❛ We’re all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that’s all. ❜
❛ Does Barry Manilow know that you raid his wardrobe? ❜
❛ You ought to spend a little more time trying to make something of yourself and a little less time trying to impress people. ❜
❛ I hate it. I hate having to go along with everything my friends say. ❜
❛ When you grow up, your heart dies. ❜
❛ Screws fall out all the time, the world is an imperfect place. ❜
❛ Don’t mess with the bull, young man. You’ll get the horns. ❜
❛ I don’t have to run away and live in the street. I can run away and I can go to the ocean, I can go to the country, I can go to the mountains. I could go to Israel, Africa, Afghanistan. ❜
❛ Being bad feels pretty good, huh? ❜
❛ Could you describe the ruckus, sir? ❜
❛ What do you need a fake I.D. for? ❜
❛ I’ll do anything sexual. I don’t need a million dollars to do it either. ❜
❛ Eat my shorts. ❜
❛ You know, you look a lot better without all that black shit under your eyes. ❜
❛ So it’s sorta social, demented and sad, but social. Right? ❜
❛ ‘Cause I’m telling the truth, that makes me a bitch? ❜
❛ Naked blonde walks into a bar with a poodle under one arm, and a two-foot salami under the other. The bartender says, I guess you won’t be needing a drink. Naked lady says… ❜
❛ You do everything everyone tells you to do and that is a problem. ❜
❛ Do you think I’d speak for you? I don’t even know your language. ❜
❛ No, I don’t wear tights. I wear the required uniform. ❜
❛ You’re an idiot anyway. But if you say you get along with your parents, well, you’re a liar too. ❜
❛ I’m thinkin’ of tryin’ out for a scholarship. ❜
❛ Don’t you want to hear my excuse?❜
❛ Why do you have to insult everybody? ❜
❛ Now is this the first time or the last time you do this to me? ❜
❛ You’re kind of sexy when you’re angry. ❜
❛ If I lose my temper you’re totaled, man. ❜
❛ Why didn’t you want me to know that you are a virgin? ❜
❛ I don’t think either one of them gives a shit about me. It’s like they use me just to get back at each other. ❜
❛ Don’t you ever talk about my friends. You don’t know any of my friends. You don’t look at any of my friends. And you certainly wouldn’t condescend to speak to any of my friends. ❜
❛ It’s wrong to destroy literature. It’s such fun to read. ❜
❛ Vodka? When do you drink vodka? ❜
❛ How does one become a janitor? ❜
❛ By the way, that clock’s 20 minutes fast. ❜
❛ I want to congratulate you for being on time. ❜
❛ He’s just doing it to get a rise out of you. Just ignore him. ❜
❛ Sweets. You couldn’t ignore me if you tried. ❜
❛ That’s what I thought. You’re a gutless turd. ❜
❛ Keep your fuckin’ hands off me! I’d expect better manners from you, _____. ❜
❛ Just me. Just you and me. Two hits. Me hitting you. You hitting the floor. Anytime you’re ready, pal. ❜
❛ Oh, obscene finger gestures from such a pristine girl. ❜
❛ Are you a virgin? I’ll bet you a million dollars that you are. Let’s end the suspense! Is it gonna be… a white wedding? ❜
❛ Have you ever kissed a boy on the mouth? ❜
❛ Have you ever been felt up? Over the bra, under the blouse, shoes off… hoping to God your parents don’t walk in? ❜
❛ You ask me one more question and I’m beating the shit out of you. ❜
❛ What did you wanna be when you were young? ❜
❛ When I was a kid, I wanted to be John Lennon. ❜
❛ _____, you wanna see a picture of a guy with elephantitis of the nuts? It’s pretty tasty. ❜
❛ Now this is the thought that wakes me up in the middle of the night. ❜
❛ The next time I have to come in here I’m crackin’ skulls. ❜
❛ Are you gonna be, like, a shopping bag lady? You know, like, sit in alleyways and, like, talk to buildings and wear men’s shoes and that kinda thing? ❜
❛ I’m a fucking idiot because I can’t make a lamp? ❜
❛ Yo wastoid, you’re not gonna blaze up in here. ❜
❛ My God, are we gonna be like our parents? ❜
He didn’t want to hear her say those words, as it only made the reality of the situation sink in even more. Jory wiped away her tears and kissed her lips and her cheeks, and lastly on the forehead. Trying to contain his anger at hearing how Robb had allowed for this to happen. His hands clenched around Isyla, he had never hated Robb but hearing that the young man had known about Isyla’s marriage, had known Jory to be alive and kept this from him….
