flake off

this book is cute and I’ve had it since I was a kid but upon further looking, her feet have like….uncanny palms drawn like human metacarpals. i dont think i’ve seen another case like this exactly, but misunderstanding bird feet is not uncommon

judging on surface value, using comparative anatomy it’s easy to come to the conclusion that birds could have a rather similar structure as mammals (pardon my flaked off nail polish)

but of course birds are birds therefore they need to be needlessly complicated. what you are really seeing in those specimens and the scaled part of a bird’s legs are essentially just the bones we have as our wrist and hand (well, more specifically ankle and foot because hind limb)

and of course birds can’t stop there, we need an assortment of weird toe arrangements too

in another world, when you are loved, you grow wings  to show it. the bigger the love, the bigger the wings. 

and a world that sees wings as the ultimate status symbol. celebrities with gigantic wings that cannot fly because they are too heavy. monarchs that have stylists to enlarge their (very stumpy) wings. 

babies born with the soft proof of their parent’s love, babies flaking off feathers when their parents don’t care enough. teenagers who watch their wings flake and grow every day, never sure who loves them or doesn’t. having your crush figure out you like him because his wings won’t stop fluffing up. 

bullies who fake having large wings, who hurt others because they never felt whole, who go home and try to wish their feathers into growing. gentle, soft people who have long wings they’re embarrassed of, who tuck them and try to be average because they don’t like showing off. 

weddings where there’s so much love in the room everyone’s wings swell up. the couple having perfectly matched wings which don’t stop their steady growth. waking up next to your husband of six years to find he’s gone and all your feathers have fallen off.

a girl who is pushed down and laughed at for her little wings, her broken home. who knows she’s ugly for it, who feels perfectly alone. who one day walks into a room with another girl who happens to complement her shirt and within six days has become the closest friend she’s ever learned. her wings spreading big and wide and proud over other people’s heads, her new feathers getting in the way because she’s not used to them, pushing her new feathers out of the way so she can kiss the girl she’s dreamed about.

finding your best friend and watching the feathers sprout. lying awake in bed feeling useless and yet having this proof that someone out there loves you. helping a stranger on the train only to have a few cautious pinfeathers tickle their way out. wondering if they felt that tickle, too.

waking up from a dream very confused, hoping a boy six blocks down doesn’t come into school with suddenly slightly larger wings. ace people with arching wings who are absolutely loved by their friends, who are absolutely loving. your boyfriend promising you that boy he’s flirting with means nothing, finding that your feathers are slowly falling out in the shower each morning. 

having average wings and a sad heart and doing your best to be alive and happy and whole but failing terribly - but working towards it, slowly, until one day you see your wings spreading and get excited about who it could be, who liked you enough to change you this drastically; only to figure out on a tuesday afternoon that it’s you, you’re the one who loves yourself for once; and the thought is so big and wide and lovely that you sit down on the floor and can’t stop crying because despite everything, you made it. and that’s amazing.


I’m having such bad days but I made these cats

Selenite Dust

As I have mentioned before, Selenite is one of my favorite crystals to use in my practice. Its a very soft reflective mineral similar to salt both physically and magically. Its properties include purification, consecration, Aura cleansing, And it also has the ability of self cleanse, and to cleanse and charge other crystals and tools giving it an advantage over many other crystals. Most people will tell you to avoid water completely when handling Selenite as it “easily dissolves”. For this reason I use it so create cleansing waters. I do this by shaving the selenite with a athame, or silver spoon similar to how you would peel a carrot. Little flakes of selenite fall off, and Wah-La, Selenite dust. 

You could add a pinch of the dust to a number of things, I would recommend 

  • A cleansing bath    
  • Linen / Room sprays
  • Potions, or Oils
  • Cleaning Solutions ( For altar / home cleaning)

The possibilities are endless really. Think outside the box!

the light that sits at the bottom of your chest

i love dying and being dead :)

(fair warning, it’s kind heavy/ angsty before we get into the good stuff)


There’s a total of twenty seven metal slabs that make up his room.

Twenty seven slabs, three hundred and forty two rivets holding them in place, a part of the ceiling that looks like a horse where the paint has flaked off.

Bellamy has memorised it all, night after night when he lies awake in his bed. Sleep is hard, has always been hard for him. On the Ark he didn’t know how to shut down for longer than an hour, every creak and groan of the old spacecraft sent him jerking awake, thinking of surprise inspections, thinking of his mother and Octavia, limbs askew in their too small bed.

