#pack rules

don’t use my icons/headers in your packs!! even if you say “icon/header by idcons”!! i did not allow it!! your post gets notes for icons/headers i made while my original post doesnt get any!!

if you rly want to make packs, you can

make your own icons and headers and use them in your packs, or

make your packs like this*

you can use my icons/headers in your packs if you do it exactly like this (same link as before).

*if the person that made an icon/header you used in a post like this contacts you and says they’re not comfortable with it, delete the post or remove the icon/header from your post

não use meus icons/headers nos seus packs!! mesmo se você falar “icon feito por idcons”!! eu não permiti!! seu post ganha notes por icons/headers que eu fiz enquanto o meu post original não ganha nada!!

se realmente quer fazer packs, você pode

fazer seus próprios icons e headers e usá-los nos seus packs, ou

fazer seus packs assim*

você pode usar meus icons/headers nos seus packs se você fizer exatamente assim (mesmo link de antes).

To say that breakfast was an uncomfortable affair was probably one of the most understated statements of the century. The small kitchen was packed with enemies as  Clarke sat herself stiffly next to her godfather Thelonious Jaha. On her other side was her wolf-son, Alexander, currently showing of his Dora the Explorar Dish to a zombie with a hole in her head. Lexa glowered angrily at Thelonious, her muscular arms tense on the table top. Clarke could practically see the wolf trying to push through and kill her godfather where he sat. 

And if it wasn’t awkward enough that her kind godfather had decided to turn into a werewolf hunter, his impromptu visit couldn’t’ve been timed worse.

Bellamy brought the coffee pot over, sitting himself between his best friend and Thelonious. 

In a wild life, Bubbles would have been a scout #wildpack #scouts

Sometimes I muse about what I would have become if I would have remained a stray dog. I suspect I would have lived my life with a pack, working together to get our food. Like I see packs of wild dogs doing on tv (yes, I watch tv. Of course, I am a city dog!) When I see these wild dogs roaming the streets, I notice that the members of the pack all have their own specialization. Some of them are…

Today I learned the hard way how you challenge a dog’s position in the hierarchy.  Growling back at a dog that thinks you’re not apart of its hierarchy or higher than you are is a challenge.  A challenge to fight.  

The dog growls when moved form a comfy position (something else I did not know.)  When I tried to get up after he had sat on my he growled and scrambled back on.  So I thought no way dog you’e been doing this all weekend even when I haven’t moved you from a comfy spot and it stops now.  Of course I growled right back and shoved him off of me.  And this is when he went for my face. Freaking out ‘cause I have twin toddlers in the room I panic and grab his collar while he’s still trying to bite me and shove him outside and then race to shut the dog door.

Needless to say he spent the majority of the day outside and he’s owners educated me when they got home.  The dog and I now have a shaky friendship. But that’s mostly cause he kinda scares me now.  Hard not to when a slim English Pointer that doesn’t reach your waist when standing on all four legs suddenly bites your jaw.  This is something I will not do again (especially not without my hairbrush close by.)

Last night I met with a producer and two other writers. All were black females. The producer wanted to assemble a small team of writers for tv drama project she wants to develop. It's a paid gig and for the next 12 weeks we'll be meeting at the Writers' Space in Santa Monica to break story. 

I know there are black filmmakers, writers. They're doing great work in the indie world. It's just for the past year, I realized I don't know any black female tv writers. None are in my network. How did I let that happen? And while I've prided myself on being a lone wolf; supporting the black artists community from a distance, I feel drawn to my pack. I talk about wanting to see more diversity; supporting diversity in my writing, but I've been doing it alone. I only know one black director. We still have plans for projects but are pulled apart by other solo projects. The same with the only black actor/writer in my network. 

Last night, sitting with these incredible women, black like me, passionate about tv drama like me, I was relieved and thankful. Drama TV writing is why I became a screenwriter. The first screenplay I wrote was a pilot. 

When CBS's Diversity Mentorship program rejected me last year and I allowed certain colleagues to persuade me away from applying to Film Independent's Project Involve, I thought I was going to be alone. I wouldn't be able to find my industry pack. 

I admit there's always an element of fear/anxiety when approaching my fellow black people. Will I be accepted? Am I "black" enough? Sometimes I feel ashamed that I didn't go to a black college or join a black fraternity. It's something white people will never understand in this country, nor are they supposed to. And I don't blame them either. It's an identity battle that we fight on both fronts; maybe it's the result of a false dichotomy. Or maybe it's just me. And I realize it's not an experience black people own. 

It sounds shallow, but I kept thinking, "Their skin is dark like mine and we have the same artistic tastes/instincts. This is so fantastic! Why am I surprised by this? What if they don't accept me? What if I've been away from the pack for too long?" 

Of course I have my close friends, the pack that keeps me alive; shows me how to wear my dark skin; how to value it. I wish I had them in high school. But they don't know the industry jungle.  I had friends from other cultures/races. I think that's why futbol has meant so much to me all my life. Futbol connected me to the world; a larger pack. 

I had only one black friend during those years. I didn't grow up in a black community. I was supposed to read all the literature, know all the music, and pay attention to all the art of my ancestors. Their struggle. My struggle. Have I failed them? Am I failing them? I thank the Sun and the Moon for grandmother.

I don't think this country will ever understand just how important Justin Simien's film, Dear White People, is to this generation right now; along with many other culturally relevant movies out there that I haven't seen yet. Maybe it's just me, there are just so many things about Dear White People that resonate so well with me that I don't even know how to talk about it. I just want give Justin a hug and say, Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Can we please work together? Also, I want Tessa Thompson to star in EVERYTHING I write. 

Maybe I'm being premature with all of this. It was just one meeting; one opportunity. But no matter what happens with this or where it goes or what we accomplish, that one meeting will always be something spiritually significant to me. Just like that moment in stories where the protagonist with an indescribable and seemingly misunderstood identity discovers they're not alone...

To fling my arms wide  In some place of the sun,  To whirl and to dance  Till the white day is done.  Then rest at cool evening  Beneath a tall tree  While night comes on gently,  Dark like me-  That is my dream!  To fling my arms wide  In the face of the sun,  Dance! Whirl! Whirl!  Till the quick day is done.  Rest at pale evening...  A tall, slim tree...  Night coming tenderly  Black like me.