clark your shirt tag is up

Hey guys, in the wake of Funko Pop whitewashing tf out of Bellamy’s pop (and Raven’s but I haven’t figured out how to make a Raven pop yet), a couple of people have asked me about producing more of my custom pops and if there’s enough interest I’d be down.

(ignore the Clarke pop, I can’t mass produce her since her body is from a discontinued Funko)

Pros:

  • Bellamy wouldn’t be, you know, white
  • He would have curly-ish hair
  • He would have freckles
  • I could customize the shirt color (within reason) based on your Bellamy shirt preference

Cons:

  • I’d have to charge $50-55 + shipping and would need a deposit up front
  • You can only sort of see it in the pic but there are visible brushstrokes
  • He’s holding a stick which I’m calling a shock baton so I’m okay with it but that’s not optional due to how I make them

What do you guys think? Tagging @yanagrebenyuk because she got me thinking about it.

anonymous asked:

Hello! Could you please tell me a Bellarke fanfic AU high school themed? <3

i assume you meant high school AUs, but feel free to send a follow-up if i misunderstood :)

+ high school tag!

i’ll be seeing you.

[or, the one in which it’s two in the afternoon, and bellamy and clarke are wasted]

a/n: this was in my head all throughout the long haul to st. lucia, so here goes nothing. also, some of this fic references themes from the film ‘after the dark’. hardcore the 100 fans, please watch that movie. it’s right up your alley.

“Shit,” Bellamy murmurs under his breath as the world snaps back into focus. “Man.”

His hand slides over the pleather-y covering on his couch, catches warm skin under his grip. And there she still is, Clarke Griffin, staring up at the damn ceiling, head tilted back against the rest, with this dazed yet serious look in her eyes.

She whispers, “Yeah?”

“I’m really fucked up right now, Clarke, I’m sorry,” Bellamy admits, sheepish. He sits up, sees three of her and groans. His mismatched set of candle sticks are flickering out beside an abandoned bottle of wine, a dripping empty flask, and cold remnants of the lunch he’d made them. He frowns, embarrassed. “I must have blacked out for a second.”

An angry flush spreads like a hot storm over his freckles.

Clarke eyes him, licks her lips. “It’s okay.” She smiles, gentle and guarded, like she finds this hot mess of a first date endearing. “You’re actually sort of charming in your sleep. I like you better that way.” She raises her brows at him, and he smirks in return. Clarke tries to jab him in the side, but she misses by more than an inch and stifles a hiccup, clearly wasted as well.

Bellamy grins, “Yeah?”

Clarke’s slurring, but she still looks like the sun. “You were talking Ptolemy to me.”

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