“He’s allowed us both to suffer….” The words came out harsher then he had expected them to. “I cannot allow this to continue. Lord Glover will annul his marriage to you. He’s a loyal, good man.” Jory tried to persuade himself, though he knew if he were in Galbart’s position he would fight to the death to keep Isyla and Jory would do so if it meant keeping what was and is rightfully his.
“They both will see what they have done and Robb will see the error in his ways”
He was sure he had dead. The pain from the stabbing was so intense he had passed out and was left for dead. It wasn’t till a few weeks later that he woke up and woke to only vision in one eye. Jory was glad to have been alive, while he was handicapped it didn’t stop him from trying to get back to Kings Landing and to serve his Lord, Eddard Stark. But that’s when he had heard the news. Eddard was dead, Arya was gone and Sansa was still in the capitol. The Capatin of the guard heard of Robb Stark’s push to become King in the North and so, Jory headed home to Winterfell.
He had gotten back home, pledged his sword and house to Robb and went to go see his wife, but she wasn’t in Winterfell at all. She had just left for Dorne and Jory would have left to chase her down in a heartbeat, but Robb advised against it, sending a raven would be better and he needed Jory in the coming times at Winterfell.
So, Jory sent his Raven and prayed to the Gods it would reach her in time and she wouldn’t think of herself as a widow for much longer. The idea of her believing him to be dead…to be a widow, prehaps her father already arranging a marriage for her, broke his heart and he sat in his chambers, his head between his knees as he tried to hold back his tears.
It was Robb who delivered her the news, who picked her up when she was a crumbled, weeping mess on the stone floor. He allowed her to stay, to grieve for a life she had barely been given the chance to live. Isyla and her Jory had not been married a month when he followed his lord to Kings Landing, as was his duty, his honour had killed him. The gloom and heartache followed her every step, she found more melancholy in every fresh snowfall, every little thing that reminded her of her husband.
The North had been a place for her no longer, for the Dornish widow was back into her fathers playing table. She had left the North clad in black with Jory’s spare, heavy cloak and the feeling of complete emptiness within.
As Isyla expected, her father allotted her no time to mourn, seeing her doleful face only served to anger him, so he did what any cruel man would do. Lord Wyl arranged for his daughter to marry a Glover, Glabart Glover to be specific. She’d be left in the North, near the Wolfswood Jory had taken her on her first and only hunt. Near the keep that she fell in love in, where she believed her life would be spent raising Northern children in the embrace of the man who loved her. It was the cruelest fate she could have been handed.
Galbart would surely send her back, an ever mourning young woman whose blood had run frigid from heartbreak.
“My lady, we will have to rest in Winterfell, Lord Glover is a guest of King Robb.” One of the Glover men sent to escort her informed her. She nodded softly, the life had gone from her once bright amber eyes. Isyla still wore his cloak, but the rest of her remained shrouded in black.
Time had passed for Jory slowly, Agonizingly so, as he went day by day. Jory tried to return to life at Winterfell as best he could but he just saw little point now that Isyla was gone and a raven hadn’t come back with any Dornish letter. If it wasn’t for Robb Jory was certain he’d become a sell sword or he’d be off in Dorne in search of Isyla. He could hear what Robb was telling him as the staff rushed to make Winterfell a welcoming place for Lord Glover’s staff as they’d be staying for a while as they were escorting his new wife back to their lord’s house.
He walked aimsly through the halls of Winterfell, almost a ghost. He talked little and hardly anyone but the Stark boys, Theon and his Uncle Rodrick talked to him. Which Jory was fine with. As he did walked through the halls, needing to find Robb and tell him that Rodrick was ill and he could train the new recruits if need be, he nearly ran into a woman and he didn’t look at her, only dipped his head. “Apologies M’lady” His voice was quieter then it had been since he had left for Kings Landing, softer even. It wasn’t till he looked up did he see the woman he had sworn to love and protect and be with until his last day and Jory didn’t believe it. He’d been seeing things. He had to be. There was no way that this was….and yet the longer he stared at her with his one good eye did he find himself to be looking at Isyla and Jory stood frozen. He had no idea how to react, he wanted to run away, saying it was a figment of his imagination and he wanted to grab a hold of her and kiss her and never let her go again.
