lava pour

anonymous asked:

You don't even need a super high temperature to burn a ruby. If you poured lava on them, they'd be fine. However,if you poured ACID on them, it would probably scorch their skin, or at least cause pain. Same thing probably applies to bismuths. We know they can resist extreme heat, but there's nothing that suggests they can resist CHEMICAL burns.

that’s why the deadliest tree in the world was on the list I made that one time of things on earth that can kill gems


Close up view of the lava tube chopped open during the recent lava delta collapse, now pouring lava almost directly into the Pacific - surrounded by exploding lava debris.

Honestly, the only live-action remake I want from Disney is The Hunchback of Notre Dame. I need them to take that stage adaptation and adapt it to film - sad ending and all. I need it to not cater to families. I need them to create a sweeping musical epic. I love the animated feature because of how grand and over-the-top the animation is and how sweeping the score is, but it suffers in how it tries to appeal to families. Hunchback isn’t a story that should be held back in that way. Don’t hold that story back - make it a PG-13 film with the most beautiful scenery and imagery with complex characters, and use Alan Menken and Stephen Schwartz’s score.

Like, the finale would be UNREAL if adapted to film. Quasimodo yelling “Sanctuary”, the citizens attacking the guards (”HEAR MEEEEE PEOPLE OF PARISSSSSS”), Quasimodo pouring lava from the towers (”COME ALL YOU SAINTS OF STONE”), Esmeralda’s quiet death, Quasimodo throwing Frollo off the side of Notre Dame. God, it would be EVERYTHING.

Not to mention, the songs that were added for the stage adaptation of Hunchback are realllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy good. Also, we’d get to pretend like “A Guy Like You” doesn’t exist which I already do so it’s chill. Not to even mention how beautiful and grand Notre Dame would look. “God Help the Outcasts” would be cinematically brilliant and subtle. “Out There” would be sweeping. “Topsy Turvy” would be very fun. “MADE OF STONE” WOULD BE SO GOOD. It would be perfect. Also, release it at the right time, and the entire piece could easily be an Oscars-contender.

In conclusion, Disney needs to greenlight a live-action Hunchback adaptation because it has the potential to be the most beautiful cinematic masterpiece they’ve released in years. Also, I want it real bad.

Routine (Part 3)

(Camboy AU Parts 1 and 2)

Pairing: Kagehina (NSFW)
Show: Haikyuu!! 

“—it’s three o’clock,” Kageyama says, “on a Thursday. I don’t want beer, I don’t want juice. I want to know why you’re—” he gestures vaguely to Hinata’s whole, squirming torso, “—doing that. What, you got worms? Do you—did you catch something? Have you given me crabs because I swear to god—”

Hinata balks, waving his hands in the space between them to shut Kageyama up.

No, oh my god. I don’t—I don’t have worms, or crabs, or any other…parasites. I’ve just got this, and I’m super excited about it.”

This, as it turns out, is a rumpled piece of paper. Hinata holds it flat on his palm, flicking his eyes between it and Kageyama’s face. He hops a little on his toes, and pushes his hand right up under kageyama’s nose.

“It’s a list!” He goes on. “I thought about it all after our first time, but there was just so much stuff I didn’t wanna forget, so last night, I finally wrote it all down!”

Kageyama blinks down at the wad of paper.

“A…list,” he says slowly. Hinata nods, frantic. “A list of what?”

“Things we can try! Like, you know, sex stuff.”

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1 month post Big Chop and my hair never been so Healthy! It looks kinda crazy in this picture because I need to wash it but you guys get the idea.

Current Hair Regime:
1. Shampoo/ deep condition 1x per week
2. Co wash in the middle of the week
3. Black tea rinse every 3 or 4 weeks to reduce shedding. Ive seen a huge difference.
4. I use “espiritu de canela” to stimulate my roots for growth. Literally feels like pouring lava on your scalp but it works!

Thanks for all the positive vibes so far and joining me on my journey!

Left: 3/26/ 17
Right: 2/26/ 17

IG: @speciallykiki

with the boys i dated it was always:
we’ve been seeing each other for an appropriate time, or
it’s my birthday, or
i guess he touched my shoulder kinda gently so,
i guess it’s the right time to let him have sex with me
and you know,
i thought everyone felt like that
sex is supposed to hurt, right?
sex is about making him happy, right?
girls aren’t supposed to really like sex, right?

but then came the first girl i let myself want,
the first girl i was ready to lust after, and…
and we were dancing and her hips rubbed against me and suddenly i felt a million volcanoes erupt inside my brain,
the burning lava pour down,
fill my whole body
and find a home between my thighs

the second girl took me home with her
and in the low light of the slowly dawning morning i watched her back arch as she touched heaven through my hands

the third girl was me
and i’m still trying to convince her there’s nothing wrong with loving yourself until you see the light

the fourth girl filled my head with stars
the fire was already burning inside of me and she touched my skin and felt the heat and every kiss we shared was like gasoline
and even though we both had the endless seas in our eyes she was a forest afraid of catching fire
and her golden strands of hair started igniting and

in my head i find desire as the smell of her cigarette smoke
and feel lust as her hands pulling me closer in the corner of a packed nightclub at 2 am

- a.t.


by @titaniasfics

Rated M

Canon compliant. Between the end of MJ and the Epilogue. Just a touch of magical realism.

