#Beaverhousen

[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Everything and More

summary: The reader finds herself completely and utterly exhausted, and her husband takes care of her. Plays in the same universe as "I am his and he is mine" but can totally be read as a standalone

notes: I used my Strong!OCs names for this oneshot, but they have no connection to this story. I just love the names and decided to reuse one of them.

warnings: smut, afab!reader, dom/sub dynamics, soft!dom harwin, harwin calls reader his queen :)

tagged:  @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @levithestripper @cookielovesbook-akie @a-beaverhousen @ilikeitbetterangsty (msg me to be added/removed to any taglist)

masterlist | based on this request

Alaric Strong had to be the babe with the largest lung capacity in the entire world. Again and again, you rocked your firstborn son, praying to the Gods that he would fall asleep. In the Westerlands, it was common to have an army of wetnurses to care for a babe, but Harwin was of the Riverlands, where even one wetnurse was not always common.

You had decided that you wanted to keep to his tradition, which meant that you had to wait another few minutes until you could hand over Alaric for the night. Truly, you loved your son with all your heart, but there was also another headaches beginning to pound away in your skull, and Harwin was always busy with the City Watch.

When the wetnurse finally did arrive, you almost feel to your knees then and there, smiling at her as she took your son out of your arms.

She told you to take a rest with a motherly smile, and you felt your eyes water from exhaustion on the spot. Still, you pushed that down and began to drag yourself to your chambers, only a few steps away.

Alaric’s cries faded in the background as you opened the door to your shared bedroom. You’d already asked the maid to run a bath for you after not having showered for a week, but as you saw the dinner that was spread out in front of you, you only sat down at the table silently.

The smell of roast, potatoes and gravy, soft bread and tomatoes filled your nose as you sat at the table. In one bowl, you spotted strawberries so red they could only have been imported from your home, the Westerlands.

As the other door to your husband’s solar opened, you dragged yourself to stand up. It was a thing of respect to greet your husband, a manner that had been hammered into you by your mother for as long as you remembered.

“My lord.” You greeted tiredly, your knees protesting as you gave a small curtsy. Harwin quickly closed the distance between the two of you, helping you sit. He took your hand, a kiss dusting your knuckles.

“My wife. My queen.” He greeted quietly.

“How was the City Watch?” you asked, beginning to assemble his plate. You knew that, in the evenings, Harwin preferred a smaller cut of meat, so you gave him a larger portion of potatoes instead. Gently, Harwin held your wrist, and you looked up at him, confused.

“Rest.” Harwin said. “I owe you an apology. I had not realised how tiring it was to take care of my son until the wetnurse almost smacked some sense into me. I am sorry, my wife, for not taking care of you earlier.”

He took the plate, making another as you liked it and handing it to you.

You barely managed your prayer before you began to eat, not having realised how hungry you’d been up until now. Harwin ate more slowly, and you could feel his eyes on you. His gaze was usually something you could read, but today, a range of emotions seemed to be hidden behind gentle brown eyes.

“Alaric is growing fast.” You said, clearing your plate. “He is healthy, and the wetnurse says he’s one of the most intelligent babes she’s ever taken care of.”

“No doubt all thanks to you.” Harwin replied with a small smile. You snorted, trying to clear the table before Harwin stopped you and did so himself.

Harwin only sighed, letting the servants carry out the remainders of dinner. As they bustled around in the room, you saw some of them returning with buckets of hot water, filling your tub to the brim. Another servant carried a small tube with expensive oil, pouring some of it into the water.

You wanted to protest, but by the time you thought you had found the courage, Harwin had already sent the servants away.

He made to help you with your dress, and you wanted to stop him again.

“I reek.” You said.

“Precisely the purpose of this bath. And even so, you do not.” Harwin assured. “You have helped me bathe after long days of patrolling Flea Bottom. Please, let me help you.”

With a sigh, you nodded, letting Harwin unlace your dress. You pulled your shift over your head quickly, sinking into the hot water with a sigh. With a man like Harwin, no one would expect gentleness from him at first glance.

You had learned to expect just that. Carefully, he unwound your hair, taking out braids and pins until the pull on it disappeared and you felt as if you could breathe normally again. You rubbed your temples in annoyance.

The hair itself was not too bad, but wearing it for an entire day was a whole other story.

