So in case no one has said it here yet, RTX panels aren't going to be streamed this year because RT's attempt to get you to pay for the livestream tanked. At least, that's how it sounds from this tweet.
So I'm just getting the word out there to not bother trying to catch any stream of the RWBY panel or others and just wait for the vods to appear and for people attending irl to give out details.
Imo the attempt to get people to pay for a livestream (that would still cut out segments of the panels btw) was a shitty move that deserved to get shut down. And the follow up of basically punishing fans for not shilling out the money by not streaming it at all is equally scummy. Here's hoping the people who already paid for virtual tickets are getting refunded, because this sucks hard, RT.
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and in this stillness, peace
The ride into the desert -- familiar enough after ten years living in the desolate wastes of Tatooine -- is like something out of a dream. Obi-Wan keeps cranking his head around, staring at the shimmering ghost that crosses the dunes in step with him, unperturbed by the heat and the blowing sand and the blinding sunlight, as placid as if they only last saw each other a few days ago, and not a decade. As if none of it ever happened, and yet, and yet --
“What do you mean,” Obi-Wan says at last, surreptitiously pinching himself beneath the white Jedi tunic he finally felt worthy enough to put back on, just to be sure that this is really happening, “that it took me long enough, Master?”
Qui-Gon smiles the exact same demure, maddening half-smile that he used to employ when Obi-Wan, as a Padawan, was struggling with some mysterious facet of the Force which he then would promptly figure out and feel rather stupid for not seeing before. “What do you think, Obi-Wan?”
“I don’t understand.” Just then, the eopie hits a bump, and Obi-Wan has to clutch desperately onto the saddle horn to prevent himself from an undignified tumble. “I’ve been asking for you this whole time, and now you decide to appear to me? In the middle of the desert, on my way home from some mundane errand? You could have done so any time before now, and not -- "
Qui-Gon raises an ironic eyebrow. “Could I have? I think you’ll find, Obi-Wan, that you were the one who could not see me, and not that I did not come. Besides. I would hardly call what you did with the Skywalker boy mundane.”
Obi-Wan opens his mouth, realizes that as usual, he’s going to lose an argument with his famously, legendarily stubborn Master, then shuts it. They continue to ride and walk (if what a Force ghost does can be called walking) for several minutes in silence, as Obi-Wan keeps stealing sidelong glances just to make sure that Qui-Gon hasn’t disappeared again. He can’t believe this is real, though perhaps he has finally reconciled himself, however it can be done, to the agonizing grief and guilt that has hounded and hunted and harrowed him for these past ten years. It never let him rest enough to truly reach for the Force, to sink into it as fully and completely as he once did, and he was too frightened, besides. But he is... not happy now, not really. He left his heart behind him just as he did on Mustafar, and on Alderaan, and back there at the Lars farm. He can never truly be happy again, he thinks. But he can be at a still point, balanced, meditative, ready to move forward, to see what his days are yet to bring him. And that, if nothing else, is a gift beyond price.
They walk together, Master and Padawan, living Jedi and dead one, for some hours. Then, as thick purple twilight begins to veil the stark cliffs and outcrops of rough desert stone in shadow, Obi-Wan swings down and starts a campfire. Qui-Gon stands a few feet away, his hair and robe fluttering in the night breeze, and Obi-Wan reaches out for him convulsively. “Master,” he whispers, agonized and astonished. “You’re here. You’re really here.”
“In a manner of speaking.” Qui-Gon reaches out one spectral hand and lays it on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. There isn’t an actual presence or the weight of physical flesh, but Obi-Wan can feel it nonetheless, Qui-Gon’s affection and pride and love for him as strong and true as it ever was, and it almost buckles him at the knees. “And this time, I will stay as long as you need me to.”
“I have so many questions,” Obi-Wan manages, his eyes full of tears and his throat choked like a fist, his heart aching in his chest, but this time it is with a joy beyond words and the memories of everything and everyone he has loved -- Anakin’s smile, and Padme’s bravery, and Leia, the perfect alchemy of everything that was the best about both of them, and Luke, who is innocent and kind and growing up here with an uncle and aunt who love him like their bones and breath. “So many.”
Qui-Gon smiles, and his eyes reflect the stars, the rising crescent of Tatooine’s moons, and all of time and eternity and death is nothing, folded away like an old robe, and they are together again as if all the pain was only a dream, the night has ended, and now a new day has finally broken. “We have time,” he says gently, and sits down across from Obi-Wan, on the other side of the fire. “Come now, my Padawan. It is time to tell you everything.”
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Some of y’all’s morning routines flabbergast me. What do you mean you have time to read, stretch, journal, check your email, cook a nutritious breakfast, get through a mindfulness routine, and exercise and then actually get dressed and make it to work on time? Exactly what time are you waking up? Or is it that you’re secretly a vampire and don’t need sleep?
….omg don’t tell me you’re a Cullen cuz that would be gross. That’s grounds for disownment
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