose against his as she parts her lips. Ever so slightly curls her hand closed, the fabric of his shirt tickling her fingertips, allowing the familiar music to serenade them like a lullaby.

She lowers her gaze from his for a brief second to try to get her heart under control.

A brief second is all it takes.

“Oh my god.” She whispers, frozen. Her brows furrow slightly as she stares at the pair of heels next to the coffee table. How could she have missed them before? They were definitely not hers. She would never wear something so strappy and unsupportive. A comfortable high heel is a woman’s greatest weapon, her mother used to say. Don’t let yourself get caught unprepared. “Oh my god.”

Ava. How many times has Conrad carried her shoes for her? How many times has she been here, sat in her spot on the couch, listened to Connie’s vinyl collection? Shared a kiss in this exact spot?

“I have to go.” Dora swallows roughly in an attempt to fight back her tears, pulling away from Conrad and standing up. She sees Charles perk his head up from the corner of the room as she grabs her coat off the stool and shrugs it on, picking her own heels up off of the ground. 

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Connie rasps from where he’s still sitting on the couch, stunned, not so much angry as he is confused. Dora spins around to catch the exact moment he spots Ava’s shoes, is looking straight at him as he spins his head back around to look back at her, regret in his eyes. Regret for who?

Dora spins around again, anger coursing through her, at Conrad, at herself, at the last five years that they spent apart.

Her hand lands on the doorknob right as she feels herself being tugged, Conrad’s hand tightening around her in an iron grip.

She turns to look at him again, about to ask him to let go, but the look in his eyes stops her. Please don’t leave me. And she knows that he doesn’t just mean right here, in this moment, right this second. Dorothea is reminded of the last time they were both standing by this door, looking at each other speechlessly.

Dora sniffles softly as she reaches for his phone, pulling it out of his pocket. She forces herself to ignore the fifteen missed calls from Ava, is surprised to find that his passcode is still the same. Their anniversary. 

It takes her a few moments to punch in her new number, handing the phone back to him. “You have a girlfriend, Conrad.” 

Dora turns again, opening the door this time, pausing.

“You were stupid for not chasing me halfway across the world.” Dora says, unable to look at him, the tears dangerously close to making an appearance. She knows it isn’t fair. She’s the one who left. And she has a boyfriend as well.

But nevertheless, she shuts the door behind her, a quiet sob erupting from her chest as she brings her free hand up to cover her mouth. She bites back her tears again as she makes her way down seven flights of stairs, eyes red and watery.

She was stupid to hope he would have waited. And she was stupid to think it could all be the same.

[tiny-as-a-firely]

@incalescentia // prev. post

I’m going to grab that wine and you can keep telling me how stupid I was for not chasing you halfway around the world.

Dorothea’s head whips around as she gapes at Conrad, eyes wide, so many questions on her lips. But  he’s already gone.

She purses her lips, trying her best to bury the memories that come forward of the last night the two of them were in this house, a younger version of herself wanting nothing more than for Conrad to fight for her, to say that he would follow her anywhere. To chase her halfway across the world, even if it meant to never return.

Instead, she lets herself explore. Dora walks along the wall closest to the entrance first, eyes scanning the frames on the wall. She remembered a frantic phone call to her mom that one morning five years ago, begging her and her dad to come and help her pack as many of her things as possible. This was the aftermath - bits and pieces of empty space along the walls, on the shelves.

But there are also new things. New pieces of art that she recognizes as Conrad’s mom’s. New books lining the shelves. New academic journals.

And most glaringly, framed articles, written by her. 

A smile danced across her lips as she explored the room, identifying which one of her pieces Connie chose to frame. A lot of them were her favorites, but some of them were throwaways that she assumed no one would read. Her chest tightens.

Dora instinctively walked over to the blanket draped along the back of the couch, folding it neatly before setting it back down on the couch cushion. 

A flash of pale red catches the corner of her eye. Dorothea walks over to the window and looks down, a large, red splotch on the hardwood glaring back at her. Her breath catches as she remembers, thinking to the small scar she has on the bottom of her foot from when she stepped in glass the morning after. A pang of guilt hits her at the realization that Connie wasn’t ever able to get this stain out. How many other stains had she left on his life? How many other ways had he had to scrub her clean?

Dora feels something wet on her hand.

“Hello, Mr. Dickens.” She kneels down to face the gentle dog who is wagging his tale a mile a minute. Dora smiles back at him, putting her cold fingers in the long hair along the back of his ears, giving him a scratch, causing him to lick her face from chin to temple. Dora laughs.

“He likes you.” Conrad’s voice startles her, causing her to jump a little as she looks up.

