Monday, October 24, 2011

The One Where We Address Ms. Greene. (Not THAT Ms. Greene)

Dearest Ashley--

Everyone is allowed poor decisions. A celebrity with a to-die-for rack is even expected to make occasional (public) poor decisions. A celebrity with a to-die-for rack who dabbled in Jonas isn't allowed any more poor decisions. So what happened yesterday, Ashley? I can only imagine how incredible it would feel to wear head-to-toe Givenchy, period. In Paris? Again and again, please. AND STANDING NEXT TO ROBERT PATTINSON (who incidentally has hardly been seen in 5 weeks. Not that we're counting.) You think we weren't gonna notice? I can't EVEN.

But I awoke to an email from Anntastic asking me to talk her down from the whatthefuck of your outfit, and I just couldn't do it. Here is my opinion: okay to the length and color of your dress; yes up, down, and all over the back-zip heels; don'teverfuckingdothatagain to the necklace. There is not a thing wrong with a shark tooth necklace, you gorgeous, gorgeous woman. A shark's tooth on a leather strap- even better. The fact that it is also made by Givenchy seals the deal. I have zero problem with the necklace. I have a problem with your pairing. But that's just me. And it's only the beginning. You're the SOLE female presence in the European promo & you're filling the (notoriously stiletto-ed) shoes of a noticably absent Main Character. This is your big chance. But you have an eye for shoeporn. We'll be fine, right?
Don't Do That To Us Again-

I am glad for two things: Ashley brought fashion posts back to
Twifecta, and she dresses better than Alice. Neither is hard to do,
but we thank her anyway. Givenchy Resort 2012 folded peplum dress.

The satin box clutch is a safe and solid choice.
The leather strap necklace (Spring 2012 collection) is another story.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Givenchy ankle strap back-zip sandals. Moment of silence.

PS - ETA (by Anntastic)
Dear Ashley, as a fellow height-challenged gal, I beg you never to break the visual continuity of your line. This is a basic principle that even I - a lowly carpool-driving SAHM - knows: NEVER break your line. You want to ADD height, not cut yourself in half! And you did it no less than three times here. Once at the waist (WTF is that frill? You're in your early 20's - you're not Bette Midler.) Again where the hem of your dress falls (this would be allowable if not for the waist) and finally with the ankle strap. I'm ALL for the ankle strap. But you just chopped your visual into thirds. And when you're already the height of a cocktail weenie, you don't need to cut yourself into bite sizes for us.

Also, just another reminder: YOU'RE STANDING NEXT TO ROBERTfuckingPATTINSON.
The A-game must be brought-en.

PSS - We're back bitches! :)

Sunday, May 8, 2011

The One Where The Fashion is Back (And Brings A Need For DesignerSlashFic)

I die. A million times. I anticipate the annual Costume Institute Gala as much as the next gal. Well, as much as the next gal who has been scouring Vogue since pre-breasticles times. The Met, the fashion houses displaying their finest pieces of art, the stunning celebrities flaunting their custom-made gowns (and connections!), the narcissism of it all... it's the best.

Two words: Proenza Schouler. I'll shock you all with my Stew love, I know, but could she be any hotter? She is sex. Sex just walking down the carpet, wearing that gown like it's nothing. It fits flawlessly, the cut and fabric. Sex. The red+black, the pattern. Sex. The booties are heaven (and also PS). Her jewelry and hair and makeup are styled to compliment the gown nicely. Maybe Hernandez+McCollough could have designed something a bit more cray (the gala did honor the fantastical Alexander McQueen this year, after all), but I have never been able to complain about anything that team creates. Seriously, I can't. (Speaking of those men, can someone get on a slash fic for me, prettyfuckingplease? We'll call it DesignerFic. GO.)

As for Ashley, well, tell me that her custom Donna Karan gown wasn't right for her body, and I'll tell you that I'm looking forward to her next film. I do think that it's a little plain for this particular occasion, but the length of the train works well for this gala. (Honestly, if I was invited to the Costume Institute Gala, I'd wear anything that any of those designers threw in my direction.) Also, her Atwoods were boring and I will not accept an argument. They were fine for a prom, maybe a wedding. They were NOT fine for THIS, #nopenotever. I will applaud her choice in clutch, however, post-gala. Bottega Veneta can do no wrong, so you go on with your bad self, Ms. Greene.

Until next year, I leave you with these.

Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty.

Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty.

Kristen Stewart in a custom Proenza Schouler, Fall 2011. Fuck me.

Her booties and clutch were also the brilliant work of PS. Sidenote: When they did a collection for Target a couple of years ago, I spent a long while trying to decide which piece to take home. Their goods are dreamy. Their talent is serious. The team is unf.

The slit. That is all.

Lazaro Hernandez + Jack McCollough with Kristen Stewart, post-gala. It must suck to be their muse. ::rolls eyes:: I want that fic and I want it now.

I'm a fan of the back of this gown. High five, DK.

Ashley Greene, sporting hair that is also for prom. Or a wedding. Someone send help.

Bottega Veneta Intrec Knot clutch. Forthefuckingwin.

Monday, April 4, 2011

The One Where We Master the Come-on-Command

Suck on that, ficBella.

One of the most ridiculous ficBella maneuvers is the Come-on-Command. Right? Right. It's made fun of across the board. That's a fucking (nonexistent) talent. She can do it in an instant! On command! So we tease. And mock. Yet the BD photos and video clip leaked this week and there were instagasms all over the fandom. The video? Come.on.command. Please, don't pretend you didn't watch it on fucking continuous loop, searching the entire screen for a sound button. The back+shoulders+thrusting combo was ---flatline---.