“Islya?”
She thought her head was hearing voices now, that his low Northern brogue was simply carrying through the halls of Winterfell, haunting her. Isyla looked up at the sound of her name. Her name on his lips, she was stunned. It couldn’t be, he wasn’t standing in front of her, this was simply a shadow of madness taking over for grief.
His scarred left eye took nothing away from his handsome face, her own agony was reflected on his own. She couldn’t speak, not when the tears overtook every word that tried to escape, she fell on her knees, her body giving out in weakness. “Jory, It can’t be.” She whispered, her voice crackling between sobs.
“Why are you haunting me?”
As he watched Isyla crumble to the ground he followed her, his hands shakily reached out to her, his breathing was ragged and he wasn’t sure if this was a dream. It had to be. Islya was here. She was real. He felt her skin on his calloused hands and pulled her into him. “I could ask the same of you” He finally managed to say. He still couldn’t believe that she was back in Winterfell and that’s when he saw the black dress and he felt himself holding back tears. “I’m here, i’m alive my love.” Then it hit him. Why would she be here? She should have been in Dorne and if she hadn’t gotten his raven, clearly…
“You’re my wife.” He uttered, suddenly peiceing together all the informtion he had only half heard. She was now Lady Glover and he held her tighter, his anger taking hold of him. “No one else’s. I’ll go to Robb. Robb will fix everything.”
He was sure he had dead. The pain from the stabbing was so intense he had passed out and was left for dead. It wasn’t till a few weeks later that he woke up and woke to only vision in one eye. Jory was glad to have been alive, while he was handicapped it didn’t stop him from trying to get back to Kings Landing and to serve his Lord, Eddard Stark. But that’s when he had heard the news. Eddard was dead, Arya was gone and Sansa was still in the capitol. The Capatin of the guard heard of Robb Stark’s push to become King in the North and so, Jory headed home to Winterfell.
He had gotten back home, pledged his sword and house to Robb and went to go see his wife, but she wasn’t in Winterfell at all. She had just left for Dorne and Jory would have left to chase her down in a heartbeat, but Robb advised against it, sending a raven would be better and he needed Jory in the coming times at Winterfell.
So, Jory sent his Raven and prayed to the Gods it would reach her in time and she wouldn’t think of herself as a widow for much longer. The idea of her believing him to be dead…to be a widow, prehaps her father already arranging a marriage for her, broke his heart and he sat in his chambers, his head between his knees as he tried to hold back his tears.
It was Robb who delivered her the news, who picked her up when she was a crumbled, weeping mess on the stone floor. He allowed her to stay, to grieve for a life she had barely been given the chance to live. Isyla and her Jory had not been married a month when he followed his lord to Kings Landing, as was his duty, his honour had killed him. The gloom and heartache followed her every step, she found more melancholy in every fresh snowfall, every little thing that reminded her of her husband.
The North had been a place for her no longer, for the Dornish widow was back into her fathers playing table. She had left the North clad in black with Jory’s spare, heavy cloak and the feeling of complete emptiness within.
As Isyla expected, her father allotted her no time to mourn, seeing her doleful face only served to anger him, so he did what any cruel man would do. Lord Wyl arranged for his daughter to marry a Glover, Glabart Glover to be specific. She’d be left in the North, near the Wolfswood Jory had taken her on her first and only hunt. Near the keep that she fell in love in, where she believed her life would be spent raising Northern children in the embrace of the man who loved her. It was the cruelest fate she could have been handed.
Galbart would surely send her back, an ever mourning young woman whose blood had run frigid from heartbreak.
“My lady, we will have to rest in Winterfell, Lord Glover is a guest of King Robb.” One of the Glover men sent to escort her informed her. She nodded softly, the life had gone from her once bright amber eyes. Isyla still wore his cloak, but the rest of her remained shrouded in black.
Time had passed for Jory slowly, Agonizingly so, as he went day by day. Jory tried to return to life at Winterfell as best he could but he just saw little point now that Isyla was gone and a raven hadn’t come back with any Dornish letter. If it wasn’t for Robb Jory was certain he’d become a sell sword or he’d be off in Dorne in search of Isyla. He could hear what Robb was telling him as the staff rushed to make Winterfell a welcoming place for Lord Glover’s staff as they’d be staying for a while as they were escorting his new wife back to their lord’s house.