“And why wouldn’t he?” She quips, giving him one last good scratch behind the ear before walking back over to the couch and sitting down in her usual place. Dora’s heart thumps out of her chest as she watches Connie open the bottle of her favorite red wine and pour her a glass, which she accepts, tucking her legs under her. Is he as nervous as I am? She wonders.

“You changed the place.” Dora murmurs before taking a sip, allowing the familiar warmth to settle into her. “I like it. It feels like you. I’m sorry I didn’t let you decorate more back then.” She lifts her glass again to point at a stack of papers and journals neatly arranged on the shelf. “Did you write all of those? Tell me about Dr. Conrad Hawkins.”

[tiny-as-a-firely]

@incalescentia // prev. post

Wait, you were married? To Conrad?

James’ voice barely registered as Dora’s eyes locked on Connie’s, trying to read his mind. What was he thinking? Was he happy to see her? Did he never want to speak to her again? Was he angry at her for not contacting him sooner?

There was a long pause in conversation as James and Ava waited for one of them to say something, but Dorothea’s attention was locked on Conrad, waiting for him to speak. She could sense that they were making a scene, could feel the heat of the lingering stares of everyone around them who were just trying to have a nice meal, but she truly, deeply could not bring herself to care in the slightest.

Because there was a challenge in her eyes. An unspoken dare as she waited for Conrad to speak, communicating with him silently.

Do it. Tell them. Claim me.

When the words finally slip from his lips, Dorothea forces herself to bite back the smile that threatens to form on her lips. Fuck, they should be embarrassed right now. They should be begging their partners to forgive them, reassuring them, saying anything to make them understand that everything between her and Conrad was history.

But it would be a lie.

Dorothea barely hears Ava and James speak, barely notices when they’ve left the room. All that exists for her is Conrad Hawkins, sitting in front of her after five long years. There is a shift in him - his hair is longer in a way that sits differently. He has a scar on his chin that she hasn’t ever seen before, and she has the sudden urge to reach out and touch it with her thumb, to acquaint herself with this new detail that’s unfamiliar to her. Her hand shifts ever so slightly before she remembers that she isn’t allowed to do that anymore.

Hawkins? Conrad asks, and Dora can’t help but release the smallest smile. Hawkins, the name she scribbled across her notebooks all year in the eleventh grade. Hawkins, the name she was given when she married the man she loves. Hawkins, the name of her chosen parents, the ones that love every inch of her every second of every day, unconditionally. Hawkins, the name she chose as her own, the name she’s proudly carried for the past twelve years of her life, the name she couldn’t bring herself to part with. Her. Name.

“Yes.” Dorothea says, irrevocably and immovable.

“And you’re back?” Conrad says, not missing a beat.

“Yes.” Dora repeats. 

There’s another pause, and she can see that the wheels in his head are turning. Dorothea braces herself for the unexpected - prepares herself for the anger, the sadness, the betrayal.

“Do you want to get out of here?” 

Dora exhales softly, the first full breath she’s taken in five years, the first one that’s really touched every part of her.

“Yes.”

Connie wastes no time flagging down the server, briefly explaining that there’s been a change of plans. Dorothea reaches for her bag that’s hanging off of her purse, knowing that on a high school teacher's salary, Connie probably can’t comfortably cover the cost of this fucking absurd bottle of wine James ordered.

To her surprise, he pulls out a credit card she’s never seen before, setting it down on the table, unworried. Dora mentally files that away for later, hoping that she’ll have the chance to rifle through every inch of new Connie, and despite herself, she feels…excited.

Within minutes the tab is paid and they stand, walking side by side as they exit the restaurant, their dates nowhere to be seen.

Just like that, Dorothea and Conrad Hawkins walk out into the streets of New York once more. 

[tiny-as-a-firely]

@incalescentia // prev. post

Dorothea would be lying if she said that it was easy.

The first year she spent abroad was rough. It was an effort to not reach out to Conrad every moment. Every time she turned the corner in Paris there was something new and exciting that she wanted to show him, something she wanted to scream about with her best friend. She had to get a new phone number when she finished making arrangements to permanently live abroad - a roaming plan wouldn’t work forever. But Dora had Conrad’s phone number etched into the shadows of her heart, having forced herself to memorize it one night in high school so she could call him from anywhere. 

She wasn’t expecting the degree of loneliness. Dorothea had her parents, who would call her once a week and catch up, and she had Connie’s mom, who would call once a day, but never provide any details about Conrad. She had Connie’s dad, who occasionally sent her bits and pieces of his drafts in the mail, who always had some piece of advice to provide about her articles, who always made her a better writer. A better person.

And she had her words. They have never failed her.