Harwin was already attending to it by the time you leaned back, carefully washing your tresses before he moved on to your shoulders, working the knots out of them. You sighed in relief, smiling up at him.

Gently, Harwin kissed your cheek before he returned to work, large hands kneading your neck and shoulders, before he began working on your back.

“Thank you for this.” You mumbled, and Harwin smiled.

“Anything for my lady.” He replied.

“I thought I was your queen.” You joked, and Harwin sighed.

“Oh gods, how could I forget. My lady, my queen. The mother of my child.”

You turned around, placing your arms onto the edge of the tub and looked up at Harwin again. He knelt down at the side of the tub, until his and your face were at one height. You kissed him without hesitation, letting Harwin hold you as he always did, his arms security in an unsure world as the Red Keep.

“I was going to keep going.” Harwin whispered, but the darkness in his pupils told you he was already thinking of something else. Your smile lingered for a moment, before you turned back around, excitement growing in your belly.

“Go on then.” You said calmly, your tone almost as commanding as his sometimes was. Harwin let out a rasp of a laugh, his hands dutifully returning to your shoulders. It did not escape your notice that he let them drift lower, fingers dipping below the water and ghosting over your chest. You tried not to shiver as a thrill ran through you.

Between everything, it had been too long.

You waited, anticipating Harwin’s next move as his hands dipped under the water, shamelessly palming your breasts. There was no way in all seven hells that you could let him know the effect he was already having on you. Yet.

As tension began to gather in your stomach, you bit down on your lower lip, hands not-so-idly playing with water.

Then, you sat up straight, sweetly asking Harwin for your towel. You swore you could hear him chuckling under his breath.

“My queen.” He said dryly, holding out the fabric for you. You stood, taking it from him calmly and wrapping yourself in the towel.

“Now that will not do.” Harwin mused.

“No?”

“Not at all. You look so much more beautiful without the towel.” Harwin replied. You were sure he could see your blush, and still, you maintained your façade.

“Really?” you managed, your voice shaky.

“Yes, really. I would never lie to my queen.”

You held out your hand, Harwin steadying you as you stepped out of your bath. He adjusted your towel, pulling it a little higher as if he cared for your modesty.

“Wouldn’t want my queen to be dressed improperly.” He said. You laughed at that, holding the towel with one hand and his face with the other, kissing him with a smile. You could feel him smiling as he kissed you back, and in that moment, you felt inexplicably relieved.

Soon, the kiss turned hungry, and Harwin was guiding you away from your already cold bath and towards your shared bed.

“There’s no need for a towel.” He rasped. “No need.”

You nodded, your hand dropping from your chest and instead steadying yourself on his. Quickly, you made work of his doublet, the thick garment dropping to the floor. Harwin broke the kiss, taking his time to look at you.

Long gone were the times where you would have covered yourself, now much too comfortable to think of your insecurities. Harwin would have incessantly reminded you of how beautiful he found you anyway, and, though you loved your husband, you had no time for talk tonight.

Harwin hoisted you up, setting you down on the bed as he undid his tunic and breeches. You laughed as he kissed up your stomach, his beard tickling you.

“What is it you want, my love? Hmm?” Harwin asked as he reached your neck.

“I don’t know.” You replied mindlessly, pulling him up to kiss you.

“That will not do.” Harwin sighed. “Good queens use their words to get what they want.”

You paused for a moment, trying to think through the thick haze of your mind. Then, you smiled at him.

“Do you remember our wedding night?” you asked quietly. You remembered how Harwin had spent what had to be hours between your legs, only to make sure that you were fully comfortable with him.

“How could I forget?” Harwin replied. “Is that what you want? For me to kiss your cunt until you’re squirming?”

You nodded, smiling at him perhaps too enthusiastically, for Harwin bared his teeth in a smile you knew you’d remember later on. His mouth wandered downwards, Harwin taking his time to mark you, sucking lovebites into your breasts and onto your thighs.

Impatiently, you tried to have him where you wanted him, but Harwin simply laughed against your inner thighs, the vibration just enough to be felt. He teased you, stretching minutes into an eternity as he kissed and licked your thighs, moving just around the points of pleasure you wanted him to be at.

He wants you to break down, to beg for it like a good wife, like the good little lady he trained you to be, and you’re too desperate not to. Your thighs wrap around his head in an attempt to push him down, but your husband is the strongest knight in all the Seven Kingdoms, and so, he only laughs.

