#lovelya

[ts4-poses]

hi, i wanted to ask if you have any of the poses from LovelyA ? they deleted their patreon and i can’t find no poses from them.

I sadly can't find anything. Was their name LovelyA? Or did it change? If they didn't have anything upload on tumblr, I probably have nothing .. Someone here who maybe knows/has something? It probably will happen a lot more, since Patreon now is deleting inactive pages with all their content.

[fanboynews]

[lvlzdiary]

© HABANG HABANG ✰ do not edit!

[ladyeowyn]

✧ compliment promos 4/? ✧

@coloringpencils - your sidebar and about page are beautiful!

@haydensromeros​ - I'm looove with your graphics, they are gorgeous! And everything else about your blog is pure perfection as well. 💕

@fellowship-of-the-sherlockians - your theme has really pretty colors!

@mariahill - your blog is goals... honestly! The url, beautiful icon and you always manage to find the best graphics to reblog...

@lovelyargents - your posts are so p-e-r-f-e-c-t!!! Can I reblog everything? ❤️

want one? / blacklist “nickie does promos“

[diary-of-lovelya]

Sapiosexuality; a thought;

(sā-pē-ō-sĕk-shü-ăl’ĭ-tē). Noun.

One who finds intelligence and/or aesthetic traits as the most attractive feature in other people. Sexually aroused by intelligence and its use. 

I've had friends describe sapiosexuality (and demisexuality, as they so often find themselves linked) as the grey area of sexuality. Always found it a bit odd to have anything described as being in the grey area of sexuality, or the grey area in general. Life isn't black and white, I know, but sexual feelings and passions have always seemed to bloom in colour. 

Murder, it seems, is known to most to be in a certain place. It's black. We know that it is black. We know that it is bad. An action of psychopaths and troubled people. Being in Forensics, do pardon any offence in this small digression, or any apparent lack of horror at the idea. 

Sex is passion. Murder is passion. They burst out of the monochrome spectrum with violent reds. 

Sapiosexuality, though it really has nothing to do with murder (obviously), should be the same. No grey. No indecision. People can struggle with their sexuality for years, even decades, or never come to terms with what they are. Putting something into an area just increases the difficulty. 

Heterosexuality is a block colour. If you are heterosexual, you are something. If you are homosexual, Kinsey 6 homosexual, it is the same. Then, there is bisexuality and the remarks of indecision with it. 

"Just choose a gender."

"They'll be gay soon enough."

"They're just doing it for attention." 

Utter rubbish. 

Yet, where does sapiosexuality fit? I've described myself as sapiosexual and enjoyed what I've had people say to me about it. My sister, for example, wishes to be a sex therapist. Currently, she's studying neuropsychology. Someone as gorgeous physically and mentally as her, so powerful in her sexuality, and so informed, took it as a new concept. More so, she seemed to believe it was a form of asexuality. Me? Asexual? Perhaps I should link her to my blog. 

...She might have an aneurysm. 

Sapiosexuality isn't asexuality. Asexuality is asexuality. Asexuals are asexuals. Sapiosexuals are sapiosexual. 

Which isn't saying that you can't be both. Aromantic sapiosexual, sapioromantic asexual. It is personal and nothing to be judged. 

But what makes sapiosexuality a grey area? 

Personally, I find myself lacking a strong attraction to either gender. Could this be it? Yet, this isn't everyone. 

When I was younger, I went through stages of being lesbian, being straight, being bisexual. In my teen years, I couldn't figure out what I was. There were men whom I loved, men whom I wanted nothing more than to fuck. In reality, that hasn't changed. Then, there were women whom I loved and women whom I wanted to fuck, and did fuck. 

There were bad decisions and periods spent shagging people within an hour of meeting them -- lubrication became my best friend. All to figure out what aroused me. What made my stomach twist and my panties wet. In University, I found myself surrounded by a more intelligent lot than those from high school. 

In University, I found myself incredibly sexually frustrated. Going after men and women who I have no physical attraction towards. Yet, there was something strong in my want for them. Something I'd never felt before. 

It took longer than I'd care to admit that it was their intelligence. Certain attributes. Beautiful writing or great diction. Impressive Chemistry skills or a highly mathematical mind. 

Was this sapiosexuality? Is it sapiosexuality? 

Personally, I believe it is. It is myself, my thoughts and my arousal. This is what I identify with. 