Sleep was even harder when they came down on the ground, always one eye open for the next threat, the next enemy who waited around the corner, teeth bared and ready to kill.

And now… well, now sleep isn’t even option. Even with the pseudo peace they’ve achieved.

It’s why he counts the slabs and makes notes of the rivets. It’s easier to stay awake, easier to lie there in darkness and stay up into nothingness than fall asleep.

He’s good at faking it, is almost a pro at running on maybe a combined hour of rest. The only one who reacts to the purple bags under his eyes is Clarke, always with a pinched look and furrowed, ready to say something before he distracts her with something or the other.

Because when he does sleep, he’s plagued with nightmares, images of those he’s killed, watching the light go out in their eyes as blood stains his hands, his sister’s anguished, heart wrenching scream, his friends, dead and beaten and broken, cast aside in pieces while he stands amongst the rubble, a single bullet left in the chamber of his gun. It’s different all the time, but the centre of it is the same: death and despair and destruction, where he’s at fault for it all.

(Sometimes he thinks that he deserves it, his own personal punishment picked out by Hades himself, doomed for all eternity.)

Keep reading

Olicity Prompt: Looks can be decieving

Originally posted by olivergifs

@captainolicitysbedroom again I went down an odd road….

Prompt: Oliver is a war veteran and living on the streets of Starling. Felicity is again the hard working girl who whenever she passes the old man with the beard she gives him food or money. One day she gets attacked and he saves her. As always you can throw in a kiss or some heat. Oh it’d be really fun if Felicity really does think Oliver’s old until the end. 

Read it here or on AO3

Looks can be decieving

Snow fell gently from the cloudy skies above the many buildings of the crowded downtown streets. Oliver dusted the freshly fallen flakes off the ratty old beanie that he’d found discarded in a trash bin about three blocks away. The wind howled through the tall, endless lines of the buildings that surrounded him. The flames from the nearby fire can were dying, the residents around this corner of the desolate alley were all moving slowly with frost bitten fingers towards their cardboard homes. 

A lady dressed in layers of various coats and sweaters waved kindly. He gave her a brisk nod and returned his cold, blue eyes to the lone lamp on the otherwise darkened street. His long, tangled brownish grey beard kept his face and neck warmed as the cold night air howled through the endless night. The clock bells began to loudly chime… He muttered beneath his sour breath, “and in five, four, three, two…” 

He licked his cracked lips as the tips of her pale colored shoes inched toward the small circle of amber light. “One…” he breathed as her slender jean covered leg entered the circle, followed by her bundled up form. His neighbors shot her a quick glance but continued moving with slow progression towards their spots for the night; he on the other hand waited as he’d done for the past six weeks. 

Her hair was flowing down past her slender shoulders; her head he smiled was covered in a snug beanie of her own. The memory of their first meeting still made him question the decisions he’d made since that day.

Keep reading

5 things you didn’t know about...conductive graphene inks

Credit: James Macleod/University of Cambridge Department of Engineering

1. They have a high concentration of graphene flakes – up to 100g per litre.

2. They are made in a microfluidisation process, during which graphene flakes are broken off graphite using ultra-high shear forces.

3. 100% of the starting graphite material is converted into useable graphene flakes.

4. Carboxymethylcellulose sodium salt is used to stabilise the material, without a need for centrifugation.

5. Applications include large-scale screen-printing, flexible electronics, such as transistors and photovoltaic cells, and potential future uses in food packaging.

To find out more see page 15 of the upcoming April issue of Materials World.


In a Roosterteeth livestream on August 21, 2014, show staff confirmed that although mammalian faunus are most common, other types do exist. We haven’t seen them in the show yet.

Or have we? I think we’ve seen at least one reptilian faunus.

One of Neo’s most prominant traits is her changing eyes, seen in the first gif. I think that’s the first time we see them change in the show, actually. In Volume 3, we learned that she can change her physical appearance at will, like Mystique. Look how the Atlas disguise seems to flake off like scales. This also likely means that the other disguises she’s worn in the show, like the paramedic outfit, are part of her tranformative abilities. Cinder is also able to quickchange, as seen in “Dance Dance Infiltration”, but Neo’s is a passive ability and Cinder’s is an active ability. Okay, that was a tangent.