By year two, she started making friends. Other travel writers and backpackers who felt the same yearning she did to explore all the places of the world that felt bigger than herself. To soak in the steps at the base of Mount Vesuvius, or to laugh and cry at the karaoke bar at the small Roman cafe on Friday nights.

They were with her when she cried in front of the Notre Dame in Paris, on the day that it reopened. Her most popular piece to date, A History of Burning, was written that week as she sat among the pews and lit candles, under the rainbow-colored streaks of light that danced with the tinted windows. In it, she explored cycles of violence, the things that we burn for, the things we set fire to, the ways we rebuild.

By year three, she felt anew. Dora was louder, taking up space outside of the four sides of the paper. Her group of companions grew and shrunk as different people came and went and returned, sometimes she herself peeling away from them to go on a solo pilgrimage. She danced along the streets of Thailand, shrieked Happy New Year more than once from balcony buildings in Spain. 

But by year four, there were the occasional moments when she felt herself being pulled to a familiar place. The frayed bits of her heart, the ones that she kept boxed up and put away neatly in a corner, the wine-stained dress sitting at the bottom of her suitcase waiting to be dry-cleaned. She couldn’t escape the memories, was surprised to wake up one morning to a yearning to return home, was shocked to realize that she never stopped calling it home in the first place.

And then one day, she received a job offer in her inbox. 

That’s how she found herself back here, in the city she ran away from. 

The first day after she returned, she set out to explore. There were so many things that changed, but so many things still the same. Dorothea walked the entire day, finding new places in tucked away corners, scribbling in her notebook, her love renewing. The parts inside of her that she had set fire to were rebuilding.

That’s how she found herself standing on a familiar street, looking up a familiar window, wondering if there was still a splotchy stain of red wine on the hardwood floor.

That’s where she ran into James. 

Dorothea had met James during her second year of travel while he was on a business trip, and had clicked immediately. They had never taken their friendship any further because of the looming goodbye between them, and sure enough at the end of the two weeks, he had returned home and she was onto a different country.

But oddly enough, finding him in New York was…comfortable. And with him she could avoid the hurt, avoid the dread in her heart when she gave into thinking about the man she truly loved.

Conrad.

So when Dora spots him from the window to the fancy restaurant where she’s to meet James’ sister, she stops walking.

“What are you doing?” James laughs awkwardly.

“I need to go home. I’m-I’m not feeling well.”

“Don’t be silly, we’re here already. You were fine like two seconds ago, what’s the matter?” He doesn’t pause to listen to her answer, taking her hand and walking into the building.

Every step they took closer felt like someone was pouring fire down her throat.

Dora saw the moment when her husb- when Connie noticed it was her. The way his eyes flashed for a split second, and she swore that it was the same look he wore on a fateful night five years ago. 

Not quite having paid attention to introductions, Dora snaps her attention back to Ava, the person she’s here to meet. “Hi Ava. It’s nice to meet you.” Her chest clenched as shook Conrad’s hand, no words exchanged between them, wondering if he could feel the trembling of her hand. She forces herself to take a deep breath as she takes her seat directly across from him.

“James has been talking about you non-stop for the past few weeks. He says that you just moved to New York?” Ava says.

“Moved back.” Dora smiles at Ava politely, hoping that she can’t see the absolute terror in her face.

“Dora grew up here.” James chimed in from beside her where he’s already taking a look at the wine menu. “The great Dora Hawkins was offered a job at the New Yorker. Started last week, right babe?” 

“Yes.” Dora confirms, averting her gaze from Conrad, looking at anything but.

“Hawkins? Wait that’s so funny, Connie’s last name is Hawkins.” Ava places a hand on Conrad’s shoulder and squeezes. 

This causes Dora to glance over at Conrad, who is still staring at her. She can tell from here that his jaw is clenched, a flash of a memory dancing in her mind of the time he had to wear a mouth-guard for three weeks in high school from clenching his jaw so much.

“That is funny.” James half-heartedly replies before glancing up at Conrad from the drinks menu. “Conrad, you’ve been here before. What’s the best wine selection?”

Hawkins.

The word rang between the two of them like bells. 

Yes. She tries to whisper to him with her eyes.

When her gaze falls, she almost chokes on air.

A thin gold band catches her eye on his right hand. She would have noticed sooner when they shook hands if her fingers hadn’t been so numb with panic. Again, a flash of the two of them taunts her, Dorothea and Connie on their wedding day, the sight of his face crumpling with joy as she walked down the aisle, his nervous laugh as she slid that same ring onto his left ring finger. I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.

Dora feels a sudden pull to run across town and show him the matching gold band that is meant for her finger, the one she carried with her across the world, the one she could never bear to part with, the one she looked at and would slip onto her fingers on long nights with a glass of wine.

