#wip work

Allosaurus jimmadseni couple feeding on a Stegosaurus WIP

“Don't call me that.” She stated coldly, and hint of the warmth that she usually looked at him with gone. SMELLS LIKE. PAIN. AND. ANGER. Spite supplied, as if that were of any help to him at all. What had happened? Her mood had soured so quickly, he genuinely couldn’t remember. He must have said something offensive, but he didn’t know what. He must look a fool, sitting there across from her, slack-jawed like a freshly caught fish, but he was confused. He’d simply called her…Zita. Perhaps it was uncouth of him to call her by her first name unprompted—but he hadn’t meant to. Truly. He’d been referring to her that way in his own mind—or with Spite—since he’d asked after her shortly upon joining her company. It had been a simple thing, a question asked in passing to Teia on his way out of the Diamond after picking up supplies for the team. Their pantry had been abysmal, the girls all simply thriving on what could barely be called food, mostly fried fish (likely Neve's contribution) and some kind of hard biscuit that he’d never run across in his travels (probably from Bellara). There had been nothing that represented his fellow Crow at all. And, he'd noticed, no one used her given name, simply sticking to the moniker she’d given upon meeting her. He’d found it odd, and so he’d asked. He knew tensions were high between her and her head of house, Viago could be terse on the best of days, so he’d bet on Teia—and perhaps it was none of his business, perhaps he should have waited until Rook chose to speak to him about her past (if she ever did) but it had truly seemed like such a small thing. Teia hadn’t mentioned anything to indicate that him addressing her in this way would lead him here. It was just a name after all. Spite vehemently disagreed, pacing between them now, like a caged animal, confused worry coming off him in waves. Never mind that he’d called her that once before.  In the kitchen, that night after the dragon had destroyed Minrathous. Zita—Rook had leaned on him that night. Tears spilling from her eyes, a mix of guilt at her choice and (if he were to hazard a guess)s relief at having survived. He knew he shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t press, should just apologize and move on, but he was curious, had been curious about her from the moment he first laid eyes on her. He could count the things he knew about her on his hands, mostly observations that he’d gleaned from spending time with her, decidedly nothing about her past at all. Which, he realized wasn’t that unusual for Crows as a whole, but especially considering whatever had happened between her and Viago, the fallout had the sting of something more than what he’d heard. A liberation of prisoners, an upset of plans, all banishment—for all that might have been true, it wasn’t anymore. “That person is dead, and I would appreciate not being reminded of her anymore.” Her words were flat. Her face set stubbornly. For what he didn’t know about her, one thing he did: that face left no room for argument. He wouldn’t be getting anything out of her. Not like this, and yet…and yet there was something else there. The hurt Spite had mentioned… “That isn’t true. You might feel that way, but if anyone knows about masks, it’s me.” An olive branch, perhaps, a door that was left ajar, a hand in the dark. It was all he'd wanted once, when he was at his lowest, and though there hadn't been much of an answer for him—and he didn’t expect her to change her mind based on what he'd said—he couldn’t help but offer.

However, if a person born to a Royal House marries into another Royal House (or a Noble House below their Royal status) they keep their "Birth House" as a name put after their Patro-Matronyms, which is then followed by the "of House ____" title to indicate where they "belong" in the present.

I'm excited!!!! to eventually share this story with you guys!!! Whenever that can happen!

all I need are excuses to stop studying and write fanfics instead lmao