Two more pieces of supporting evidence, though even I admit they’re not the strongest. First, Neo is smol: 4′9″ in heels. Second, in “Painting the Town…” the female deer faunus wonders what a human was doing on stage while both Roman and Neo are on stage. It’s been hinted that some faunus can sense past a disguise of another faunus (in “The Stray”Sun knew Blake was a faunus), and the deer faunus only pointed out Roman.

Conclusion: Neo is a chameleon faunus.

& never can let me in

your heart is this house, of abandon, of dust
in a field of drought - i, dreadful, stand just
watching the locked door, crooked, rusted shut
key forever gone, none new can be cut
scarecrow walk slow, the smell of must

caress rough doorknob, flaking off rust
lean in on warped wall, with no great trust
that it will hold, feeble & creaking, but -
your heart is this house

can no longer move, straw desire thrust
slow falling apart in each flailing wind gust
these feet slide sure in dry mud rut
as you cave in, i now realize what
come back too late! too late from wanderlust
your heart is this house

Sorry for sliding off the radar.  Work has been utterly exhausting.

Fortunately, the end may be in sight!  After a few false starts and flake-offs, I have an actual, in-person interview next week!  Here’s hoping.

Mistletoe Event- Hanzo

(So sorry this one was so late, but technically, it’s still on time~)

That year, you were of the unlucky few who had to spend Christmas Eve alone. Not only that, but you had to spend it working. Still, at least where you worked wasn’t terrible. It was a small bakery in Paris that stayed open for any last minute holiday orders. There were supposed to be a few other employees with you, but they all flaked and snuck off to spend the evening with family.

And that just left you, all alone in the small shop, falling asleep on the counter. Occasionally a car would drive past, making you wake up a bit, but after a while, you began to doze off. You were so tired that you didn’t even hear the bell by the door chime as a customer walked in. At first, they cleared their throat to get your attention. When that didn’t work, they gently shook your shoulder, rousing you from you lonesome dream.

“Mm…Wha…” you slurred as you picked yourself up from the counter.

When you saw the man standing before you, you suddenly snapped to attention and desperately tried to collect yourself.

“O-Oh, I’m sorry!” you gushed, trying to fix your hair and apron, “I didn’t mean to doze off like that!”

He chuckled and waved it off. Now that you had blinked the blurry sleepiness out of your eyes, you could see him clearly. He looked Asian with an undercut ponytail and a slight beard. The bridge of his nose and ears had subtle piercings to them and he wore a big leather jacket. Glancing down, you noticed a little boy by his side, staring hungrily at the cakes in the display case. The boy looked European, so they didn’t seem to be father and son.

“It’s no trouble,” he smiled, “I’m surprised to see a shop still open. Most have closed.”

“Yeah, well…” you laughed bitterly, “Someone’s gotta be alone on Christmas.”

He gave you a concerned look, but before he could pity you, you cut him off.

“So, what can I get for you?” you offered.

He paused for a moment before remembering, scanned the display case, and pointed to a strawberry and vanilla cake, asking for two slices.

“Here or to go?” you asked.

“Here is fine.”

“Mmk.” you grunted, taking the cake out of the case.

The man sent the boy off to grab a table as he waited patiently for his food.

“So you’re out with your nephew? Cousin? Brother?” you tried to make small talk as you cut the slices.

“No,” he looked back at him, “I found him alone on the street. He hasn’t told me much about his family or if he even has one, but for now…well, nobody should be alone on Christmas.”

As you placed the first slice down on the plate, you stifled a sob and nearly dropped the knife. He noticed and gave you a concerned look.

“Nothing, don’t worry,” you said quickly, “That’s very kind of you to help him.”

He was quiet for a few moments, watching as you finished up with the second slice, supposedly lost in thought.

Suddenly he spoke up, “It is strange that you are open tonight. Why are you still working?”

You let out an irritated sigh and tapped the counter impatiently. He just had to go and pry.

“Culinary school doesn’t pay itself,” you quipped, “And I’m practically a slave to my boss. I work until midnight.”

He watched as you punched the numbers into the register, “But you have family to go home to after?”

“Family’s back in [home country],” you answered bluntly, “I came to France for culinary school.”

You noticed the growing worry on his face as he pondered something. You finished tallying up the cost and rolled your eyes.