“Please, Harwin.” You whine. “You promised. Please, please-“

It is little encouragement that he needs in order to return between your thighs, this time licking a stripe up your cunt that leaves you reeling. Despite what little he has done, you are ridiculously close.

His hands are everywhere, grasping yours, groping your breasts, pulling you closer, teasing you. They circle your hole, dipping inside of you carefully, almost experimentally. And then, he pushed inside of you, fingers curling up and your eyes rolled backwards, mouth open in a silent plea.

Suddenly, all the patience was gone from Harwin. It was always like this. He could control himself as long as you could, and when you lost control, truly began to squirm under him, he did not hold back any longer either. And why should he? You deserved this.

His mouth was on you in a feverish, obsessive way, Harwin licking you like he was a starving man. Before you could say anything else, he crooked his fingers up again, rubbing against that sweet spot and sucking your clit until you saw stars. The coil in your belly snapped, and you distantly heard yourself moaning his name.

Harwin did not stop, he kept going until you felt hot and the pleasure became too much.

“Please, Harwin, I can’t.” you gasped, and he paused, looking up at you.

“Already?” he laughed, his mouth back on you before you before you could answer, your nod left unseen.

“Please, Harwin, please. I need to-“ you gasped, and Harwin slowly lessened his onslaught, moving from your cunt to your thighs, until he was face to face with you again. His face glistened with your juices, and still, Harwin kissed you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You grabbed his hips in a desperation to have him buried inside you, and Harwin obliged, filling you up so quickly that it left you gasping, hands pawing at his back as he thrust forward.

“Let us make another.” He said, eyes still dark, smile still predatory. How you loved seeing him like this.

“What?” you gasped, trying to catch your breath.

“We should make a baby.” He said. “A little sister for our son. Please, my love.”

You nodded almost automatically, and Harwin let his hand wrap around the back of your neck. He kissed you hungrily, as if he hadn’t already had enough from you, but you returned his actions with equal fervour.

“Gods, how I love you.” Harwin whispered, his kisses warm on your neck.  

And when his movements became more uncoordinated, and Harwin’s hips began to stutter, you held him close, so incredibly close that it was easy to forget everything else.

“We should get married anew.” He said afterwards.

“And why is that?” you asked.

“I wouldn’t mind having this every night.” Harwin simply laughed. You felt that you were right where you needed to be.

[beaverhousensart]

The Flame of Tar Valon

[mz-pixie]

I’m so basic...

Sitting on my couch, wearing my sweats, and binging the new Will and Grace. Why the hell not?

[ampintherain]

Introducing the new Supreme Drag Queen- Mrs Canada Beaverhousen

Feel free to save them or use them ☺️

[lulu1102]

Stacey is short for Countess Anastasia Beaverhousen. Obviously

2020 will be the year of telling people that your name is short for something ridiculous

[sweetfirebird]

Do people actually watch Will & Grace for Will and Grace? Because Karen will obviously be that show’s legacy.

Sorry, I mean, Anastasia Beaverhousen.

[nearlyisms]

Potentially unpopular opinion: the humor of Will and Grace hasn't aged well to me. Except for Karen.

[shreyas-desai]

Anastasia Beaverhousen is my spirit animal http://ift.tt/2sdLITk

[katieglamcamwalker]

Karen had a baby, a daughter... that she’s raised for three years before she’d been taken away from her. His Karen, that had taken daily insults and laughed off her booze and pills, like it wasn’t a big deal, never really being serious despite all of the years of Will and Graces’s jabs. Olivia and Mason would sometimes refer to her as thier wicked drunken lush of a step mother. It was a wonder Karen had survived all those jabs.

“Jesus Kare! I’m.. I’m so sorry. That’s....” Jack was stunned, honestly. His heart was ripping in two for his Karen. Jack watched her hugging herself, her hands on thier baby, he felt extremely desperate take her pain away. “Hey! Hey look at Jackie.. can mommy take some deep breaths for her poodle and cookie?” He baby talked, a sweet smile on his face. “I need you to calm down a bit, so we can figure this out.” He hugged her close. “You’ve got one of the biggest hearts, Karen Walker. You didn’t fool me for a minute, I know hoe much you love me, will, grace.. Olivia and mason. I also know your going to be the best mother to our little girl, no matter what happened before. You are a good mother Karen. This little girl is super lucky to have you..” Jack sprung into action trying to calm her down. He didn’t want her going into an early labor. “Now, you listen here, Mrs. Beaverhousen. We’re gonna find her, okay?? We can hire someone... Wouldn’t you like that, to see her again? I’m sure she’s been missing you Kare just as much as you’ve missed her all this time. You said she was three, I remember being three. So she’ll not have forgotten her mother.” || @mamabeaverhausen

THE BEAVER, THE G.B.D & THE GLAM CAM KIDDIE.