Inspired by this Visual Prompt: X (slightly nsfw) . Written for Love in Panem’s Spring Showers April Challenge.

Autor’s note: I had a conversation once with @madamemarquise in which we discussed how vocal Everlark smut was in some fics (including my own). It gave me the idea of writing a smut drabble with no dialogue. Being “speechless,” the piece emerged as somewhat surreal, so that Katniss’s thoughts take on a “real” life of their own, hence the magical realism. Hope you enjoy!

Thanks to everyone who read and beta’d this - @eala-musings, @madamemarquise, @akai-echo, @mega-aulover and @thegirlfromoverthepond . You ladies are the best!

Katniss woke to a house in silence. Stretching languidly, she found herself in a tangle of bed sheets and pillows, now mostly cool where her skin did not touch them. When she turned her head into the pillow, she could smell both of them on it. Everywhere she slid her hand along the rumpled mattress cover, she recalled each kiss, each sigh, each grunt and thrust they’d battered each other with the night before. It had been a long night, but the memory of it made her body sing again.

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Dear science enthusiasts, 

I’m burning up here at the Syracuse Lava Project, a collaboration between artist Bob Wysocki and geologist Jeff Karson at Syracuse University. These fearless (and a little crazy) men work together to melt, mix and pour homemade lava for both artistic and scientific projects. Bob and Jeff were nice enough to host me and an AGU colleague for three days of pouring and filming lava. The lava - at over 1,000 degrees C - generated so much heat that we had to stop filming twice because the camera overheated. No one got burned (luckily!) and we got to see something few people (let alone scientists) ever get to see - real-life lava flows.  In this image, you can see Bob clad in his leather protection gear, operating the furnace. For this pour, we made the lava extra hot and poured it over wet sand. You can see that as the lava flows over the sand, it has vaporized the water in the sand and that water vapor causes the lava to bubble up. Next, we’ll be getting the lava even hotter and attempting to create a lava lake.  Wish you were here,  Lauren Lipuma AGU public information specialist 

Jyn Erso Appreciation Week

↳ day 3: family

All Their Funerals

When the war ends, they bury the lost; the dead; the gone. They bury their comrades, their friends, and finally, their parents. None of them had ever received a proper funeral before. They will now.


They travel first to Fest, and the crunch of snow reminds them both of the month they spent on Echo Base on Hoth.

“I don’t mind the cold so much this time,” Jyn tells Cassian, pulling her coat tighter around her torso. The fur on her hood tickles her face, but at least it’s warm. Cassian wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her closer. The afternoon is cold and bright, the sting of the icy air sharp in her nose. “You were born here, weren’t you?”

He nods. “I once thought I’d die here, too.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” she says and kisses him. His lips are warm but his nose is cold, and it makes her smile.

“I’m glad I didn’t, either,” he agrees.

He doesn’t remember exactly where his mother died, but they find a spot on a bluff that overlooks a glacial lagoon and put up a makeshift marker. The ice in the water glows such a clear, pure blue that Jyn feels the prick of tears in her eyes. Cassian places small white flowers against the stone–a faint memory of how much his mother had loved these winter flowers–and says something quiet and soft in Festian.

“What did you say?” Jyn asks.

He grasps her gloved hand with his and raises it to his lips, giving her a kiss on the knuckles. “I said goodbye.”


Eadu is still too dangerous, still too occupied by the remnants of the Imperials to be safe for them to even land, but she at least had the chance to say goodbye to her Papa, she thinks, when life faded from his body on that burning platform.

Their ship floats just above the blue and gray planet, far away enough to be out of range of any sensors, and Jyn smears stardust on the viewport and forgives: him again for all his sins and herself for hating him the way she had when that anger was the only thing that held the pieces of her together when he was gone.


There are still protests on Carida, the same kind where Cassian’s father died decades ago, but now the blasters from the military stay holstered and the marchers all go home at night.

“I like to think that we were part of the reason for this,” he tells her, gesturing at the peaceful protest.