He walked aimsly through the halls of Winterfell, almost a ghost. He talked little and hardly anyone but the Stark boys, Theon and his Uncle Rodrick talked to him. Which Jory was fine with. As he did walked through the halls, needing to find Robb and tell him that Rodrick was ill and he could train the new recruits if need be, he nearly ran into a woman and he didn’t look at her, only dipped his head. “Apologies M’lady” His voice was quieter then it had been since he had left for Kings Landing, softer even. It wasn’t till he looked up did he see the woman he had sworn to love and protect and be with until his last day and Jory didn’t believe it. He’d been seeing things. He had to be. There was no way that this was….and yet the longer he stared at her with his one good eye did he find himself to be looking at Isyla and Jory stood frozen. He had no idea how to react, he wanted to run away, saying it was a figment of his imagination and he wanted to grab a hold of her and kiss her and never let her go again.
The city guard had been called by Petyr Baelish and they had intervened before the fighting between Jamie and his guards and Eddard and his guards could really fight. Jamie’s dagger was inches away from his face before a guard pulled it back. Jory kept to his Lord’s side up until he was beheaded and then he stuck beside Sansa. Arya had run off and Jory would always feel a pang of guilt. It was his fault, if he’d been watching Arya the day the beheading had happened, if he hadn’t let Arya slip from his grasp…But it didn’t matter. He stayed by Sansa’s side until he felt there was a lull in the world, a moment of safety where he could whisk her away from this horrible place.
Jory was just lucky he had help from the Tyrells. But it wasn’t till Lord Baelish came along that Jory felt uneasy. Jory was certain he could protect Sansa well enough and while he accepted Lady Olenna’s help he denied Baelish, telling him that they would meet him in the Vale on their own terms. But after the purple wedding and Joffery’s death Sansa was whisked away and the boat Olenna had promised them had the sneaky rat on it.
“Sansa. I want you to be at my side. I don’t like the idea of Littlefinger talking to you alone. He’s always scheming and I just don’t get a good feelin off of him.”
It was late in the night when he had come into her cabin and after a particularly long wait outside as Baelish talked to Sansa. He’d been listing intently to make sure that’s all that happened.
“Are you feeling well? After all that’s happened to you and now being on a boat for the first time. Can’t be easy on you.”
268 AC for Jory’s nameday? His father born in 244, would make Jory 15 during Cat and Ned’s wedding. 21 during the Greyjoy Rebellion and around the same age as Jaime and 30 when the series starts and 36 if he were to live past season 1 p to season 7
Trying to figure out a good year for Jory’s name day. If I make his father around the same age as Ned or like ten years older and yet trying to keep Jory at a decent age to have been at Ned and Cat’s wedding…Ugh so irritating. I know his actor was around 37 when he was casted as Jory and doing that makes him around the same age as Ned and I see Jory younger then Ned, not by like a drastic amount but I also don’t see Martyn Cassel being say as old or a decade younger then like Rodrick or Tywin and dying during The Tower of Joy.
🛌- Does your muse prefer to sleep under many layers of blankets or only under a few?
🎀- Does your muse like to accessorize? What are their favorite pieces of accessories?
🎐- Does your muse like to collect/hoard anything?
🛋- Does your muse like to have company over?
📱- Is your muse the “oversharing” type?
🐰- Does your muse prefer soft, plush textures or smooth and glossy textures?
💎- Is your muse drawn to things that sparkle?
🔖- Is your muse a daydreamer? What do they tend to think about? Have they ever caught themselves while lost in thought?
📰- Does your muse like to read the news?
📇- Is your muse a gossiper?
🕹- What does your muse do to occupy themselves when bored?
🏚- Does your muse like to explore dangerous places?
🌋- Has your muse done something stupid and not regret it?
⛪️- Does your muse enjoy attending churches they don’t belong to?
🛣- Is your muse considered a wanderer?
🐺- Would your muse consider themselves a lone wolf or a social butterfly?
🤝- Does your muse forgive others easily?
🖖- What “Fandoms” would your muse belong to?
🎖- Does your muse enjoy praise?
🎟- Do they like “so bad it’s good” movies?
🎠- Does your muse like amusement parks/carnivals/festivals?
🏝- Could your muse survive on an uninhabited island all by themselves?
Goldnwulf 