#disismayedit

[ddeismile]

you all need to read this and go and give some love to it because this is the most perfect thing ever.

[ddeismile]

I KNOW NO QUEEN BUT THE QUEEN IN THE NORTH WHOSE NAME IS STARK, FUCKERS

CAN I JUST SAY I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT JONERYS BECAUSE SANSA IS FINALLY HOME, LIKE, FOR REAL THIS TIME, WATCHING HER WITH BRAN AND ARYA DEFENDING THE NORTH, SHE AS HEAD OF THE FAMILY, IS THE MOST SATISFACTORY THING IN THIS FUCKING WORLD. FOR THOSE WHO HATED HER, FOR THOSE WHO WERE TALKING SHIT ABOUT HER AND ARYA AND HOW HAPPY THEY WOULD BE IF ARYA KILLED HER, WELL, FUCK YOU, BECAUSE NOW ARYA WILL BE HER ALLY, SHE HAS ACCEPTED HER AS LADY OF WINTERFELL AND SHE WILL BE BY HER SIDE. 

[ddeismile]

JonxSansa remix 2017, day 7: free day.The Wedding Date, Nick/Jon and Kat/Sansa.

»Hey, this is Jon Snow, leave a message and your contact info and I’ll reach to you.

“Hi, this must be weird. Well, not weird, that’s what you do, right? I mean, I’m not assuming anything, I just–well, it’s weird for me, I’ve never done anything like this, but… Gods. Hi, my name is Sansa Stark and my best friend, Jeyne, is getting married. Her husband made my ex-fiancé, Harry, his best man and I just–I don’t… I don’t want to be once again poor Sansa who was left alone and, just, please? I’d–”

Jon arched an eyebrow in amusement as he took a sip of the black coffee he had just poured into his mug. He sat at his desk and typed the name in the search bar while the answering machine kept playing the voice messages.

“Hi, is Sansa, I had to call again… well, obviously, which is embarrassing, but in my defense, I’m terribly nervous and the time of the answering machines is too short. I should probably just say what I need to say, right? So, I’d pay for everything, of course, it would be something of, like, three days or so. We’d have to fly to Dorne, I hope you don’t mind that. I mean, you haven’t said yes, but, ah, anyway, my number–”

He held a laugh, his eyes fixed on the photo staring back at him. Her Instagram profile certainly left very little to the imagination—she was a joyful and attractive young woman, interested in politics and literature. And she was a redhead.

“Fuck. I mean, I’m sorry! I'm so sorry, Gods. I mean, you surely swear, but not to strangers on the phone, right? Ugh, I’m not doing a good first impression, but I can assure you I’m not crazy, just slightly stressed. I’ll say my number now, yes? Ready? I’ll wait a bit more… And, now? Okay: two, one two, five, five...”

Jon liked the sound her voice too. He took a pen and wrote down the number, then he trailed to his phone, leaving the empty mug on the table.

“Hello, Sansa, is Jon Snow. I’d love to help you.”