“You are,” she says. Jyn raises her mug of ale and clinks glasses with him at their table just outside the pub in the city’s marketplace, but neither of them takes a drink just yet. She puts down her glass and covers his hand with hers. “You would have made your father proud, Cassian.” She sees the slightest quiver in his lip, and then it’s gone just as quickly.


She hasn’t seen Lah’mu since Saw whisked her away, but her old homestead looks as it did when she left: green marsh grasses and bare-branched bushes a deep red-brown, black sand, and basalt hills covered in thick green moss. The skies are still gray in the mornings and blindingly blue in the afternoon, and the field where her mother died is still there.

She shows Cassian her cave–and it will always be her cave–and when he goes to open the hatch and look inside she curls up against a stone and pulls her legs up to her chest and feels a sob bubble up. If her mother had just stayed, she thinks. But if her mother had stayed maybe she would have never met Cassian, met Bodhi, met Baze and Chirrut and Kaytoo. Or maybe they all would have been dead and none of it would have mattered anyway. But she still wants her mama in the way children always do when they are sick or scared, but she also knows that she’ll never have it again.

But she has Cassian, and he holds her while she shakes and until she stops, helps her gather the black volcanic stones to mark the spot where Lyra Erso met her end, and he stays with her, which is what matters in the end, really.


They arrive in Jedha–all of them together. Jyn, Cassian, Bodhi, Baze, Chirrut, and Kaytoo. Jyn to give Saw Gerrera his send-off; Baze, Chirrut, and Bodhi to say goodbye to the place that was once their home.

Saw may not have been her father by blood, but their blood was somehow still the same. Galen Erso had slow, cool rivers coursing through his veins, but Jyn and Saw: lava poured from their wounds, fire surging out from their centers.

She understood that he had loved her now, though his shows of affection were untraditional and infrequent when she had been with him. But the memories were easier now to remember: him braiding her hair until she could do it herself, the sweet cookies he gave her once when he remembered her name day.

“We bury our mothers and fathers,” Chirrut says, resting on his staff as he stands with her at the ruins of the Holy City. “And they are the seeds from which we grow.”

Jyn grasps his hand as he did once on a flight that seems an age ago and embraces him, then Baze, then Bodhi and calls them her brothers; and she reaches for Cassian, who holds her as a lover and a husband would; kisses her brow and breathes kindness and constancy into her hair. And Jyn thinks, closing her eyes and resting them for the first time without the fear of loss and death coming for her, I have buried my family and I have found them again.


Neon blue lava pours from Indonesia’s Kawah Ijen Volcano. The reason it’s blue is because the mountain contains large amounts of pure sulfur, which emits an icy violet colors as it turns. It turns the rocky slopes into a hot, toxic environment. (Article) 

5 love lines/moments in books that got me right in the fucking heart (male character edition) SPOILERS

5.) Origin by Jennifer L. Armentrout

There’re eighty-six thousand, four hundred seconds in a day, right? There’re one thousand, four hundred and forty minutes in a day.”
Her brow knitted. “Okay. I’ll take your word for it.”
“I’m right.” I tapped my finger against my head. “A lot of useless knowledge up here.
Anyway, are you following me? There’re one hundred and sixty-eight hours in a week.
Around eighty-seven hundred and then some hours in a year, and you know what?”

She smiled. “What?”
“I want to spend every second, every minute, every hour with you.” Part of me
couldn’t believe something that cheesy had come out of my mouth, but it was also so beauti fully true. “I want a year’s worth of seconds and minutes with you. I want a decade’s worth of hours, so many that I can’t add them up.”

Her chest rose sharply as she stared at me, eyes widening.
I took one more step and then went down on one knee in front of her, in a towel.
Probably should have put some pants on. “Do you want that?” I asked.
Kat’s eyes met mine, and the answer was immediate. “Yes. I want that. You know I want that.”
“Good.” My lips curved up. “So let’s get married.”

4.) Anna and the French Kiss by Stephanie Perkins

Say my name again,” he whispers.

I close my eyes and lean forward. “Étienne.”

He takes my hands into his.Those perfect hands, that fit mine just so. “Anna?

Our foreheads touch. “Yes?”

“Will you please tell me you love me? I’m dying here.”

