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I don’t think this is Bo-Katans helmet in the teaser for season 4. Although she WILL be in season 4, this is a helmet of one of her Nite Owls.

Bo-Katans helmet marking is Black.

Her followers markings are White.( same as rebels pic)

Plus, there is no curve in between the “ eyes”.

Cant wait to see her in action once again. Please don’t kill her off.

Send me numbers.
  1. Honestly, do you dislike any of your friends?
  2. Have you ever fallen in love?
  3. What’s your star sign?
  4. Have you ever lose someone close?
  5. Have you ever had sex?
  6. Have you had your first kiss?
  7. Was your first kiss enjoyable?
  8. Are you dating anybody?
  9. Celebrity crush?
  10. Favourite song?
  11. Have you ever led someone on intentionally?
  12. Do you like attention from the opposite sex?
  13. What’s your sexuality?
  14. What turns you on?
  15. Favourite television show?
  16. What genre of movies do you enjoy most?
  17. What genre of music do you hate with a passion?
  18. What is your biggest pet peeve?
  19. The last time you went to the doctor, what was it for?
  20. What is your dream car?
  21. Have you ever done something behind your parents back?
  22. Have you ever done something illegal? If so, what?
  23. Do you smoke?
  24. Favourite alcoholic beverage?
  25. Favourite colour?
  26. Favourite position?
  27. Describe your ideal date?
  28. What is your favourite holiday?
  29. What are your fears?
  30. Comedy or Horror?
  31. Do you have any fetishes?
  32. White or Dark chocolate?
  33. Black or White?
  34. Cats or dogs?
  35. Cuddles or sex?
  36. Saw franchise or Scream franchise?
  37. Disney or Dreamworks?
  38. If you found £10,000 would you hand it in to the police?
  39. Do you have good grades?
  40. Honestly, how do you feel right now?
  41. Tell us why you hate someone?
  42. What do you dislike about yourself?
  43. What do you love about yourself?
  44. If The Purge was real, would you?
  45. Tell us what you hate about your best friend?
  46. Ever done drugs?

I was standing in the kitchen making myself a cuppa and watching the sparrows, when this little wren popped up from the “cousin IT” tree! We knew there was one that lived somewhere in the garden, but she makes herself scarce, and we only see her a couple times a year. Luckily my camera was right there and i FINALLY got a shot of her.. Isn’t she sweet!! 

©AmyJMontico 2016 .. All Rights Reserved   PLEASE LEAVE CREDITS

Wren (pt 1 of?)

She calls herself Wren, after Two Things. One is the bird. The small, plainly colored, ball of feathers, sometimes called house wrens, that often flit about unnoticed. Two is another girl. This Wren, who spelled her name Ren, isn’t real. She’s Ren-from-the-book Found, the first–and still most favorite–post apocalyptic story Wren-with-a-W has read. There are others, but that one is closest to her heart.

Which probably makes the Choice a Stupid One, but she makes it, nonetheless. Maybe the Gentry will think she likes birds. Maybe–though that, likely, could have its own consequences.

Unlike some of the others, Wren-with-a-W–like Anne-with-an-e, but without either the fiery hair or tendency to babble–likes the rules at Elsewhere. She likes Rules period. Her life–and her brain–is often chaotic, though she won’t acquire the alphabet soup of abbreviations that explain why till years later.

She doesn’t know, at eighteen, that she has ADHD. All she knows is she’s disorganized, easily distracted, and loses everything she touches. She also doesn’t know that she’s probably Autistic. All she knows is that she has trouble with conversations–starting them, stopping them, keeping them going. She has trouble with loud sounds and her clothes feeling Wrong. And when she loves something, it consumes her.

Sometimes–before she learned better–she thought she might be a changeling. When she was very young, she lost herself, deliberately, inside her mind. She spent hours and hours daydreaming, blocking out the world. When she was a teenager, her bubble popped, and she found herself suddenly in a world that was strange, confusing, and much too loud.

So, Wren-with-a-W likes the Rules. They’re comforting. Follow them and you’ll be safe. Don’t follow them, and there are no promises. And so she follows them. She hoards packets of creamer and shakers of salt and iron nails like they’re going out of style. She carries each in her pockets–and she’s found that the nails double as stim toys.

A few weeks into the fall semester, and Wren has found herself alone in her dorm for the first time. Her roommate has gone. Not Gone, not Replaced, no, nothing so sinister. She’s simply gone home, to visit family. Wren has not. She loves her family, but she doesn’t miss them. Not the way other people seem to.

Alone for the first time, Wren crosses to her bed and pulls out the old chest. Her great-grandmother, Agnes, gave it to her when Wren was twelve. Great-grandmother Agnes was a lot like Wren. She was shy and spacey, quiet and scattered, and she didn’t seem to know what to do with people, either.

As she opens the trunk, the smell hits her first. There’s the sharp, burning-in-her-nose smell of mothballs, and under that, something even more bitter, salty like blood, like iron. Like the sea.

The blanket at the bottom is dark brown, like mahogany and chocolate stirred together. One side is rough. When Wren pets it, she’s reminded of Boris, her old mohair teddy bear Mom made her leave home, because You-know-how-college-kids-are-you-don’t-want-anything-to-happen-to-it. The other side is smooth. When Wren touches it, she’s reminded of her favorite suede couch, the big brown one at Grandma Ruth’s. She loved laying on it and running her hand up and down the arm while she watched My Little Pony The Movie for the million and first time.

Wrapping the blanket around her, Wren shuts the trunk and slides it under the bed. Great grandmother made her promise not to show either trunk nor blanket to a living soul, and so far, Wren has kept her word. Mom says that Great-grandma-was-getting-senile-before-she-passed-it’s-a-shame-really. Wren knows different, but that, too, is part of the secret.

There are other trunks, other young women in Wren’s family with blankets like these. But Wren has never fit in with them. Those girls, to a one, know how to get along in the world. They don’t lose things the moment they set them aside. They don’t misunderstand a look, a gesture, an implied demand. They know how to follow all the unwritten Social Rules. Not Wren. Not now, and maybe not ever.

So, blanket wrapped tight tight tight around her, Wren hoes to the couch and curls up. She turns on the TV, then the DVD player. Pressing play on the remote, she settles in, sighing happily, as My Little Pony Tales begins playing.

The blanket isn’t the only reason she waits till her roommate leaves before watching tv.

To Be Continued.

[x]