It is hard to find someone who really turns me on. Someone who I can stare at and appreciate sensually no matter their gender or looks. Woman, man, transgender, crossdresser, both, all. Everything but not anything. 

Sapiosexuality isn't a grey area. It is an area. An area in the world and an area inside myself (usually found slightly south of the belly button). 

Sexuality isn't a grey area. It can be a struggle but it is entirely you. And you is something to always love. No one will love you like you. 

[diary-of-lovelya]

Update to Real Date, the sequel.

Bit horrified. 

The date wasn't Saw, or anything. Barely even Thale (I'd wish it were Thale, the cow was banging). 

The problem is, it was barely even anything. I thought I'd been dumped at the end of our first date and then he asked me to maybe see a movie. There was nothing out, so we didn't. Instead, we just spoke for about four hours. Got coffee. I watched him buy a book. Which was actually nice, really.

The horrifying part, The L Word. On a second date. 

Yesterday, I spent more time watching Game of Thrones than I've spent with him the entire time I've known him (a week, btb). 

Why?

Why?

WHY?

[diary-of-lovelya]

Lovely A. Lovely Ava.

LoveLya. 

Love-Lie-Ah.

Love Liar. 

Fitting.

[diary-of-lovelya]

Real date, Update.

I'm not sure -- and by I'm, I mean ____ -- how I feel about Real Date. 

Cute. Very much so. Not physically. Eyebrow piercing and ear bar. Never been a fan of piercings. 

Oh, well. Don't think he is what I am looking for nor am I what he is looking for. Recently, I've been meeting a fair few men. Holidays make me social. These new ones, the ones I can get into conversations with and have a little flirt with, seem to think a prostitute could be dating material. Then, four series of Secret Diary should have told me my lesson. Men want a whore in bed but not in reality. 

In reality, I want a man in bed who likes a whore. I like being a whore. Haven't been happier in recent times. I want to be spoiled from people who I don't know and know nothing about me. Then, go home to someone who gets me. A relationship with fun. I do make it sound like glorified adultery, I'll admit. 

Real Date is a good age. Three years older than myself. Drives a motorbike and did this sexy thing at the end of the night where he pulled my hips in to kiss him. Shamelessly, I tried to wiggle my hips to test if he was hard. Results: inconclusive. 

It was a fun night and that may swing my opinion of him. He fit in well with the small group of mates I went out with. Didn't even seem to mind me being a horrible date and a disgusting flirt. 

Example of horrible date

Kept leaving him and ignoring him. My sweet, Uni friend would go out to smoke and I'd go out and keep her company. Never go to the bathroom alone, never let a smoker onto the street alone. At one point, after probably the fourth smoking return, he asked if I was a smoker. I politely said no and he looked a little crestfallen. A smoker, it turns out. 

I don't date smokers. 

Continued ignoring him to giggle with my girls about sex and my McQueen scarf. To look at a lovely pair of shoes online desired by a lovely girl. Side note: Lovely Girl is an aspiring SB. Funny thing, Bombadil emailed her on a website, too.

Example of horrible flirting

"Oh, Real Date, you buying the jug? Cheers, Love."

"Well, you know. It was going to flop out at some point tonight." 

"What, your cash, mate? Haven't thought of myself as an escort before!" I like to think myself cheeky when I actually have no subtly.

"Ha, yeah! Glad you thought cash. I was thinking it sounded like I meant flopping my penis out!"

"You aren't flopping your cock out? Tonight, at all? Shame..."

"Jesus, you come on strong." 

At the end of the night, he drifted off from my mates for a bit, trying to get me by myself. My lips were all moistened and wanting a good snog. Something to get rid of the memory of Bombadil's kissing the night before (the man kisses like a fucking dog, no exaggeration). It wasn't a good snog that came. No cock out either. A talk that I would rather have about six months... No, two years, down the track. 

"Do you think we're compatible?", "Where do you see this going?", "This is what I'm looking for.", "My ex-girlfriend, yeah...", "You talk about sex a lot. Don't want to date a trollop." 

When I did get a snog, it wasn't half bad. Which means it wasn't half good either. 

"I think I just got dumped on a first date!" I announced to my group of friends when he was gone, giving a small curtsy. 

Tonight, I'm going out again. Not work. Hopefully play. Doesn't look like any good playmates where I'm going, however. So, a reward for my new record. 

Dumped on the first date, a new title for myself.