“But, hey, no need to worry about me,” you mumbled, “You’ve got your fair share of outcasts to look after.”

You put the cake back into the case, looked back at him, and shoved the plates closer to the edge of the counter, letting him know it was time to pay.

“He is not the only one,” he admitted, “If I hadn’t found that boy, I too would have spent the holidays alone. My…family doesn’t want me around anymore.”

Normally, you would have rolled your eyes at any customer who had a sob story. But maybe it was that it was Christmas, or that you were sleep deprived, or that you were sympathetic since your family didn’t seem too broken up when you couldn’t come home for December. Instead, you bit your lip and drew back from the counter a little.

“Oh. Sorry.” you breathed.

“Please, do not apologize,” he smiled, “Would you like to eat with us?”

You thought you’d spend the night moping over the counter, relentlessly trying to text friends to see if they wanted to pity you. But now somebody was offering to share Christmas Eve with you, and they barely even knew you! Whoever he was, he was the kindest person you had met that day.

“I would…Th-thank you,” you said eagerly.

You cut a slice for yourself and the man paid for the other two slices. Taking off your apron, you grabbed your plate and joined the two. The boy didn’t say much, but he looked very happy to have good food and company for the evening.

“My name is Hanzo, by the way.” the man finally introduced himself.

“[Name],” you introduced yourself, “So, you’re from Japan?”

“Indeed,” he said, and went on to explain his story.

Some parts were vague, like why he left home in the first place and why he was in France of all places. But it was neat to hear that cake was in fact a Japanese tradition on Christmas. You had thought it strange that someone walked in for cake at 10:30 pm at night, but now you knew. It was an odd tradition, but your culture had its fair share of superstitions.

You told him a bit about yourself and how you always wanted to be a famous pastry chef like the ones in the magazines. A few times you beat yourself up for leaving everything at home to come to Paris, but Hanzo seemed encouraging of it. He said it was brave of you to put your faith in yourself and carve your own path. Around 11:30, the boy next to Hanzo began to yawn.

“I should get him home. Tonight he’ll sleep in my apartment,” he said, “But tomorrow I’ll look for his guardians.”

“You’ve got a good heart, Hanzo,” you remarked suddenly.

That seemed to catch him off guard, making him look up at you with wide eyes. You couldn’t imagine why, though, he had just offered two strangers to spend Christmas Eve with him!

“Yeah, I’m not sure why your family wouldn’t want someone as kind as you,” you continued, “Have you ever thought of going back?”

That seemed to strike a nerve because his warm exterior began to freeze up to a sad, serious expression. Suddenly, you could feel the presence of a more troubled man before you.

“I-I mean–I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be saying things I don’t know anything about.” you sighed.

“It’s alright.” he tried to smile again, “But I could never go back.”

With that, he got up to leave, the little boy holding his hand as he made for the door. As he opened the door, you realized how amazing the whole experience had been. It was like heaven itself sent you your own charming angel to spend Christmas Eve with! An angel that you really seemed to connect with– one you didn’t want to miss out on.

“Uh, wait! Wait!” you shouted after him, running to the counter to grab something.

Hanzo stopped at the door, curiously looking back towards you. You came stumbling up to him, handing him a small scrap of paper.

“You forgot your receipt!” you said hurriedly.

Unfolding the paper, Hanzo saw that you had written your name and phone number down on the bottom. You blushed as he chuckled up at you.

“Urm, you don’t have to follow up on that.” you mumbled nervously.

“I’ll call you tomorrow. We can spend Christmas Day together as well.” he nodded.

You gave him a little smile and a wave, thinking that was it. But it was like heaven wanted that angel to stay a little longer. Hanzo just had to notice the mistletoe your slave-driving boss had hung above the bakery doorway. Most people didn’t notice it, but nothing escaped Hanzo’s trained eyes.

He glanced up at the mistletoe then back down at you with a hopeful look in his eye. You just blushed harder and giggled nervously.

“O-oh, yeah, u-uh…” you stammered trying to formulate some kind of sentence.

“It’s your tradition, no?” he shrugged, “You partook in my tradition of Christmas cake. It seems only fair I return the favor.”

“You don’t have to do that.” you said bashfully, trying to hide your scarlet face behind your hands.