I never forgot about you, either. 

[tiny-as-a-firely]

@incalescentia // prev. post

Dorothea wasn’t quite sure what to do.

It seems like most of her waking moments for the past few weeks have been leading up to this point, a wave hitting the shore. She wasn’t expecting it to slowly dissolve into the sand. She had been prepared for a tsunami. Dora watches as her husband picks up the pen and her heart clenches. A small, broken part of her, perhaps the insecure sixteen-year-old inside of her who loved Shakespeare and Toni Morrison, with dorky glasses and a fear of the unknown, whispers to her. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen so fast. We were supposed to have time. Connie was supposed to fight for us.

Dora stares into his eyes, fingers turning numb. Her eyes filled with tears as she searches his eyes for any hint of anger, any sort of indication that he was willing to do something, she wanted him to yell at her, to scream that he loved her, to say that he would do anything for her. But even she knew that it was not true, no matter what Conrad told himself. Everyone has pieces of themselves that they are not willing to carve out of their souls. Isn’t that what brought her to this point in the first place? In his eyes, all she reads is his declaration of love, his intention to give her one last selfless act: to let her go. And in her eyes, she hoped he could see it: Thank you.

The sound of the ballpoint pen scratching the skin of the off-white paper filled the room. A scar etched in ink under the dim yellow lights.

Dora watched as he walked upstairs, and her memory brought her back to a moment they’d had a year ago. They were sitting on their couch, Connie reading as she scrolled through her computer, casually looking through flight fares. Connie, wouldn’t it be so fun to live somewhere else, she had said. Somewhere magical?

Here is magical. He smiled at her, not knowing that it wasn’t the reassurance she needed, already having looked back down at his book, not noticing as her face fell. Not realizing that she had been trying to tell him about her deepest dreams.

Because somewhere inside her there was a greater purpose, a call to see what was out there, to leave the comfort of these four walls. And in the past year since that night, they’d had several reiterations of that same conversation, a song stuck on repeat, lines drawn in the sand. She didn’t deserve to be stuck. And he didn’t deserve to be resented.

And that’s how a sense of ease washes through her as she comes back to herself, to the person that she’s grown to be. She is no longer the sixteen-year-old with no friends in English class who fell in love with the dorky member of the soccer team who recited love poems to her. Dorothea was larger than life, she was endless and held multitudes, and she deserved to see the world.

Dora turns to face Connie again as he appears with his bag. Her breath hitches as he touches her face, causing tears to burn in her eyes again. She parts her lips and lets him kiss her, the tender touch of him making it so much harder for her to not collapse. As Conrad pulls away she whimpers softly, reaching a hand to brush her fingertips onto his shoulder, tip of her nose touching his – if she can just inhale enough of him, breathe in enough of his air, share in the same touch, maybe she can commit him to memory, always.

Words of desperation are on the tip of her lips: Come with me. Please. Follow me. Share my dream. Want me back. All of me. Wait for me.

But her husband has given up so much for her already. She cannot ask these things of him. Cannot ask him to leave this place, perhaps the only thing in the world he loves more than Dorothea, although he would never admit it with words.

His last words ring in her ears as the door shuts. She immediately scrambles into the living room that looks down at the entrance to their building. An eternity goes by, and every second that passes she convinces herself that he’ll come back, that he’ll tear those papers up and take her in his arms, bring her to bed, whisper that he’ll follow her anywhere.

So much so that when she sees him appear on the sidewalk, she is so shocked that the bottle of red wine slips from her fingers.

Glass shatters, and a blossoming red coating the light hardwood flooring of their home.

It stains the bottom of her dress, invisible on the black fabric.

Dorothea stands there for what seems like hours, barefooted among a ring of broken shards, a dark and deepest red staining her toes, as she waits for her husband to come back and choose her. Her eyes are glued to the sidewalk where he will appear, bag slung over his shoulder, walk back up the stairs, and back into her life.

A sob escapes her the moment something small and frail and delicate breaks inside of her, the moment she knew.

With care, she steps around the broken wine bottle. Dora enters their bedroom and walks straight to their bathroom, washing the red wine stains off of her skin and changing into a pair of pajamas. She glances at Conrad’s side of the sink and picks up a bottle of his familiar cologne, spritzing it on herself, inhaling deeply, her eyes stinging.

She does not spare a glance towards their bed as she walks back downstairs and situates herself on the couch, promising herself that she will clean up tomorrow. Dorothea pulls out her phone and scrolls through the tabs that have been open and hidden for months: Paris. Rome. Greece. Thailand. Japan. Amsterdam.

And with a few clicks, she can feel the cracks in her heart starting to heal over, as Dorothea Hawkins decides to choose herself.