Normally Tuesday’s weren’t Jack’s cup of tea. Usually, he perfered Thursday or Sunday even. Those were his golden days. Tuesday’s were bad news days. But not this particular Tuesday. Infact, when reflecting back on it in the years to come- he’d conclude that it was perhaps one of the greatest Tuesday’s in his entire life. “Kare!!” Jack’s voice rang out in classic broadway sing song as he merrily pranced through the doors of the manse with contract and Gucci shopping bags in hand. “Kare bear! Guess who has a sparkling personality, bedroom dream eyes, and star quality- and he’s just landed a three commercial gig with Motorola cell phone’s? I’ll give you a hint! It’s me!” And to think he almost hadn’t gone to the audition today, let alone let leave house because of his vendetta with Tuesday’s- but he’d been blinded by the joy of the knowing his and Karen’s little miracle baby was in fact going to be a little girl- much to jack’s relief if he were honest, he was delighted to he’d finally have a little girl so he could do her hair and put her in frilly dresses and get her two lessons. She’d be a little star, and he’d be the most fabulous stage daddy ever. “Kare?” Jack frowned as he was met with no gleeful response from his life partner and mother of his soon to be daughter- surely she’d heard him. This was big- his first contracted commercial. Little benoce to him, across town in a seedy little apartment a young girl was applying her frosty lip gloss and adjusting her push up bra before signing in to her Omegle account. || Closed Rp with @mamabeaverhausen

[stinkfart-blog]

Features You Should Search For When Investing In A Waist Cincher Online

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[procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics]

Waters

summary: Your existence is an insult to the woman you serve, Alicent Hightower. As Viserys Targaryen's bastard, you should not be serving his lawfully wedded wife - and Ser Criston knows this. Still, he can't seem to stay away...

notes: criston cole x targ!bastard!reader (reader is the daughter of viserys, but not one of his wives bc I am a viserys hater at each turn and opportunity) ALSO criston is extremely mean in this for no reason lmao

tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @levithestripper @cookielovesbook-akie  @a-beaverhousen @hightowhxre @dahlias-and-marigolds (msg me to be added/removed)

masterlist | based on this request

In all truth, Ser Criston scared you. Queen Alicent, whom you served as a handmaid, may have cherished her protector, but to you, he was a terrifying shadow, one that judged you for your birth whenever your eyes met.

You were putting away the queen’s jewellery when he practically appeared behind you.

“Are you stealing, Waters?” the kingsguard snapped. You jumped, dropping the Queen’s favorite ring. Quickly, you picked it up, placing it back to its rightful place.

“No, ser. I was only… I only needed to clean this for the morrow.” You stuttered. Criston scoffed behind you, a firm hand gripping onto your shoulder.

“You are a disgrace to the Queen’s household.” He snarled, his voice right at your ear. You shuddered, only ever nodding. You knew that you were a thorn in her eye, a servant that also served as a reminder of her husband’s infidelity. But you’d never chosen where you were. If you could, you would have left King’s Landing with your half-brother, Daeron.

“Apologies, ser.” You finally said. “I shall take my leave.”

For a moment, you were stupid enough to believe that Ser Criston would let you leave. It was only when he blocked the door that your stomach dropped. He smirked down at you, white armor and Dornish beauty making him a sight to behold.

You hated that it made you blush, your head fuzzy,

“Bastard.” He spat. You tried to shift around him, but he never let you, instead pinning you to the wall next to the door. “Did you steal something?”

You shook your head quickly, feeling tears prick at your eyes.

“I shall not ask again.” Criston said, his next words punctuated. “Did you steal something, Waters?”

“No.” you replied. “I swear it.”

The pressure on you relieved itself a little bit, and you took a small breath of relief.

“Perhaps next time, I shall search you.” Criston mumbled idly. You said naught in return, ignoring the thought of I don’t know if I’d mind that all that much.

