#original pilot

[loveisonlyforthebrave8]

[thefandomchaos]

Y’all the original pilot draft for Supernatural is wild- I’m only 28 pages into it and I just can’t picture my boys like that-

On another note- someone should make a reaction fic of this- original pilot draft Sam and Dean react to the actual pilot of the show

Update y’all I finished it and the original pilot is so different but interesting at the same time but it would have been a completely different story- I swear ima write that reaction fic though-

[kissandships]

What Could Have Been:

Not as good as my Laurie edit, but oh well

[anotherguynamedjeremy]

I have a lot of thoughts on the original pilot episode of The Owl House but I sort of see why they changed some plot elements in the first episode of the show. I honestly prefer waiting until Covention to see Lilith rather than having her as the first antagonist of the season. But she was more intimidating here than in the show proper.

I like that we saw Luz not fitting in school more in this version. It felt like we got to see more of what she was going though than in the first episode.

But why did Amity's parents thought it was a good idea to send her to a human school? This seems like a terrible idea and it would have led to someone (other than Luz) finding out that she's a witch.

Also, shout-out to Alex Hirsch! He voiced a few more characters in this pilot, like that female demon student.

[ladymisteria]

New World Zorro's Never Seen Original Pilot.

Zorro: The Legend Continues.

Summary:

Antonio de la Cruz, the nephew of Don Diego, takes up the mantle of his boyhood hero when Zorro is killed by the commandant, Monastario. The episode see Patrick James as Zorro, and Patrice Martinez as the female lead: Dona Maria Constansa Arrillaga - a spoiled, rich girl to whom Antonio was betrothed. Antonio does not endear himself to his arranged marriage partner (harboring memories of Maria as a fat and homely child), yet she has grown into a feisty, dark-haired beauty. Maria's feelings about Antonio echo his own about her; however, she's very impressed with Zorro. In the climax, Antonio uses his knowledge of da Vinci's principles of flight to build a hang glider, which he dramatically sails into the plaza to rescue falsely convicted men from execution.

John Gertz of Zorro Productions' chief complaint regarding the pilot were the violence (the plot involved numerous killings) and the generally lacked humor - a critical part of the Zorro formula.

[cavernlummox]

its finally lancer time again and im so exited and ready to play!! even made my own metalmark for my lil pilot girl

[tatooineknights]

Luke Skywalker in Pilot Gear The Empire Strikes Back (1980)

[anaktoria-of-the-moon]

At work plagued by thoughts of a mech bigger than you can imagine.

She starts like most of them do, a Titan excavator rig modestly sized for their line: maybe a house or thereabouts, a big house. (Doesn’t matter why she signed up - perhaps a breadwinner, a lone mother or eldest sister, a daughter of aging parents nobody else will take; doesn’t matter what site they sent her to, Earth or Enceladus or Venus or Europa. She’s there, and she lets them strap her in and adapt her for the piloting interface and pump her full of protein ooze and electrolytes and hyperstimulant cocktails as obediently as the next laborer.)

Upgrades come, from big house to bigger, with shovels like hillsides and treads like highways. Still she remains in the cockpit, out only for one day every six months to say hello to her burgeoning family, who have moved nearby to make it easy on her, to meet the baby nephews and nieces whose names she doesn’t yet know.

War comes. The facility hunkers down. It just makes sense to retrofit their biggest digger with shields, to expand her arsenal a little more, give her a better engine, pour all their leftover resources into making her a great guardian, and she rises to the occasion, shielding them from orbital rays, absorbing the energy and taking the pain of it up into her own engines. When the corporate rats who own the site finally turn tail and run the workers and their families band together and do the needful repairs themselves. Her nieces and nephews grow up learning engineering by the light of oil lamps from stolen Old Era textbooks and jailbroken datapads. She hardly ever now glimpses their faces with her own two eyes from within her steel shell but it is a worthy sacrifice to her, to them, for both parties know she is still there, still with them, embracing them in a great steel hug and watching through a thousand glass-lensed eyes.

Years pass. The brightest of her nieces works out how to modify the nutrition cocktail going into her cockpit so she will never age, never die, never fall sick. Somewhere in there all the metal and ceramic encloses her ever-sleeping body like a lotus flower around the benevolent, immortal form of a bodhisattva.