But he carefully took your wrists and moved your hands from your face. He slowly moved in and placed his lips on yours. It was a light, skimming kiss that lasted less than a second, but it warmed you more than your campus apartment heating. When he pulled back, you were left staring awestruck at him.

A few moments passed until the boy went, “Blech! Gross…”

That got the two of you to laugh, breaking the awkward tension that had been building up. You said goodbye to the two, leaving you to finish your shift in a dream-like haze.

(Tomorrow is Widowmaker, and will be the last day in our Mistletoe Event!)

Without Right Without Wrong

Ooooh Ooooh Oh Oh
the rain, a genius, speaking
pithiness tinkling sidewalks
inte ja ja nicht nein
a message hidden inside

the reasons to stay stuck-stuck
flake off, regenerating
a new set in seven years
but exactly like the last
the language misunderstood
oh lay li la ka ka li
(doesn’t sound quite right to me)

relentless pursuit of songs
each drop cuts through, severing
tapped impatience with failures
oh lord, dreams telegraphing
the old me, look back at dreams,
new beginnings still clinging
nothing over nothing gone
a being renewed stuck-stuck-stuck
discover my built-in spring springs


-Inspired by something @thespiandrummer said about how we view our past-


Look at the beautiful remains of this quilt!! I found this awhile back and rescued it from the trash. I understand why it was being thrown away; each time it’s picked up, pieces of fabric flake off. It’s very delicate and I have no idea how old it is or how it ended up in this condition. I think this is made of silk and was eaten into deterioration by moths…or it was ironed on the wrong setting. It makes me want to quilt more!

use mayonnaise as shampoo for that eggy sheen (dont rinse) and about midway through the day when it starts drying and flaking off enjoy your dried mayo hair as a delicious treat

Mafia AU snippet

I wrote a tiny something on Gravebone. Mafia AU? I’m just going to publish it here because I don’t know if I will ever continue it. Maybe? :D

@gravesfrommacusa inspired me. she always does T_T i’ll never sleep, i’ll just write stuff for her instead lol

Ash flakes are flying off the cigarette tip, still burning in the air and landing on a rough wooden surface of the desk. Graves brings the cigarette to his lips and drags strong smoke, feeling it take all the space in his lungs.

He smiles toothily, looking straight in front of him with unwavering eyes. A pair of cold emotionless eyes is staring back. Graves tilts his head.

“I expected this would happen. And it did. Would you like to know why?”

Keep reading

Red Water

Forgive me for I have sinned.

Dolls, guess who just fell into the widowreaper trash bin? And apparently I’m dragging others down with me?? I’m so sorry. Help my soul.

I’m working on some Gency fics, but for now here’s some trash.

Widowreapr. Oneshot. Fluff. Blood. Angst.

The mission was successful, and Widowmaker needs to get to her bathtub.

Those things don’t normally connect, but they do at the Talon Base. When a mission is successful, bullets are fired. When bullets are fired, someone gets hurt. When someone gets hurt, that gives the opening for someone getting killed. When someone gets killed, blood splatters. Splatter that’s usually heavy and dark, and hard to get all down a little sink drain.

Widowmaker goes to her personal sleeping quarters, slipping into her bathroom. The bathtub is large and wide, white. It’s easy to see the difference between water and blood as they slowly mix.

She takes her helmet off first, using a rag to scrub off flakes of rusty colored blood. She finishes with it quickly, placing it carefully on the ground. Next, she does her neck, down her chest, the red staining pale blue. She gets it cleared, but her hair is another matter. The long midnight blue strands are stained with dark patches, and she can’t seem to get it all out. Feeling the slightest spark of… annoyance at this inconvenience, she snatches her small communicator and signals to Reaper.

He appears a few minutes later, all in his dark and gloomy form.

“What?” He growls.

“The blood is staining my hair.” Widowmaker tells him, standing beside the startling red water in the tub. “You need to get it out.”

The dark form is silent for a moment, his mask tilting ever so slightly to the side. Widowmaker doesn’t change her expression, simply waiting for his answer.

“How am I supposed to help?” He says in low tone.

“One moment, mon cher.” Widowmaker speaks, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Crossing her legs, and lifting on foot up. Gracefully unbuckling her right boot, she’s about to slip it off when she halts at his voice.