3.)Raze by Tillie Cole

“My Kisa-Anna… my solnyshko… God put a piece of your blue eyes in mine so we would always know we matched…”

2.) Unravel Me/Ignite Me by Tahereh Mafi

You destroy me.
"Juliette,” he says and he mouths the name, barely speaking at all, and he’s pouring molten lava into my limbs and I never even knew I could melt straight to death.
I want you,” he says. He says “I want all of you. I want you inside and out and catching your breath and aching for me like I ache for you.” He says it like it’s a lit cigarette lodged in his throat, like he wants to dip me in warm honey and he says “It’s never been a secret. I’ve never tried to hide that from you. I’ve never pretended I wanted anything less.”
“You-you said you wanted f-friendship-”
“Yes,” he says, he swallows, “I did. I do. I do want to be your friend. He nods and I register the slight movement in the air between us. ”I want to be the friend you fall hopelessly in love with. The one you take into your arms and into your bed and into the private world you keep trapped in your head. I want to be that kind of friend,“ he says. "The one who will memorize the things you say as well as the shape of your lips when you say them. I want to know every curve, every freckle, every shiver of your body, Juliette-
“No,” I gasp. “Don’t-don’t s-say that-”
I want to know where to touch you,” he says. “I want to know how to touch you. I want to know how to convince you to design a smile just for me.” I feel his chest rising, falling, up and down and up and down and “Yes,” he says. “I do want to be your friend.” He says “I want to be your best friend in the entire world.
I want so many things,” he whispers. “I want your mind. Your strength. I want to be worth your time.” His fingers graze the hem of my top and he says “I want this up.” He tugs on the waist of my pants and says “I want these down.” He touches the tips of his fingers to the sides of my body and says, “I want to feel your skin on fire. I want to feel your heart racing next to mine and I want to know it’s racing because of me, because you want me. Because you never,” he says, he breathes, “never want me to stop. I want every second. Every inch of you. I want all of it.”
And I drop dead, all over the floor.
I can’t understand why I can still hear him speaking because I’m dead, I’m already dead, I’ve died over and over and over again.
He swallows, hard, his chest heaving, his words a breathless, shaky whisper when he says “I’m so-I’m so desperately in love with you-


Did you know,” he’s whispering, “that I wake up, every morning, convinced you’ll be gone?

Wake up, I keep telling myself. Wake up. Pay attention.

That all of this,” he says, “these moments, will be confirmed as some kind of extraordinary dream? But then I hear you speak to me,” he says. “I see the way you look at me and I can feel how real it is. I can feel the truth in your emotions, and in the way you touch me,” he whispers, the back of his hand brushing my cheek.

My eyes flicker open. I blink once, twice.

His lips are set in a soft smile.

“Aaron,” I whisper.

I love you,” he says.

My heart no longer fits in my chest.

Everything looks so different to me now,” he says. “It feels different. It tastes different. You brought me back to life.” He’s quiet a moment. “I have never known this kind of peace. Never known this kind of comfort. And sometimes I am afraid,” he says, dropping his eyes, “that my love will terrify you.

1.) A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas


Rhys straightened. ”You’d- make me food?
"Heat,” I said. “I can’t cook.”
It didn’t seem to make a difference. But whatever it was, the act of offering him food… I dumped some cold soup into a pan and lit the burner. “I don’t know the rules,” I said, my back to him. “So you need to explain them to me.”
He lingered in the center of the cabin, watching my every move. He said hoarsely, “It’s an… important moment when a female offers her mate food. It goes back to whatever beats we were a long, long time ago. But it still matters. The first time matters. Some mated pairs will make an occasion of it- throwing a party just so the female can formally offer mate food… That’s usually done amongst the wealthy. But it means that the female… accepts the bond.”
I stared into the soup. “Tell me the story- tell me everything.”
He understood my offer: tell me while I cooked, and I’d decide at the end whether or not to offer him that food.”

But I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop being around you, and loving you, and wanting you. I still can’t stay away.”

“You love me?”
Rhys nodded.
And I wondered if love was too weak a word for what he felt, what he’d done for me. For what I felt for him.
I set the bowl down before him. “Then eat.”



1. Pathology: to force out from the proper vessels, as blood, especially so as to diffuse through the surrounding tissues.

2. Geology: to pour forth, as lava, from a subterranean source in a molten state.


3. Pathology: to be extravasated, as blood.

4. Geology: to pour forth lava or the like.


5. Pathology: the extravasated material; extravasation.

Etymology: from the Latin extra, “out of” + vas, “vessel”.

[image source & animated version]


Pants - “all-compassionate”

Are your pants riding on you, pinching or generally ill-fitting? If so, then they’re not living up to their saintly namesake. Saint Pantaleon (meaning “all-compassionate”), A Roman doctor, fell afoul of the government and was ordered executed. He lived through a stoning, a drowning, a burning at the stake, a den of lions, having lava poured on him, and at least one beheading attempt. They finally got his head off, but not before he made quite a name for himself. That name carried into popular plays as a character named “Pantaloon” who was famous for wearing an odd type of garment we now know as pants.