Until 18Nov arrives, here are a few commanding ::nudge, wink:: photos to keep you occupied.

It's instant here. Done and done.

The hair, the scar, the scruff... the socks? Damnit, @singlestrand!

Ohai, gorgessity. Cannot handle it. I'd switch for her.

I want to pants him. (He can keep the glove on.)

Um, the only thing that comes to mind here is: Where were the fingers in the video? #summitcockblocks

Presh and sex, all rolled into one. If we were all so lucky...

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

A Happyfuckingbirthday To Anntastic!

I thought there would be absolutely no way to top last year's birthday post dedicated to our truly amazing Anntastic. And then I checked my inbox. Guess what? I'm not the only one who loves her. I have waxed poetic via Twi-fecta plenty over the past year+, I have fangirled, I have reminisced. So I'll make this simple, keep my wording short, and leave it up to the following rad women to show her just how she affects everyone around her. We love you, Anntastic. Happy birthday!

Gif Created on Make A Gif

SaritaPagita and ContemplativeMewleryRob wish you a happy birthday!

A very special roomie sent a very special birthday surprise.

Gif Created on Make A Gif
TippyL's avi skills are srs bsns. I think it's safe to say that you rock her world.

This masterpiece was made especially for you by Ms.NaughtySparkle. It is as thoughtful and gorgeous as you, natch.

And don't think you've escaped your day without a little TK nugget. I don't think it gets any better than this:
Happy birthday, Anntastic. You know I adore you. When I herd [sic] it was your birthday, I just had to give you a present featuring one of our many inside jokes. You can also thank Donnersun and Moi for encouraging my insane idea. This will likely get me kicked out of the fandom, but I hope it’s right up your alley. TWSS.

Cloven Desires
*If the author of the original fetish fic ever reads this, I hope she knows imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
Bella Swan stood on her perch made of overturned milk crates, surveying the barren land. She nibbled on her tin can mindlessly. Bella’s iron stomach made her a perfect hu-goat—a human leading the lifestyle of a goat—candidate. It was at the tender age of four, after consuming three earrings, two crayons, and half a cardboard box, that Bella realized how she wanted to spend her adult life. She wanted—no, needed—to be possessed like chattel. Her proclivity for fainting at loud noises sealed the deal. When she saw the ad in her local penny saver for “SWM Seeks Human Goat,” she applied without delay.

The interview process was grueling. She cried when her new owner, Mr. Edward A. Cullen, called tell her the happy news. Bella nearly missed the call as the prosthetic hooves made it near impossible to work a touch-screen mobile phone. Bella carried no cell phone these days as her custom-made hair suit had no pockets. She shifted her position on the crates, the wood protesting loudly under her weight.

The tin can dropped with a thud when Mr. Cullen exited through the screen door and walked into his expansive back yard. The remote location of his homestead provided them with complete privacy. An urban dwelling wasn’t really an option for a man who liked to keep a hu-goat or two.

“Good morning, Bella,” he said while stroking her soft back fur. “I put some magazines in your feeding trough. I even got you a special Vogue treat.”

Bella bleated and head-butted him affectionately. He knew she preferred the glossier texture of Vogue, not to mention their tastier choice in perfume samples.

“Are you ready for a ride?” Bella meh-ed in the affirmative. It took some getting used to, but Mr. Cullen’s special rides were now her favorite thing in the whole world. Well, her second favorite thing. With Bella, Mr. Cullen was able to marry his bovine herding fetish with his marsupial fetish. He strapped on the custom-made Baby Bjorn, helping Bella navigate her cloven feet through the leg holes. Being a natural hu-goat, Bella liked the altitude the carrier provided and her proximity to her owner was a bonus. She was in heaven, saddled to the front of her keeper.

He paraded her proudly around the yard, stroking her furry calves. Bella bleated every so often to let him know she appreciated the special attention.

“Time for your grooming, Bella,” he whispered. Now this was her favorite part. It was also the apex of Cullen’s hu-goat fetish. He brought his willing captive into the small barn at the back of his property. Removing Bella from the Baby Bjorn without injury was always the most difficult segment of the entire process. After the careful extraction, he placed her atop a sturdy wooden pedestal. Deep hoof-shaped ruts were worn into the surface from times prior.

Edward fastened the safety harness around her waist, tying it to a nearby pole. They’d learned the hard way that cloven limbs provide no traction. The EMTs’ discretion came with a hefty price tag when they were summoned to attend to an unconscious woman wearing a goat pelt. She’d only suffered a slight concussion after toppling off the table, but it wasn’t an experience either of them wanted to repeat.

Plucking a wire brush from a drawer, Edward ran it through Bella’s furry coat. He loved the way it made her hide glisten in the sun, almost like diamonds. He smoothed her white belly fur last as that was the most sensual part for them both. When her bleating cries made it apparent she was ready for him, he released the flap covering her most private parts. He wasted no time filling her. Gripping her furry hindquarters, he worked himself in and out of Bella while she meh-ed wildly. Acting out of instinct, Edward grabbed the grooming brush once again and smacked Bella across her hide. Bella’s cries of animalistic pleasure increased tenfold. He continued to swat her backside and ride her with abandon. Thankful for the harness supporting her weight, Bella shuddered and clenched around Mr. Cullen. Moments later, his cries were nearly as feral as hers when he released into her plush body.

Edward cleaned her up and refastened her modesty flap. Unhooking the harness and helping her down from the table, he led her back out to the yard. She clip-clopped softly behind him. Climbing back onto her milk crate perch, she truly felt like she was king of the hill.