“Wait,” He grumbles, his dark voice quiet. He kneels down beside her, and she watches him with her tilted slightly back, as if waiting for him to lung at her eyes. Then, his claws grip the bottom of her armored boot and slips it off her slender leg.

There’s that spark again, but she can’t put a name to it as she switches her crossed position, putting her left foot up without a sound. Reaper undoes the straps on this one carefully with his sharp fingers before once again gently slipping it off her foot.

She glances at him warily, but his mask gives nothing away as he shifts aside. She slips her own socks off, before stepping into the tub. The water immediately taking her in as it soaks into her suit. It’s warm she supposes, but everything feels warm to her, sometimes too hot. She doesn’t care about her suit, they’ll have a new one ready for her anyways. She brings her knees into her chest, but tilts her head back. Her hands reaching up at the ponytail holder as she feels the tips of her midnight blue hair dip into the red stained water. In one swift motion, she slips the holder off, water splashing as her hair flicks it up.

“Just get the blood out.” Widowmaker instructs, finally letting her head drop and waiting for Reaper.

He shifts, and she hears cloth move as he takes off his gloves. He places them on the floor, showing off his dark and swirling mass that serves as palms and fingers. The claws still there.

Water douses against her scalp, and her head becomes heavier as her hair takes in the water. Gently, as if weaving a feather through her locks, she feels sharp points press against her scalp, but it never becomes painful. The points drag downwards, and repeat the process. Bit by bit, the water gets darker and dirty. Dried flakes and even liquid patches of red staining the water. There’s the set splashing of water softly against her hair, and then the sharp points that never hurt. Again and Again. The feeling she figured one could call relaxing. She thinks that having people touch one’s hair is personal, and very comforting. She’s not entirely sure. She doesn’t feel that.

There’s suddenly a sharp tug against her scalp, and she sucks in a quick breath. The pain catching her off guard. Reaper must have caught a claw in a knot in her hair. She doesn’t say anything, figured he’d do the same and move on, but something happens. For one brief moment, she feels his claws, laying gently against the nape of her neck. Her hair tickling as it serves as the only barrier between her skin and Reaper’s sharp fingertips.

There’s a spark inside her chest, and then it’s gone. Maybe it’s because the gesture could be consider comforting, or even apologetic, but it disappears just like the spark. The washing motion continuing this time undisturbed.

When the red water stops getting darker, the sharp points disappear. There’s a soft grunt that signals he’s finished. Widowmaker stands up, water dripping off her suit and hair. The splashing liquid sounding like her own personal waterfall, coming off her own cliff. Reaper is silence behind the mask, watching the work of nature of water and body.

Je te remercie.” She says, “That is all that needs to be gone, you may go.”

He stands there for another moment, and Widowmaker tries to see through that skull like mask and see what could possibly be playing out on his facial features. People are easy to read and guess their thoughts if you can see their face. Emotions always give it away. His mask hides so much more than others could possible know, but Widowmaker does, and she doesn’t mind it at all.

She looks down, remembering his gloves. Stepping out of the bathtub, water splashes everyway and drips down her legs to the floor. She doesn’t notice the mess, just thinking that he shouldn’t forget his gloves.

She bends down and picks them up, the heavy black cloth familiar. She holds them out to the dark form, waiting for the dark swirling masses to take them. He stares at her for a moment, and she feels his gaze looking into her irises. Then, the connect breaks and he takes his gloves carefully between his claws. With his other hand, he softly tosses a towel that Widowmaker easily catches. She looks down at it, wondering why he bothered giving this to her when she could have easily reached and got it herself. She raises her head, lips parted to speak but there’s no one standing in her bathroom but her now.

Her brow furrows for the slightest moment at this, but pushes it in the back of her mind as she sets to drying herself off.


So I wish I had a before picture of these but I didn’t think about taking photos until I was sure the dye would come off.

These used to be translucent pink and yellow glass eggs with candles inside.  I bought them at the thrift store “brand new” three for a buck (not sure where the blue one ran off to in the move but it’s missing).  When I pulled them out of their bags, I realized that the paint/ink/dye on them looked awful and was flaking off.  They looked horrible and not at all appropriate for my spring equinox altar.

Thanks to cool temperatures in my area, the candles inside just popped right out.  With some hot water, dish soap and a scouring pad, I got them to the clear glass egg containers they are now.  I could pop the candles back in but I’m thinking of putting offerings in them instead.