#forget-me-not
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#forgetmenots#forget-me-not#flowers#floral#flowercore#flower photography#nature#nature photography#original photographers#photographers on tumblr
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Common Forget-Me-Not and Pansy by Soun Chigusa (1873-1944)
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Forget-Me-Not
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🍃The Snowdrop Ceremony💐
#mlp#mlp g1#g1 mlp#pony#my little pony#rosedust#morning glory#forget me not#forget-me-not#ponies#mine#g1#Flutterponies#flutter ponies#flutterpony#flutter pony#the snowdrop ceremony
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Margined White feeding among forget-me-nots along the roadside
May 20, 2023
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My hand hurts. This was literally painful to make, my wrist is BURNING.
#fanart#digital art#fandom#my art#art#artists on tumblr#dunmeshi spoilers#dungeon meshi spoilers#farcille#falin touden#falin thorden#falin dungeon meshi#falin x marcille#marcille donato#marcille dungeon meshi#dungeon meshi#delicious in dungeon#comic#dunmeshi#forget-me-not
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kenji tsuruta’s forget-me-not || 謙二鶴田の『フォゲットミーナット』
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Forget-me-not flowers (Myosotis arvensis) on woodland floor
Photo by Ernie Janes
#Myosotis arvensis#Myosotis#forget me nots#flowers#forget-me-not#blue#blue flowers#flower photography#floral#plants#nature
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Blue Haze
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Plant of the Day
Sunday 17 March 2024
At the local market there was a display of Myosotis sylvatica cultivars (garden forget-me-not). This short-lived perennial, usually grown as a biennial, has blue flowers but the cultivars also offered white and pink flowers. These plants will have been grown from seed for spring planting in containers and borders.
Jill Raggett
#myosotis#garden forget-me-not#forget-me-not#blue flowers#white flowers#pink flowers#shortlived perennial#biennial#plants#horticulture#gardens#street market
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forget me not
#cat#cat art#cat pet portrait#ragdoll cat#ragdoll#blue point#forget-me-not#pet portrait#digital art#art#animal art
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Forget-me-not watercolour
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Forget-Me-Not
#original photographers#photographers on tumblr#nature#flowers#plants#forget-me-not#sonyrx10m4#DSC00168
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@heropartnerweek Day 2: Flowers
forget-me-not (myosotis): a flower that is a symbol of remembrance and a promise to never forget someone, even after death.
this flower has always reminded me of hero’s farewell dialogue in explorers... so I wanted this prompt to be solely focused on them.
#if you've seen my other pmd flower art you probably knew this was coming :')#forget-me-nots remind me so much of pmd... especially hero...#pmd#heropartnerweek#pokemon mystery dungeon#mystery dungeon#explorers of sky#pmd eos#pmd explorers#eevee#forget-me-not
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Forget-Me-Not 2
Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.
My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.
Characters: Loki
Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.
Part of the Backwoods AU
As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.
You spend the night on the couch. You don't go further than the bathroom. You can't bring yourself to check her bedroom or the one you left behind.
You go out to get your bag and change in the yellow haze glowing behind the faded curtains. You check the time. Jan is expecting you in an hour.
You emerge into the dewy morning and tramp down to ground level. You get in the car, reversing out without looking back at the dingy house. The final farewell can't come soon enough for the slanted walls.
Jan is out in the yard, hammering a pineboard as you drive down his lot. His white hair curls with the sweat beading on his skin. He stills the hammer and wipes his forehead as you pull up.
You get out as he greets you in the way all the villagers do. A manufactured friendliness that cannot erase their true judgement. They smile in face just as easily as the mutter your name under their breath. You mother harboured little good will in Hammer Ford and blood is sacred here.
“Sorry to hear,” he says.
“Matter of time,” you shrug dismissively.
“Isn't no way to come home,” he shakes his head and coughs into his fist, “walnut,” he points the hammer over his shoulder, “like ya said.”