Your eyes flickered to his lips, and lower, almost automatically. Quickly, you looked back up at his face, before giving a small curtsy. You prayed he hadn’t noticed.

“And what would you be looking at now?” Criston asked. You didn’t answer, didn’t dare, until Criston tipped your face upwards, forcing you to look at him.

“Speak, girl.” He spat. There was so much rage in his eyes, so much anger that you felt yourself crumble, your throat dry as you answered.

“I was looking at your lips, ser.”

Criston laughed cruelly, his hand tightening around your jaw almost painfully.

“Would the little bastard girl like to kiss me?” he asked. You never answered. It had been beaten into you by septas. If you’d lied, you were just like all other bastards. Your silence was enough, and Ser Criston smiled at you so coldly that you wished you could disappear.

It surprised you when he kissed you, but not that his kiss was methodical, devoid of love or affection. And yet, you craved it so much that you leaned into it, allowing his hand to ruck up your skirts and grab your thighs as he pleased.

As his hand travelled up your smallclothes, you were suddenly reminded of the fact that Alicent, your Queen, the woman your father had humiliated, the most powerful woman of the Seven Kingdoms was asleep in the room next to you.

“Please, Queen Alicent is-“ you began, but Criston shushed you.

“You’ll have to shut your mouth.” He said simply. As he dropped to his knees, you closed your eyes, knowing that he wasn’t doing this to pleasure, but to humiliate, to degrade you. As his kisses, this was cold too, but Gods was it good.

Your hand flew to your mouth, covering it in hopes of stopping any sounds from escaping. When a whimper left you, Criston paused, his fingers sinking into you as he looked up at you from his spot on the ground.

“Shut your mouth, you slut.” He insulted, and despite the feeling of humiliation in your gut, you nodded, closing your eyes shut and pressing your hand to your mouth, praying to the Gods that it would be enough.

Criston’s tongue lapped at you, and if you didn’t know better, you would have said that he felt like a starving man trying to sustain himself from just you. Gods, he was good, too good for a bloody kingsguard, and he was doing it all to humiliate you.

Ser Criston was out to get you, to leave you alone in the dark, and the both of you knew it. His hand returned to your thigh, squeezing it tightly, running down your skin and making you feel cherished while the dark look in his eyes did the exact opposite.

Your free hand slowly, cautiously, touched his hair. Carefully, you let your fingers twist into his dark curls, pushing him down to where you needed to be. Had he sprung up and murdered you in that moment, you wouldn’t have been surprised.

He would have done exactly what you expected of him.

Instead, Criston only laughed at your desperation, the hum of his voice making you squirm under his grip. Criston took that as a sign, pushing you further onto your queen’s vanity, skirts rucked up to your waist and cunt exposed to him.

If anyone, guards or the queen walked in in this moment, you were absolutely, royally fucked. Not even your father would attempt to save you then, not that he had ever cared about you all that much to begin with.

Your orgasm washed over you with a cruel intensity. It built itself too quickly, Criston’s movements harsh and unforgiving, and when he pushed you over the edge, it made you feel as if you were truly falling. Your hand still over your mouth, you could feel yourself beginning to truly bite down on it as he kept on going.

Stars exploded behind your eyes, but instead of focusing on how you felt, your only thought was that you could not let the queen hear, could not alert the guards, make any sound at all. Perhaps, if your brain had not turned to mush the second Ser Criston had pushed you up against the wall, you would have told him to stop now.

Of course, there was no guaranteeing that he actually would have stopped. Somewhere in the back of your mind, that thought thrilled you, too.

And when you fell over the  edge, Criston kept going, spurring your pleasure on until it became to much and you tried to scramble away from him on the small vanity space that the Queen usually occupied. Your heart dropped as one of her rings fell to the ground, the sound of it making it seem like the loudest thing in the entire world.

Your heart thumped, waiting for the worst to happen. Instead, Criston paused his assault, sneering at you.

“Dumb whore, watch what you’re doing.” He said, and you looked down, ashamed. The folds of your rumpled skirt only served as a reminder as to what exactly you were doing.

“What, don’t have anything to say for yourself?” Criston asked. Your silence seemed to enrage him just as much as when you spoke, and he stood in front of you. Traces of you glistened on his face in the dark, your thighs already aching from his grip, but it seemed that this was not enough for him.