The outpost survives the war, somehow. Refugees hear of the little town on the colony that could, guarded by a goddess the size of a temple, and flock there. It makes sense to add to her control, among her array of sensors and actuators, the new city’s power generation and delivery system, its wall defenses, its waste management, its communications mains. Nowhere is anything safer than with her.

With all these new additions come techs and custodians to keep her in good care. They build modest crew cabins nestled amongst her treads (now rusty from disuse) so they can be close to her, the better to help her.

Slowly more and more falls under her purview, new cabins, then mezzanines and stairways and platforms between them; each generation has their own superstitions that they add to those of the last before them, so paintings crop up on her metal panels now, in nooks and crannies, often crude symbols that promise good oil changes or swift code updates, or simply depictions of their goddess, of the war she survived. Still she watches.

Her nieces and nephews are all dead now, and their nieces and nephews look on through rheumed eyes as the city attains new heights, heralded everywhere on every planet that still lives as an oasis of peace and prosperity. Still she watches.

A new company comes, enticed by the stories. They want to buy her. Buy her! The people scoff. As if you could just buy a person! - A person? asks the representative from Acher Spaceways, perplexed. - We heard she was your goddess.

She is both, of course, the goddess who lives, the goddess who is one hundred percent flesh and one hundred percent machine.

Acher doesn’t like this. They send machines - zero percent flesh, entirely drones - screaming down from the stars for a more insistent negotiation, one phrased in metal slugs and incendiary fire.

So your goddess rises up to meet them.

It is over in a short day. The drones lie in pieces; Acher, from orbit, licks their wounds, and the goddess rebukes them with a single laser blast, modified from her very first mining waymaker photonic drill.

The blast is precise and surgical. It tears apart the whole platform, spinning central axis to annular habitat space, which supernovas into a blossom of shining proof in the night sky at which the citizens below cheer.

But the pieces are falling, and soon they will pepper the surface below with molten debris, kick up dust into the atmosphere and make it all but unbreathable. The people could leave, the goddess advises them through short-wave radio bursts. They could use her emergency shuttles to escape gravity before it is too late, or they could go underground and salvage her rarest and most precious resources to survive until the surface is safe again.

Here is the thing - every pilot is augmented, and most augments are for the benefit of the plainly physical, for strength and speed and stamina and sharpness of perception. When her people augmented her, they augmented something else entirely. With every new module, every sensor upgrade, every painted symbol and hidden shrine, they gave her a superhuman capacity not for stamina or speed or strength, but for love.

It is her love that saved them, so they must save her back.

For two days they work tirelessly, the whole city, while above them the shattered pieces of Acher Spaceways looms ever closer. When they are done the treads are gone, the cabins dismantled, only the little drawings carefully preserved under coats of abrasion- and heat-resistant paint. And under her, their city, their Haven, lie rockets, ten of them, repurposed from the old all-ore crucibles, fit to move an asteroid.

She’s out there somewhere by Orion now, they say, the fourth jewel in his belt. And she has only grown: from three thousand then to three hundred million. Creatures from all over come to pay her their respects, or to visit lovers, or to live there themselves. There is always room in a body that is ever expanding, like the cosmos itself. Over all of them, she watches, eternal.

Among all the stories they tell of her, they repeat this one the most - how she tore apart a whole space station for the sake of her people, knowing she would die if she failed, for how can a whole city hope to flee? She guards them, and in turn they do not abandon her. They are two halves of the same whole, they say reverently, love manifest - the people and their city; this pilot, this great machine. This Haven.

[galaxy-of-me]

watch the art of murder

[sophfandoms53]

Anyway shout out to Dewey who constantly looked like he was having the worst time of his fucking life in the pitches

Just an 11 year old pissed off at the world it seems😭

[kugelfische]

[dxkjf]

Uh oh guyssss uh ohhh digital circus oc uh oh

[poison-p1nk]

pet cheetah.

[clancysletter]

tulips crop top, my beloved 🤍

Tyler Joseph at the Pinkpop Festival (2022)

[perfectquote]

Sometimes to stay alive you got to kill your mind.

Twenty One Pilots - Migraine

[v88sy]

This has got to be like...some type of copyright infringement. 🤣