Walnut, like the dining table. Where she sat and drank herself into that box. You nod and follow him over to the casket. The hinges are brass and the finish is rough. What does it matter? It's just going into the dirt.
“Got cash,” you say. Jan doesn't deal with the bank, everyone knows that. Funny the little things that stick with you.
“Thanks,” he accepts the bills as you count them out. So much for a rainy day. The sun shine bright as if mocking the grin affair beneath its watch. “I'll have it taken down to Norn's.”
“Yep,” you agree, “she's there.”
You head out without further niceties. Neither of you uphold those. Better to say what you mean and nothing else.
You get to the property line and idle. You turn away from the woods. You're not ready to go back yet.
You stop by the church first. Father Oswald sits with you to discuss the ceremony. You'll say a few words at the grave site. You don't think anyone would come to a wake. You don't want them to.
You set off again, still reluctant to retrace your steps. You drive to the spare core of the village and park outside the library. You cross the street and peer in through the window of the bakery. It wasn't there when you left.
You venture inside and peruse the sweets behind the glass. You order a black coffee and a cinnamon bun. You pay the woman behind the counter, vaguely familiar. You're certain she was a few years behind you at school.
You sit and pick at the glazed dough. You don't have much of an appetite. You don't feel much of anything. You're just wading through, try not to get lost in the tide.
You sip the coffee. Bold but rich. Not bad. Better than the instant powder gone stale in your mother's cupboard.
The door opens and shuts, several times over as you stare at the table. The city taught you apathy. You don't let the noise bother you.
The chair across from you slides out and a figure plants themselves on the seat. You raise your head, your vision narrowing to make sense of their features. You turn your head to gaze out the window as Loki blows over the top of a mug.
You slide out your phone, a defence mechanism. Still no reception. You put it down and keep your attention diverted. He clears his throat and taps his toe next to yours.
“You know, I do have an important matter to discuss with you,” he says.
You don't react. You know that's what he wants. That's why he showed up the night before. He undoubtedly insisted on being his clan’s representative.
“You've sent your condolences.”
“Mm, yes, but that isn't what I mean,” he traces his finger up the handle of his mug. “The house.”
You lower your brows and keep your eyes beyond the window. The village moves slow as ever. Not like the endless flow of the city streets. There's no where to hide here.
“My father has an offer. The property has value.”
You check your cup, almost empty. You swig the last of it. You stand and gather the cup and unfinished dessert. You put the porcelain on the counter and toss the cinnamon bun on your way out.
The door doesn't close behind you. He's following you. Your heartbeat piques. In an instant, you're hurled into the past. You're running through broken twigs as he snickers behind you. You ball your hands as your breath hitches.
You cross the street without looking, only just dodging a bumper. You go to your car, fumbling with your keys. Before you can stick them in the slot, there's a snare around your arm.
You spin and shove Loki off of you, biting down on a shriek. You glare at him and point the key at his chin.
“Not interested.”
“My father will give you more than the bank,” he counters.
“Don't care.”
He sniffs and quorks his head, “is this because I never called?”
You choke on a scoff. You turn and ram the keys in the slot and twist. You open the door as you step around it. The edge hits him as you swing into the driver’s seat.
“The house is worthless. The bank will give you pennies for the land.”
“Go tell your daddy you failed,” you sneer and yank the door shut, hitting the lock with your fist.
You start the engine without a glance in his direction. You pull put as he barely avoids getting his toes run over. Just as ever, this village belongs to the Odinsons. They won't have to pay the bank much to get what they want but you will never sign your name next to theirs.
#loki#dark loki#dark!loki#loki x reader#drabble#au#backwoods au#series#thor#avengers#mcu#marvel#forget-me-not
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Myosotis Scorpiodes - Forget-me-not (1775) by Mary Delany (1700-1788).
Collage of coloured papers, with bodycolour and watercolour on black ink background.
© The Trustees of the British Museum.
Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-SA 4.0) license.
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