“Get on the floor.” He commanded. You could have left now, made a run for it for somewhere where guards would think that you hadn’t done anything yet, that it was the kingsguard who was dishonouring you, and not you yourself.

Of course, they still probably would have let it happen, but at least, you only would have been sent away from court with rumours following you.

Yes, you could have left. Yet, your feet planted themselves to the ground, frozen there, and you remained, staring at Criston with the smallest bit of defiance. It crumbled under his cold gaze, and you felt yourself dropping to the ground for him.

He didn’t even have to ask you to open your mouth for him, and so, it was your own mind that taunted you for it. His hand threaded through your hair almost gently, slowly guiding you before he picked up a quicker pace. His cock hit the back of your throat, and you gagged around it, but he seemed to relish that feeling, too.

It appeared as if he got bored with you like this, though. Perhaps he was used to seeing you in such positions of servitutde, kneeling for your queen to straighten out her dress, doing anything and everything to please the people around you like the loyal bitch you were. Just like now.

Criston’s hands wrapped around your hips, holding you in place as he bent you over. Your own hands scraped against the wooden floor, trying to find some sort of stability as you tried to find something to anchor you between the ache in your knees that came with kneeling, your pleasure and the absolute humiliation that only served to make your pussy drip even more.

He entered you without warning, and though you had felt his size in your throat just moments before, it still punched the air out of you as he sheathed himself in your cunt. There was a stretch, though you were ready, and though you thought you’d been prepared, but the sting of it still made you bit your lip in an attempt to stay quiet.

One hadn remained on your hip while the other, his swordhand, the one he used to kill, wrapped around the back of your neck Calmly, Criston pushed your head down to the floor, and there was no need to humiliate you verbally, his actions were enough entirely.

Slowly, he began to move, the hand around your hips moving down to your clit, an arm keeping you locked in place. There was nowhere to run, and, even if Alcient herself had walked into the room in this instant, you knew that he wouldn’t have stopped.

A part of your humiliation was soothed by the fact that the perfect, pious Ser Criston could not resist you, a plain bastard. That part of you was drunk on power, quickly beginning to overtake the parts that had been afraid, and you felt brave enough to let a small sound slip. Only a quiet one, one that was sure to be swallowed by thick walls and myrish tapestries.

Ser Criston’s face curdled into a snarl, and his movements picked up, his pace so burtal that you could ee your skirts rocking across the floor. Still the feeling of it was better than most things you had experienced as Ser Criston’s hand feverishly circled your clit. You could feel your second peak approaching, a wave building within you that had one of your hands leaving the floor and going back to your mouth.

You bit down on the back of your hand as you came, walls helplessly clenching down on Ser Criston’s movements. He did not relent, hips jerking into you almost uncontrollably.

There was no warning when he had his release, moaning quietly as his seed covered your walls. With a few more thrusts, Criston pulled out, leaving you panting. Your hair stuck to your forehead with sweat, wrists and knees aching from holding up your weight, but none of it compared to the soreness of your thighs and cunt.

You knew you would not be able to walk the next day.

A small part of you hoped that Ser Criston would show you some affection, perhaps kiss you gently or take your hand, but none of that ever came. Instead, he stood after a few moments, pulling his breeches back on and walking out of the door.

You sat slowly, trying to straighten out your skirts. Still on your knees, you put Queen Alicent’s fallen jewellery back onto her vanity, before you tried to stand on shaking legs. As his seed dripped down your thighs, you had the sinking realisation of what he had just done to you.

If you did naught, there was a good chance you’d soon be carrying his child…

[beaverhousensart]

The High Priestess. 

[sirwalterfashionisto]

I cannot be happier that one of my all time favourite shows are coming back in September. Will & Grace was a phenomenal show that was groundbreaking and hilarious. Am I right Anastasia Beaverhousen? LMAO Photos courtesy of Entertainment Weekly #willandgrace #nbc #september #nbclineup #ericmccormack #debramessing #seanhayes #meganmullally #willtruman #graceadler #karenwalker #jackmcfarland #themcfarlandmethod #jack2000

[jkwrc]

Anastasia Beaverhousen is my spirit animal

[malheureusemyrtille]

Anastasia Beaverhousen is my spirit animal

[kinkyprofessor]

Anastasia Beaverhousen is my spirit animal http://ift.tt/2sdLITk